MacColl looked in the beer stein as if it could give him answers.

“What. Happened?” persisted Milo, the bar fly sitting next to MacColl. He’d promised to tell the tale of his latest adventure if it would mean that Milo would leave and MacColl could get back to his wooing of Brunhilde, the buxom tavern wench.

“I swear, if I could remember, I’d spin you such a tale… I mean, I remember walking into the Tower of War. I was joining my stalwart comrades who had preceded me by the barest of hours. Even walking through the first door is a challenge!”

“Duh, you just walk on the side and slip down the second stairwell,” muttered Milo.

“Anyway, I stepped where I’d stepped a hundred times before but in a whisket, I was…”

“A what?”

“A whisket.”

Milo began to look around for an escape route.

“As I was saying, I was transported body and soul to the very depths of that foul dungeon and back on to the trail of Il Generale! The most feared plotter to threaten our fair city. My comrades and I pushed forward past the giant statue in the pit and encountered a dark chamber with… with, um…”

MacColl looked up into the air as if the smoke-stained plaster had the answer. He did not notice the Milo was gone.

“Ogres. Yep, must have been ogres for sure. We fought them and I unleashed the great power of my lightning to destroy a dozen at least. I’m sure there was a goodly amount of treasure… I think there was a statue hidden behind a statue that came to life but died soon thereafter… yes, a statue to Boccob… or holding a book of Boccob… we were trying to get down deeper, heading down a hidden stairwell.”

MacColl took a deep drink of his mug and turned to Milo. Seeing the bar stool empty he turned back to Brunhilde only to find her gone and replaced by Gunther, the one-eyed eunuch. MacColl frowned.

“Eh, I don’t remember what happened after that anyway. Beer me, my good man!”