"Good night, Shalee," Charles said to the Crown Shalee Lianne. He bowed before her, bearing only traditional Amarrian robes that he had received while in Mercy's Keep bath house. Crown Lianne looked to him with a smile as she stepped into her quarters. The door shut gently behind there, and Charles left to stand facing the wooden oak. A long, sigh would escape his lips. His hand reached out, then he would lean against the wall in a moment of weakness.
Slowly, he came to his senses, gathering the soft belt that wrapped itself around his waist. With a tug, he secured his robes closer against his body as he would take off, slipper-footed through the keep to his own quarters. Fumbling like a fool with his entry card, he finally entered his quarters and let the door to shut behind him. His room was lit with nothing more than moonlight that streamed through a window whose drapes were drawn to the side. Charles would approach the window and gaze out of the glass, across the snowy plains that the Keep overlooked.
He made no move to turn the lights on. Instead, he turned to his fire place and approached it, kneeling in front of it and placing a few logs into it's heart. Some accelerant would also be poured ontop of the logs before a match was taken and with a single strike was lit. Charles would casually flip the match upon the soaked logs and watch the fire spark to life. Standing, content with the fire he had built, he proceeded to his closet and step inside, searching for something to wear. Something comfortable.
The Amarrian Captain moved from his closet back outside into his quarters, approaching his desk, his haven, and sitting in the wooden chair that scraped against the wooden floors a bit. In front of him lie some parchment and his ink well and quill that he had come to know all too well as of late. Writing had become an outlet for him.
Charles would reach for the quill, dipping it ever so gently into the black ink. But he pauses -- something catches him. A flush would rise to his cheeks at the thought of what had just transpired in the bath house. A kiss. The briefest of encounters, the briefest of touches. Sweet. Tender. The flush remained in his face as he smiled softly, bringing the quill to the parchment.
Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold; thou hast doves' eyes; within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from the vast mounts of Ezzara.
Thy teeth are like as perfect as a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them.
Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.
Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
Thou hast ravished my heart; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.
How fair is thy love, how much better is thy love than wine! And the smell of thine ointments than all spices!
Thy lips, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of heaven.
Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth..
Charles would trail off, unable to complete the sentence. But he was perfectly content with what he had written. He would then proceed to bed.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
A Letter to Wentworth
Captain Charles Raine would pace mysteriously in his office that was apart of his quarters in Mercy's Keep. They had put him up in the most luxurious of suites; at least he thought so. It was more than generous to provide a newcomer with such accomodations. Finally, the restless Naval officer would stop pacing in front of his desk, where he would eye an old stack of blank papers and a quill. A sigh, and he would seat himself.
He would take a match and light a nearby oil lit lamp, illuminating the desk's surface in front of him for a better view. Taking a piece of paper and placing it neatly in front of him, he would reach for the quill and dip it's pointed tip into an ink well, dousing it in the black liquid. With a few strokes of his hand, he would begin composition.
Dear Frederick -
My heart is still filled with the grief at your absence, but knowing that you are at peace with God gives me the strength to continue.
Much have I been busying myself as of late with our war for the Empire. You should see my corpse collection. It's nothing to rival that of our youths, but it is still impressive to say the very least. I think it would please you at the extent of which I have been preserving them.
My corpse collection has grown thanks to the Knighthood and perhaps more importantly, Eran Mintor. I never would have thought I would call the Minmatar anything besides a wife stealing scoundrel, but his fleets have proven of much worth to fly in. He is a fearless commander and leader, setting an example for all who strive to serve.
I pity him, however, as I pitied myself over the loss of Crown Shalee Lianne. I originally thought him to be nothing more than a Minmatar scoundrel, a wife stealing back stabber. He has proven me quite wrong. Eran is one of the most dedicated pilots and leaders that I've ever had the pleasure to serve under. His direction is as clear as the night sky and his knowledge is vast like an ocean. Eran has led the Knighthood, and the militia, to many a glorious victory.
