It must have been the ice cream talking, but Smilog had some how dared to call Skitttles a useless cretin. Roggie's war adviser had not taken this criticism well it seems, as the dwarf opened his eyes to find that he was tied to the back of Mount Zoom by a long rope. He was on the floor in a heap staring up at the immense mountain with its great wheels coated in enough tyres to feed the world.
The Barrow Wight's head was sticking out of the ground near by; apparently he had been buried for tearing the ceiling down 'in search of a drink'. Tollin was nowhere to be seen. The Mountain appeared to be re-fuelling, for there was a large pipe sticking out from the side and the sound of gushing lava could be heard flowing through it. The Barrow Wight mumbled to himself a little song:
Cold be heart and lots of beer
And cold be sleep after hangover
Never more to wake again
Till headache gone and...
He was stuck and couldn't think of an appropriate word. He shook his head and looked around to see where he was. "I say" he said, "what the devil is going on?"
"I don't know," replied the Dwarf, wriggling out of the surprisingly lose ropes, "we had better get back in the mountain."
"I've got a better idea," said the Wight, pointing to a near by pub, "Lets have another drink!"
"No!" Smilog smacked the Barrow Wight in the face; "you've had enough for a year in the last four hours."
"But I have no stomach!" protested the dead man, "drink goes right through me... literally!" Smilog ignored this and began to climb up the Mountain again. After a while of mumbling, the Barrow Wight followed on. They climbed for some time before coming to a window and slipping through, they lay in the corridor getting their breath back while several Orcs passed by all dressed in shirts and ties and looking very uncomfortable.
To their sheer and lasting amazement, they were outside the ice-cream chamber... thing. "Blast." said the Barrow Wight.