Chapter 4: The Town and the Inn
A sign by the road read “Welcome to Krivian”. John stood there a moment, his bag slung over his shoulder.
It still felt strange to John to be otherwise naked, but he was far from the only one. Every person he saw in the village wore nothing that wasn’t functional — tool belts, aprons, and the like. He saw a man who was probably a farmer carrying a pitchfork and spade, but otherwise he was naked. A woman passed by with her breasts exposed, but she carried a basket of apples and a few eggs on her hip.
John noticed that no one paid any mind to his nudity. He felt a sense of relief wash over him, as if he had just stepped into a sanctuary. He walked through the streets, observing the everyday life of the villagers. They seemed to be living simple lives, working the land and trading goods.
A few people gave him curious looks. He was obviously an outsider. He tried to appear harmless. He carried nothing except his bag, so he hoped he looked non-threatening.
He saw what appeared to be an inn at the end of the village’s main street. A sign said “Krivian Inn” in simple letters. John opened the door and stepped inside.
The inn was surprisingly quiet for an establishment that seemed to be the only place of note in the village. There were a few patrons scattered about, mostly men nursing drinks at the bar or playing dice in the corners. A few women sat alone at tables, nursing their own drinks.
Behind the bar was a stout man with a thick black beard. He looked up as John entered and nodded a greeting. "Welcome to the Krivian Inn," he said. "What can I get for you?"
John approached the bar and took a seat on one of the stools. The bartender leaned on the counter and studied him.
"You're new here." It was more of a statement than a question.
John nodded. "I am. I'm looking for a room for the night, and perhaps for information."
The man continued to study John’s face. “The room I can definitely do for you,” he said, “as for the information, I can make no promises, except to say you’ve come to the right place. Anyone who knows anything useful in this town comes here sooner or later.” He extended a hand to John. “The name is Thorne. I own this place and I’ve got eyes and ears all over Krivian.”
John shook his hand. “John Doe.”
Thorne raised an eyebrow. “Doe? You serious? That’s your name?”
John shrugged. “I don’t remember my real name. It’s all I’ve got for now.”
Thorne grunted, then poured a glass of ale and pushed it towards John. “On the house, but the next one will cost you. Welcome to Krivian, John Doe.”
John took a long drink, the cool liquid soothing his throat. He set the glass down and looked around the room again. “You get a lot of people coming through here?” he asked.
Thorne followed his gaze, surveying the patrons. "A few travelers, mostly locals. Why?"
”I’m trying to find information about myself, really. Have you ever seen any travelers who have lost their memories?”
Thorne cocked his head at John. “Can’t say that I have,” he replied, “but I’ve heard stories. Stories of folk who’ve woken up in the Forbidden Forest, their minds blank of everything except how to speak. They’re called the Forgotten. But they’re just stories.” Thorne took a cloth from under the bar and began polishing a mug. “Could be just that – stories. Ain’t no one I know of that’s ever met one of these Forgotten.”
John took another sip of his ale. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. “But I think I might be one of them. I woke up in the Forbidden Forest with no memory of who I am or how I got there.”
Thorne stopped polishing the mug and looked at John. “The Forbidden Forest, you say?” he asked. “That’s a strange place for anyone to wake up.
Especially with no memory,” Thorne said, his brow furrowed. “It’s said that those woods are cursed. People go in but never come out the same way they went in.” He placed the polished mug on a shelf behind him and leaned in closer to John. “What do you remember?”
John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing. I don’t remember my name, where I come from, or how I got to the forest. My first memory is waking up there, naked and confused.”
Thorne frowned, his eyes narrowing as he regarded John. “That’s dangerous, son. Those woods can do strange things to a person.
Are you sure you're alright?" Thorne asked, concern etched into the lines of his face.
John nodded, attempting to reassure him. "I feel fine. No pain, no injuries, nothing but this... emptiness in my mind."
Thorne grunted and took a step back, his arms crossing over his chest. "Alright, I believe you. But listen here, woods or no woods, you need to be careful. This world - our world - it's dangerous. Especially for someone like you."
John raised an eyebrow. "Someone like me?"
Thorne dropped his arms and leaned against the counter.
"You're an outsider, and that makes you an easy target for the wrong people."
John nodded, understanding the bartender's concern. "I appreciate the warning, but I have to find out who I am. I can't just hide away and hope my memories come back."
Thorne sighed, looking at John with a mix of worry and resignation. "I know, I know. It's just...this world can be cruel to the unwary."
John offered a small smile. "I'll be careful, I promise. But I need your help.
