Chapter 1: The Chapter Which Otto Christens His New Human Home by Killing a Cockroach
I have to drown it.
The impulsive thought ran through his head and he considered it immensely.
I have to drown it.
He swallowed, hand reaching for the faucet till his fingers found surface.
He gripped it, knuckles growing white.
The creature hadn't noted his presence and he stared, heart hammering.
Twitching its antennae, it scurried up the side of the sink and towards his arm and, with a startled noise, he twisted the faucet open, water shooting wildly into the metal bowl.
Otto Scaarbach watched as the cockroach was washed away in the sudden spout of water, the force pushing it around and around and finally down the wide drain.
Once he was sure that it wasn't going to come back anytime soon, Otto twisted the knob to off, the leaky faucet continuing its mundane drip.
"Such vermin." He muttered, shuttering where he stood. After a moment or two, however, the man remembered what he was doing originally, plate and hands dripping wet as he searched for his dropped towel.
Standing in the kitchen of his new human home, Otto had to admit that it certainly was a good find. A simple house in a simple neighborhood with simple, stupid people.
His favorite.
He dried the chipped sky-blue plate with a few swipes of the towel, looking at the shining disc before returning it to its place in the bleached white upper cabinet, sighing.
Turning away from the sink, the man walked out of his kitchen and slipped past a few unopened boxes, uprooting fallen packing peanuts with his sock covered feet.
He sighed through his nostrils at the fluttering visual reminders. Most of the boxes were still closed, simply untouched since he'd arrived a few days before. And between his time fighting his jet lag and getting the spotty internet to work so he could check his progress on the packages, Otto had only been able to unload the bare minimum. A couch, a table and chairs, and his bed and bookshelf upstairs, of course.
Luckily, everything that hadn't been unpacked didn't even fill up the dining room off the kitchen, fingers grazing the tablecloth of that covered his small dining table as he passed.
Perhaps after my shift,He mused, gliding around the small futon in the living room, if I make it back in time, that is.
Slipping on his wingtip shoes and fishing for his house keys in the glass bowl by the door, Otto Scaarbach paused to observe himself in the hanging mirror across the entryway.
The reflection was always the same. A no-nonsense man: dark hair cropped close to his head, longer locks swept back on top. He smoothed his growing facial hair with his hand, a pencil mustache, sideburns, and a soul patch resting on his rounded chin. His blue eyes narrowed at the small streaks of grey, simple signs of age even a polymorph changeling couldn't escape from. He adjusted his falling round glasses and slipped on his dark black coat, smoothing any wrinkle or fuzz he may have had.
Crisp, clean, precise perfection.
This was the life of Otto Scaarbach.
Finding the keys, dawning his fedora, and collecting the briefcase waiting by the door, he stepped out of his house and into the waking rays, locking his door as the morning sun just began to peak over the horizon. Sighing, he looked over it, that burning round orb that brought so much life and light, a sharp warmth hitting Otto's body as he watched those rays dance across the asphalt and heat up the day. He outstretched a hand from underneath the porch and felt the rays land on his palm, a tingling sensation coming with the heat.
Soon, this whole town would feel it too.
He smiled.
Oh, how he couldn't wait to see it all burn.
Otto Scaarbach had always been a fan of long walks.
Step by step, minute by passing minute, he enjoyed the feeling of fog from the early morning lift from his head, clear his senses and his mind.
He watched the day's rays beam across the bridge and the few passing cars as he walked, dark shoes shuffling against the sidewalk.
Turning his head slightly, he blinked the sun out of his eyes, hand raised.
Well, maybe he could've skipped this morning's walk to downtown. It was unusually bright for a sleepy Thursday in Arcadia Oaks, and, tugging at his collar, had to admit it was a bit warmer than the forecast he'd read. Not to mention, the destination he had in mind was a bit farther downtown than he had anticipated.
