The Grand Highblood

[Grand Highblood]

hErE's ThE lInE uP



Grand Highblood
tHiS iS eVeRy ShAdE oF rIgHt


THE ROLEPLAYER.
y'KnOw sUbJuGgAlAtInG NeAr ThE sEa
AnD sHiT tOgEtHeR?!

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[/b][/color] Cen
AGE Old
YEARS ROLEPLAYING Shitton
OTHER CHARACTERS The Summoner
CONTACT ME BY PM works best
SECRET CODE: Aim for the head
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THE CHARACTER.
gO. sLeEp BaDlY. i WiLl Be
RiGhT uNdEr YoUr BeD.

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The Grand Highblood
NICKNAMES
Eurnom [pupahood name, though it has been lost to history]
AGE
Thirty two sweeps
OCCUPATION
Leader tyrant of the land trolls, and he enjoys that position very much so.
ANYTHING ELSE
The Grand Highblood actually has a common mutation for his blood that results in powerful psychic powers....but they only take effect while other trolls are asleep. Like many indigobloods, he uses these powers to instill fear in the masses and keep them under his thumb. [/SIZE]
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THE LOOKS.

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lOoK uP tErRoR iN tHe DiCtIoNaRy.
YoU kNoW wHaT yOu'Ll FiNd?[/color] [/SIZE][/center]

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It would be safe to say that the Grand Highblood's hair appears to be nothing more than a miniature horrorterror attached to his head. In reality, he merely does nothing to take care of it and thus it has grown long and matted over sweeps. It has been quite some time since it has taken on a mane-like quality, and he shows no sign of ever paying any attention to it.
FACE
It can be difficult to see the actual sweeps and curves of his face at most points, as the Grand Highblood makes a point to paint himself up in a mockery of clown paint every morning. However, beneath the makeup, he has a very slender, almost slightly feminine, face. His jaw is decidedly slender, and high cheekbones give him an appearance that could feasibly be considered attractive...if he actually cared to take care of himself. His eyes are small and usually half-lidded in mocking amusement, with bright indigo pupils that are the herald of his blood color. Strangely enough he also has rather thick lashes as well. Thin lips hide razor sharp teeth, and more often than not, he is grinning, though the effect is decidedly not friendly at all.
BODY
The Grand Highblood is a gigantic specimen of a troll, far towering over most other adult trolls. He has an incredibly developed upper body from years of swinging his oversized clubs around, though his leg musculature is only average at best. Strangely, he also has terribly large hands and oversized claws, making it incredibly difficult for him to perform tasks that require fine manual dexterity.

There is a distinct mound of scar tissue upon his right lower arm, twisted and discolored as if the old wound was never bound and cared for properly. It appears as though some of the flesh is missing, causing a dip in the line of his arm. There are two similar scars on his body, though they are far less mangled than the first. One is what appears to be an old bite mark on his lower left side, and the other is on the outer part of his left thigh.
STYLE
Grand Highblood's style is...unique, to say the least. He dresses to intimidate, garbing himself in the bright color of his blood and the bones of those that he has slain. It is a barbaric process, but it cannot be said that it is not effective. He cares absolutely nothing for fashion, and instead dresses to make an impression and nothing more. Stripes and spots grace his body, clashing horrendously in places, but no one has ever had the gall to tell him such. Or rather, no one that has told him such has ended up surviving. In addition, he proudly wears his sign right over his bulge area, as if daring people to look.

There is also a large, hoofbeast-like skull that he wears on occasion, when he is actually going to battle. It is the skull of his lusus, and it is one of his most prized possessions.
ANYTHING ELSE
Strangely enough, he has an incredible long, incredibly prehensile tongue.[/SIZE]
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THE PERSONALITY.
i InVeNtEd CuLlInG wHeN i WaS a GrUb.
WhAt Do YoU dO?

