The Insurrection Chronicles [ A Homestuck FanFicion ]

Prolouge

"Enter." A commanding voice echoed and bounced off of the walls, down through the broad hallway that could only be recognised as Her Highness' throne room. The two ebony doors opened with a croak that would put any toad to shame, as a large-shouldered figure stepped through the doorway. He was tall and lean, with a look of a confidence so profound that it could almost be considered a crime. A snobbish expression of indifference, one that could almost rival that of his queen.

He stood upright, his heeled boots striding down the pink rug loudly, alerting all to his attendance. Trolls often quivered like leaves on a breezy day at his presence, but there was only one troll that said "Not I". His violet torso was barely visible in the ill lit room, only out shined by the fuschia decor of the space. Fantastic drapes, carpets, chandeliers and treasure laying around as if unimportant. Taste like this would push the most picky and pristine Jade bloods to jealousy. He was none other than the General, man in charge of all that is war and bloodshed. Though, he was not the first, nor was he the best. He was a mere replacement for the best general that had ever had the privilege of walking this very hall - he was mediocre. Second best, proficient. A fact that he would always be reminded of.

He looked up to see the only troll above him, the empress herself. She sat on a throne of precious metal, draped with her luscious, curly hair. Jewels, gold, and silver all lined the base of her throne, as if mocking the beggars and servants that entered to be none other than her foot rest. Her expression had changed from yesterday and the day before, she looked much more discontent. There was still the fresh, thick scent of blood in the air, Her Highness covered in slits and drips of magenta wounds. Most notably, three slash marks across her mid drift. The marks mimicked that of her own three-legged trident, an almost laughable irony. If that laugh would not result in death.

Her lips were curled into a cold, displeased snarl as opposed to her usual cocky smirk. Her face parroted that of a tiger looking into the eyes of its prey as the light left them. She always looked as if she were on top of the world, like she ruled all that was time and space. Uncontested, undefeatable, royal - and she had been. She had never had to fear the possibility of being dethroned or killed like the queens before her. All feared her. No heiress had ever been a match to her greatness. Now that this problem had arose, and the fact that she let her escape highly unsettled her.

With the power that was her birthright, never having to use much energy to keep it, she was also arrogant and dismissive. She had ignored the urgent warnings of her personal seers and advisors, who gathered prior knowledge of the ambush - and now she had paid for it. Any troll that could make the royal blood of the empress empty from her god-kissed veins and rush onto the impure earth was worthy of attention. The young heiress challenged her highness, she was looking to be seen as a threat and to have all eyes on her, to send a message. She had achieved that. Her message was received the moment she laid her trident onto Her Highness' midsection. By Her Imperious Condescension's grim expression and bloodied body, she had gotten the attention she was meant to receive.

Though she had yet to say another word, the general could tell that she was angry with every servant and guard that allowed her to enter - and with herself for allowing her escape. The only evidence of the young heiress' presence was the long locks of hair that were left behind whilst she was trying to escape; along with the trail of fuschia blood that did not belong.
Finally, he stopped at the golden-rimmed stairs that led up to the elevated throne. His joints creaked as he lowered himself onto one knee and bowed his head. Even with his pledged allegiance, he could still sense her anger. Finally he spoke, his voice was steady and deep, though quiet. Her presence was enough to make any troll quake in their boots. That applied to him as well. Though he did not quake, he breathed slowly and with grace, cowering was below him - even if cowering would be the deserved response. "You called, my liege."

She did not speak, he felt that if she did, the entire planet would be unable to resist listening. Instead, she stood. Her shoes boomed somehow louder than his ever could, the sound being laced with an otherworldly malevolence. Her hair dragged across the carpet and jewels behind her, she walked into the dim candlelight of the gleaming chandelier above them. Her horns, fingers, wrists, and neck were graced with the most precious gems and metals known to troll-kind, gems only fit for god himself. Though there was no god here, only a troll trying to step into the role.

Finally she spoke, there was anger and bitterness underneath her voice, "Rise. You look like a dirt blood ready for their culling." He obeyed, standing to his feet and looking the empress in her eyes. They sparkled with an evil desire, one that was only found in the highest of their society. If he didn't know better, he would think there was a hint of fear there too. It twinkled dimly in the galaxy of corrupted starlight. Though, dim it stayed. God knew no fear.

Even with such a tall stature, he did not best her. She was mighty in every meaning of the word, the only troll rivaling her size being The Grand Highblood himself. Her shark-like teeth were bared between her lips, still not saying a word. She looked as if she were trying to gather her thoughts, though he knew no words could quite describe her fury.

Before he had a moment to blink, a pain was felt across his cheek. It burned, his head flipped to the right with a bright violet mark across his face. Her Highness' hand in the air, as if ready to strike again. He stumbled backward, losing his usually firm stance to the ground. He took a step backward, though he did not fall. He accepted his queen's wrath, just closing his eyes and facing her once more.

"Idiot," She growled fiercely, as if the limp prey she hunted had gotten up and tried walking again. In such a short word, he could feel the anger seeping from her cold, unsteady breath. He would have mistaken it for a friendly breeze if not for the malice trailing behind it. She finally lowered her hand, no longer threatening him with her touch. A frustrated sigh left her as she showed a moment of weakness, clutching the three slashes over her bowels. Her hand was covered in the pink hue that would be mistaken for freshly stirred paint if not for the circumstances: the bleeding was slowing, but he could tell her anger outlived her pain.

Her cold eyes drifted away from the gorey sight of her wounds, and instead digressed to make contact with his own. He braced himself for another hit, expecting it to come worse, but it never did. Instead, the empress let her hand fall limp to her side. Her clean hand grasped her trident as if at any moment it would fly away from her grip. Dried blood from the engagement made the usually shiny and regal trident beg for cleanliness. Her Imperious Condescension did not care; she clung to it as if itself carried her very life force.

" I want that girl hunted and killed. I don't care who you have to cull or kidnap to do it. If you have to burn down all of Alternia, do be it. Just get it done, General." She commanded.

Her statement was clear and simple, yet he felt her inward thoughts were much more complicated than that. Would he be foolish to assume that she was frightened by the much smaller and younger heiress? Would it be folly to suspect that she feared the uprising and revolt that he knew was arising once again? No, that would be rash. The empress knew no fear or mercy, and by her teachings neither did he.

He supposed that he had broke his poker faced expression, because his queen looked even more irritated. She looked as if she were going to strike him again, but this time with forked blade of her trident. She asked, "Is this order understood, General?" Her words sounded somewhat more like a statement than a question, demanding that he comprehended her voice. He would be the servant's fool not to head her command, for if he failed, these rugs would be dyed from fuchsia to violet in one swift motion.

Finally, in a moment of hesitation as opposed to thought, he said, "Perfectly."

For the first time in this meeting, she smiled. The smile wasn't that of happiness, it was cruel and cold. Her lips caved into a devious grin, reaching from one fin to the other. He thought that if her jewelry could tremble, it would. She spoke quickly and loudly,"Very good. Now, leave me." Her voice was filled with unamusement despite her expression, as if he was nothing more than a beggar asking for charity. With that statement, she turned away from him abruptly and made her way back to her throne. She stepped up and sat, crossing one large leg over the over. She rested her face in her bloodied palm. The General turned away from her as well, walking down the long, dark hall. The doors boomed behind him, as if sending prayers to the rebels whilst he planned to fulfill his order.