"The implication here is that in the beginning Ögmundr was human, but under-went some kind of ritual or at least procedure, referred to as trolling (“trylla”) but never more clearly explained, that seems to have shifted him from one state of being to another.
There is no mention of him dying in the process, but some such transformation seems nevertheless to have taken place since the saga indicates that he cannot be consid-ered a human any longer, and also that he cannot die. Ög-mundr himself later admits that he has become inhuman,“nú em ek eigi síðr andi en maðr” (now I am no less a spirit than a man), and also states “ek væra dauðr ef ek hefði øðlitil þess” (I would be dead if it were in my nature).
Ögmundr is said to be “svartr ok blár” (black and blue), a description used of many Icelandic ghosts, but he is never directly described using the words scholars commonly associate with ghosts in the sagas, although there is mention of “jǫtnar,” “fjandr,” and “troll” (giants, devils, and trolls) inthe different versions of this saga.
Even though Ögmundris referred to as a spirit (“andi”) but not a ghost, there is strong evidence which suggests he should be counted amongst the undead. Something of a medieval Frankenstein creature, having been re-animated like a revenant,it is stated that Ögmundr can no longer die — perhaps precisely because he can no longer be counted among the living.
It is left up to the audience of Örvar-Odds saga to choose how they would like to refer to Ögmundr: as a devil,demon, troll, spirit, or ghost or perhaps all of the above in chorus. Providing evidence of the common indeterminacy of medieval terminology, this example also demonstrates that, when it comes to the paranormal, the more difficult it becomes to classify or name a monster, the greater is the power that it might wield."
- The Troll Inside You: Paranormal Activity in the Medieval North, by Ármann Jakobsson.
What difference is there ’twixt trolls and men?
No difference at all, as it seems to me.
Big trolls would roast you and small trolls would claw you; —
with us it were likewise, if only they dared.
True enough; in that and in more we’re alike.
Yet morning is morning, and even is even,
and there is a difference all the same. —
Now let me tell you wherein it lies:
Out yonder, under the shining vault,
among men the saying goes: “Man, be thyself!”
At home here with us, ’mid the tribe of the trolls,
the saying goes: “Troll, to thyself be — enough!”
The Troll-courtier[to PEER GYNT]
Can you fathom the depth?
My son, that “Enough,” that most potent and sundering
word, must be graven upon your escutcheon.
This same human nature’s a singular thing;
it sticks to people so strangely long.
If it gets a gash in the fight with us,
it heals up at once, though a scar may remain.
My son-in-law, now, is as pliant as any;
he’s willingly thrown off his Christian-man’s garb,
he’s willingly drunk from our chalice of mead,
he’s willingly tied on the tail to his back —
so willing, in short, did we find him in all things,
I thought to myself the old Adam, for certain,
had for good and all been kicked out of doors;
but lo! in two shakes he’s atop again!
Ay ay, my son, we must treat you, I see,
to cure this pestilent human nature.
In your left eye, first,
I’ll scratch you a bit, till you see awry;
but all that you see will seem fine and brave.
And then I’ll just cut your right window-pane out —
The Old Man[lays a number of sharp instruments on the table]
See, here are the glazier’s tools.
Blinkers you’ll wear, like a raging bull.
Then you’ll recognise that your bride is lovely —
and ne’er will your vision be troubled, as now,
with bell-cows harping and sows that dance.
It’s the Dovre–King speaking;
it’s he that is wise, and it’s you that are crazy!
Just think how much worry and mortification
you’ll thus escape from, year out, year in.
You must remember, your eyes are the fountain
of the bitter and searing lye of tears.
That’s true; and it says in our sermon-book:
If thine eye offend thee, then pluck it out.
But tell me, when will my sight heal up
into human sight?
Nevermore, my friend.” - PEER GYNT, Henrik Ibsen