A troll without his bridge is like a potato bug without a potato. Let us explore what happens when such a separation occurs. No, not when a potato bug loses its potato. Who wants to read a TG story about a bug? Now such a tale about a troll, a tale of triumph ... that makes a lot more sense. Doesn’t it? Well ... umm ... yeah ... hey look a pterodactyl.

Gronk
by Arcie Emm

It was a calm night, moonlight being disturbed but rarely by the passage of clouds. And nowhere was the result of this better seen than if one were to stand upon the stone bridge and look down at the reflection shown in creek over which it crossed. Of course there was nobody silly enough to be caught upon that bridge at any time, let alone at night.

The reason for this could barely be seen, floating beside the bridge, his grey skin almost matching the darkened colour of the water. Thus camouflaged he would have been impossible to spot. If not for the long nose sticking out of the water and the platter-like eyes reflecting moonlight he would not have been visible at all. Not that Gronk the Troll was interested in the night, beyond the fact that it did not rain like it had for the last week, which allowed him to pursue serious troll business. He was performing bridge inspection.

Many young naturals, when they are making career choices are often drawn to the exciting part of a troll’s life, in particular killing and eating humans. Yet any troll worth his salt would quickly finish off such a task, scaring everybody except stupid adventurers away. Then life became much simpler, though more important to those with the true soul of a troll, it became time to care for and nurture his bridge.

On this night, Gronk was less than pleased to see crumbling mortar between some of the stones in the middle pillar. He immediately got to work fixing the problem. Diving to the bottom of the creek, he looked along its bed, his eyes still bright from the moonlight, at his rock garden. After careful deliberation, he picked a round stone, barely larger than a hen`s egg, and swam to the surface. With better light, Gronk examined the stone before holding it up to a batwing-like ear, listening to it. Hearing the stone give off a faint murmur, similar to the water passing under his bridge, Gronk decided it had cured long enough. Satisfied, he took a bite out of the stone, as if it was a crab-apple. Chewing carefully, he planned out his work. That planning ended just as he swallowed the last bite of the stone.

Drifting towards the centre pillar, he began to use his thick, yet sharp talons to remove all the cracked and crumbling mortar. And when he thought he was done, he dug away at it some more, knowing that even a bit being loose would mean he soon would have a larger repair job. Finally satisfied, he gave forth a great belch and regurgitated a palm full of the recently swallowed stone, now perfectly mixed with the bile of his stomach, into his trowel like hand. Then slapping the gunk onto the pillar, Gronk used fingers and the rounded, back part of his nails to work the new mortar into place, hacking up a new batch as needed.

Not until he had carefully packed it into place and smoothed away all roughness was he happy with the result. Satisfied with his evening`s work, Gronk returned to floating on his back as he stared at his bridge.

She was beautiful. Her twin arches, boldly thrusting upwards to sky proudly proclaiming her bridgeness to all who dared look. Gronk dared, and as always was enthralled by the sight of her, feeling that he could gaze upon her endlessly. And that was what he was doing when something began to break into his concentration. Finally he recognized the sound from his distant past, when adventurers had thought to steal the the pleasures of his bridge. Hoof beats approached along the weed choked, cobblestones that formed the road leading towards his home.

Drifting to the shore, Gronk slipped from the creek’s waters onto its shores. Pulling himself upright, he lumbered to the start of the bridge, his massive form effectively blocking all access. Then Gronk waited as the horse and rider approached. As they did he began to grow confused, for they were not what he expected, seemingly to be a different species than he remembered, for he was sure that humans and horses were not made of shiny metal. Yet he decided it mattered not what type of mutations the gadflies had experienced, it did not alters his responsibilities to keep them off his bridge. So with a great bellow he shouted, “Gronk not allow you to pass!”

The metal human brought its metal horse to a halt and responded in kind. “Fie foul beast, whom art thou to deny my passage?”

“Me said already. Me Gronk, bridge’s troll.”

“And I am Sir Aethelrod, son of Sir Aetherir, son of Sir Aethelton, son of Sir Aethlafro, son of Sir Aethilie. None but my liege, the mighty King Aelambert, God Chosen Ruler of Medigo, Conqueror of Ninsk, Felimd, and Bolth, Slayer of the Dragon Golm, Bringer of Peace, gives me orders.”

Gronk burst out laughing, for the metal humans words sounded almost exactly like the gurgling of his belly after eating cattail fed beaver. He replied, “Gronk not care what you fart from mouth, him still not let you pass.”

“Foul beast you dare to insult me? Prepare for death. MEDIGO!!!”

Seeing the metal human point a long stick at him, clamp feet to metal horses side, and begin charging`, Gronk reached to a willow tree at the side of the road and broke it off so he had his own stick. Then with a battle cry of GRONK, ran at his attacker. Seconds later he felt a tremendous pain in his chest, collapsing to his back he found himself thinking how unfair it was that his stick did not have a metal tipped point.