I need information about the woman I'm looking for. Is there anyone in Krivian who might know something?"
Thorne scratched his beard thoughtfully. "A woman, you say? The only one that comes to mind is Melusina. She's the wisest woman in these parts. Lives out in the old mill. If anyone can help you, it's her."
John's eyes widened. "Melusina? You mean she's real? Not just a story?"
Thorne chuckled. "Oh, she's real alright. And she knows things. Things no one else does. But she's also... peculiar. She lives about four days’ ride from here on a fast horse. If you’re on foot, it’ll be longer. You should talk to Violet about her. She comes here most evenings, so you just have to wait a bit.”
“Does Violet know her?” John asked.
Thorne laughed. “Know her? They’re practically best friends. Violet’s the one who brings Melusina supplies from the village. She’s got a soft spot for the woman. You’ll be able to talk to her soon enough.”
John nodded, taking another sip of his ale. “Thanks, Thorne. I appreciate the help.”
Thorne clapped him on the shoulder. “No problem, kid. It’s not every day someone comes here with a story like yours. I’ll do what I can to help you out. I’ll even give you a discount on a room for tonight. You’re going to want to rest up.”
John gave him several coins from his bag in exchange for a key. “Room 5,” Thorne said. “Now go have a seat. Dinner and a show are included with the room fee. I’ve got some work to do.” Thorne nodded in the direction of a small stage at the far end of the inn. “We’ve got a bard performing tonight. It’s not every day we get a new face in town, and people love new stories. You might even learn something about yourself.”
John raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He took his ale and found a seat in the corner, away from the bar. He wanted to be able to see everything and everyone without drawing too much attention to himself.
The inn began to fill up as the sun set, casting long shadows across the room. Lanterns were lit, their flickering light dancing on the wooden walls and the faces of the patrons.
John watched the people as they came in and found seats. He saw people ranging in age from young adults to rather old, and they all seemed to be comfortable in their natural state. He noticed that they were all talking animatedly, catching up on village gossip or sharing stories. John felt a pang of envy; he wished he had memories to share, stories to tell.
As he finished his ale, a barmaid approached John’s table. She was a lovely young woman with long blonde hair fashioned into a braid. Her eyes were a vivid green, and her smile was warm and welcoming. She offered him a glass of mead. “Good evening,” she said. “Thorne sent me to welcome you to the Krivian Inn. I’m Fawn, by the way,” the barmaid said with a smile.
John returned the smile, appreciating the warm welcome. “John Doe,” he replied, taking the glass of mead. “Thank you, Fawn.”
Fawn smiled. “Doe?” she asked, “Like the animal?” John chuckled, “Yes, like the animal. It’s a name I chose for myself since I don’t remember my actual name.”
Fawn nodded, “Well, John Doe, welcome to the Krivian Inn. I hope you enjoy your stay here.” She turned to walk away but paused and looked back at him. “I’m sorry about your memory loss. It must be tough not knowing who you are or where you come from.”
John shrugged, “It is what it is. I’m trying to make the best of it.”
She nodded with sympathy. “I’ll bring you some food in a moment. The bard should be here soon. You may find him interesting. He often sings about the mysteries of the forest. Perhaps his songs will help you.” Fawn flashed a reassuring smile before she went back to the bar. John took a sip of the mead, savoring the sweet, honeyed taste. He watched as patrons began to gather around the small stage at the far end of the inn, their faces eager for the performance to start.
Eventually, a man stepped onto the stage, carrying a lute. He wore a cloak of deep green that seemed to shimmer under the lantern light. His hair was a wild, dark mane that fell to his shoulders, and his eyes were a piercing silver. He stepped to the center of the stage and shrugged his cloak off, revealing his muscular frame, bare except for a simple leather belt. He was tall, taller than John or even Thorne, and his presence commanded the room.
The inn fell silent as he began to play, strumming a slow, haunting melody on his lute. His voice was deep and resonant, filling the room with a rich, warm sound that seemed to wrap around John like a blanket.
He sang of ancient forests and forgotten tales, of creatures that dwelt in the shadows and secrets buried deep within the earth. The bard's eyes were closed, his face turned up towards the rafters as if he was communing with some higher power.
John listened intently, his mind wandering through the stories and legends that the bard wove into his songs. Some of the tales were familiar, echoes of stories he had heard before, but many were new and strange. He found himself leaning forward in his seat, eager to catch every word and note.
As the bard sang, John felt a strange sensation, as if the words were resonating inside his own mind.
“Deep within the forest fair,
A secret lies a-sleeping.