Walking closer to the black guardrail, Otto took a moment for a short breather. He set the briefcase he held tightly to his side onto the warming sidewalk, wiping a brow with the back of his sleeve.
"Ja." Otto muttered, voice hissing, "Not today."
Still muttering, he took a few steps away to remove his fedora from his head, shimmying out of his outermost layer of clothes and draping them over his arm. Fanning his beet face with a hat, he thought he heard the noise of tires and brakes from behind and quickly folding his coat, he advanced back to the guardrail and leaned over the side.
His glasses slipped down his nose, eyes widening upon the sight.
Children.
There were children were standing over the corpse of a troll.
For a moment, Otto thought the two kids had killed the poor bastard. The troll was completely smashed to bits, only a jagged pile of pebbles, rubbles, and dust remaining.
But, after seeing their only possible weapon to be their bicycles, Otto allowed his assumption of troll and possibly changeling-hunting children to drop.
Even still, they had wandered close. Much too close, he could see, as the small toe of the larger child kicked what was left of a curving horn.
"Hey!" Otto shouted hoarsely, voice echoing into the ravine and into the depths of the bridge.
Otto Scaarbach regretted his decision to open his mouth when the pair of young faces looked up, smiles blinding.
He feigned a small smile in return, edge of his mouth twitching.
Of course!
Of course it had to be them!
Verdammt noch mal!
The children standing in the dry canal were the same pair of boys that lived next and across the street from his own home - both in two story houses a bit too close for comfort. Otto remembered digging through the taller one's bin for a spare scrap of sock the other night. He'd almost been caught then, but, was later relieved to hear the pair on their early morning bike rides to passing it off as racoons again.
Staring, Otto tried to remember what their names even were. There had been little to no interaction between them, the last one only a day or so before, where the tallest-Jimmy? John? - had brought him a homemade apple pie with his companion- what was it? Tubby? Toshi?
Whatever.
He'd taken the welcome-to-the-neighborhood pie with a thin tight smile, shutting the door in their face to prompt them to leave.
Bit unorthodox in practice, he knew.
Even so, it didn't faze them a bit and Otto had watched them through the blinds as they ran back across the street to toss some water balloons that - Josh? Jimothy? - had set up in his unkempt yard.
In the end, it had seemed that their interaction hadn't made the slightest bad impression at all, the pair giving smiles as they waved excitedly from below.
"He-ey!" The shorter one shouted, hopping slightly, "You're the guy!"
"The guy?" The taller one - Jim,that was it - questioned with a raised eyebrow.
"You know, Jimbo!" the boy exclaimed, taking his arm, "You know!"
"I, uh, can't at the moment, Tobes." Jim chuckled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and looking up towards Otto again. By the way the bags settled heavily under the boy's eyes, Otto could tell the boy was tired beyond belief. Of course, he wouldn't recognize him.
Resisting an eye roll, Otto managed to separate a hand from the guardrail, twisting his wrist,
"Bah. I'm your new neighbor. In the house right next to you?"
Realization flooded the boys features and he smiled wider, matching the squat boy's - now known as Tobes, maybe Toby? - intense smile.
"Oh! Yeah! Hello there, Mr…?" He trailed off, and Otto resisted another urge to roll his eyes.
"Scaarbach." He said, keeping his voice monotone as he could, "Otto Scaarbach."
"Nice to see you again! I -."
The sudden sharp sound of a warning bell snapped the pairs heads towards downtown, mouths opening in alarm.
"Jimbo!" Toby called as he struggled up on his bike again, taking off, "Come on! We're gonna' be late!"
Watching as his friend pedaled away, Jim offered a nervous chuckle and curt wave goodbye as he followed suit, up the canal and into downtown.
The changeling had to catch himself from sagging in relief over the side as he watched the pair bike wildly out of sight.
Not exactly how he wanted to start off the day. Especially today. Keeping simple fleshbag interaction was a chore.
