No one could blame them for thinking that way. The Flame Chariot had originally been nothing more than a means of transportation. As for any other functions—sorry, it really had none. The only reason Solam was so excited was because the thing looked cool.
Just imagine it: sitting atop it, reins in hand, riding through the skies amid roaring flames, streaking across the heavens like an ancient sun god. How majestic would that be? Unfortunately, people on the Faerun Continent were more concerned with practicality these days and paid little attention to appearances. They simply could not understand Solam's outrageously flamboyant heart.
Seeing this bunch of uncultured potatoes, Solam could not be bothered to explain. He had more important things to do.
Such as repairing this chariot.
Yes, the chariot was broken. Alustriel had been dead for many years already. The fact that this carriage had survived until now was remarkable enough; it was perfectly understandable for it to have a few problems.
But once the others learned about this, they looked down on the chariot even more. They all thought Solam had a hole in his head. Of all the things he could have asked for, he had chosen a broken chariot. Even Trism, who had always followed Solam's lead, kept shaking his head, convinced that his boss had gone mad.
Still, fairness demanded a word on Solam's behalf: that carriage was absolutely not as worthless as they imagined.
Of course, it was not very practical. That was a fact, and there was no defending it. But in terms of value, it had long surpassed its actual capabilities. This chariot was a relic of Alustriel, the Lady of Hope!
In other words, it was an antique! Court porcelain from Elizabeth's era had once been nothing more than ordinary royal