But elsewhere in the morning air, A Forgotten soul is weeping.”
The bard's words echoed through the inn, silencing the patrons. John felt a shiver run down his spine as the man sang. There was something hauntingly familiar about the song, as if he had heard it before, long ago. He strained to listen, to catch every word and every note.
“In wooden halls, in stone-built castles,
In humble homes and grand manors,
They search for what they've lost,
These Forgotten ones who wander.”
As the bard continued to sing, John felt as if the man were speaking directly to him. The other patrons were swaying to the music, their eyes closed, lost in the melody. But John remained still, his gaze fixed on the bard, his heart pounding in his chest.
”In shadows deep where light can't reach,
There lies a truth that's hard to find.
But seek it out, and you will see,
The path to who you truly are.”
The bard's voice grew louder, more insistent. John could feel the power of the song coursing through his veins, his mind racing with thoughts and images that seemed to come from nowhere and yet felt familiar.
He looked around the inn, but everyone seemed entranced by the bard's performance, oblivious to the strange sensation that was overwhelming John.
The bard's song reached a crescendo, his voice echoing through the inn as he sang the final lines:
"So listen well, you who have lost your way,
The forest holds the key to who you are.
In shadows deep, where light can't reach,
You'll find your truth, your soul, your heart."
The bard strummed the final chord and held it, the music hanging in the air for a moment before fading away.
The inn was silent, the patrons holding their breath as if waiting for something more. Then, as if on cue, everyone broke into applause, the sound filling the small space and releasing the tension that had built up during the performance.
John was still sitting at his table, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt as if he had been sucked into a whirlwind, the bard's song resonating deep within him. He looked around the room, blinking as if to clear his vision, and saw that everyone was already returning to their conversations and drinks, the moment of collective awe having passed.
But John was still reeling from the bard’s song. There was something profoundly unsettling yet undeniably familiar about it.
John stood up, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. He needed some air, some space to process what had just happened. He scanned the room for the bard, but he was nowhere to be seen. The stage was empty, as if he had never been there at all.
”I see the Bard’s performance had quite the effect on you,” a woman said. Jonathan turned to see a tall, slender woman with auburn hair and a wicked smile on her face.
“How do you mean?” John asked her.
“Well,” she said, “the music certainly got his attention.” She pointed down. John followed her gaze, and saw that his cock was fully erect for everyone to see.
He felt the heat rush to his face as he looked down at his naked body, his cock standing tall and proud. He had been so caught up in the moment, in the surreal and hauntingly familiar song, that he had not even noticed his body's reaction.
The woman chuckled, "You're probably not the first man who's gotten aroused by the Bard's songs. They have a way of stirring things up, so to speak."
John sighed, and covered his groin with his hand. "I'm John," he said, his voice barely concealing his embarrassment.
The woman smiled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm Cicely," she said, extending a hand towards John. He hesitantly took it, his face still flushed.
"Nice to meet you, John.” Her eyes were still fixed on his erection, and she let out a small laugh. “I must say, your reaction to the Bard's song is rather... enthusiastic.”
John grimaced, trying to think of a witty response to ease the tension. “Well, Cicely, I must say, your interest in my reaction is rather... forward.”
Cicely let out a hearty laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You must be new to Krivian, John. We’re all quite forward here. She took a step closer, close enough that his erection was almost brushing her hip. “I’m not just interested, John. I’m willing to help.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Help with what?”
Cicely smirked, her eyes flicking down to his cock again. “That, obviously. And who knows, maybe some other things too. I could show you the ropes around here. You’re new, after all. And you look like you could use some guidance.”
John chuckled, despite the unease gnawing at the back of his mind. “I’m grateful, Cicely, but I’m waiting to talk to Violet. Do you know if she’s here?”
“Violet? Of course she’s here. But she’s busy at the moment.” Cicely pointed to a booth on the far side of the inn, where a dark-haired woman sat. Her face and chest were flushed, and her bare breasts were heaving as she gasped for breath.
A man had his face buried between Violet’s legs. She gripped his hair, pulling him closer, seeming desperate for more.
John looked away, although no one else seemed surprised by the public display.
John turned back to Cicely, who was still watching him, her eyes gleaming with amusement. She stepped even closer to John, so that his cock was now fully pressed against her hip. She leaned in, her breath warm on his ear.
“You’re not like the others, are you, John?” she whispered. “You’re different. I can tell. And I like that. I like the way you look at me.”
John glanced over to the bar, where Thorne was busy serving patrons. He managed to catch Thorne’s eye. Thorne saw that John was with Cicely, and that Cicely was making a move on him. John raised his eyebrows, as if to ask Thorne what he should do.