But, Otto mused, as he stooped to pick up his suitcase,I'll have to get used to it for a while. Unfortunately.
As he pushed himself off the dark railing, he spotted something from the corner of his vision.
A glint in the sun from a passing car, he assumed, stalking stiffly forward, mood soured.
Again, there was a soft glint.
Another car.
He rubbed his face, the fog from his head had not fully dissipated, but, the sound of another warning bell urged him to walk faster.
And, muttering a curse under his breath, he hurried off towards the source, as, unseen by man or troll, the glint brightened underneath the pile of inexplicable rubble.
Beckoning.
"Excuse me!"
Otto nearly jumped out of his skin, fumbling to catch his briefcase as a small body was advancing from behind, coming closer.
He pulled forward his elbow, allowing the small fleshbag to pass in a nervous jitter of rushing to class. There was an equally nervous "Sorry!" as he disappeared, opening a distant door and scurrying inside.
He hadn't seen why the small boy couldn't just go around him on the other side, there was plenty of room. But, looking after him, came to see his rush, and huffing, realized he couldn't complain.
He was in a rush himself.
Arcadia Oaks High's Hallways were mostly empty now, the sound of laughing and chatting students spilling from underneath closed doors and into the hallways. Otto Scaarbach picked his way towards his own classroom, a small door in the back, painters tape over the former teachers name tag to replace it with his own.
Mr. Scaryback. It read.
"Wunderbar."
Twisting the round knob, Otto Scaarbach entered the room with ease, the handful of students of his class already sitting down and talking amongst themselves.
They hadn't noted his presence till he slammed the door shut, all laughing and chattering coming an abrupt halt.
Otto, placing his coat and hat on an old coat rack, made his way over to his desk in from of the room. Dozens of pairs of eyes watching in whispering anticipation.
Adjusting his tie, he leaned on the desk, staring into the crowd.
"Hallo." Otto greeted, pulling his lips into a semblance of a warm smile, "I am your new teacher, Mr. Scaarbach."
There was a soft muttering of hellos as he stared over the teenagers - a few of them faces he'd spotted in his drive downtown before.
He turned and wrote his name on the board behind him, students flinching as the chalk grated and screeched against the blackboard. Otto resisted the urge to smile at their discomfort as he turned back to them and picked up the yardstick resting on the ledge of the desk, holding firmly it in his hands.
"I'll be taking Miss Ann's place after her sudden leave." He explained, coming around the desk "As I understand, she left you a reading assignment?"
"Yes, sir!" a small, rather squeaky child called excitedly from the back. Upon further inspection, he saw it was the same kid that had nearly plowed into him minutes before.
Adjusting his taped together glasses, he smiled wide as he held out his copy of the book. "She did!"
A series of groans and snickers rose up at the boys unbridled excitement, a tall and very blonde boy whispering behind his hand in the front before laughing loudly.
The noise was silenced by the ruler smacking firmly against his desk, and the students fell back into their seats, staring.
Otto's disapproving look changed into something a bit softer as he walked over to the teen, reaching for the offered book and flipping it to observe the cover.
Beowulf.
He quietly sighed.
"Right."
Running a thumb briefly over the sticky tabs in the pages, Otto wasted no time to toss it back to the boy and return to his desk, adjusting his glasses.
"Turn to the opening lines of Beowulf and read to page 20 for discussion." He barked, the kids digging inside their bags for their own copy of the book, "And no talking."
There was a small, shared groan amongst them but, soon enough, the class began to quietly read to start their morning, settling down in their seats and filtering through the pages.
Otto, sitting down and pulling out his laptop from his case, looked over his glasses. Upon finding the pair he was seeking sitting in the back, sharing a worn book, reading softly to each other, he couldn't help but harden his eyes.
Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy to get away from them.
His neighbors were a pair of curious things.
A pair of dangerous things, more like.