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♑ Color: for one so blatantly hemist, he enjoys having a multitude of varying colors everywhere in his daily life. Of course these colors generally come from the blood of various trolls that have been culled within his vicinity, but that hardly matters to him.
♑ The hemospectrum:[/i] who wouldn't like something that gives them power and control over others?
♑ Chucklevoodoo: though he detests lowblood psychic powers, he takes great pride in his own. The ability to cause fear in others is a great boon, after all.
♑ Obedience:[/u] his rule is absolute, and those that submit to him are seen in a better light. That does not mean that they will survive any longer than those that disobey him, but hey, it can't help to be liked.
♑ Clown motifs:[/u] there is little rhyme or reason behind this, other than the fact that he finds the somewhat creepy paints and mannerisms to be pleasing.
♑ Gore: he has taken the normal levels of troll violence and bloodthirst and raised them to an extreme. There is something comforting about seeing gore between his claws, perhaps a throwback to his early years with his lusus when he was safe.
♑ Insects:[/u] though it is surprising that he would like something so obviously weak and easily killed, he finds the brutality within the various species to be quite interesting. It's always nice to have creatures that tear eachother apart around to amuse oneself with.
♑ Noise:[/u] quiet is unnatural and dangerous to him, and he much prefers to surround himself with cacophonies in order to drown out his own thoughts.
♑ Daytime: an oddity for a troll, he enjoys the daytime not because he can go out into the sun, far from it, but because it is when he is able to invade the dreams of sleeping trolls. Consequently, he gets very little sleep because he is consistently awake using the voodoo of his blood to assure his superiority over the masses.
DISLIKES
♑ Sea trolls:[/u] though he does pay lip service to the Empress, and perhaps even begrudgingly does respect her, he dislikes all of her ilk, finding them to be nothing more than fanciful ponces that treat their positions as higher than they should be.
♑ Other blood castes:[/u] it can easily be said that the Grand Highblood is a hemist, as he finds the lowest on the hemospectrum to be utterly repulsive. He views those directly below him, both indigo and blue bloods, as useful tools, and utterly detests the higher purple bloods for their fanciful ways.
♑ Humans:[/u] even redbloods are more civilized than the fleshy, pink things that populate the daylight hours of medius. If it wasn't for their numbers, it would certainly be hin his perogative to wage war against them and once and for all wipe them out during the distraction of the zombie apocalypse.
♑ The undead:[/u] while they originally had the potential to be amusing, the walking dead are providing much more of an annoyance than he had predicted they would.
♑ Lusii:[/u] he has an intense distrust of them, and though he realizes that they are necessary for raising new generations of trolls and that he has no control over them, he still possesses memories of his own murderous guardian and thus can never trust one. He has gone so far as to ban them from his court, and any troll of any age that attempts to bring their lusus with them when appearing before him is summarily culled.
♑ Quadrants:[/i] he doesn't necessarily dislike the concept of quadrants, but rather he has never found time or use for them. He has had a slew of potential kismesises, but he much prefers just to kill such trolls after he has taken his pleasure from them, finding it to be far less complicated in the long run. His other quadrants have been thankfully empty for the length of his life.
♑ Disobedience:[/u] while the thrill of the chase can be fun, he does not approve of any sort of rebellion or heresy that drives against his rule.
♑ Petty problems:[/u] as hypocritical as it is, he finds having to deal with petty issues between trolls to be nothing more than a chore. His normal response to such things is to just eliminate both parties and be done with it.
HOBBIES
♑ Painting:[/u] he actually is an accomplished artist, though his taste in what counts as acceptable paint is....questionable.
♑ Torture:[/u] well, a despot has to have at least one guilty pleasure, doesn't he?
HABITS
♑ Laughing:[/u] no matter if it is appropriate for the situation or not, he tends to find humor in the darkest of things, and has been known to just cackle and cackle during even the most gruesome of torture sessions, just because he can.
♑ Drumming his fingers:[/u] a simple habit, something more born out of boredom than anything else.
♑ Letting his tongue hang out: it isn't so much a habit as he forgets it is there. It is prehensile enough for him to use as a very clumsy hand, and so he will often times use it to hold small objects if his hands are full.
FEARS
♑ Mutation:[/u] though logic would dictate that he is far safe from ever changing, he is distinctly uncomfortable around lowbloods with prominent mutations, be they physical or psychic. Because of this, he takes special care to have prominently mutated trolls culled as quickly as possible.
♑ Lusii:[/u] though it seems to be an incredibly silly fear for one of his rank, he detests lusii in all forms and does not allow them near him.
♑ Being eaten: an old, nearly primal fear from his grub days. Though his lusus has long since been slain, it is a paranoia that lurks in the back of his mind. Even in concupiscent relationships, he is loathe to allow his chosen partners to even come close to biting him, out of fear that they are attempting to do much worse.
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PERSONALITY
Perhaps the only thing that most people ever take away from meeting with the Grand Highblood is that his grip on reality is shaky at best. Well, those that are lucky enough to walk away. It is quite true however, that he is a very, very deeply disturbed troll, and that his issues are something that are probably best left untouched. Leaving them untouched, however, means that his dementia, psychosis, and every single hemist, racist sentiment that floats around his mind will forever remain, and that is exactly how he likes it.

