The flight between Baldur’s Gate and Caer Konig took almost a whole day, but it was still better than going by train.

Jeremy looked out of the porthole. Woods and hills rolled fast below his eyes one moment, just to be hidden by the clouds the next.  He sighed. The panorama had come to bore him many years before, always the same trees, the same fields, the same mountains. The flight was going perfectly, the same as every other time. The currents were steady, and not a storm in sight. They just kept moving forward, while the Sword coast lazily stretched itself, six thousand feet below them.

Sometimes he wished for something to happen, something crazy, something that would break the usual routine, make a mess for everybody, and he’d have a good laugh. But it never happened. Things always worked out.

Stupid thoughts, childish ideas. They were becoming less and less common, as the years passed. There were too many people and too much money involved for things to get messy. He just couldn’t afford it.

“We should pass over the Mirar river soon.” Said somebody. Jeremy looked up. A drow was standing next to him.  Strong jaw, for an elf. A royal profile. He was wearing a three-piece suit, white jacket and black waistcoat.

Black and white, on a drow. Quite gauche, Jeremy couldn’t avoid thinking. You didn’t see many drow dressed like that, those days. It had been a popular style back in the thirties, with the nationalists. Thankfully it had nearly disappeared.

Jeremy had prayed for something that would break the monotony, maybe an elf with horrible fashion taste could entertain his thoughts for a while. A fleeting distraction was still better than listening to the mind-numbing hum of the engines for the rest of the journey. When he was young he would speak with the pilots, sometimes, but these days he had an image to protect.

“Is that the High Forest?”

The drow was pointing towards the horizon, where a canopy of green extended east in a long, narrow patch, alongside the edge of the Spine of the World.

“No, that’s much more south, we passed it a while ago. That’s Lurkwood, I believe.”

“I see, I see, I missed it then, a shame.” He replied.

The drow nodded, apparently very interested. He kept looking outside of the window. “ And Luskan? We can’t see Luskan, from this side, I believe? No, we’d have to move on the other side. Right?”

Jeremy didn’t reply, at first. He avoided looking up, but the drow wasn’t speaking anymore, and he could feel he wanted the conversation to keep going.  He turned around, the deck was empty. The tabled hadn’t been prepared, nobody sat on the benches. Nobody else was looking outside the portholes. Almost everybody had disembarked at Neverwinter, as usual. Very few people had any reason to go all the way up to Tentowns, at least in an airship.

The type of person that had a reason to go to that frozen wasteland forsaken by the gods rarely mingled with the type of person able to afford an airship ticket. Even a fairly small one like the one he was using.

Eventually, realizing the drow was his only company, he turned back towards the porthole and replied.

“Indeed, Luskan is on the other side, gracing us with the sight of its chimneys and blackened rooftops, but I don’t see why we would want to look at it.”

“Why not? It’s a fairly important city, I reckon.” Replied the drow. His tone was monotone and calm, the tone of a man asking about the weather, Jeremy couldn’t tell if he wasn’t honestly asking or he was making some sort of a joke. The drow had no accent at all.

“First time around here?” Asked Jeremy.

“Something like that. I’ve read much about this land but I’ve never been personally.”

“Tourist?”

“No, no, I’m here for work. But I wouldn’t mind coming here on my own time, someday. See the place a bit.” Answered the drow.

“Well, if you don’t know” explained Jeremy “Luskan is hardly a place worth seeing. It’s all drab factories and harbours crawling with rusted ships, everything vomits black smoke in the sky and sweaty workers unto the streets. The whole place is coated in grime and blackness. And the locals aren’t much better. Hardly a place for tourists.”

The drow didn’t react. “That bad?” He simply asked. He was keeping his arms crossed behind his back, and his eyes were glued to the porthole.

“Even worse. For the life of me, I wouldn’t shed a tear if the whole city was burned down, but there is too much money going through it for it to ever happen.”

“You seem to have very strong opinions, on the town. Have you been there?” Asked the drow, and he finally turned towards Jeremy.

“Some of that money happens to be mine. I have to check on my associates, oversee my proprieties and so on. I’d like to delegate it, but you know how it is these days. You can’t trust anybody but yourself.”

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The drow scratched his chin. “It sure is a dire situation. I wonder how it came to be.”

Jeremy waved his hand, dismissively “Industry. That’s just how it is. We have to put our factories somewhere, after all.”

“Industry, indeed.” Replied the drow with a smile. His tone had changed, for the first time. He seemed amused. Jeremy found it unsettling.  The drow placed his hand against the porthole.

“The needs of the industry, or to be more precise, of Neverwinter. Waterdeep. Baldur. The whole Coast needs Luskan to drown in blackened fogs, so they can take vacations to Ruathym in white-sailed boats, or roll down the Neverwinter propsekts in golden carriages. It is simply necessary.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. He wanted something to break the monotony of the trip, but discussing politics wasn’t his idea of fun.  Jeremy loosened his tie. He was starting to feel warm, for some reason.

“Are you a communist perchance, sir?”

“Me? Oh, no, not at all. I’m too old to be an idealist, and besides, I have a job.

Jeremy couldn’t avoid a chuckle. The drow kept talking. 

“I agree with you, in fact.  We all have a role to play, in this big machine we call the world, and the people of Luskan are playing theirs. They were just dealt a bad hand, but so it goes. Somebody’s always going down, so others can rise to the top.”