That morning had been almost too close. Although it was exhausting to as so much talkto them, he was glad he'd distracted them from picking up any recognizablebody parts.
Pale Lady forbid if they had found an arm or a leg.
Otto stared back at his laptop, towards the open email, and began to type furiously, the phantom taste of apple pie and crunching tin filling his mouth.
Too much of curiosity would get them killed.
He sent the email with a press of his pinkie, folding his hands and breathing into them with half lidded eyes.
He just hoped it wouldn't come to that.
Of all the things he dreaded that fine Thursday, this had to top it all.
Otto couldn't bring himself to move - to speak.
What will he even say? He pondered, standing in the middle of Arcadia Oak's hallway, hand hovering.
It had been a century since he'd seen his nestmate - one of the two young changelings he had been raised with, sparred with, and, eventually, forced to separate from.
A test of loyalty. They had reasoned. Loyalty to Gunmar's advisors and their orders always came first.
He swallowed, a burning sensation sliding down his throat as a rogue thought danced through his head.
Pale Lady, Otto mused, taking another step towards the large oak door, It has been so long. Will he even remember me?
Was it possible to forget one's own nestmate?
In his step forward, his readied knuckles made accidental contact with the door, an early knock echoing in the wood.
A muffled voice called from the other side.
Ready or not, there was no going back now.
Then, with a shaking hand, he twisted the knob to open up the door.
It was a good-sized office, he could see as he walked in. Warm coffee walls with a warm coffee smell filled the entire space, built in shelves and wide-open windows that allowed sunlight to creep its way inside. There was the gurgling of hot water nearby, and, distracted, Otto turned towards the other half of the room, holding his briefcase closer to his side.
The other presence rose up from pouring his steaming hot mug, blinking.
"Otto?" he spoke, crisp and clear.
Otto Scaarbach gave a small shrug and one of his nervous laughs, a brief smile playing on his lips.
Walter Strickler hadn't aged a single day. True, there was a few more creases now, few more whitening hairs in his already salt and pepper hair. But, his face was the same, green eyes and sharp nose and an even sharper grin.
"Otto," Strickler finally said, finishing pouring his cup, "I was expecting you."
"You were?" Otto asked, tilting his head. He shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead, muttering. "Ich bin ein Idiot. The email. This morning."
A small laugh broke through Strickler's usually serious demeanor, wrinkles creasing around his eyes.
"It seems you've forgotten already."
Otto felt his face flush, rolling his eyes in a huff.
"Jetlag." he excused himself, rolling a wrist and taking a few steps forward. "Don't laugh at me."
He looked back to Strickler and, after a moment, realized he was closer, leaning over his desk. Otto's eyes shifted down to Strickler's right outstretched hand.
He stared at it for a moment, before taking it in his own.
A professional, straightforward way to say hello after a full century of separation.
It was a little cold.
But, Strickler always had cold hands.
"It's good to see you Mein Freund." Otto managed through a small, nervous, smile.
"Likewise," Stickler stated, breaking it off after a few shakes, "Although, I never thought… a teacher?"
"Wasn't a choice I made," Otto clarified, as he sat down, in his chair on the side of his desk. "I'd rather be pulling teeth or teaching music but, it was the only option left."
"I'm sorry."
"Ach! I will live." His grin became crooked, "Besides, I believe at this rate, it is only temporary."
Walter smiled in return, eyebrow creasing. A wicked look crossed his eyes as he raised the steaming cup of tea to his lips, drinking slowly.
"Indeed." He hummed, licking the leftover taste of chai, "You've gotten them in without a hassle, I assume?"
"Ja. Next box should come in tomorrow evening."
"Good." Strickler hummed, staring out the wide-open window.
Otto followed his Strickler's gaze over to the groups of children in Arcadia Oak High's grassy courtyard, eating their paper bag lunches, throwing a ball, taking a break from the stress and confinements of a classroom. In the mass, Otto caught who he was staring at - one of the boys he'd seen just that morning, the taller one with the blue tug-over jacket. But, as quickly as he had been looking, he was back, attention drawn back to office, to the tea, to his company.
