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The Grand Highblood sat upon his throne, gazing down on the seadweller in front of him. He was in a bad mood, having been forced to tie up his hair and drop his beloved skull he felt violated, anger bubbling under his skin.
The servant who had been tasked with informing him of this decision had been a young troll with a shaky voice. It broke on several occasions as she wept silently, keeping her eyes transfixed on his feet. She looked shaken, apparently having heard the rumours about his temper, and inched towards the door with every word spoken. This only enraged him further and he enjoyed crushing her skull with his fist immensely, watching her green blood run down the concrete wall as he let out a frustrated growl.
”That fucking stuck-up bitch.” Her Imperial Condescension knew he wouldn’t dare disobey her orders, for she had eyes everywhere. It was simple, really, she’d tease him once every few sweeps and he’d begrudgingly comply with her orders so as to keep her entertained.
Every troll on Alternia feared what horrors awaited the fools who dared defy her, and it was not uncommon for him to have the law-breakers end up at his feet: begging for mercy. He usually took his time killing them, savoring the experience as long as he possibly could. Recently he’d taken to saving small artifacts from his victims, things that caught his eye or simply happened to be available at the time.
He put up his hair in a loose ponytail and stepped over the dead servant’s body, grabbing his clubs before slamming the door shut. He was eager to see what the seadweller had come up with to amuse him and strode briskly through the dwindling halls, lit only by the weak moonlight.
The man who stood before him fidgeted with his rings, gaze flickering over the room restlessly. He wore purple clothes lined with black, gold lining his fingers. Presenting himself as Orphaner Dualscar he spoke of Mindfang, a reckless pirate The Condesce had ignored for sweeps. He laid out the tale of her crimes with low, steady voice, only sign of nervousness the constant spinning of his ring.
It quickly became apparent that The Grand Highblood would have to take Mindfang down, once and for all. He tapped an uneven rhytm on the uneven stone of his throne, summoning a servant to call for Redglare. Dualscar’s shoulders relaxed a bit and he flicked his wrist.
Two lowbloods appeared in the doorway, carrying a young troll. They slit his throat with one swift motion, letting him fall to the floor, and retreated. Dualscar said something, his words blocked out by the Highblood’s increasing boredom. An elderly troll walked in, dressed in bright garments and juggling burning bottles of colourful sand.
He rose from where he’d been seated, throwing one of his clubs at her and walking toward Dualscar with the other in hand. A satisfying thud told him he’d hit his target as the seadweller backed away, pressing his back against the securely locked door.
His eyes widened and he screamed as The Highblood pushed his club through the soft meat of his stomach. Breaking off one of his horns earned Highblood a ear-splitting scream from Dualscar as he started sobbing, begging for his life. The splattering of violet calmed him down as he made sure to keep the man alive for more time than strictly necessary.
Redglare walked in on him after what he could only assume had been a few hours, raising a single eyebrow but keeping her thoughts to herself. Her red-rimmed glasses mesmerized him as he relayed what Dualscar had told him about Mindfang, the occasional question her only input. A devious smile crept upon her lips a time progressed, sharp white fangs glinting in the moonlight.
The Grand Highblood ended his tale, already becoming restless. His fingers itched with the need to tear something apart and he tapped his feet impatiently. Redglare bowed curtly, having sensed his growing uneasiness she recited the obligatory goodbye before swiftly walking out the door.
It was pushed shut with a loud bang and he slumped down on the cold stone, observing the dead seadweller with boredom filling up his very core. There wasn’t much for him to do before the morning ceremony so he stood up, pushing open the hidden door behind his seat. He walked back through the narrow hallways, eyes scanning the sparse paintings on the walls.
Most of them depicted Her Imperial Condescension, although quite a few were of the true Messiah’s. He’d seen them all a thousand times over the last sweeps and didn’t stop to admire them like he had when he was a young wiggler, barely hatched.
Things had been more exciting then, the thrill of killing not yet obscured by hundreds of thousands of cases where he had to be polite and reasonable. Once Her Imperial Condescension had come over to lecture him, visibly amused by his uncomfortable state when she rambled on and on about manners and keeping the planet free of rebellions.She had smiled condescendingly, even going so far as to pat him on the head before leaving a faint smell of flowery perfume behind. He knew she’d come to warn him, his behaviour hadn’t been to her taste and there was trouble brewing amongst the lower castes.
Sighing he pushed open the door to his room and grabbed his skull, pressing it down on his face a little to hard. It cracked, breaking into pieces that fell onto the floor. He threw them into the wall, roaring.
Someone knocked on the concrete door and he crushed it with a single blow from his club, violently kicking the troll who’d disturbed him to a bloody pulp. The day had been awful and he needed someone to suffer for it, nevermind who. Her Imperial Condescension was sure to hear of him sending Redglare into the field so early in her career, and he had no way to know if she would approve of his decision.
All that was left was to wait for her, as he always did. She liked the constant element of uncertainty and he hoped this was one of the cases where she’d be more forgiving. He discarded the thought immediately, if she wanted him dead she’d have gotten rid of him long ago.
Now he just had to wait.