“There lays the fortress of trolls, a dark and dangerous place,” Rotcel ‘Loc said, pointing dramatically at a wooden fortress nestled in the side of the mountain. “Who knows what evil might lie within its walls—”

“Trolls,” Nanoc said, “Trolls lie within its walls. That’s why we’re here, right? Come on, let’s go fight them.”

“But how will we get in?” Captain Patriot said.

“The gates are wide open,” Nanoc said, pointing. “Let’s just walk in. That’s how we normally do this, you know.”

“And it’s always a bad idea,” Rotcel ‘Loc muttered.

The fortress’s wooden gates were open and the trolls guarding them were fast asleep at their stations. Rotcel led the way, stepping past the sleeping bodies, through the gates, and into the courtyard beyond.

“Do you know, this is not what I expected,” Dren said. “Where is… everything?”

The troll fortress was mostly hollow beyond the outer wall. At the far end of the courtyard was a single rickety tower, on top of which stood a room with a lighted window, but that was the only building. The courtyard was, however, filled with dozens of wide pits from which the murmur of troll voices rose. Nanoc peered over the edge of the nearest pit. Inside sat a ring of skinny trolls listening to a larger, nastier troll who was teaching them the ways of their people. The sounds of their voices rose up into the courtyard.

“The king eats puppies,” a gruff troll said as they passed. “He dips them in ranch dressing, which he steals from poor people. Now you say it.”

“The king eats puppies,” the smaller troll around him repeated dutifully. “He steals them from—"

Nanoc shook his head in amazement. The young trolls would believe anything, it seemed, without questioning it. The lesson in the next pit was even worse.

“The king isn’t real, he’s a lizardling in a mask,” the large troll teaching the class said. “Wait—which one of you called me an idiot? Who said that? Was it you, you little rat?”

The large troll reached forward and slapped one of the smaller trolls, who protested his innocence. A fight broke out, the little trolls brawling and the large troll screaming at his class.

“Quiet, Rotcel!” Dren hissed.

The scout gave an apologetic shrug, then crept past the next pit. Nanoc peered inside.

“The king wants to outlaw cake,” a troll teacher with a thin, reedy voice was saying to his class “He wants to round up every cake and burn it. And for those who say they’ve seen him eat cake, that’s not true, its actually just frosted puppies.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Most of the smaller trolls laughed and repeated their lesson: “The king wants to outlaw cake—”

One troll, who was either slightly smarter or much denser than the rest of his class, raised a clawed hand.

“Yes?” his teacher asked, sighing. “What now?”

“But why does the king want to outlaw cake? Is it for a health reason, or—”

“Get him!” the teacher shouted.

The luckless troll was picked up by his classmates and quickly taught the error of his ways. As was traditional in troll-ish education, the lesson was neither beneficial nor long-lasting. Blue troll blood spouted into the air as bits of the troll went flying.

“He shouldn’t have asked,” Rotcel muttered. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

Curiosity, the fifth born of the fifth generation of gods, had always claimed she’d acted in self-defense. Cats still avoided her when they could.

“So trolls aren’t invulnerable after all,” Nanoc said. “They can kill each other. Dren, did you know that? Dren?”

The little elf was staring in the pit. The fight inside was getting nasty. There seemed to be a lot of debate about who would get to have the dead troll for dinner. The troll teacher grabbed the body, but a dozen smaller trolls piled on to it, clawing and screaming. It was a messy, nasty brawl. Nanoc and his friends stared down into the pit. The large troll ripped a student in half and handed the parts to the smaller trolls. Nanoc grinned, Dren stared in horror, and Rotcel ‘Loc looked away. Captain Patriot, who was not used to seeing such horrible things, threw up over his own boots. It said quite a lot about the moment that neither the sound nor the smell of this was noticed.

“The pits make sense, then,” Rotcel ‘Loc said. “It stops the fighting from spreading from class to class.”

“No!” Dren protested. “Trolls do not have class! They do not gather, they do not learn! What is this perversion of the principles of Knowledge?”

“Do you mean the fighting?” Rotcel’ Loc said, eyeing the trolls nervously. “I think that’s just how they are. It’s a cultural thing.”

“No, not that, I mean the pits,” Dren said, waving a hand weakly at the pits. “This… mockery of a school. What is this place?”

“I’ve heard of this, but I never thought I’d see one,” Captain Patriot said. “This is a troll farm. From here, they’re sent all across the land to hide under bridges or wherever and whisper things to passersby. Classic troll stuff.”

“Do you know trolls use their whispers to infuriate passersby into rash attacks, then cage and eat them!” Dren argued. “That’s the natural order of things, you see! Not… whatever this is. This is too organized.”

Rotcel ‘Loc shrugged.

“Maybe, but these days all the money is in politics. Look at these trolls, do you think any of them need to ambush prey? No, they’re all well-fed. And look at the suits!”

This was a good point; the trolls in the next pit wore fancy suits over their wet, slimy skin. It did little to improve their appearance, but whoever was paying for the farm had deep pockets.

“We need to keep moving,” Rotcel ‘Loc said. “The Guild always says that the enemy boss will be at the top of the largest tower.”

“Why?” the captain demanded.

“Oh, the kind of people who cause a lot of trouble love looking down on others,” the lizardling explained as they reached the tower. “It’s a character flaw. Look, there’s a door… and can you smell garlic?”

The door burst open, and a broad troll in a chef’s hat emerged carrying a butcher’s cleaver. It glared at them for a moment, then laughed.

“I didn’t order delivery, but I’ll take it!” the troll shouted. “It’s time for soup!”