He cleared his throat lightly before he stood once again.
"Well," the history teacher began, wide knuckled hands coming together, "I believe I've had a small revelation."
"Ja?"
Strickler walked over to the water heater, lifting it from its hot plate.
"I never did ask if you wanted some tea."
Moments later, Otto held a cup close to his chest as they kept speaking, blowing on the steam between breaks for air. He stared at the warm drink as Strickler rattled, hands and voice and expression a gusto in a sudden rush of newfound air - a few tales of the past 100 years resurfacing as they waited for the end of lunch bell.
Otto smiled as Strickler poured himself another cup, tangent after tangent flowing from his mouth about his students, the graded papers, the fellow teachers, anything he could think of.
Blinking, Otto felt a small breath of amusement leave his chest as he listened, keeping his gaze at his companion and his creasing smile.
There were things he had missed.
He was glad old habits never changed.
He was rushing now. Rapid wingtip shoes smacking against concrete as he hurried across the black, metal bridge.
He didn't care how the heat as the sun beat heavily upon his head, as trickles of sweat made its way down his face. He was just anxious to get home. The final bell didn't come fast enough and now the latest package would have been sitting on his doorstep for almost an hour now.
He frowned.
He didn't exactly think the whole scheduling through.
The good thing, however, is that he didn't have to worry about any pesky teenager sticking their noses inside of it today. He'd watched his merry pair of neighbors take a stop at Tiki's Tacos after school, the familiar bikes in front of the store for an after-school pick-me-up.
Otto blinked, looking over the side to take in the ravine. It was just as dry as it was this morning, the shining sun still filtering over the remains of a dead troll.
He told himself to keep walking. To turn away and not concern himself with the body of a stranger.
But, staring at it, really taking a moment to look closer, Otto slowed to a stop, blinking.
He leaned over the side, guardrail digging into his gut.
He'd seen this troll before.
But where?
From this distance, with just scattered pieces, it was impossible to tell.
Looking over his shoulder, he made sure no one was present as he made his way around and slid carefully down the embankment, holding his briefcase close as he landed with a small thud at the bottom.
He advanced the remains cautiously, as if the creature would come up and rip him to bits with his fists at any given second. It never came, of course, and he picked up a rather large piece of the former troll, observing it closer.
His knuckles grew white as he gripped the stone tighter.
He was holding the remains of Kanjugar.
Kanjugar. The Trollhunter.
Or, what was left of him.
He dropped the stone back to the ground, circling the rubble.
It was strange. Seeing the former Trollhunter this close and without the chance of threat.
He kicked a chunk of knuckle when he saw it.
A soft, flashing light, filtering between the stones.
Otto's breath hitched.
Dropping to his knees, he dug through the remains, tossing aside chunks of stone and dust till he found what he was looking for.
"The Amulet of Daylight." He whispered, as it illuminated, bright and blue.
He grinned.
And it was his for the taking.
With a hollering laugh, Otto Scaarbach leapt from his spot and held up the device towards the sun, the glowing disc obscuring its heavy rays. He observed the cool silver rim, the intricate clockwork of the magical instrument, the dials the rings and clicking gears when he pressed on the wheel with his fingers.
After all these years. Chasing.
Finally.
He could touch it.
It gave another bright, unexpected flash and Otto with a gasp, dropped it back to the rubble.
He blinked the sudden set of stars in his eyes and stared, mouth agape, as the dials spun.
A voice had come from within it. Something muffled.
He furrowed his eyebrows as he scooped it up again, scrutinizing.
Another muffled voice, a little louder now but, still incoherent.
He brought it closer, closer still.
But, before he could inspect any further, the sharp flash of light and the booming familiar sound of "Otto Scaarbach!" struck his ears.