Thorne glanced over at the booth where Violet was otherwise occupied. He looked back at John and Cicely and gave him a small nod, as if to say “Go ahead.”
John looked back at Cicely. She stood pressed against John’s body, her eyes locked onto his. She licked her lips slowly, her gaze never leaving his. John could feel his body reacting to her touch, his heart beating faster. He glanced again at Thorne, who shrugged, a small smile on his face.
“Well, Cicely,” John said, his voice soft, “what did you have in mind?”
Cicely's eyes glittered with mischief as she leaned in even closer, her breath hot against his ear. “Let me show you.”
She pushed John back into the booth, then crawled in after him. She leaned forward and kissed him, gently at first, but with increasing passion. John could feel his body responding to her touch, his heart pounding in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as they kissed.
As they kissed, John's mind was racing. He knew that he should be focused on talking to Violet, but he could clearly see her in her booth. It didn’t look like she would be going anywhere any time soon. Violet was writhing and moaning beneath the man's skilled tongue, her body arching and her head thrown back in ecstasy.
John felt Cicely’s hand wrap around his cock, and he gasped, breaking the kiss for a moment. She smiled as she rubbed her thumb over the tip, spreading the bead of moisture that had formed. John closed his eyes, a moan escaping his lips as she began to stroke him, her grip firm and sure.
He opened his eyes again, looking down at her, her head bent over him, her hair a curtain around her face. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with desire, and John felt a rush of pleasure at the sight. He reached down, cupping her breast, feeling the weight of it in his hand. Cicely moaned, her hips pressing against his as he squeezed and rolled her nipple between his fingers.
She began to kiss his neck, then his chest.
She trailed her lips down to his stomach, teasing him with her tongue and hot breath. John’s breaths were coming in short gasps now, his body taut as a bowstring. He tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her down to his waist. She took him into her mouth, and John groaned, his hips bucking reflexively.
Cicely’s mouth was hot and wet, and she took him deep, her throat muscles working to milk him. Her hand worked in tandem with her mouth, stroking him in time with her sucking. John was panting now, his eyes closed, his head thrown back against the booth.
He could feel the pleasure building, his body tensing as Cicely worked him with her mouth and hands. He tangled his fingers deeper into her hair, holding her in place as she took him to the brink.
Just as he was about to come, Cicely pulled back, leaving him gasping and desperate. She looked up at him, a wicked smile on her face, then turned and grabbed the cup that still held some of the ale Jonathan had bring drinking.
Cicely lowered the cup and held it under John’s throbbing member. “Now,” she said as she resumed stroking him. He was already close to the edge, and now he went over it, shooting his load into the cup. Cicely kept stroking, milking every last drop from him.
John shuddered, his body spent. Cicely smiled, then took the cup and raised it to her lips, drinking his essence. She sighed in satisfaction. “Mm, delicious.”
John leaned back against the booth, his body limp and exhausted. Cicely leaned back as well, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She took a cloth from under the table and wiped her mouth before cleaning John’s cock.
“There,” she said, “now you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
John let out a breath, his body still tingling from the release. “Thanks, Cicely,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, though he was still processing what had just happened. “That was... unexpected.”
Cicely laughed and patted him on the knee. “Unexpected can be fun, don’t you think?” She stood up and ran her hands through her hair, smoothing it back into place. “If you ever want a repeat performance, just say the word.” She winked at him before walking away, leaving John alone in the booth.
John let out a deep breath. Fawn approached his booth, a fresh cup of ale in her hands. She set it down and took the one he had just used for his encounter with Cicely. John watched her, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. Fawn winked at him, knowing full well what had just transpired. “On the house,” she said with a smile. “You looked like you needed it.”
John chuckled, taking a sip of the fresh ale. “Thank you, Fawn. You're a lifesaver.”
“No problem, John,” she replied, giving him an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder. “I've got to get back to work. Enjoy your drink.”
John watched her walk away, his mind still reeling from the events of the past few hours. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like Fawn was examining the contents of the cup as she walked away, as if she were checking for any remaining traces of his ... contribution. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts. He knew he should feel embarrassed, or at least a little mortified, but instead, he felt... oddly satisfied. Cicely had been... enthusiastic, to say the least, and John had to admit, he had enjoyed himself.