Though he is universally reviled as a monster, a soulless apparition with no concept of humanity, he finds absolutely nothing wrong with himself, and that is perhaps what proves the extent of how disturbed his mind really is. Everything in life that he does, from his manic outbursts to the systematic culling of any troll that he finds to be offensive, is justified in his mind, because he is the highblood. His hemist mentality allows him to excuse every atrocity in the name of ‘it is his right and he is owed such’. Nothing can be blamed on him, because he is a troll that is the highest of the high, dwarfed only by the Empress. His actions make the lowbloods suffer? It is their own fault for being born so disgustingly filthy, and they should be grateful that he is gracing them with his rule. Even those higher on the hemospectrum from him are looked down upon, because certainly no proper troll would ever live in the water, aside from the Empress that he begrudgingly tolerates. Everything and anything in the world belongs to him, and it is his to do what he pleases with.

It is because of this sense of entitlement that he is incredibly, incredibly petty. The idea that the world needs to bend to his will is well enough, but the reality of the situation is that it rarely works out like such, and in those situations he flies off the handle. As long as his will is being done, he is a pleasant, if not completely terrifying sort, but it is when he is defied that the true nature of his image is revealed. Rage, hot and terrible, is his weapon, tempered with a cruel sense of cunning. He is no mere wildbeast when enraged, but instead a competent warrior with no shred of mercy for those that have earned his revulsion. Coupled with the fact that he has a love of torture, no matter what his mood, it is safe to say that he is a rather brutal foe to face, and many of those faced with his clubs have wished that their ends could be quick. There is a sick sense of amusement he derives from slowly picking other apart bit by bit, and he has no qualm in drawing out the death of one who has displeased him for as long as possible.

His need to control everything in his world is obsessive and unrelenting, stemming from deep-seated issues with trust and an ego that was over-inflated when he was a grub. If he is not able to dictate every little thing around him, something could potentially go wrong, and if things potentially go wrong, he could be hurt, even killed. While he is not a cautious troll in the slightest (in fact, he happens to quite enjoy being injured), the thought of his own mortality is thoroughly upsetting, and so he does his best to protect himself from anything that he sees as a threat. This has mostly culminated into an intense fear and distrust of heavily mutated trolls; he recognizes how dangerous their psychic powers are, and thus does his best to have any mutated individual hunted down and either enslaved or culled immediately. If a psychic troll cannot be controlled, they are not allowed to live, it is as simple as that.

It is in his own complexes and delusions that he makes his place, perfectly happy to be feared and reviled alike. He had no delusions that he is hated, and instead actually thrives on the hatred, content to be cast as the villain, because that is what he is. There is no shred of decency left in his heart, and if that makes him evil, then so be it, he fine with being evil.

He is by no means an unintelligent troll, however it may seem. One does not become a leader and stay in that position of power just through sheer force. No, he has proven to be a rather effective military commander, his issues aside, and because of this he has remained in favor with the Empress. Though his opinion on her is a complicated matter, the two have formed an alliance, and they often times meet to discuss important strategies, politics, and occasionally frivilous matters as all trolls are wont to do. That does not mean that he has any sort of love for her, however, for she is still a sea troll and still someone that lords over him due to her lusus. While his loyalty to her is shaky at best, he is still currently follows her....for the time being.
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THE FAMILY.
wElL, i UsEd To BeAt ThEm In MoRsE cOdE,
sO iTs PoSsIbLe.

