[Argh]

A huge and mishapen ogre with evil eyes stared over the enormous iron bar, glaring at the patrons. Her name is Ilfred, and she's been serving ale for so many years that many of the folks who booze around here think she came with the place. . .

An elf with ruddy cheeks approached the bar, weaving a bit from an excess of fire-dancing. He grinned and tipped his hat back, and looked at the rim of his glass. Ilfred's stare pierced through his reverie as she said, "So, whatchu want elf-boyo drinkman?"

"Ah, just a leeetle bit more of that. . . that. . ." he paused for a moment, lost in thought. . . "ah, that Chateau Beauxbeux from the Grimwald Forest, ah . . . Year 19823 of the dwarf king Kriegshammer. . ." If it's possible for a race as arrogant as the Elves to be both worried and puzzled at the same time, he certainly seemed so, as he blurted "ah, no. . . wait, that's not it. . . it was. . . ah. . ."

We shall never know what the wine was- but we're sure it was good stuff, for when Ilfred threw the elf into the Drunk Tank(which also does triple duty as a jacuzzi and emergency vampire barrier) he took quite awhile figuring out:

A. Which end was up
B. Why he was suddenly surrounded by mermen
C. That water isn't air

Eventually, however, these questions were happily settled by the judicious application of a sharp trident to his elfly posterior, whereupon our poor(and thus far, unnamed) protagonist . . .

[This message has been edited by Argh (edited 22 May 2001).]