This was chased from his mind by the realization that he was about to lose his beautiful bridge. Yet he did not despair, for he knew there was always another bridge in need of a troll, his mother would not allow him to be dead for long.

As he opened his eyes, Gronk realized there was truth of his last thought. Looking about he found himself on the shore of an unfamiliar creek, wider than his old one, almost a river. Yet something seemed wrong, looking about it took him time to figure out what that was, but doing so made him feel like he had once more been stabbed in the chest by a metal tipped stick. There was no bridge. True there appeared to have been a bridge, he could see pillars in the middle of the creek and stone work on either shore, yet the bridge was gone. He felt great sadness that he had not arrived in time to save the fragile being.

Then Gronk felt panic begin to well up, for though a troll could keep a stone bridge standing forever, he could not build one himself. And without a bridge how could he be a troll. Yet Mother had placed him here and wherever a natural was placed, there was purpose. Nervously he looked to the glass smooth water at the creek’s edge, the shock of what he saw knocking him to his knees.

Trilling out, so differently than his former bellow, he shouted, “No Gronk a troll, not a nymph!”

***

Days later Gronk listlessly went about her duties. Despite her lack of knowledge about nymphs, she had felt a natural pull towards the plant life growing alongside and within the creek. She instinctively knew how to care for their wants and needs, but found them much given to complaining and dramatics, nothing like the stoic resolve of her old bridge. It was after one such affair, which had involved chastising a raft of greedy algae encroaching upon some water lilies, that she found himself climbing aboard a rock jutting out in the middle of the creek to have a think.

She found herself wishing she knew more about nymphs. Her only prior experience had been visits from the nymph of the creek over which her old bridge had passed. Yet she could mostly remember ignoring the nymph, who had chattered away worse than a magpie with dementia. Her old troll self did not remember much beyond the nymph having worn a water lily tied about her waist.

Assuming it to be some sort of badge of office, Gronk had obtained herself such an adornment. However, she had learned its true benefit was to serve as a pad for her soft behind when sitting upon one of the stones in the river, such as now.

Their she found herself in an all too common pastime, feeling bad about where life had taken her. Missing out on life as a troll and being turned into a silly, fluff-head water nymph. As a natural it seemed downright unnatural. Likely because she was fighting against Mother Nature, going so far as to not believe that she knew what was best for Gronk. After all, had Gronk not been top of the class in troll school? How could she now be a water nymph?

Gronk had even dared to try and prove her mother wrong. On the second day of nymphish existence, she had been swimming in the creek when she had been surprised to feel the touch of water that she had felt before, not over soft, green skin, but over hard, grey hide. Suddenly she was struck with the knowledge of how to find her old bridge, just head up the watercourse from creek to creek, river to river. Excited at the prospect she had immediately headed up creek, against the water’s flow. Yet when she arrived at the river that flowed into her creek she had been dismayed to find she could not pass into its waters, only then remembering that she would be tied to her natural place, the creek, not her old bridge.

The journey had been made even worse as she realized her creek held a number of bridges at which resided trolls. Watching them from a distance she had selfishly resented their fortune to have such a respectable job, while she flitted about settling squabbles between idiotic plants.

Almost she had found herself approaching them, overcome by the desire to find out everything about their bridges. Yet she had stopped herself before going forward like a babbling lunatic, remembering her own reaction to such a visit. No it was best to let the respectable fellows go about their business uninterrupted, nor did she want them to learn that she had once been amongst their number. It mortified her to think about the potential mockery. She just had to make the best of a joyless existence.

So as she sat on the rock, in the middle of her creek, delving into the past for happy memories. While doing this she noticed what initially seemed to be a log floating towards her, one that turned into a river otter floating along upon its back, gnawing away at a fish held between its front paws. Already half in the past, Gronk was struck by memories of how much she enjoyed the taste of river otter.

Before she knew it, she found herself sliding back in the water, adjusting her lily bum pad, and ghosting towards the otter. Approaching the unaware beast she raised an arm and brought it splashing down through the water towards the brown form. In that moment she was reminded how much she had changed. Gone was the great strength and huge hand that would barely have been slowed by the water before it crashed into the otter, instantly killing it. Instead all that she accomplished was to create a splash of water that rained down upon the startled otter.

He jerked upright, dropping his fish, before looking at her with hugely round eyes, showing almost as much shock as hers at what had just happened. Then an otterish look of glee came over his face and spinning in place he swept a wave of water over Gronk’s head with his tail. Battle commenced, Gronk not recognizing what had come over her as she giggling failed to direct more water, with her hands, at the the otter than he could at her with his tail.

It was a losing proposition and finally she found herself covering her head with her arms and shrieking, “I give. I give.”

With one more splash, the otter stopped with a smile. Then in the language of beasts, which was understandable by all naturals, said, “That was fun. My names Squinqel, who are you.”

