“The entire hall was in ruins and still in the process of being destroyed, as dozens of combatants hurled weapons, deadly, arcane magics, and themselves at on another in a desperate struggle to be the last one standing. Plumes of acrid green smoke rose from the pile of limp bodies you dragged yourself out of, having barely escaped the wrath of some fiendish spell. There it was – across the way, through the battling throng, through the bloodthirsty battle ahead of you, sitting untouched on a miraculously upright table – your pint of mead! And you’d get it back, if you had to kill every last one of the brawling tavern patrons to do it!”