Evil Overlord Inc - For Whom The Bridge Trolls

The bridge troll sat hunched beneath a canopy of damp stone, legs dangling over the abyss... reading by the faint light of a bioluminescent fungus that smelled of burnt toast. The parchment in his lap was thick with marginalia, tiny notes in surprisingly neat handwriting, debating the moral implications of heroism as an industry. He underlined a passage. Frowned. Muttered to himself. If evil exists only in narrative opposition to good... then technically, I'm a literary device. He chewed his quill. That can't be healthy. He closed the tome with a sigh that echoed off the dripping walls. The fungus flickered, offended by the draft. Right, he muttered, brushing crumbs of sediment from his tunic. From somewhere down the corridor came the distant clank of armor and the muffled sound of someone dramatically narrating their own footsteps... ...Adventurers... He blinked. Smoothed back a stubborn tuft of moss on his shoulder. Quickly tucked the parchment into a hollow in the rock. Can't let them see you reading again, he whispered. He stood. Stretched. Gave a couple of experimental roars. Then he leaned on his club like a podium, squared his enormous shoulders, and muttered: Okay, Gorrik. You are terror. You are doom. You are a union-approved existential hazard. You can do this. A shadow moved in the mist beyond the bridge. Boots. Torchlight. Righteous overconfidence. He took a deep breath, and grinned the way only a creature paid by the scream can grin. Showtime. A paladin strode into view, armor gleaming like a bad metaphor. Behind him followed the usual party — rogue, wizard, cleric. The troll straightened, lifted his club, and let out a roar that rolled down the chasm. WHO DARES cross my bridge without tribute, or terror? The paladin drew his sword, something pretending to be sunlight flashing off the blade. Avast, evil creature! Step aside, that we may pass uncorrupted! The troll blinked. Slowly. ...Evil? Yes, the paladin said, chest puffed. Foul monster of darkness! Servant of wickedness! The troll tilted his head. You ever think maybe that's a bit... reductive? The paladin hesitated. Wait — what? I mean... evil. It's such a catch-all term, the troll said, lowering his club. Covers everything from mass murder to mildly inconvenient bureaucracy. Feels imprecise. The cleric frowned. You're trying to confuse us. I'm trying to be accurate, said the troll. There's a difference. The rogue whispered, Should we... hit him? Or...? Hold, said the paladin, eyes narrowing. This is some kind of trick. No trick, said the troll. Just a question of moral taxonomy. You call me evil. But from my perspective? You're the aggressors. You've invaded my jurisdiction... armed to the teeth. That's absurd, the cleric said. We fight for righteousness. The troll nodded, thoughtfully. Ah. The self-assigned monopoly on virtue. Classic move. The paladin pointed his sword. You serve the Dreadlord Malgore! Contractually, the troll admitted. Dental's decent. Hours are flexible. The wizard cleared his throat. So you're saying... good and evil are relative? The troll paused. Well — not just relative. More like... interdependent polarities, generated by narrative expectation— The paladin's grip tightened. What are you talking about? I'm talking about how you can't be good heroes... without someone like me, said the troll, voice quickening with the thrill of his own argument. I'm part of your moral scaffolding! Without me, you have no righteousness to define yourselves against! The cleric took a nervous step back. He's... arguing theology. Metanarrative ethics, actually, said the troll. Though I suppose, at this point... it's mostly coping. He leaned on his club, gazing into the mist. If good requires evil to justify itself... then neither can claim purity. Which means... He trailed off. His eyes widened. ...Which means I'm not wicked. I'm... necessary. The party stood frozen — uncertain whether to swing, or applaud. Then the troll frowned, deeper. But if I'm necessary... then your virtue depends on my continued existence. Which makes you complicit in sustaining evil. Which makes me— He stopped. Stared into the middle distance. Oh no. The paladin whispered, Is he... all right? The troll sat down heavily on the edge of the bridge, club across his knees. I just disproved myself. The rogue glanced at the others. So... can we cross? Or...? Yeah, the troll murmured, staring into the fog. Go ahead. I need to... think about everything. They hurried past, boots clattering across the planks. The troll didn't move. His expression was somewhere between enlightenment... and existential nausea. Maybe... he muttered. I'm the toll.