And, with a soft yelp of surprise, he fell back in an ungrateful heap, back aching on contact with the stony body of the former Trollhunter below.
He smelt the dark roast, swirling its sugar and cream with a twist of his wrist.
It hadn't spoken to him since he'd gotten himself up from the bottom of the ravine.
The damn thing continued to be silent as he put a pot on the counter, poured it, and stirred sugar and cream, staring at it all the while. It was still merrily glowing but, it was dimmer now.
Strange. Was all Otto could muse, sipping his coffee, Strange. Strange. Strange.
Only some knowledge of the Amulet was known to changelings and there was no way to tell in his position whether the information given was accurate or not.
But, screaming his name so hard that it sent him falling backwards?
A bit unheard of.
Very unheard of.
Unblinking, he poured the next cup of coffee into his#2 Brother mug, not caring as the dark roast spilt and dripped on his recently cleaned counter.
Otto Scaarbach was caught between a rock and a hard place.
He knew he could tell Strickler or Nomura. Turn it in and act like nothing ever happened that afternoon. It was an accident. He just so happened to stumble upon it.
But, even still, it had spoken, nien, it had screamed his name.
It wasn't everyday an uncanny Amulet spoke to you.
He didn't want to get rid of it just yet.
But, realizing it had eaten all his time as the grandfather clock in his living room chimed 9, he knew he had to give it up eventually. But it was fun basking in the fact that he, Otto Scaarbach, had found the Amulet of Daylight on his own.
He grinned, glancing at his watch.
He knew he'd never let Bular live it down.
Otto took another sip of his coffee before, quite suddenly, he felt his eyes widen.
His tongue had brushed against something cold and metallic.
Mug shaking, he forced himself to pull his lips away and stare into it.
It shattered into the floor with a hollow smash moments later, Otto's back hitting the wall as he stared at the steaming hot mess, the Daylight Amulet spinning in the commotion.
Suddenly, being alone with the Amulet wasn't fun anymore.
He wasted no time in sliding across the wall and towards the old corded landline, eyes sweeping for the address book on the small hallway table. His heart hammered at the sudden blue flash and turned to find the Amulet now sittingon top of the phonebook, clicking and blinking away.
Otto swiped it violently off, grabbing the book and tugging it close as he reached for the phone. He flipped through the pages, dialing the digits as they came and pressed the receiver to his ear.
Struggling, he unraveled himself from the curly cord and leaned impatiently on the wall, eyes not breaking contact from the infernal object not lying dormant on the ground.
"Pick up." Otto muttered, glasses slipping down his nose, "Pick it up!"
It continued to ring, a droning sound filling his ears.
"Come on! Pick up the damn-."
"Um? Hello?"
Otto swallowed, realizing that the phone had stopped in its tone seconds ago.
"Stickler." Otto muttered, pressing himself further against the wall and twirling the chord with a finger, "Strickler. How fast can you and Nomura get here?"
"What? Why?" There was a pause, "Are you alright?"
"No!" Otto screamed, shaking the landline in his hands, "No! I'm not okay! I'm going crazy! I swear on Deya's Grave I'm seeing and hearing… hearing…"
He trailed off, hand shaking.
"Otto? Hello? Are you there?"
The voice of Stickler struck him like a knife, reminding him of his predicament.
He had to act fast.
"Ah! Oh no!" Otto screamed, wringing the receiver in his hands, "Wait! Don't come! There's, uh, a roach! In my omelet! I'm gonna' be sick!"
He made a vomiting noise that he hoped was convincing, but, after a lengthy silence on the other end, Otto felt his face grow a pinkish hue.
"Otto. What the-!"
With a violent shove, he slammed the phone back into the receiver, a ring echoing through the hallow household.
Sliding down the wall, Otto gave a shaking sigh and, in a fist, pulled at his hair.
He couldn't tell them. He came to the conclusions with a sudden jolt. He couldn't tell anyone.
