THOUGH the newt-eating contest improved my flagging fortunes considerably, my winnings were a massive windfall for all the apothecaries, leeches and quacks of Urtuun. For many days afterwards I lay abed at the Crazed Camelherder, head spinning like a child's top and the rest of me like an enraged volcano.

In they came, orcish bloodletters, eastern shamans, southron hakims and chanting priests from every scabby temple of the town. They blew foul incense over me, rubbed putrid salves onto my tender protuberance and drew more blood from me than I knew I had. The only result of all this was the boosting of the local medical economy and a steady decrease in my pile of gold pieces.

Finally I snapped. As one smug and well-fed monk dripped boiling wax upon my back and exhorted me to quaff his philtre of ground rat-bone and bat droppings, I roared in protest and threw him down the stairs. In his falling he bowled over a wizened little easterner on his way up. The small one picked himself up and, bowing nervously - why I do not know - came towards me.

"Do not," I bellowed, "do not offer me some filthy potion or dragon's blood or spirit djinn to soothe me. "

"O V-Vast One and Honourable Lord" he bowed some more - "I bring you a simple, efficacious cure for all your ills. Merely place this powder in water and your pains will vanish within minutes. Should it fail it will cost you nought." This was at least reasonable and I took the bottle he proffered. I poured the powder into a cup, added water and swallowed the frothing liquid. Then we waited. Ithukk be blessed, it worked.

Minutes later I was calling for wine and flesh. I rewarded the shrunken fellow well and asked him the name of his potion. "An eastern secret, lord, refined over millennia. We call it Ulkaz-Ulzar and it never fails."

Resuming my place in the taproom that night I encountered Midupa Burt of Christchurch who could not end his NeverEnding Story. Though he possessed a number of treasures, including a knobbly stick, he could not break through the tangle of thorn bushes beyond which he is sure a crystal lies.

Up piped All-Consuming Lee of Tamworth: "Take your branch then and light it at a campfire. With It you can burn the bushes. Go down within the mountain and use a stone to break open the box you'll find there. Here be the crystal." Lee will offer the full solution at 50 silver pence the part to those who write to him.

David the Walsh Wizard of Birmingham had set off on a pilgrimage to the Inferno. Though he held a bottle and a staff, the Great Portal of Hell denied him entry and he could not find his guide Virgil.

I told him he should not try to go directly through the gate - the river to the east can be crossed much simpler and will bring him to Judgement Castle, where he must stand before dread Minos. Wait there and Virgil should soon appear.

The Lady Emily Calver of Shrewsbury, dressed in jungle gear, came over to talk of her travels on Mordon's Quest. She had met an apeman, Tarzan by name, near the ruins of an ancient city. He would not let her pass until she had told him who was King of the Jungle. No lion is the answer to this, but a frog! Trace the shape of your path round the city and you will see its outline appear. The frog, if sacrificed, will open a path through the waterfall.

Boris the Unknown, pale from many years immured below ground, sadly confessed that he had searched long and hard for the Fantasia Diamond. Alas, though he had opened a manhole with his robot, he had then descended into endless caverns with no apparent route out. He knew there should he a key but it eluded him.

If he heads up to the northwest of these caverns, avoiding the three pixies who dwell there, he should find his key beyond a rock door where a friendly green elf dwells. This key will lock the rock door. It will also open a small door far to the southeast. Going up from there will free him from the caverns.

Whilst I bought Jude Davey a flagon of wine by way of greeting, a tough northern warrior, Ingi Traustason of Hafnafjordur, Iceland tapped me on the shoulder and begged news of the Tower of Despair. He had found a door marked Destiny but could not open it.

I told him he could hope to find his destiny if he carried some rods with him. These should be bolted together and inserted into the door. Push them if this does not seem to work.

Wild Carol Whitlam of Hull regaled a group of depressed vacationers with the way to escape the bullfight in Terrormolinos. "To survive," she said, "Make for the centre of the ring and wave your red handkerchief. Run quickly out of the ring and then head south, south, east, north, north and finally east again. The raging bull will then expire in a china shop!"

No such luck had been with Saxon Stuart Stoneham and Jiggered Justin Menhenett, both of East Preston. Neither of them could even find their tickets to board the plane for the cursed resort. Gentlemen - read well the brochure for your holiday, for within it may be found the tickets. Remember to pick them up when they fall to the floor! To the Dunbar of Annan who was still stuck in the attic I said, "Descend the steps - that's all you need."

Christer Andersen of Denmark, arrived weary of failure in the second quest of Arrow of Death. Try as he might, he could not wake the unconscious and helpless Fletcher Arnid, maker of the magic shaft. He should have discovered some straggly weed earlier on his journey. Using this will rouse the craftsman. If he does not have it he will need to backtrack.

Christer also needed aid with Spiderman and Night Quest. In return he offers help with The Hobbit, Invincible Island and the Magic Castle. Correspond with this distant Dane.

Far-eyes Hogg of Fife and his two companions, Steve Warlord Slayer and Unbeaten Jeff had been to Marsport, spending weeks within its labyrinth. Far-eyes passed on some tips. "To get the power gun, first find a gun permit. Place this into the 'key' hatch next to the locker with the gun. The hatch will remain open and you can get the gun. If you wish to enter the Danger Room with a dust bomb, seek out charcoal and gauze. Place these in a 'factor' hatch to create a gasmask. Take the mask, open the door, enter and wait for the bomb to explode. The mask can be put into a locker for further use if you need it."

Warlord Slaver and Unbeaten Jeff claim to have returned safe with the plans and will offer help if you write, courier prepaid, to them at Nottingham. They gave these cryptic suggestions. "Tea plus insect plus point equals antidote. Topi plus helmet is artifact, which with power gun becomes hyper gun. Plus a warlord means death."

With this in my cars I went to bed, peaceful at last. I shall try and buy the secret of this powder if I can and make a pretty sum selling it at the Ogre to the hangover cases! Til next moon, friends, farewell.

Gordo Greatbelly, Landlord

If you have a tale to tell, or are in need of a helping hand, write to the Landlord of the Dancing Ogre c/o Sinclair User, London.

Sinclair User
March 1986