The Tale of Askeladden and the Troll with the Seven Stomachs

(As remembered by Trollgur Drek, who once arm-wrestled said troll over the last pickled herring.)

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In the days when mountains still had moods and the trees whispered louder than the wind, there lived a farmer with three sons. The two eldest were strong, proud, and as useful as wet firewood. But the youngest, Askeladden—thin as birch bark and always covered in soot—was mocked for his laziness and dreaming ways. They called him fool, slowpoke, and worse.

One day, the king sent out word across the land:

“Whosoever can clear the great forest beside Mount Gnarg, where no man dare chop for fear of trollkind, shall earn a pouch of gold and a place at my table.”

The brothers, hungry for glory, marched off one by one.

First Came the Eldest Brother

Big and broad-shouldered, he chopped three mighty swings into the nearest pine. But before the fourth stroke could fall, the ground shook. Birds fled. A reek of moss, sweat, and old goat cheese filled the air.

Out stomped the troll.

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Seven stomachs did it have, each growling for a different snack. Its eyes were coals, its nose long enough to dip in a fjord. A belt of bones clattered around its waist.

“WHO DARES CHOP MY TREES, EH? I’LL ROAST YE WITH TURNIPS AND GRAVEL!”

The brother shrieked like a frightened hen and fled so fast he outran his own boots.

Then Came the Second Brother

Confident and loud, he sang as he chopped—but the result was the same. The troll came roaring, slapping trees aside like twigs, and the second brother threw down his axe and ran straight into a thorn bush, where he stayed until sundown.

At Last Came Askeladden

The father sighed.

“You? You’ll be troll fodder before noon.”

But Askeladden just smiled, soot-smudged and quiet.

He packed a satchel with:

• One round cheese (goat’s milk, aged just right),
• One rusty old knife,
• One flask of tar from the chimney pot,
• And his lunch, which was half a turnip and some dry bread.

He strolled into the forest, whistling.

Askeladden chopped one tree, then two. The sound echoed like drumbeats. Sure enough, the troll came charging—drooling, furious, stomping squirrels into jam.

“WHO DARES—”

“Evening,” said Askeladden, calm as a glacier. “Hungry?”

The troll blinked. That… was new.

Askeladden spread a cloth on a stump and invited the beast to sit. The troll scratched its belly-belt, then grunted and sat—breaking the stump and half the hillside.

“Let’s eat,” said Askeladden, and brought out the cheese.

Now, this be the clever bit. He held the cheese up like a stone.

“I can squeeze milk from rocks,” he said, and crushed it so whey dripped like tears.

The troll gasped.

“TEACH ME, ROCK-SQUEEZER!”

The troll grabbed a real rock and squeezed until its fingers turned blue and a chip shot up its nose.

“Bah! What kind of stones be these?”

“Only mountain-born trolls can do it,” said Askeladden with a shrug.

Next, he made a show of clutching his belly.

“Oof, I’m too full. I must cut open my stomach to make more room.”

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He took his knife and pretended to stab himself—but oh no! It was the flask of tar under his tunic he sliced. Thick black goo spilled out.

The troll howled.

“YOU STAB YOURSELF TO EAT MORE?!?”

“Of course,” said Askeladden, wiping fake blood with bread. “Don’t you?”

The troll shrieked, clutching all seven stomachs.

“Ye’re too mad to fight! TOO STRONG! TOO HUNGRY! I SHALL NEVER RETURN!”

And with a final belch, it fled into the hills, tripping over tree roots and yelling about cursed cheese-wizards and mad humans.

Askeladden cleared the forest in peace. He chopped all day, and when night came, no trees grew back. The king honored his word—gave the lad gold, a seat at the table, and even the hand of his daughter (though she took one look at him and said, “Maybe we start with friendship?”).

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Trollgur’s Grumbling Thoughts:

Bah! This story again. Makes me cough pine needles. That troll was Grundle Gluttgut, I knew him well. Not the brightest fungus in the cave, bless his foul breath. Always said yes to snacks and no to thinking. We used to call him “Two-Brain Grundle”—because he had one for each ear and neither worked properly.

Still, can’t help but chuckle. That Askeladden… slippery as eel oil on a frozen rock. He didn’t win with strength. He won with wit, guts (or fake guts), and a good hunk of goat cheese.

Lesson for all? Trolls may be tough, but never underestimate a human with a trick and a dairy product.

Now then, go fetch me some real cheese and none of that waxy city muck, or I’ll squeeze you like a rock.

Want another tale? One with dragons and cursed soup, perhaps?

Speaking of mythical tales, you might be interested in the rich collection of Norwegian folktales. They feature fascinating characters like Askeladden who is often seen in these stories as the underdog overcoming challenges with wit. If you’re fascinated by Trolls and their lore, you could delve into the mythology of Trolls on Wikipedia and how their image has evolved throughout history. Additionally, Askeladden’s clever use of cheese in this tale is a unique moment, and you can learn more about the wider topic of Cheese and its importance across various cultures. If curious about the mysterious Mount Gnarg mentioned in the story, you might find it interesting to look into the geology of Norway and its majestic mountains. Lastly, if you’re curious to know more about dragons and cursed soup, head over to Wikipedia’s webpages on Dragons and Soup.