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Chronicles of War II: A Desert Ocean
And a King to Sit His Throne
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"You would rather risk your life to feed them than let them eat from the garbage? Again, the man rears its head within the boy." Epsilon sighed, and indicated the remainder of the pub's patrons with a curt sweep of his hand. “Who can say how many of these other vagabonds might have grown straight and true, but for hunger and lack of a home? Who can say what might have become of you and your little family, had the black hearted Dellas had his way? Certainly nothing good. Yet his plans have been foiled. You have been saved as a consequence."

Despite his apparent confusion, Vernin stated, "I have heard the name Dellas. Has something happened to him?"

"Something good. Never mind that business for now. Let us, instead, discuss the disposition of your smithery and what all I would have you finish for me."

"I am listening to your words, sire."

"First, we must address your need of security. We cannot have thieves burglarizing your shop every time your back is turned, nor can we allow you to suffer threat from the thugs that seem to love this place. Your smithery should be housed in a secure compound, one with high walls, sound defenses, an independent water supply, and barracks for a garrison. Can you name such a place?"

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