Oliver had stripped the wool blanket off his feather bed and clutched it tightly around him as he stepped out onto the balcony of his three story home. The sight of Tarwell stretching out along the coast gave him that same cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that had come and gone for days now.
He owned this town, and its people owed him everything they had.
The town of Tarwell was started as a community of workers, spending night and day toiling in the art of shipbuilding. A huge warehouse was constructed under the funding and direction of the finest ship-crafter in the five kingdoms. Soon the warehouse was full of tenacious workers, building ship after ship, following the plans of this brilliant ship-crafter. Money came, jobs were plentiful, and a town was formed. The name of the man responsible for all this, the man who could make ships like no other, the man who now clutched his blanket tightly over his old frame, was Lord Oliver Wainwright.
He had served his Kingdom for decades. His ships were used by the wealthiest of merchants, and the highest ranking of Naval Captains. He had made a fortune, built a town, and left his name in the history books.
He thought about how little it took to loose the respect of these people. With the building of one ship, he had turned his kingdom against him. His job was to build ships. It was his life's calling, and what he loved to do. He didn't care who payed him to build the ships. It wasn't his job to decide who could, and who couldn't have his masterpieces. He simply built them.
It was no secret that the Ivors care little for the Alk'Harans, so perhaps he should have seen it coming when the Northern Queen herself commissioned him to build her a luxury yacht. Maybe he felt like it was his fate. That is why he didn't tell his workers the specifics. That is why he worked in private, month after month. But he had to admit, it was one of the finest ships he had ever constructed.
When word got out that this ship was made for the Sand Queen, the people of Lionne felt betrayed. They hated Lord Wainwright, and called him a traitor to the kingdom. And now when he needed them the most, they kept their backs turned. The letters he sent to Inlakes were no doubt torn to pieces, and his messengers to Luccinilli came back stripped of belongings and beaten. No..He needed help and he would have to look not to the people of Lionne, but to those without allegiance.....
He closed the balcony door and threw his blanket back onto his cold bed. Looking at his reflection in the mirror he noted that the welts had increased in number, and his complexion was getting darker. Fate it seemed, took little to tempt before it would spill out all it had on you.
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