Bular would kill him.
If not Bular, one of his changeling colleagues, most definitely.
They killed Trollhunters: confronted them, fought them, laughed as they died between their hands.
He stared at the Amulet of Daylight across from him, eyes wide as the humming glow remained.
It would make sense. Calling the next Trollhunter by name. Shouting for the next champion to collect it.
He shook his head. No. That was absurd.It was mockery.
Him? Second-in-command of the Janus Order? Changeling polymorph? A man of who was everything a Trollhunter stood against?
It's broken. Otto tried to reason, There has to be a mistake.
Even so, staring at this object of immense power and magic, Otto feared it didn't make mistakes.
It had called for him.
Otto Scaarbach, The Trollhunter.
How utterly, utterly disastrous.
There was a large crash in the basement, breaking Otto out of his fretting stupor.
Hands lowering from his face, he glanced at it, breath hitching.
Seeing as he was home alone, it could only mean one thing.
Strickler. He fumed, The bastard! He came anyways!
Rising from his seat, Otto stared at the thin wooden door, the strange noises beckoning for him to go down and investigate.
Reaching into the nearest drawer, he armed himself with the first thing he laid his fingers around, snatching the cold-coffee soaked Amulet from of the floor and pocketing it.
And, pushing the glasses back up his nose, he gathered his courage and, slowly but surely, began his descent.
"Hello?" Otto called into the darkness. He flipped the switch again, but, no bulb flickered to life at the bottom. There was a shuffling of empty glass bottles as someone moved in the basement and Otto sighed.
"Walter. I know you're there." Otto spoke as he descended the creaking stairwell, "Look. I can expl-."
His voice was cut off by the bang against his furnace, door swinging loosely as a few burning coals fell out and singed the concrete floor.
He advanced forward to pick them up but, froze when he saw movement to his right. His own reflection, he realized, after giving a graceless holler. A German curse hung on his lips but, was interrupted by a sound opposite and he turned.
A humanoid blur made its way behind the stack of dusting furniture and, in jostling the large stack, the mirror fell over, shattering. He took a few hurried steps back, Amulet humming in time with his rapidly beating heart.
Another blur hit the pipes, a low growl coming from behind the ceiling as they hissed, steam rolling from a busted bolt.
Otto's body went ridged.
That wasn't Walter.
And, before he could turn to rush back up the stairs and lock up whatever had made its way into his basement, he ran into something rather hard, hands drawn up at the impact.
He held his breath as his fingers touched the leathery straps of suspenders and, turning his eyes up a blue chest, was met with six merry pairs of eyes, staring back.
"Ah! Master Otto!" the troll shouted, four arms raised tusks and teeth baring in a smile.
Instinctively, Otto jerked back, wielding his weapon he grabbed from upstairs. Holding it an arm's length in front of him, he came to realize he'd only grabbed a salad tong - the fork side - and was wielding it like a knife. The sudden, unexpected draw of a weapon surprised the dull blue troll and, with a noise, took a step back himself.
At this length he was able to observe the intruder. He was a Pannoxi - with smiling six eyes and four arms to match. He held a receding hairline, a wide crooked smile, and he had all four arms in an open gesture of hello.
However friendly he looked, however he'd known his name, he wouldn't fall for it.
Yelling, Otto lunged forward with his weapon, but was stopped by a rather large tug on his button up, pulling him back and bringing him onto the ground.
He landed with a huff on his back, staring up at the the embarrassed face of yet another troll, now lowering his hand.
"Oops." rumbled the hovering Goliath, "Sorry."
At the sight of the hairy brute, Otto screamed again, pulling himself up to his elbows and sliding over the concrete ground.
"Blinky. I think he's scared."
"Nonsense. I this must be a human custom. A greeting of some sort."
The troll gave a rather loud shout in return, the open toothy maul causing Otto to scramble a bit faster, socked feet slipping against the concrete.
