Chapter Text
Once upon a time in the tall mountains of the north, there lived a family of trolls. Like most trolls, they were tall, they were heavy, and their rocky hides could crack the horns off of any mountain goat foolish enough to charge them. They had a simple life, and they spent their days throwing boulders, hunting goats, hunting boulders, throwing goats, bashing one another on the head, and doing all the other things trolls do.
Papa Troll, the tallest, heaviest, and rockiest, was a fierce fighter. He stood twelve feet tall and wielded a massive tree-trunk club that could crush a boulder in one swing. Every day, he climbed on top of a high peak and shouted challenges to the other trolls of the mountain. None could defeat him in combat, though many tried. Mama Troll was not as big or strong as Papa Troll, but she was proud of her cooking, and fed her family well. Every night for dinner, she made gravel salad and stone soup, with rock cakes for dessert. Sometimes, when they caught a goat, she would cook her specialty: burnt meat. Their son was named Potato, for all mountain trolls are named after the first thing they try to eat as a child, and Potato had eaten a potato. He was clever. He could count as high as four, without even using his fingers.
One warm spring morning when the sun shined brightly in the east, Papa Troll said to Potato, “Go check traps, Potato. See if we caught rocks today.” Potato was a dutiful son who did what he was told. “Yes, Papa,” he said, and tromped out of the cave to do his errand.
The first trap was behind a boulder near the cave. Potato looked inside. It was empty. The bait was still there, and the stick had not been knocked down.
The second trap was further down the mountain beneath a fir tree. It was empty. The bait was still there, and the stick had not been knocked down. However, there was a shiny round object nearby. Potato didn’t know what it was, but he picked it up and brought it with him.
The third trap was next to a cliff where a rukh had made her nest. It was not empty. The bait was gone. The stick was knocked down. Inside the box was a chicken. As Potato lifted the box, she clucked, “Oh! A rescuer! Bawk! Thank you for saving me from this terrible trap, Sir Troll! Bukawk! Perhaps someday I will repay you. Bawk bawk!”
“No,” Potato started to say. “I here to eat you, not rescue you.” But the chicken had already hopped away, flapping her wings and leaving a trail of feathers behind her. “Oh well,” said Potato. He turned around and began to tromp back to the cave. As he turned, a rock hit him between his shoulders. “Who threw that?” said Potato as he whirled around in confusion. When he saw the other troll, he stopped.
She was eight feet tall with skin the color of sandstone, and green moss grew across her back. Their eyes met. “Hello,” said Potato.
“Hello,” she replied.
“My name Potato,” said Potato. “Yours?”
“Nose,” she said.
“Not your nose. Your name.” said Potato.
“My name Nose,” said Nose. “Common mistake.”
“You have pretty moss,” said Potato.
“Thank you,” said Nose. Potato threw a boulder at her. Nose threw it back, aiming for his head. It was troll love at first sight.
But at that moment, something terrible happened. A giant mechanical bird swooped down from the sky and snatched up Nose in its metal talons. “Help!” she cried.
“I save you!” shouted Potato. He ran after the bird as fast as his troll legs could carry him, and leapt to grab it. But the clockwork bird was just out of his reach, and Potato fell flat on his face. He watched it fly away, and when it vanished in the distance, he hung his head and tromped sadly back to his family’s cave, stopping only to pick up the shiny round thing he had dropped when he fell.
“Catch anything?” said Papa Troll when Potato returned.
“No,” said Potato. “Found this shiny thing. Nothing else.”
“Empty traps again. Too bad. We catch rocks someday.” said Papa Troll. He could hear the sadness in his son’s voice, and asked, “Problem?”
Potato explained what had happened. He told his father of the chicken that escaped, of the shiny thing, of Nose, and most sadly of all, of the giant bird that had stolen the love of his life. When he finished, Papa Troll nodded.
“Many trolls go missing this month,” he said. “Like Nose.”
“Maybe giant fake bird took them, too!” said Potato.
“Why metal bird want trolls? Metal bird eat metal worm, not troll, yes?” said Papa.
Potato was a clever troll, and he realized something important. “Real bird hatch from eggs. Fake bird built by someone!” he said. “Find someone...find Nose!”
“Hit someone on head with club? Hitting with club always works,” said Papa Troll, who solved many of his own problems this way.
“Yes,” said Potato. “I go, find bird-someone, bring back Nose!”
And so the brave young troll waved goodbye to his mother and father, packed up his shiny round thing, and set out toward the lands beyond the mountains to rescue his fair troll maiden from the clutches of evil. It was a long tromp down the mountain, and as he tromped, he sang a troll song to pass the time.
