[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Well," said Smilog suddenly feeling more important that he usually did, but this was cur short as a knife flew past his head and stuck into the side of his chair. One of the delegates had thrown it and was now looking at the Dwarf in a strange manner.

"Sorry," said the delegate, "his voice is making me sick."

"As I was saying," continued the dwarf, "... I" he paused and thought for a moment, "I can't remember what I was saying." there was a groan from the other delegates, "Oh, ale!" he cried, "something about ale. Well, its good for the stomach! But alas, there is no good ale in Mordor. Well, with the exception of Roggie's good store. That stuff knocks your socks off!" he licked his lips and remembered the taste.

The Barrow Wight had now pulled himself together and then produced the remaining bottle of Roggie's ale that he had not drunk yet. They passed it around and some had a taste. It defiantly was good stuff. No wonder Roggie locked himself in his chamber for days on end! "Jolly fine stuff I say, what - what?" the Wight announced as he stood on a chair, "problem is, there was only a small amount of the stuff in the old blighter's cabinet."

"Wait a moment," said Smilog, thinking aloud, "before the Mountain started moving, I... erm... investigated Roggie's ale cupboard and there were only three bottles there. Yet, later on when everyone was there, the cupboard was full... not for long, but it was. He must have a larger store somewhere."

The now empty bottle smashed on the wall just behind Smilog's head and an almost inebriated delegate stumbled up to him and said, "you'd better find it, or I'll do something horrible about that face and then play some cards with my buddies and then we'll all go to-" he fell asleep.