“And that,” Seth finished with a sigh, “is how I wound up in Oim’s dungeon, chained to a wall, without my love, alone…except for you, of course.” His erstwhile companion and hearer of the long, sordid tale did as he had thus far done and nodded from the shadows. Seth squinted to make out the details of the smallish figure suspended on the far wall of the dimly lit dungeon.

The figure said nothing. A rat scurried along the wall between them. And Seth was left with the realization that he was faced with the challenge at the end of the story. Namely, what would his audience make of the story? Was the audience even paying attention?

Fortunately, Seth was not a storyteller by trade and thus did not worry about such things, asking instead the polite question, “So, how did you wind up in such humble accommodations?” There was a pause. A cough. Something sort of like a burp.

Then a slightly familiar voice came from the shadow, “L-l-let’s just s-say Oim d-d-doesn’t like a j-j-job half d-done.”