Trollolololol!
I am a troll!
I have a shiny thing!
Something, something troll!
Duh-nuh nuh, hrmm hmm...
It’s really shiny!
Something, something, something
Trollolololol!
But unbeknownst to Potato, he was not the only one traveling down the mountain, for a wicked mountain imp had heard his singing and his stomping and followed him. Now, as everyone knows, imps are covetous, thieving creatures, and this one was no exception. He had seen Potato, and he had seen the pretty shiny thing he carried. The imp had no idea what it was or why this loud troll was so proud of it. He only knew that it was shiny, that he didn’t have it, and that he wanted it.
Potato kept tromping along until he reached a cool, clear mountain spring. He was very thirsty, and even though the water had almost no mud or dirt in it at all, he set down his shiny trinket and stopped for a drink. The imp chose this moment to make his move, and snuck quietly behind Potato to grab the shiny thing and run. Just in time, Potato looked up and saw the thief.
Realizing he had been caught, the imp spoke quickly. “Good day, friend!” he said. “I am a magical leprechaun, and you found my secret dwelling. If you wish, I’ll lead you to my hidden pot of gold.”
Most trolls would have been fooled, but not Potato. Potato was clever. He knew that leprechauns always wore green hats and buckled shoes. This stranger was bright red and had two wings and a tail. “You no leprechaun,” he said. “I know parrot when I see one.”
“No, no,” said the imp. “I have a pot of gold. I can show you. It’s right at the bottom of the next cliff.” There was no such treasure, for the imp was a crafty liar, and planned to lure Potato to the edge and push him off while he was looking down.
Most trolls would have been fooled, but not Potato. Potato was clever. “Parrot live in tree, not cliff,” said Potato. “Parrot also taste like chicken. I just eat you instead.” And with that, he reached down to grab the imp. But with a loud “POP!”, the trickster imp disappeared in a puff of smoke, escaping Potato’s grasp.
Potato was perplexed, but he shrugged and drank his fill from the spring. Then he picked up his shiny trinket again and continued tromping while the imp followed in the shadows. And all the while, he sang:
Trollolololol!
I am a troll!
Something something rock!
Trollolololol!
It wasn’t long before the imp appeared to Potato again to try a different trick. This time, he had a crude horn strapped to his forehead, and he had covered himself in glitter. “I am a magical unicorn,” said the disguised imp. “I can grant you a wish. What is your heart’s desire?”
“Find my lost Nose,” said Potato.
“Your nose is on your face,” said the imp, who did not know how trolls are named. “Wish granted! Now, as payment, perhaps you would give me that strange shiny object you carry?”
Potato was clever. Potato did not think that this was a real unicorn. “I know ‘Oony’ means one,” he said. “Oony-corn is one corn. You look like not-corn to me. Corn have green leaf, yellow kernels.”
Potato’s clever logic befuddled the imp. “Uh...” he said, “I don’t think...that’s not...I mean, I assure you, I am definitely a real unicorn and not an imp in disguise. I grant wishes. Don’t you want your wishes granted?”
“If you real corn,” said Potato, “then I grind your bones to make my bread.” Once again, Potato reached down to grab the imp. Once again, POP! The imp disappeared in a puff of smoke and glitter.
Potato continued on his journey, and it was some time before the imp decided to make his third attempt. By now, Potato had nearly reached the foot of the mountain. Before he could tromp his way into the woods beyond, a border guard appeared in his path.
“Halt!” said the guard. “Before you may pass, you must show me your passport.”
Potato had never seen a passport before and was not sure what it was, but he knew that a port was a place for ships, and a pass was a route through the mountains. He did not know how or why a ship would travel through a mountain pass.
“Please produce your documentation and submit to a customs search,” said the guard, more forcefully this time. “We will need to confiscate any illegal items you are carrying.” The guard was, of course, the imp in another disguise, and he hoped to trick Potato into giving up his shiny thing for inspection.
Potato took out his shiny thing. But he did not hand it over. Instead, he remembered the advice his father gave him: Hitting with club always works. Potato looked at the shiny thing. It felt warmer than when he first found it. But most importantly, it was heavy, and it was blunt. Potato had a clever idea. He lifted up the shiny thing and brought it down on the false guard’s head.
This time, the imp did not POP! away in time, for his greedy eyes had been focused on the treasure he coveted. The blow struck him hard, and down he fell.
“I bring pass port next time,” promised Potato. He dragged the unconscious imp behind him through the woods, singing his song as he went.
Trollolololol!
I am a troll!
Something something Nose!
Trollolololol!