OOC InformationIC InformationName: The Grand Highblood (hatched Kurloz Makara)
Canon: Homestuck
Gender: Male
Age: Old. Old as balls. At least 2000 sweeps; at this point he's lost track of his exact age.
History: A very long time before the Grand Highblood was the Grand Highblood, he hatched as Kurloz Makara and a very different person than the one he would eventually become. As a highblood, the highest it was possible to be without living underwater, he was afforded a truly impressive seagoat lusus and a hive by the seaside in which to grow up.
The young Kurloz wasn't exactly sweet or gentle. Like most trolls of his high caste he was not only naturally predisposed to violence but expected to be by the culture surrounding him. Often he had to defend his hive from landdwellers and seadwellers alike, particularly ones older and stronger than him who considered killing an indigo troll to be a mark of prowess. His blood murals began as warning signs on the outside of his hive. Stay away, or you'll wind up on my walls. One would think his lusus would have kept most true threats at bay, but his lusus prefered life out in the ocean and was hardly ever in residence. Sometimes he would reappear but never for very long and often only on the horizon. Kurloz would sometimes watch the sea and hope, but as he got older and the skyline remained empty hope changed to bitterness and then to thoughts of eventual revenge.
In the absence of a true caretaker and lacking any real friends, Kurloz turned to faith. The Messiahs couldn't leave him like his goat did. Miracles became his life, and his murals began to be less just splashes of blood and more surreal works of art. His fighting skills improved dramatically and any buried guilt he had was washed away with the knowledge that either the people he killed were going somewhere wonderful or they weren't and they deserved it.
By the time the goat returned, he was nine sweeps old and had love only for his religion. He was strong and he'd got strong all on his own and he was so angry that now, after so long, his lusus didn't have the good sense to realize that he wasn't welcome, that he had been replaced by something much better. He killed the goat, smeared every wall of his hive with purple, and left his wigglerhood behind for the church.
As devout (and high of caste) as he was, he moved up the ladder and into the ranks of the subjugglators fairly quickly. He became one of the church's darlings, often given command of raids and praise for dedication. It was the validation he'd never had as a wiggler and he drank it in. Of course he was devout. Of course he was strong. Of course he deserved control and respect. Of course it was only right he should challenge the current Grand Highblood for his throne and title. And win. Of course. The miracles were on his side. The Messiahs knew he was deserving. He left Kurloz Makara and his old life behind entirely.
Of course a change in the church did not escape the attention of Her Imperious Condescension. She took the opportunity to sink her claws deep into the new Highblood and so gain even greater control of one more avenue through which she could enforce her rule. The church and the subjugglators became something of her elite guard dogs, working closely with the legislacerators to efficiently flush out and punish anyone who acted against the empire.
When the rumblings of a lowblood rebellion became not just laughable rumors but a very real threat, the subjugglators helped in first tracking the Signless down and then exterminating as much of his cult as they could after his execution. Things were more or less quiet after that: just the usual dealing with pirates and the occasional troll with ideas bigger than their station. That was until a second, much less peaceful uprising began. This time it was lead by a cavalreaper -- discharged upon revealing himself as a traitor, of course. What started out as an uprising soon became an all-out war with heavy losses on both sides. For the first time in a long time the Highblood personally joined the ranks of his subjugglators on the battlefield instead of delegating -- and it was fun. It was awesome. Pleased as he was with a decisive victory, it was sad to see it end.
After the second uprising in far too short a time, the Condesce saw fit to start expanding her empire outward. She moved most of the adults off-planet and made conscription mandatory as a measure to better control the population (particularly the lowblood population). If she could keep them divided across the galaxy doing her dirty work they'd have far less time to network into a cohesive enough force to challenge her power. Her new rule applied even to the Highblood, who left his on-planet big top (in the very caring claws of some of his best priests) for a new church among the stars. From that point on things were more or less routine. Every century or so he'd check back in on things planet-side, cull anyone who'd decided they didn't need to follow his orders to the letter, and then rejoin the fleet. This lasted up until the Vast Glub and his death.
Personality: It's hard to pin down the Grand Highblood's exact personality -- and that's probably the best starting point for describing it. He's an unpredictable, capricious person at the best of times, and his moods can change quickly and without warning. It's difficult to tell when he's joking and when he's being deadly serious because the two often look exactly the same and he enjoys making people guess. A pillar of his faith is 'to thine ownself be true' and he takes that to heart, allowing himself to be moved by his whimsies unless it's directly counter to a longer plan he or the Condesce is working on.
