Greasemonkeys
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Ringo came upstairs into the common room of the Wildhammer Stronghold inn. There were the usual sounds of the fires crackling in the fireplaces, tankards being filled and thumping back down on tables and the bar after being emptied, but there was also something else: the high-speed chatter of excited gnomes.
“After all these years, I can’t believe it!” Widge said, drumming his feet against a chair’s edge gleefully.
“Well, it makes sense,” Piko said, waving a piece of paper in one hand. “Legal or not, civilian aviators have been flying them for years. Just look at the Explorers Guild!”