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His lusus used to take the shape of a large, monsterous creature with a terrible disposition. It has been dead for many sweeps, and the Grand Highblood shows no remorse at its death.

He is also related to one Gamzee Makara.
PETS
None
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HISTORY
For one hatched with indigo blood, there were very few hardships to be had for the Grand Highblood. As near royalty among land trolls, he was a prized wriggler, a wriggler that any lusus would have been honored to have raised, and it was after he emerged from the caverns, bloodied and scratched up but alive and victorious, that he was plucked up by a lusus of great strength and prestige. Though in later years such a lusus would prove to be undeniably terrible for the young grub, during the early sweeps of his life, the troll (not yet grand, merely tiny little Eurnom) took to his custodian with a smile and all of the love that his tiny blood pusher could hold.

As near nobility, Eurnom never wanted for money, and it was because of this that construction on his hive was started almost immediately. Though he was far too young to understand what was going on, drones worked night and day to make sure that he and his guardian had a proper place to live, a hive fit for only the highest of bloods that would one day become his palace. As a young troll, however, he merely endeavored to build to his whim, and the resulting hive was a very eccentric collection of rooms and walls that made no sense. It was tolerated, however, because as a highblood, who was to tell him that his designs were inefficient or ineffective? It was from this that the seeds of an overinflated ego would take root; after all, a child left with no chastising would be bound for nothing more than a selfish, spoiled adult life.

Nightly lessons with his lusus began almost immediately as he shed his wriggler form, and his childhood was not spent carefree or fun like many other trolls. Though he was allowed a certain degree of autonomy, there were always things to learn, from history, to the arts, to (incredibly hemist) politics. During the day he was kept awake, taught the extent of the powers his blood entailed. Voodoo they called it, the ability to use small fetishes to implant fear within the minds of all lowbloods, and he took to the idea with childish enthusiasm. The thought of going into the dreams of other trolls was exciting, and it sounded like much more a game than a way to subjugate an entire population, after all. Eurnom found himself enjoying the trips, and though his childish powers were yet undeveloped, he began by implanting thoughts within the minds of his closest blueblooded neighbor, all under the watchful eye of his lusus. It was slow going, and he wasn’t sure of the effects that it was having, but soon the blueblood stopped visiting, stopped even drawing near the line of the highblood’s property. It was a fantastic disappointment, because while there was a blood discrepancy, Eurnom had been excited to talk to the other troll, to have someone his own age to interact with, but it could not be helped, his lusus explained. It was in his breeding, he was told, and it was his duty to be an example to the filthy masses, a beacon of civility in their monstrous ways.

Most importantly out of everything, he was expected learn to kill.

In the tradition of the indigobloods, he was going to be one of the Empress’ hand chosen land troops, he was told, and what reason did he have to not believe his lusus. The ability to end another troll’s life swiftly and without mercy was thus key to this, and it was something that the young would not be sheltered from. Though the task was presented as a core, almost acedemic, thing, he was still rather adverse to it at first, like any normal child would be, not entirely convinced that he was alright with just attacking other trolls like himself. The thoughts, however, were quickly reversed after a few week’s time, when it became apparent just why he had to learn such things so early on.

There was a far more sinister, urgent need to learn to take other trolls’ lives as well. Though a wise and powerful creature, his lusus was afflicted with a hunger for trollflesh, and though it was charged with protecting the highblood, if its appetite was not assuaged it made itself very clear to its charge that it would not hesitate to take its due from his own flesh. It was a lesson learned in blood, for in the beginning Eurnom was clumsy, unable to be the effective subjuggalator that he was expected to be.

