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It is night. The Southern Desert of Ro is empty for miles. There are only dunes.
Ogbert's breath is labored. He comes over the top of a dune and tumbles down, barely regaining his footing. Three men chase him.
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The troll runs and runs. But he is tired. His lips are cracked and bleeding. The men behind him will not stop pursuit. Ogbert knows this. Maybe if he can get to the swamp, he will lose them...
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But, Ogbert gets to the grasslands and trips on a shrub. He howls in pain. “OGBERT'S ANKLE GIT SPRAINED,” he says.
The men close in.
Ogbert stands up and draws his sword. He cannot run any longer.
A man sprints across the distant dunes, directly towards Ogbert and his pursuers.
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He draws his Trueshot Longbow and rapidly lets fly three arrows. Each arrow finds its mark in the back of the Dervish Cutthroats.
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“Ogbert is saved!” the troll says happily. He gingerly holds his sprained ankle.
The human draws close, not even glancing at the corpses of his victims. “You are one ugly troll,” he says. His voice is gruff and raw.
“You wait till Ogbert take off glasses.” Ogbert says. “Then you see, Ogbert very handsome.”
“I don't care. How much are you worth?”
Ogbert pauses. He looks at the dead bodies around him, then back to the ranger. He pouts for a moment, staring at his injured ankle. “Two thousand.”
Oldjim smiles. “You're coming with me.”
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The pair travels all night, entering the hellish swamps of Innothule. Oldjim leads Ogbert through the swamp by a leather strap attached to a collar around the troll's neck.
“You a mean man,” Ogbert says over and over.
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