Bridges are curious things.

They represent connections that should not be, pathways to

places unknown. From the dawn of humanity, bridges have played a vital role in our travels. But
of course, it would be foolish to believe that bridges were the property of man alone. From
bridges to other worlds to bridges where you must answer the riddles of bloodthirsty sphinxes to
cross, bridges stand as connections to the Otherworld as well. However, there is a particular
breed of beast which favors bridges, Trolls.
Trolls are beings of varying appearance with personalities ranging from benevolent to
downright malicious. Among Trolls, however, there remains one constant. Bridges. Wherever
you find bridges in the world, chances are a Troll makes its home directly below it. They blend
within the shadows, invisibly waiting and hunting for their prey to cross above. Tiny trolls
scuttle beneath the bridges in our Zen gardens while giants lurk beneath our most massive
landmarks.
But our story centers around a very particular troll who lives under a very particular
bridge. His name is Steve and he only makes his home under the finest of tress bridges. Truss
bridges are the very best of bridges, perfectly stable and symmetrical. At least, that is what Steve
would say if you were to ask him. It is under just such a bridge that Steve makes his humble
abode in the Las Vegas valley.
As was mentioned earlier, trolls themselves are very diverse and their interests and
hobbies vary just as widely. Steve in particular, has a rather odd hobby which he conducts under
his bridge, even for a troll. His primary prey consists of college students, the more room in their
skulls for knowledge, the better. The bridge itself lies just outside a college campus so prey is
plentiful, giving Steve plenty of delectable options.
The most optimal time to conduct his hunt is in the night when the most exhausted of
students drag their feet from the college campus across his bridge. When they reach the center of
his bridge, standing perfectly in its middle with the symmetrical ends on either side of them,
Steve claws his way up from the depths, feral smile upon his face and with a savage howl
descends on the unsuspecting student. Quickly sweeping their feet from under them, grisly fangs
dripping with long strings of saliva, he grunts his question heavily.
“Wha-what is your dream home?” he hisses.
This usually leaves the students with several moments of confusion followed by a shaky,
What?”
“Your dream home! Draw it for me!” Steve cries with narrowed red eyes.
At this point, the student's survival depends on whether they have a writing implement to
draw a rough sketch of a house. If they don’t have such a tool, or if they fail to include which
direction their doors swing, then they will most certainly find their end in the jagged teeth of the
troll. However, if by some miracle the student draws a sufficient blueprint of their dream home,
Steve will let them cross.
This is how Steve spends his days, waiting and watching for the next student to cross his
bridge. Keep your floorplans close and avoid truss bridges if at all possible lest you find yourself
pinned by the horned beast.