The Blackout War

Chapter 5: "Warlord"

Fenneck gasped for air as he woke up in the cold of night, his head pained him and his suit was now furthermore ruined by the sweat of his slumber. He held his head and grunted in pain.

"Bloody hell..." he whispered to himself, turning to see Maggie. She was still asleep, it mustn't have been more than a few hours since he snoozed off, as if he had slept at all. Although he didn't realize it soon enough, with a glance down at his hand he noticed he was shaking, be it for the cold of night or for the nightmare he just had.

His slouched posture hurt his back more than before, so taking his cane he stood up with some struggles and decided to take a walk in the pitch of night. Waterdown, like the other two refuges, was a self proclaimed countryside, meaning they had the freedom to talk inside the walls whenever they wanted, although unrecommended. The pitch dark of night because of lack of artificial light meant it was extremely dangerous to go out town, and people inside, if in need, would lit up torches that could pinpoint the location of the camp to potential invaders. Although protected, the sturdy walls had a limited range of view at night, and if pinpointed, a counter attack would be heavily unrealizable.

This wasn't Fenneck's first rodeo, anyways, he thought. With a hand in his pocket and another one steadily on his walking cane, he walked down the pitch dark stone alley with a view to the fields of wheat and vegetables that supplied the people to his left. The wind was colder than ever at night, Fenneck raised his face upwards and looked at the glistening sky of night, and admired the stars for just a second, without stopping his pace.

He had planned to go to the local pub down in the commerce area, he knew just how long at night they stayed open, perhaps if he drank enough he could finally get a full night worth of sleep. He walked along past all of the tents, one next to another, and got back into the main town itself.

Although it was reasonably dark, there were a controlled amount of torches and candles along the town's that allowed people and overall guards and military to guard the place. He passed one of the Mercenaries paid to take care of the residence area, well known to him due to his night scapades. His smug smirk came back to his face and jokingly saluted him as he walked past him.

"Atten-tion!" He copied a raspy, military, drill sergeant voice. The man shook his head and returned the salute, laughing "Rest easy, private!."

"How you doin' Fenneck? Another drink tonight?" he raised his voice as Fenneck went off into the road

He dismissed his concern with a sideways wave of his hand "Just a pair of shots, don't worry about me" He looked back to him without stopping "By the way, looking nice in that uniform. Fits you well"

"Thank you... I guess" he stood there, slowly losing him in the distance.

The city was guarded by hunters at night, meaning people in general weren't really allowed to roam around for their own safety. Some places were still open, and private armed forces offered their work reserves at night for wasteland tours outside the town's walls. Fenneck kept on walking, turning to one of the open ended areas of the inner walls and found himself face to face with the entrance of the tavern.

It was a cosy small wooden house-like structure, made years deep into the war, and the structure showed it. It could barely qualify as a sanitary establishment, although due to the nature of their refuge no one really cared at all.

As he opened the door, a pair of dim candles were lit up at the table, where the owner was, the 6 tables lined up in groups of 3 to their sides shared a single candle each, and didn't help to illuminate the place any further. Fenneck stretched and yawned, walking to the counter, rumble to his feet as the bartender seemed to be too occupied looking for something.