Dente's petty and grumpy mood had only been quelled by his dosing off, only to be awoken by the fumes of Florthanac. He remembers this place. Not very fondly, but still, he remembers. The circumstances of his last visit were quite similar. Physical form cut to ribbons by a trigger-happy dwarf; forced to travel as a ghostly figure for some time; same strange fumes; all the signs were there. Now, depending on whether the tower still emanated that same sort of darkness through which he could manifest a temporary physical form, Dente's mood would improve. This ultimately did not matter, however. He still is stuck in this bottle.