Chapter Text
Creek pulled himself out of the teeth of that hill creature, panting heavily and dragging himself across the ground before collapsing in a heap.
That was, by far, the worst thing he ever had to go through.
Sure, jumping on that Chef broad and utilizing his hair in order to escape the stomach had been relatively easy, but shimmying his way out of the esophagus? That whole wrestling match with the teeth? Struggling to pull his way out of a pair of jaws that refused to open?
Now that had been rough.
He rolled onto his back with a groan. He supposed he would have to figure out a plan on what to do now; there was no way he'd be allowed back into Troll Village, and living out here wasn't exactly viable either, considering he wasn't a survival freak like Branch.
Creek grimaced at the very thought of him. Branch.
That killjoy made curling Poppy and the others around his finger so much harder, because right when he'd have them under his charismatic spell, he'd swoop in and make some edgy comment, taking all the attention off himself. Genuinely, Branch really was the worst.
With a sigh, Creek pulled his aching body to his feet and began walking without any real aim or direction.
Minutes passed, hours, days, and quite frankly Creek got tired of his little routine fairly quickly; het get up from whatever ditch he'd slept in, he'd walk all day, stopping for water and food occasionally, and keep walking until he felt like he was going to collapse, finding another ditch to sleep in.
It got repetitive very quickly, and he was almost certain he was walking around in circles. How else would he have traveled this far and not run into a single troll?
Eventually, days after his daring escape from the clutches of that monster, he found himself at the end of the forest. Just outside, a patchwork desert sat in front of him. There were cactuses and cows as far as the eye could see.
Creek couldn't help but gape at as he sat down; he'd never seen a landscape quite like it before. In fact, he was starting to realize that he really hadn't left Troll Village in all twenty-odd years of his being.
"Take a picture, bud, it'll last longer."
Creek let out a terrified screech as his eyes frantically darted around, looking for the source of the voice. His eyes landed on a troll- at least, he thought it was a troll- carrying a sort of covered wagon behind him.
To say the troll was unlike anything Creek had ever seen before was an understatement. For starters, he had such a dull color palette: all cool reds and yellows, warm greens and oranges, and lots of browns and beiges. He was dressed up the way a stereotypical cowboy was dressed (Creek didn't know that trolls genuinely thought that was a cool way to dress). But most striking of all, he found, was the fact that this troll, rather than a standard two legs, had four hooved legs attached to what could only be described as a horselike body.
"Wh-Who are you?" Creek stammered. "Or rather, what are you?"
The strange troll narrowed his eyes, and Creek gulped.
"You know, we country folk don't much appreciate being made a fool of, boy," he drawled.
Time to whip out the Creek Charm, he supposed.
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry, I had no intention of offending you, sir," Creek insisted apologetically. "I only ask because, well, I can't say I've ever seen a troll quite as handsome as you."
The stranger's eyes widened, before he looked away bashfully, chuckling, "Well, shucks, you sure know how to flatter a troll, son."
Creek gave as best a polite bow as he could manage from his seated position on the ground, replying, "It's what I do best."
The stranger unhooked himself from his wagon, which Creek realized he'd been pulling himself, and sat down beside him, folding his many legs underneath him. "So, what brings you 'round these parts, stranger?"
Creek sighed. "I think I've been banished from my community?"
"Huh, that's a darn shame. I'd invite you to come back with me, but the country trolls aren't exactly known for their hospitality-"
"Alright, that's the second time you've mentioned that. What's a country troll?"
The stranger seemed taken aback. "You mean, you really don't know?"
"I think I've made that pretty clear, yes."
"Well, shoot, I didn't think I'd ever meet someone without a single idea about the tribes-"
"Tribes as in plural? There's more than just one?"
Humming, the stranger thought about what he'd said, then stumbled to his feet with an idea. "Now you just wait there for a moment," He commanded, trotting back to his cart. Creek watched as he moved around a bunch of....scrapbooks?.... inside of the cart. Before long the stranger trotted back, a dull yellow scrapbook in hand.
"This here is a history book, tells all about the six troll tribes and how they came to be as they are now."
Creek took the book, a little stunned by the kind gesture. He began to thank, "Wow, your generosity is-"
"Don't bother, it's what I do." The stranger chucked his thumb over his shoulder at the wagon and clarified, "I travel the land with this here cart of books, just looking for some poor souls that could use a good read. It ain't much, I'll be the first to admit, but it's honest work."
Creek genuinely couldn't find it in himself to care about this guy's life mission or whatever, but still he complimented, "Well, that's very commendable of you. I wish you the best on your journey, Mr....?"
"Doug, Doug Barrelskin," the stranger introduced, reattaching himself to his cart. "And you are?"
"Creek."
"Thanks for the conversation, Creek, I suppose," Doug thanked him with a tip of his hat, beginning to trek off into the desert.
"Thank you for the book," Creek responded, opening the book and peering at its contents.
Creek would spend the next several hours poring over the pages of that book. The first time he read through it, he was so shocked and angry that the pop trolls, his own tribe, had kept this hidden for so long, that he wanted to make sure he absorbed all this information out of pure spite.
He reread the story of how pop trolls grew too powerful for their own good and he would watch as the little paper leaders of the other tribes grabbed their strings and ran away.
He would go over the histories of the different tribes over and over again, not wanting to miss a single detail.
And most often of all, he'd stare at the picture of the former leader of the pop trolls. He was so familiar that it hurt. Blue hair, pinkish-purple skin, there was no way it could be a coincidence, could it?
He'd contemplate it for hours, going back and forth with himself, to the point of obsession over it. There's no way that this could possibly be my ancestor, could it? But the resemblance is so uncanny! Surely there must have been a deviance in the royal lineage!
And that's when he saw the page on the strings. He'd read it over multiple times, but this time was different. Yes, this time, when he saw it, the pieces clicked together in his brain.
He could accomplish what his ancestor had failed at.
He could have the power and control to rule over the entirety of trolldom.
A devilish grin spread across his face with a snicker.
He knew exactly how he could complete this mission.
It would just take a little assistance from his beloved Poppy.
But first, of course, he would have to wait until the time was right.