He's sharper than he may first appear; though he has a deserved reputation as a violent, dangerous troll, he's also capable of careful manipulation. He's been around in a position of power long enough to know that not all of his problems can be solved by clubbing someone to death, tragedy though that is. He's come to view the times he needs to be more subtle as something of a game, an extended joke. Much of what he does is designed to put the people around him on edge, throw them off balance, and keep himself in undisputed control of the situation. Everyone he has direct contact with is usually also someone who's terrified of him (save for the Empress), and he enjoys messing with them and using their fear against them. It's a display of power, and it's funny watching trolls trip over themselves as they try to figure out how to interact with him without getting themselves culled.
Control is something that he enjoys having, stemming from how powerless and alone he felt as a wiggler. His need for praise and validation is met very well by the knowledge that everyone around him is unquestionably under his command. The Condesce is the only troll he answers to, on the flipside of the same reasoning: her validation, much like the implicit validation of his Messiahs, is invaluable to him. Not to mention that if he keeps her happy she'll keep his leash slack and allow him is own little games rather than keeping too tight a stranglehold on the church and his actions. Praise is good, but feeling stifled and confined is not. He feels almost entitled to doing as he pleases after this long of honestly not giving a fuck and going where his whimsies take him. He wouldn't like the idea of being under any kind of strict control. Being in charge of him takes a light touch, or he'll balk.
The only people whose words he follows to the exact letter, no exceptions, are the Messiahs. His faith is a great driving force behind much of his actions and emphasis on mirth and miracles only magnifies his unpredictable nature. Grand Highblood, why did you toss that lowblood acolyte out the airlock? Dunno, it was funny and it seemed like a good idea at the time. He fully believes that all trolls are issued a 'ticket' to the carnival, the paradise planet the Messiahs promise, but it's very easy to have that ticket revoked -- especially if you're a lowblood or someone the Empire doesn't like. He treasures his metaphorical ticket and has since he was very young and his faith was all he had. Questioning his devotion to the church the Messiahs is one of the easiest ways to make him really and truly angry. Things that make him angry make him very angry indeed, and killing is not something he hesitates to do. Either he's sending another troll to Shangri-La or he's sending them to a well-deserved punishment, and either option is completely guilt-free for him.
He has something of a creative streak: he's an active artist and has a fondness for spinning rhyme and verse, something else inspired by his religion. Even his violence is often artistic and he takes particular pride in kills that are clever, funny, or just plain nice to look at. And then, of course, the blood goes on his walls.
In terms of close relationships, beyond the Condesce he really doesn't have anyone. His relationship with her is something of an inverted pale relationship; instead of keeping each other calm and sane they actively encourage the worst in each other and then laugh about how great they are for being so terrible. He wouldn't exactly consider her a quadrantmate or even a friend, but she's really the only constant he's had in his life and so he feels deeply inexplicably loyal to her (should we get a Condesce in the future I'm willing to change this; this is just by own personal headcanon and since it's important to him I didn't want to leave it out). Otherwise he's had no one who he cares about past an acquaintance, particularly no qudrantmates. He of course isn't exempt from drone visits; he gets through them via the 'generosity' of trolls who serve under him in the church. If he doesn't get close to people or come to depend on them for anything more intimate than obedience, then they won't have a chance to leave him. Even after centuries he still carries bitterness over his lusus's neglect and a deeply-ingrained attitude that the only person who needs to really care about him is his ownself. He's a big troll, he'll be fine on his own with the words of the Messiahs to guide him.
Powers/Abilities: As a troll, GHB is in general more durable than a human. He's got thicker skin, is able to bleed more and suffer more damage without going down, can regrow teeth if they're knocked out, and can see in the dark. He's also quite fit and flexible despite his age. His real power though is his psychic chucklevoodoo. He can sense the fear of those around him like a low background hum even if he may not actively be looking to manipulate it. He can look into someone's mind and find the specific things that person fears, then delve deep into the layers of their psyche to get from the harmless surface fears to the deepest darkest ones. He can create and influence custom-tailored nightmares and he can 'plant' fears in someone's brain (for instance, giving them a fear response to a specific object despite them not having any reason to experience one). He can control others' bodies as though they were puppets and he can speak directly into the minds of others.