He took another sip of the ale, trying to process everything that had happened since he arrived in Krivian. After everything he had experienced — Evelina, Runa, Lady Seraphina — it seemed like it shouldn’t be easy to surprise him. The Krivian Inn had managed it, though. He looked around and saw that most of the booths were now the site of couples or groups engaged in various forms of intimacy. The room, once filled with the melody of the bard's song, was now filled with the sounds of pleasure. He saw a man and a woman sitting in a corner, the woman straddling the man, their bodies pressed tightly together. Across the room, a group of three - two men and a woman - were entwined in a passionate embrace, hands roaming and exploring.
John watched all this, his mind a swirl of confusion and fascination. He had seen plenty of strange things in his journey, but this was something new. He couldn't help but feel a certain…freedom in the air.
He stopped another barmaid as she walked by. He introduced himself. She said her name was Ember, her voice soft and warm like her name. She was a petite woman with long, wavy dark hair and kind eyes. “Why are people so…affectionate in public?” John asked her.
Ember smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s just the way of life here in Krivian,” she said simply. “We believe in embracing pleasure and joy in all its forms. There’s no shame in expressing our desires, and no judgment in indulging them.”
John nodded, taking in her words. “That’s a beautiful philosophy,” he said. “But it must take some getting used to, for someone new to this.”
Ember chuckled. “It does, but it’s also very liberating. You’ll see what I mean as you spend more time here.” She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, “Fawn would like to get to know you better,” she said. “When you’re ready,” she added, glancing down at John’s spent cock. She then looked at John in a way that suggested she would be interested in the same thing.
She gave him a wink and a smile before walking away.
John watched her go, his mind still reeling from the events of the evening. He had definitely not expected this. He took a sip of his ale, trying to sort out his thoughts. He looked around the inn again, and it seemed like the situation had not changed. Everyone was still engaged in their own pleasures, and no one seemed to notice or care about what anyone else was doing.
As he sat there, trying to process everything, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Violet standing there, her naked body glowing and her hair a mess. She gave him a small smile.
“I heard you wanted to speak to me. May I sit?” Violet asked, indicating the empty seat across from John at his booth. John nodded and gestured for her to take a seat. Violet slipped into the booth, her eyes never leaving John’s. She pushed her long dark hair back over her shoulder and leaned in close to him.
“So, you’re the one Thorne was telling me about,” she said, her voice soft and low. “The one who can’t remember who he is.”
John nodded again. “Yes, that’s me. Have you -”
Violet held up a hand, silencing him. “Let me get this straight first.
Your name is John, and you don't remember anything before waking up in the Forbidden Forest?” Violet asked, her eyes searching his for any sign of deception.
John nodded, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “Yes, that's correct. I've tried to recall something – anything – but my mind is a blank slate.”
Violet pursed her lips, considering this. “And you're here looking for answers?”
“Yes,” John replied, leaning forward slightly. “I've heard stories about a wise woman who might be able to help me. Her name is Melusina.”
Violet nodded, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned forward and rested on her elbows. Her arms pushed her breasts up slightly, and John found his gaze drawn to them despite his best intentions. They were large and round, with dark nipples that seemed to beckon him. He quickly looked away, trying to focus on their conversation.
"You're right," Violet said, "Melusina is wise. I've known her for many years."
John nodded, relieved that he was finally getting some useful information. "Do you think she can help me? Can she tell me who I am?"
Violet looked at him thoughtfully, her head tilted to the side. "It's hard to say.” Violet’s leg brushed against John’s under the table.
"But I do know one thing, John," she continued, her voice husky with desire. "Melusina likes men who are strong and confident. She finds them... attractive." Violet's hand reached out and caressed John's thigh, her fingers inching closer to his groin.
John swallowed hard, his body reacting to Violet's touch. He could feel the heat radiating from her, her eyes dark and smoldering. "So she's attracted to strength and confidence, huh?" John managed to say, his voice barely a whisper.
Violet nodded, her hand now dangerously close to John's cock. "Yes, she is. But strength and confidence come in many forms, John. Some people show it in their words, others in their actions. What about you, John? How do you show your strength and confidence?" Violet's hand was now brushing against John's cock, which was already starting to harden at her touch.
“I…have my ways,” John grunted. He wondered how he was getting hard again, so soon after his encounter with Cicely.
Her hand tightened around his shaft, and she squeezed gently. "Show me, John. Show me how strong and confident you are."
John began to lean towards her, feeling drawn to her intense gaze. She put her other hand up. “Not here,” she said. “Follow me.” Violet stood up, her hand still wrapped around John’s cock. She led him out of the booth and towards the back of the inn, away from the prying eyes of the other patrons. She pushed open a door marked “Private” and stepped inside, pulling John after her.