On a calm and tranquil evening, Scurvy and I enjoyed our fourth jug of his newly created Obsidian Elemental Guano Stout with Flesh Flayer Bitters. It is indeed an acquired taste, but once you get through the first couple of glasses wherein the lines and everything else begins to blur, it has a certain appeal.

Out of nowhere, Scurvy began to speak to me of his time as an aeronaut. He explained that during his early days, before his passion for the grog consumed his every waking moment, he had taken to the skies and travelled monumental distances in the near silent flight of the hot air balloon. He spoke of soaring with the birds, of looking down at the towns with homes barely viewable as dots. He would tickle the dangerous volcanic vapors near Owl’s Head, sweep outward over the sea, then catch a rush of air and whisk back over the shore.

He noted his grand delight in hovering over an adversaries house while he rained down the dregs of the makeshift privy. It was a grand time to sabotage a farmer, sully a bovine, or for a real chuckle, obliterate a stableboy.

As he talked, his eyes were glassy with reminiscence and the fifth jug of stout. His adventures sounded wonderful and when I questioned why he had given it up, he flailed wildly and said he never did such a thing and that if I was calling him a quitter, he was going to take umbrage.

He then said if I had the moxie, he would take me to the woodshed, put me in the balloon and kick me into the heavens. At least, that is what I believe he uttered at me.

It sounded like a wonderful amusement and with a dash of encouragement, the promise of another decanter of Obsidian Guano and I wouldn’t hold him accountable for any mishaps that might transpire, we took to the workshop, gathered materials, worked through the night and assembled the balloon.

Scurvy and I have never fabricated a better craft. It’s a truly sturdy conglomeration of things we found about town. And when the sun comes up, I shall soar amidst the heavens, glide over the treetops and lose myself in the calm rhythm of the wind. I also have a brand new privy bucket in case opportunity strikes.

I’m coming for you Nob…


What a fine craft we’ve made Scurvy! And it’s awe inspiring hover right next to that sheer cliff!


It works! Who knew!?!
Let the adventure begin!

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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