Keepsakes/Mementos: First on the list would be his facepaint, which he will most likely flip his everloving shit if he can't get. Then copies of the scriptures relating to the Messiahs (though he doesn't really need them when he has most everything memorized), then his collection of clubs in sets of two. He also has a habit of hoarding bodies like Gamzee has done in canon and using them as paint sources for the murals that decorate his big top and throne room. He keeps bones from kills he finds particularly amusing or memorable long after the rest of the body has decayed, though in several decades of sweeps he might forget where exactly he got them. He uses them as decoration, as additions to his furniture, and as accessories for his hair and clothes.
Sample: Judgement day comes sooner than the Highblood thought it would. His only warning comes from the sudden upswell of terror around him. It's something he hasn't felt in centuries, not since the last rebellion: the compounded fear of hundreds and hundreds of trolls in their final moments of life.
The brownblood acolyte who's in the middle of informing him of the Condesce's desperate flight back to their home planet staggers, chokes, and falls to her knees to vomit brown all over the floor of his throne room. He watches with vague interest as she falls sideways into the puddle and twitches, brown leaking from her ears and nose and mouth, panic leaking from her bursting pan.
"What's all the fuss over, sister?" he asks, a sharpness behind his smile. "AIN'T YOU GOT YOUR TICKET READY?" His laugh is like the shattering of glass.
She goes still and the tang of her panic fades. The Glub is working its way through his church and the Highblood can feel them dying in waves, bursts of fear building to a crescendo and then suddenly disappearing to be replaced by a new swell. Soon, he knows, it will find its way into his pan and take him too. Already he can hear a faint, shrill sound, like an annoying insect. His ear twitches. His head aches. And all he can think is: finally.
He's lived a life so long that he can't even remember exactly how long and he's been nothing but devout for all of it. Death doesn't frighten him; why should it? Death means paradise. Death means finally reaping the reward for a lifetime of services rendered. Death is the final miracle, a blessing he will accept with gratitude. He is destined for Shangri-La, the promised land, the unending carnival where all those who are worthy are welcome. And he knows, deep in his bones, that he is more worthy than every single one of the motherfuckers whose fear he feels now put together. Why be afraid unless you know you're a sinner with a ticket ripped asunder? Let them be afraid; the Messiahs will judge them for their disgusting lack of faith.
All that the Highblood feels now is a vicious, overwhelming joy. He launches himself from his throne with a speed a troll of his size really shouldn't possess, turns on his heel, steps nimbly over the prone form of the acolyte, and begins to dance. It's not a delicate dance, all stomps and claps and motions that mirror the rhythmic cadence of a piece of verse. There are ways to pray that are not strictly vocal and this, of all moments, is the time for prayer. Now is the time to rejoice!
He twirls. A spray of indigo splatters the floor. The sight makes him laugh and blood splashes from his mouth. His final mural. How fitting that he should be the finishing touch on his life's work: he's been painting his throne room since it became his and now he's finally adding his signature. He doesn't register his knees hitting the floor until it's already happening; he's still laughing, a horrible gurgling sound that's almost but not quite loud enough to drown out the sound in his ears. The two sounds merge, louder and louder and sharper and sharper -- and then everything is silent. Finally.
Mindset: He is going to be pissed the fuck off. He spent almost the entirety of his very long life in preparation for an after-death paradise he thought he was guaranteed and this is sure as hell not it. He remembers his death very clearly and that adds insult to injury: there's no ambiguity. He should be in Shangri-la. So either he majorly fucked up along the way and displeased the Messiahs, which is a thought too horrible to contemplate, or someone is fucking with him and if he throws a big enough shitfit they'll put him where he belongs.
G̶̶l̨͡i̵͢t̷c͝͠h̕é͠s̷̷͡: How do you fuck with someone whose entire job description is fucking with people? The Grand Highblood is someone who controls and manipulates fear and is largely desensitized to most things because of it; attempts to intimidate or frighten him are likely to make him laugh.
With that in mind, there are a few things that would easily set him off. Loss of control and the feeling of powerlessness would certainly do it. He likes to have at least some margin of leverage in any situation he's in and so being completely and utterly at someone else's mercy, especially someone he had no way of touching, would be a deeply foreign and uncomfortable situation for him.
The seagoat, too, is something that he wouldn't know how to deal with. There's too much anger and bitterness wrapped up in his memories of the goat, and beyond that killing your lusus is not a natural troll thing to do. In his mind that was a decisive 'end' to that part of his life and so being confronted with it again would bring all those negative emotions to the forefront and force him to confront them all over again.
And finally, as mentioned before, any attack on his faith and particularly any implication that he's somehow failed in his devotion would be terrible for him. Being forsaken by the Messiahs and having his ticket revoked, particularly because of some failure on his part, would shake him down to his very core. It would be bad.
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