Quill by ~haryonkazarelth on deviantART

Rarely do pens ever function this close to archaic majesty. I believe it's a gift from a Goddess. To write with such delectable finesse is a blessing.

I believe this is a "writing instrument". And. It's mine.

The Port of Lust.

True to the span of time, the immaculate complexities of Time bound the two of us together in a way that nothing else could. Separated by a storm, and a wind of fortune and fortitude, I made my way past unimaginable blockades and insurmountable breakers as, at last when I did land ashore, there was a sweetness that wafted off my shirt. The sweetness of the salty sea.
Yet, the sky shines above me, asking me to shuttle toward it; to break off my chains that bind me to this earth and water.

She wrote me a letter yesterday, I am led to believe. The delivery system in these parts is far from dependable, yet in the bond that ties us together, golden and silvern beads carry messages that no human eye could ever perceive. She must have sent it. Dizzy beaches and lovelorn songs make our distance seem farther than the stars. I weep in my heart, a sailor's honour makes it necessary not to show signs of womanly weakness outside. Of course, and show his love for the woman openly.

I see my men around those portly wenches -pardon my foul pun- who readily dance in the ports for the clink of a couple, some exceptional beauties for a dozen or so. Elegance is something most whores lack, I've seen, except in the port of Mizzana:- Sultry sunset beauties whose very turn seem to incite and ignite. (What would these men be against sirens such as those?)
Ah, Mizzana. Sails and women. I met her as well, there. She was not of the other women. She could incite and ignite at will too (what Beauty cannot?) yet she stayed away. Learning, and enjoying it. It was perchance I saw her in the steps of that open lush port city. It smelt of salt too. Yet, this was no salt from sea. This was the salt of the lips. The Port of Lust, it was taught to us to be. How many times I've been there for a bite of that lust, I do not know. Still, one last wish does remain. I speak as a man on his death row, do I not?
What man separated from his love is not?

The sky looms again in front of me. More sailing for tomorrow, and more gold to find. If I was a lover before, I am a sailor now. A lover within, nevertheless. It shall be some time before I am a lover without too. Till then, I have to suffice looking at these pale men plunder the large women and think of her.


Inspired by a sudden memory of Neverwinter Nights. I forget which place there was the sea and beautiful women. It's haunting, though. This post is nothing at all in comparison to that beautifully sculpted script of the game.