La tua povertà mi fa incazzare
Adventure account from the perspective of the young mercenary Elvino.
“Well this can’t be good”, Elvino thought to himself, they had dumped off the two ponies alongside everything else expendable, only to climb in that - only gods & dwarves know, why this thing is even flying - balloon again. While restocking on rations, Oberon had as it turned out mistakenly picked up the wrong drunk Halfling Karl, and by doing so, he was reunited with an old friend of his, who himself wasn’t actually too ecstatic about being halflingnapped after sobering up a bit.
Anyway, it was a cold, but comfortable means of transport, certainly less exhausting than traveling by foot or cart. So much the young Tilean mercenary, Harad the Dwarf, Oberon the Elf, and their short and involuntary new companion Karl had figured out: One could hardly steer this thing, let alone safely land it, which still, appeared pretty much guaranteed once they ran out of things to burn.
The only question was, where the winds would carry them, and how fast they’d lose altitude at that point. After a bit of light sleep in the tight basket, they reached the outskirts of Altdorf, the Empire's capital city. Luckily, they were still high enough, but one could see from afar, guards in shining armour, pointing at the unidentified flying object. Losing height quickly, they made use of some hard liquour they conveniently had on board, as well as Karl's artistic talents. He spew fire, apparently being an entertainer of sorts, and only thanks to him, they narrowly avoided crashing down too quickly, when suddenly, they found themselves on collision course with some sort of tower. Below them was the Untersteg, bellowed the Dwarf, apparently the worst of Altdorf's districts, still, there wouldn’t be a lot of guards around, they hoped. The Halfling Karl took a leap of faith, while being tied to the balloon's frame on a rope, and fixed them to the tower's roof. Somehow the gods had allowed them to land in one piece.
You can’t even begin to imagine how slaphappy the young Tilean was to have solid ground under his goosebumpy feet again, at least as solid as the ground got in the Untersteg anyway. It all resembled a muddy, stinking pile of excrements much more, than part of the Empire's glorious capital. Before they could leave the towers rooftop, an apparent makeshift city guard appeared, every single one of them shabbily clothed, armed with clubs or no weapons at all. They asked some questions, clearly the "balloon" crew’s entrance hadn't been something they'd see every day, and after some negotiating the uneven party was free to go, better even, they were allowed to make rest in the adjacent "Cellar Theatre". The name deriving from the whole structure having been a theatre a long, long time ago. The only thing that remained of it was the reminder of a stage in the middle of the oversized hall on one of the upper floors, where the bar was located....