The first warning came in the form of a piece of his arm ripped out, the young troll screaming in terror and fleeing from his lusus, locking himself ineffectively in his respiteblock. The door was broken down and the next punishments came in the form of more and more bites until the creature was sated and sure its message was well learned. Medical drones were called, and Eurnom was effectively patched up, but the sheer unadulterated terror in knowing that the custodian he had loved and trusted would not hesitate to devour him was enough to break him. It was nothing more than motivation, his lusus told him, but that did nothing to cover up the troll’s horror. The lesson was indeed learned, however, and so he hunted, gripped by the fearful realization that he had to become a better highblood, or culling was his fate.

Such was the way life continued for sweeps, and the ever present threat of death was enough to allow Eurnom to grow into the role that he had been placed in. Though he was still young, very young by highblood standards, there were no exceptions in the eyes of his lusus. he was less cared for by the creature than he was trained, and though the methods were cruel, they were effective. He grew to be a hunter, detached to killing lowbloods until the task became almost fun in his mind. Those that put up more of a fight were better, and in time, he began to enjoy stalking them and spilling their blood. It was just as a proper highblood should feel, after all.

To that extent, however, his passion became muddled up in an intricate web of confusion with the inclusion of just one odd target. Nothing seemed abnormal about the other troll at first, he was merely something to beat until he stopped moving, drag home, and feed to his lusus, after all. But hours of carefully following the other had revealed one odd thing: a lack of a sign upon the other’s body. It was that that stopped his club and raised his curiosity. Every troll had a sign, that was the way society worked, and yet this thing, with it’s tiny, funny little horns wore nothing more than a simple shirt. Instead of brutally beating the other to death, he instead followed him, lurking in the bushes and watching with unadulterated childish wonder.

Of course he was discovered, and there were harsh words thrown at him, but that didn’t matter because it was the first time in such a very long time that Eurnom had seen another troll his age alive. Though he was certain that he would have to find something else to drag back home, the time he spent with the other troll was....pleasant, a feeling that he was not used to in the slightest. There were questions exchanged, names given, and hours later, when the other had absconded, he looked back on the entire situation with a strange feeling of contentment flooding through his chest.

It carried on like that for days, and Eurnom slowly but surely managed to get the other to trust him, even just for a tiniest bit. In turn, he himself began to open up, slowly, so very slowly. The reason for his first excursion was eventually brought up, and he was surprised to learn that the other didn’t hunt. Why, he had asked, for surely the other’s lusus required tribute as well, but the question was dodged artfully in favor of the other troll once again asking why he had to kill. Eurnom was perfectly happy to go on about the culling of lowbloods, cheerfully explaining his place and his right to do whatever he wanted with them, and much less cheerfully explaining his lusus’ helpful motivation. He was expecting understanding, a nod and then a mutual sharing of tips on how to better beat someone to death. What he got was a look of horror and a tirade of screaming and swearing.

It was a very foreign reaction, and he was stunned. Why, he asked, why would such a thing be wrong? That provoked yet more yelling, but by the time that the other had worn himself out, the answer was clear: because he didn’t need to do it and there was no reason he should. That in itself was perhaps the most confusing thing that he had heard the other say in their short time of knowing each other. Well of course he needed to do it, he didn’t want to die, after all. The response to that was even stranger: then just stand up for yourself, goddamnit! It was a thought that had never crossed his mind, and he tried to dismiss it, because certainly it was his lusus, and he had no desire to ever go through invoking its displeasure again. A quick run of his fingertips over the scarred tissue of his arm was enough to remind him of that.

Still, it was a thought that wouldn’t leave. Day after day, as he would meet with the other, it would still be there in his mind, like a sickness burning in his brain. He would hunt, and it would be there, screaming at him to put the club down and return. He could never follow through with it though, and so life went on as normal until one day when he could not find anything to bring back to his lusus. It was a freezing day, and it seemed that there were no trolls around to be found, and the sick realization that he would have to return empty handed was suddenly shot through with those words just stand up for yourself.

