A wizened old troll hobbled up towards us. He poked at the ogre with his cane.

“You big good-for-nothing. I never should’ve hired you. Did you at least find the box?”

I looked at the troll. He was vaguely familiar to me.

The ogre covered his face with his hands and began, incredibly, to cry.

“I sorry, master!” he blubbered. “I mean to do your will, but this halfling talk too much.”

“Halfling, you say?” The troll peered up at me with his beady black eyes. “Half of what, girl? Ogre?” He laughed uproariously at his joke and I fought the urge to break his legs with his cane.

“I’m half elf, you troll. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my beauty sleep.”

As I began walking away, the troll called after me: “You have my box. I’m not leaving without it. You stole it. That’s an offense punishable by death in Rowenia.”

His words were enough to still my steps.

“And if I refuse to give it back?” I asked, not bothering to turn around.

“Then I’m sorry to say you’ll have to meet your punishment much sooner.”