Jeremy scoffed. “I don’t like that kind of metaphor. Like is no game of chances.” 

Hard work, choices and consequences. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’ve known the people down there, in Luskan. Wallowing in their misery, too busy bringing each other down to build something.”

“So they just gotta work harder, you say?”

“I’m not saying anything, just stating an observation. That has been my experience with Luskan. There is a reason if we don’t stop there.”

“And what about Tentowns? You’re going there, correct? Isn’t it also poor and debased?”

“Debased?” Jeremy raised an eyebrow, as he looked up towards the drow. He was still smiling. “Well, it’s not a nice place, no. But it’s different. Less crime, more… sadness and drunks, I suppose. I don’t need my guards to watch my back every minute like in Luskan. Let me ask, what are you going to such a ‘debased’ place for, sir?”

“Oh, I’m not really going there. I plan to leave right away. It’s not the destination that matters, some say, but the journey.”

Jeremy replied with a grumble.  Elven nonsense. His distraction was proving himself to be of very little entertainment.

“But you must concede.” Continued the drown “Surely the people in Ten Towns have been dealt a bad hand. No place to grow any food, barely any animal, cold and damp all year, and the resources they have are mined and shipped to the south. They barely get to see the crumbs of what comes out of their own land. They may work hard, but what for? Their situation seems, some would say, unfair.”

“Mmh, perhaps. It’s not a place I would like to be born into. A bad hand, I suppose you could say that. But still, still, some make it out, and, mmh, anyway…” Jeremy was distracted. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind. 

“A real bad hand, unlike you, right? Jeremy Goldenboot, one of the wealthiest gnomes in the Sword Coast, perhaps the world. An oil empire, the backbone of a shipping company that touches all the major ports, built on the shoulders of his father and his father’s father, generations of hard-workers, shrewd merchants.”

The drow looked down and smiled, showing his teeth. “Isn’t that so? That’s a hand some would kill to have. We’re all cogs, but some cogs more grease than others.”

Jeremy tried to reply but didn’t know what to say. He remained there for a few seconds, with his mouth open.

In the end, he just said “So you know me. Not surprising, but you should have said so sooner, I still don’t… mmh…” He turned back again, and just like before, nobody was around. Not even his guards.

He took a step back, looking around, confused. He felt a knot in his stomach grow, as the confusion turned to fear, a vague, uncomfortable fear. It wasn't the first time in his life he was in danger, but something felt different. He felt the cold glass of the porthole against his back.

The drow was still looking out, towards the horizon, smiling.  Jeremy felt himself starting to sweat.

“What’s going on?”

The drow turned towards him. His eyes were purple. Jeremy, for some reason, thought of his father. Of when he’d get angry, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He felt powerless, in a way he hadn’t felt in many, many years.

“Who are you? What’s going on? Listen, if this is a kidnapping, you’re not the first to try and you won’t be the last. Just tell me how much you-” The drow cut him off.

“Oh, not at all, Mister Goldenboot.” The drow pulled a wand out from under his jacket and pointed it at Jeremy. A white thing, narrow and full of bumps, maybe twelve inches long. It looked like a gnarled bone. Jeremy couldn’t tell what it would cast exactly, but he knew it was nothing pleasant. “Why don’t you try to guess again, Mister Goldenboot?  You’re a clever man, I’m sure with some elbow grease you can get yourself out of this mess.”

“What? Are you kidding me? This is not a joke, just tell me- tell me-” Jeremy felt his jaw trembling. He was nervous. He had taken two steps away from the drow, almost without noticing. He was getting angry, even if he didn’t want to. There was nothing he could do other than get along with it. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it would solve itself, just like every other time. But unlike the other times, he couldn’t calm himself. The knot in his stomach was getting heavier, breathing was getting harder and he couldn’t say what he wanted to say.

“Just what’s going on? Is this a, a political thing? I knew it, you’re some damn communist trying to make a scene, cause a fuss.”

“Almost there, Mister Goldenboot. You’re getting close.” The drow wasn’t smiling anymore.

“What is it then?” He was sweating.

“Please step towards the door.” Asked the drow. His tone still hadn’t changed. He could have been asking about towns and forests, and you would have barely noticed any difference.  He grabbed the door handle, and the door swung open, slamming against the gondola, then the roaring wind filled the deck. The air was cold and wet and caused Jeremy’s necktie to flail around against his face.

He felt the wand poke against his back.

“Listen, I…” He tried to speak more, to plead, to beg, but the words died in his throat. It was useless and he knew it. He could feel it.

“Last chance.” He heard the drow yell behind his back. The wind was loud. He looked out and could see only clouds flying away fast underneath. Speckles of green, here and there. Farms and fields. People were too small to be visible from up there.

Jeremy said something, but the wind was loud enough he couldn’t even hear himself. He felt a hand on his shoulder pushing him forward, gently.

Jeremy took a step forward and fell.

The wind dragged him backwards, as the airship abandoned him. He fell through the cloud, it was wet, he felt the clothes stick to his body. It was terribly cold, and he couldn't see anything. He was alone, outside of the world.

One last thought came through his mind, and he smiled, then he laughed, as he felt himself pick up speed.   

“Well, this is gonna be a fine mess for somebody to clean up.”