When he broke the news to his guardian, the reaction was obviously unfortunate. His lusus was furious, and in the blink of an eye it turned on him, towering over the troll and snarling, fully intent on teaching its charge a lesson that wouldn’t be forgotten. Perhaps it meant to kill him, perhaps only maim, but Eurnom was not about to find out. A sudden burst of anger shot through him, coupled with the words of his maybe-friend ringing in his ears, and instead of running like he had when he was a wriggler, he stood his ground, bringing his club to bear on the creature’s skull. A blow to the back of the head stunned it, and the subsequent blows to its neck brought it to the ground, and in a flash he was upon it, tearing at its face with his bare claws. The club came down again and again, until its body spasmed for the last time in its death throes.

It was at that point that he was no longer Eurnom, the indigo pupa groomed to become part of the Empress’ personal land guard. Blood was nothing new to him, but seeing such purple, as vibrant as his own, run through his fingers was too much for his mind to handle. This thing on the ground, this crushed and broken creature, it had raised him from a wriggler, it had threatened him, nearly abused him, and yet he had loved it as much as a troll could.

And so he laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

Time had no meaning as he stood there, indigo-stained hands gripping at his horns, clawing at his face, all he knew that everything was so motherfucking funny. It was if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and all of the fear, all of the pain, all of the anger within him had turned a million different miraculous bubbles that were clawing their way from him with each raucous howl of mirth.

It was a moment that he couldn’t let go, he had to have it always, there had to be a way to snatch it up and keep it forever, and so he set to work. Flesh and fur was peeled from bone, washing over his hands, but in the end he pulled away with the skull of his former guardian in his grasp, soaked with blood and gore. It was his prize, his trophy, his way of knowing that he was in control of his life. What was a mere lusus before him anyways? He was a highblood, he was the highblood, the grandest of them all, and he would make his name known far and wide.

His ascent of the political ladder was swift, for it was in blood that he marked his path. There were rivals all around, but instead of playing their manipulative games, things were solved with the crack of a club across one’s skull. A brutal way to obtain power, but it was effective, and in time, it was enough to turn the Empress’ eye on him. He was still serving in her personal troops at the time, but his ruthlessness and dedication had stood out, and so he was extended an invitation to meet with her on her next liason to land. It was laughable in his mind, that she should think herself high enough to speak to him, but the fact of the matter was that accepting her request could have proven to be beneficial in the long run. A courier was sent back, and half a month later, the two were set to dine together in some fine restaurant that he had no desire to ever see.

It was a fortunate meeting however, and though he did nothing to hide his revulsion at the entire situation, she pretended not to notice, and instead came forth to congratulate him on his ruthlessness. At the very least that perked his interest in the slightest bit. After all, it wasn’t normally that any sea troll gave two shits about what happened to anything on land. The conversation that followed only served to further his interest. She had come forth to propose an idea to him, the idea of placing one of her own upon land in order to rule the land dwellers. Of course it couldn’t be a sea dweller, that would have been far beneath them (a statement that made him twitch with revulsion), but instead one of the almost nobility would do nicely. His direct way of dealing with his competition had been noted, and so she set forth the deal: work as the active ruler of all land trolls for her. It was not necessarily a choice. Not that he would have refused, though.

It was in that that he had finally achieved greatness. What had been a small, scared wriggler so many sweeps ago had become one of the most feared trolls in all the land, The Grand Highblood. Of course there were those that did not approve of his rule, there were many in fact, but it was simple enough to deal with them and make them disappear forever, when it came to a one on one basis.

When the lowbloods started to organize, however, things became serious.

At first he did not take the idea of a revolution seriously. What troll would be foolish enough to try to fight him? No, it would be a short, brief thing that would be summarily wiped out, and he would continue to go on from there. Perhaps if people saw an example of what could be done if they dared to speak out, he would have to deal with less fanatics, and so it became a perogative of his to capture whomever was leading the rebellion. A public torture followed by an execution would work nicely, after all.

And so it was that he was donning the skull of his lusus and picking up his clubs again, ready to go to war with the subjuggalators and personally deal with the idiot filthbloods once and for all. The heat of battle would do him good, he needed to be out and killing, it would only reinforce his terrifying image, and that would further help to quell any sort of blasphemous thoughts within the populous, and so it was with that that he stormed the field. A rebel outcamp had been found a week earlier, and after careful observation of it, he had made the decision to storm the filth inside in the dead of night. His subjuggalator and rufianihilators went to battle, taking the rebels by surprise, but in an infuriating turn of events, the rebels themselves seemed to be readily outfitted and trained. It was an annoyance, but the Grand Highblood was confident of his victory, because after all, he was there and there was no way any sort of lowblooded trash was going to walk away after that.

