Just have to share this part with you, what I call 'the bath scene' :-)
'How to build a castle in seven easy steps'
Had the little wooden duck been strategically placed? Dilch hoped so.
"What news from the messegners, Dilch? Do they have an answer?"
Wondbarn scrubbed with his favourite sponge. He had a collection of strangely shaped natural sponges taken from the shore, placed along the side of his bath.
The bull penis shaped sponge was already beginning to disturb Dilch.
"Yes? La la la!"
"Sire, there is an answer of sorts."
"Yes? Well, come out with it, Dilch. What did they say?"
"Probably something like 'Ahhh!', sire. Or maybe 'Urgh!'. Depends on the pain, I guess."
Wondbarn stopped scrubbing.
"You could've broken it to me a bit softer."
"Sorry, sire. I went to the camp, I saw what I saw. There is no reply, and no more messengers."
"A shame, a dying shame."
"There were a few more miles left in her, too."
"As the teeth go, sire, yes."
"No, sire, but I saw the other. Completely dead, stone dead. Good for afters, as the Perviams would say."
Wondbarn threw his sponge into the bath, splashing Dilch and displacing a little too much water.
"Damn those Perviams! They think they can just ignore my like that, eat my messengers and force me to go down to the local market and pick out another play-thing! I've had it with them!"
"Sire, you could always go to war with them."
Wondbarn stood up, showing much too much of whatever he shouldn't to Dilch.
"Are you crazy, Dilch? Yes, of course my troops are superior to theirs, but the sheer waste of...of...of..."
"No, wealth. It would take everything I have to fight them."
Wondbarn's head drooped.
Straponte ran in with a large smile, which was wiped off the instant he saw Wondbarn standing in the bath.
"No, Straponte, you're not disturbing us. What is it? My new toys?"
Straponte was frozen in position.
"My war machines. Are they ready?"
"Ready?" Dilch gave him a kick. "Yes! Yes, sire, they're ready...well, yes, ready...ish."
"Ready-ish? What the hell does that mean?"
Straponte turned his head to continue the conversation.
"Oh, don't mind my 'perfectionism', sire. Ready, yes, they are, almost certainly."
Wondbarn's shout sent Dilch back into the wall.
"I'm right here, sire, no need to shout."
"Just trying out my battle cry."
"Your battle cry is my name, sire?"
"It is when I'm in trouble."
"Thank you, sire." Dilch looked over at Straponte, who was showing signs of weariness and worry. "You still owe, me, git."
"Pass me my towel, Dilch."
"To arms, my dear fellows, to arms!"
"Shouldn't you dry your back first, sire?"
"Give me that towel!"