I've also come upon the pleasure of making new friends in the Knighthood. Karmilla Strife, a fellow pilot, has been much comfort and the most delightful of company to me. As well as another woman. A slave to Esna Pitoojee. Her name is Rin. Both have been more than kind to me during my stay so far with the Knighthood.
I find it peculiar, the relationship that Esna and Rin share. It is by no means your typical master-slave relationship. No, there is something more there. There is a mutual respect. Esna actually cares for the well being and values his slaves. Their bond is more of a friendship than anything, it seems like from what I've observed.
Rin has suggested that I speak with Esna privately as to what to do with all the slaves we've acquired throughout our adventures. Yes, I've still kept every single one. And I will find a way for them to live a life free from bondage. You probably roll over in your grave laughing at my naive notions, but it is what God has called me to do.
As for now, brother, I must rest. I grow eary in the wee hours of the morning. I shall write to you again soon.
Charles would sign the letter formally before folding it up neatly into a perfect square. He would pause for a moment, looking down at the letter. Suddenly, the sound of wood scraping against wood would be heard as his chair scooted back in its place and the Amarrian pilot rose to his feet, deep sigh escaping his drying lips. Picking up the piece of paper, he would hold it over the candle light, watching it light on fire. With his other hand, he would move to open a nearby window, watching as the ashes went scattering outside of the keep.
He would take a match and light a nearby oil lit lamp, illuminating the desk's surface in front of him for a better view. Taking a piece of paper and placing it neatly in front of him, he would reach for the quill and dip it's pointed tip into an ink well, dousing it in the black liquid. With a few strokes of his hand, he would begin composition.
Dear Frederick -
My heart is still filled with the grief at your absence, but knowing that you are at peace with God gives me the strength to continue.
Much have I been busying myself as of late with our war for the Empire. You should see my corpse collection. It's nothing to rival that of our youths, but it is still impressive to say the very least. I think it would please you at the extent of which I have been preserving them.
My corpse collection has grown thanks to the Knighthood and perhaps more importantly, Eran Mintor. I never would have thought I would call the Minmatar anything besides a wife stealing scoundrel, but his fleets have proven of much worth to fly in. He is a fearless commander and leader, setting an example for all who strive to serve.
I pity him, however, as I pitied myself over the loss of Crown Shalee Lianne. I originally thought him to be nothing more than a Minmatar scoundrel, a wife stealing back stabber. He has proven me quite wrong. Eran is one of the most dedicated pilots and leaders that I've ever had the pleasure to serve under. His direction is as clear as the night sky and his knowledge is vast like an ocean. Eran has led the Knighthood, and the militia, to many a glorious victory.
I've also come upon the pleasure of making new friends in the Knighthood. Karmilla Strife, a fellow pilot, has been much comfort and the most delightful of company to me. As well as another woman. A slave to Esna Pitoojee. Her name is Rin. Both have been more than kind to me during my stay so far with the Knighthood.
I find it peculiar, the relationship that Esna and Rin share. It is by no means your typical master-slave relationship. No, there is something more there. There is a mutual respect. Esna actually cares for the well being and values his slaves. Their bond is more of a friendship than anything, it seems like from what I've observed.
Rin has suggested that I speak with Esna privately as to what to do with all the slaves we've acquired throughout our adventures. Yes, I've still kept every single one. And I will find a way for them to live a life free from bondage. You probably roll over in your grave laughing at my naive notions, but it is what God has called me to do.
As for now, brother, I must rest. I grow eary in the wee hours of the morning. I shall write to you again soon.
Charles would sign the letter formally before folding it up neatly into a perfect square. He would pause for a moment, looking down at the letter. Suddenly, the sound of wood scraping against wood would be heard as his chair scooted back in its place and the Amarrian pilot rose to his feet, deep sigh escaping his drying lips. Picking up the piece of paper, he would hold it over the candle light, watching it light on fire. With his other hand, he would move to open a nearby window, watching as the ashes went scattering outside of the keep.
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