He met his match, however, in the rebel leader. He could have cared less about whom the man was, only that he was another faceless body to be crushed. They battled together, each a match for the other’s skill, and suddenly it was fun. He had to give the lowblood credit for making it such, but a simple misstep by the other allowed him to bring his club down across the troll’s face, cracking his jaw and breaking his noise with a wet snap. What he had been expecting was a brown blood, maybe a yellow, but the reality was so far different. Red sprayed from the wound, and oh that color! Rich and vibrant like nothing that he had ever seen before. And such a mutant dared to defy him? Something dark and hot gripped him like never before, and suddenly the battle wasn’t just about killing the other, it was about causing as much pain as he could, about shredding the other to pieces in order to see that red once again.

Though his men irked out a victory, the leader managed to escape with some of his fellow filth, and the thought of such a mutated freak of nature outsmarting him left the Grand Highblood furious. His forces were pulled from their regular duties and sent out, all on a mission to find the rebels, find them, kill them all, and bring back the leader alive, in chains, for his judgment. He would see that mutant red blood again, that was a fact.

Unfortunately the other proved to be skilled in avoiding the men that he sent after, and it only served to inflame his black feelings even more. It was infuriating, terrible, and he would rip the mutant apart when he finally got ahold of him, that he knew. But oh, there were other duties to attend to as well, he couldn't just take his time to attend to his own personal problems. Well, at least not his full time.

Though the seas were most certainly not his territory, the tale of a land troll ruling them had reached his ears. A gamblignant blueblood, her name had been whispered through his courts, but he paid very little heed to the entire story until one day he was accosted by a sea troll working directly under the Empress. Such a pithy little thing, demanding that something be done about this 'Mindfang", it was so motherfucking insulting that he try to order the Highblood around.

He listened to the other's complaints with a grin on his face, not caring in the slightest as he whined and complained, and when his tale was done, he merely grabbed the sea troll, beating him about the head until bright purple leaked out onto the floor. Miraculously, the other troll survived, and the Highblood took him as a pet, locking him away in his own personal dungeons to use as he saw fit. When the frustrations and failures of his men were too much, there was always the Orphaner to take his rage out on, and with every agonized scream and whimper he found himself growing fond of the other troll, as one might feel towards a prized hound. He had found a toy to temporarily replace his need to capture the rebel mutant, and he was somewhat content with torturing him.

But somehow the Orphaner slipped his chains and escaped, and the Highblood raged at the world. How dare some disgusting sea dweller defy him!? The troll was nowhere to be found either, which made things all the worse. The Grand Highblood raged and ranted and everything was wrong in the world. He had no outlet, there was no way for him to deal with his problems now, and the world was a terrible place.

But not for long. Apparently top troll scientists had been working on some sort of virus to finally wipe out the human race, and so that provided entertainment enough for a while....at least until the corpses started reanimating. Then it was hilarious. The outbreak of the undead did very little to disturb the Highblood, in fact it cemented his position as leader of the land trolls, as he was able to unite them against the undead force.

Of course, he has no care at all for what happens to any troll other than himself, but it certainly is easier to rule over a terrified population, and what better motivation for people to fall into line is there than the threat of the walking dead? He has been using such to his advantage now, and has no desire to ever stop.



[/ul]

THE CREDITS.
tHaNkS fOr CoMiNg, PlEaSe StAy
FoR tHe EnD cReDiTs.
SO JAYBIRD OF CAUTION CAME UP WITH THIS ADORABLE APPLICATION. THE QUOTES UNDERNEATH ALL THE TITLES ARE FROM HER FAVORITE MOVIE: KISS KISS BANG BANG. SHE ASKS THAT IF YOU TAKE AND USE THIS APPLICATION, THAT YOU LEAVE THE CREDITS ON AT THE END. SHE'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT A TON.