“Gronk.”

“Gronk? What type of name is that for a water nymph?”

“Well actually I’m a troll?”

“A troll? Babes, have you checked out your reflection recently?”

Glumly Gronk replied, “Yeah I have. Why did you call me Babes?”

“Well I can’t really call you Gronk, can I? That’s a silly name for a nymph.”

“But it’s my name.”

“Sure thing Babes, so why don’t you tell me how a troll came to look like you?”

Gronk did, at least she began to tell the story, until Squinqel fell asleep in mid-sentence. Never-the-less on that day Gronk made a friend, admittedly a fun obsessed, scatter-brain, but having someone to talk to kept her sane and mostly kept her out of the past. Plus Squinqel had more experience with nymphs than her, the pond in which he was a pup having a nymph of his own. So considering himself an expert he was always offering Babes advice, some of which was valid. Still Gronk found herself going along with most, even the silliest thing, stopping when Squinqel could not longer hold back his laughter.

So it was that the two of them were together when once more Gronk was trying to bring peace between the algae and the lilies, Squinqel offering all types of unhelpful advice. She had just gotten the two parties talking when she heard the clip-clop of hoofs along the shore. Turning in that direction she saw a metal human riding a metal horse, but what caught her eye was the symbol on the board hanging from the metal horse’s saddle. She recognized it.

Suddenly seeing the figure of Sir Farts-from-Mouth, all of her rage and loss came crashing back. Completely forgetting that she was now a nymph and not a troll, she rushed to the shore and reached for the nearest willow. Bending it over with her momentum, she had nowhere near the strength to break it off. Instead it recoiled and with snap she found herself flung into the air. Shrieking her dismay, Gronk tumbled ass over tea-kettle through the air, her lily bum pad snapping loose from her waist as she cartwheeled towards the creek.

Fortunately for her, the conquest-minded algae raft spotted an opportunity to earn favour with the authorities and it flowed outwards into the creek. Therefore, instead of splatting down in a belly flop, Gronk found herself gently cushioned as she landed. Sitting up she spotted Squinqel watching her with awe-filled eyes.

Clueless as to what had started her misadventure, he said, “Babes, that was the most amazing thing that I have ever seen. Doitagain, doitagain.”

However, before she could respond, they learned the metal human had been attracted by her shriek. Having moved his metal horse to the edge of the water he shouted, “Who goeth there. Show yourself or face my wrath.”

Hearing Gronk’s whispered explanation about who was on the shore, Squinqel said, “So you decided to go troll on his ass? Babes, that won’t work. Rotting fish knows it didn’t work when you were a troll either.”

“What should I do?”

“You’re a nymph, seduce and drown him in a watery grave.”

“What’s that?”

“Remember when Linqel came by to visit me last fall?”

“Kind of. Umm, how do I seduce him.”

“Maybe offer him a fish.”

“A fish?”

“Well that’s what I did with Linqel, but then this Sir Farts-from-Mouth may not be as discerning as her. Wait, wait, I know. I remember the nymph in my Ma’s pool saying that humans are suckers for songs about love, even better with lost love.”

“I don’t know any songs like that.”

“Come on Babes, you can do it.”

And suddenly a song was there. Opening up her mouth, she brought forth all her loss in a beautiful, warbling voice.

“Babes, what are you doing? You’re singing a love song about a bridge, I don’t think that will work.”

Whatever else the song may have done if Gronk had been able to finish it, the little bit sung had drawn the attention of the knight to the nymph on her bed of algae. Pure-hearted and stone-headed, the man instantly knew it was his duty to rid the world of the beautifully, evil, magical creature. Dismounting and taking sword and shield in hand, he moved down to the shore of the creek. Seeing the shallowness of the creek’s bed, all the way out to the algae, he took a step into the lily pads along the shore.

They, being cognizant of the favour gained by their enemy, decided to act. In unison, they entangled the man’s legs in their roots, causing him to trip and fall. Additional roots latched onto arms, neck, and torso as he thrashed about, further hindered by the weight of his armour. Slowly he began to move less violently, then came a point when he moved not at all.

Watching with wide eyes, Gronk suddenly scampered across the algae and out onto the water. Pulling Squinqel out of the water in a hug, she spun him around shouting, “We seduced him! We seduced him!”

Struggling to keep his breath, within Gronk’s tight hug, he finally squeezed forth, “Babes, I don’t think that is how you seduce a human.”

“What do you mean, he drowned in a watery grave.”

Squinqel could not dispute that, besides he found it fun to spin in circles, so he joined in the chant, “We seduced him! We seduced him!”

Finally growing hoarse, and beyond being dizzy, Gronk allowed the two of them to sink once more into the water. Laying on her back and regaining her breath, she said, “You know Squinqel, I think I’m finally getting the hang of this nymph business.”

“You’re doing great Babes.”

The End.