In his retreat, however, Otto Scaarbach failed to note the shards in close proximity and hissing, he pulled his hand up and away, squeezing his palm shut over the thin line of crimson.
Cursing aloud, he forced himself to stand, pressing the slowly bleeding limb against his side. He glared at the pair, lip curled and a low snarl escaping his mouth.
"Get away!" Otto snapped, eyes narrowed, "Who the Hell are you? Step back!"
Upon the sight and sound of Otto's lowered pitch and raised voice, all movement forward ceased, the six eyes of the smaller troll shifting in a sudden epiphany.
"Oh dear! Where are my manners?" He chuckled, as he shook his head. He extended a lower arm to touch his companion's side, the other becoming towards Otto, "Let us introduce ourselves! This is my dear companion, AAARRRGGHH!-."
"With three 'r's."
"Right." Blinky smiled, "and I'm-."
"I don't care who you are!" Otto shouted, resisting the urge to tug out his hair as he leveled the utensil again, ""Stay back! Get away from me, verdammt!"
Standing, he continued his backing in the cramped basement. He found, however, he'd backed himself into a literal corner, his backside hitting the wall with a heavy thud.
"Surely," the four-armed troll offered, extending a hand, "you must know we are here to greet our new Trollhunter?"
The rigid fork he held in his hands trembled.
"What?"
"You." AAARRRGGHH! Explained, extending one of his large fingers, "Trollhunter."
Blinky gave a warm shrug, "There you have it, from the wonderful voice of AAARRRGGHH!. Couldn't have it any -."
But, before he could finish, Otto threw the large fork in the trolls' direction with another cry, leaping over a small box in an attempt to scramble around them both. In his hurried footsteps, he'd failed to see the outstretched palm of the larger troll and he directly close lined into it the back of his head bouncing and hitting a large pipe extending from the floor behind him.
He groaned as stars exploded behind his eyes, pinpoints of light that weighed him down as he wobbled where he stood.
Then Otto Scaarbach fell forward, nose and face and glasses slamming into the dank concrete of his basement floor.
"Hm." a deeper voice spoke through his buzzing head, "Was this part of plan?"
Otto felt himself being peeled off the ground, arms and legs and head rolling loosely in the air, glasses falling off his nose.
There was a hum from the other middle-aged troll, the Pannoxi, and Otto felt the glasses being pressed back onto his face, his eyes already closed.
"Ah, well, not exactly."
There was a pause.
"But, we'll make it work."
Strickler was not pleased.
Not at all.
In the approaching evening, he could only stare at the remnants of the last Trollhunter, toe shifting the cracked stone pieces and rubble.
He shook his head and as he watched the last rays of sun disappear over the horizon and felt someone creep out from underneath the bridge, large footsteps and rumbling making his presence known. There was a huff of aggravation, hot breath slipping down the back of the changeling's neck.
"Well?" A rumbling voice inquired as it climbed around the man, a clawed hand reaching for the rubble.
"Don't bother to look." Stickler growled, "You failed and let it get away."
A deep growl sounded out before a fist struck the cement, cracking it.
"It doesn't matter." The hoarse voice hissed, "Whoever holds the Amulet of Merlin, I shall destroy him, just as I have done with every single one of them."
There was a lengthy pause, the pacing troll and the changeling taking in the night as it fell, cool and soft and quiet as the next.
He stooped to pick up a bit of debris, a small twig, twisting it as he looked over the dark purple plane, smirking.
"The Amulet, it seems, has found a new champion." Strickler chuckled, a sound that hummed deep in his throat.
The changeling's eyes glanced over the hilt sticking out of the inside pocket of his jacket. A single sleek dagger, thin and sharp. The small smirk tugged at his lips, pulling it wider as his eyes began to glow in the rising moonlight.
He snapped the twig he held in half.
He could already feel himself slipping the knife between their ribs.