The deep, gravelly voice continues to speak, "I've grown quite bored of these games with simple civilians. I could use some real entertainment for a change. To the northeast, you'll find an island called Reinar. On it's southern coast, there is a cove. The people of the island are too afraid to enter it. They say it's cursed, and that a great demon lives inside. That would be me. If you come to the cove and attempt to rescue the captives I took with me on this little expedition, I will not interfere. However, my minions will not be so... courteous."
The merchant looks furious. "If you hurt Fredrick, I swear..."
"Don't worry, dear boy. Phillip, was it? Ah, yes, Phillip Fitzgerot. Your brother tells me you have powerful friends. Fredrick will not be harmed... At first. I won't kill him, but the longer you take, the more he suffers... The more they
all suffer. Make your choice. I'll be waiting with baited breath."
With that, the ogre immediately falls lifeless again, as Phillip angrily kicks it in the head.
At this point, Jerold wanders upon the scene, looking around before hanging his head in mourning. You realize that all the fighting distracted you from the surrounding carnage. The bodies of dozens of sailors and ghouls alike litter the docks, as blood mixes with black ichor and flows into the water. in the distance, the bow of a small sloop slowly sinks to the bottom of the quay, burning timbers cracking apart and sizzling as they hit the water.
Jerold looks forlornly again at the mess, and finally speaks up. "'Tis never good t' see so much blood spilled. They were good men 'n women. Most of 'em were regular customers o' mine..."
"Someone cut off the ogre's arms and legs. It'll still come to life but..."
"Bet if we burned it it'd stay down for good. Anyone know where the nearest crematorium is?"
"I'll get some people t'gether fer a funeral pyre. Let anyone who knew 'em pay their respects. We'll burn th' dead and th' rotters. It's better that way.