Mawbella con gái tù trưởng Ogre

Ogres throw you into the yurt, right to the legs of Mawbella. She looks down at you, a former toy—a stinking dead gnoblar—hanging from her belt. Ung, ung, ung. Looky here! Slim thing, eh? How cute! You're new toy my papa bring me? She leans down to get a closer look, you can see her crooked teeth and feel her rancid breath. Dun fret too much. Won't break ya too fast.