Eyyyyyyyyy

Jakobi was a simple troll. Not simple minded, contrary to the answers his (former) seadwelling 'friends' would have given upon questioning. Naive, optimistic, and at times a little oblivious, but there wasn't a daft collagen shaft in his body. Save for romantic escapades, that is. When it came to matters of the cardiovascular organ, he was irredeemably hopeless. A popular story passed around the blocks on his old ship, the Camron, was of the time the Heiress began waxing scarlet for him, with the young Eglish none the wiser. It didn't matter what his feelings were on the matter, now.

Jeynie had been dead for sweeps, having been culled by the Empress upon coming of age. He hardly talked about her; no use crying over spilled milk, or spilled blood. At times, the violet blood even wondered if she had been his 'fated palemate.' This was a combination of wistful thinking and bored speculation, and Jakobi made a habit of keeping all thoughts of Crocer out of his pan. It was a damn shame, though. He really had pitied her, but not the way she had pitied him.

This restless internal monologue was what kept him up, stirring restlessly in the tent throughout the day in a frustrated state of between waking and dreaming. By the time the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, deathly rays painting the skies a multitude of colors that would kill him if viewed, Jakobi had been awake for hours. Just to be safe, he waited another fifteen minutes before exiting the crude mockery of a hive, wincing in the remnants of light that marked the beginning of dusk. As he had expected, Dyrrck was seated stoically on the dusty ground, pose alarmingly similar to that of the golden statues of the Empress herself that littered the planet intermittently.

It was with a familiar silence that he sat next to the troll, waiting for several seconds before that familiar silence was broken. The long winded rant was pointless, really, seeing as it was hardly more than Dyrrck spewing out a bullshit response in an attempt to fill the evening air with something other than the emptiness that currently resided in it. Jakobi didn't mind; it was nice, just listening to the jade blood talk, his voice a smooth undertone that went easy on the audial orifices. By the time the spiel had run his course, Eglish had already formulated a comeback, staring off at some distant cloud or something rather than making the shoddy excuse of eye contact with those shades.

"Despite your apparent concern for my well-being, I can assure you that I'm no less pan-addled for lack of sleep. Further assurance can be offered towards the issue of falling unconscious at the wheel, so to speak! Such an excitable would hardly lull me into a stupor. Quite the opposite, really; nothing better to get the ol' pusher pushing its illustrious sludge than a chase scene worthy of the big screens! Nonetheless, I'd assume some thanks are in order, just for the general civility they bear with them."

He paused, finally looking across at Dyrrck and grinning. "I hope you won't be too terribly offended when I say that no such thanks will be given."

---

Sometimes, it was a little hard to believe that a mere sweep ago, Jakobi had been a well known, well to do, well off Bounterrorizer, working under Her Imperious Condescension for the glory of the Alternian Empire. Loyalty to the Condesce had been drubbed into his violaceous pan since he had been old enough to form coherent words, and it showed in the work of the Baronial Pursuant, as his title dictated. Upon reaching his eighth sweep, he had been inducted into the ranks, and upon reaching his twelfth, the Pursuant had climbed the social ladder to the point where he was given a task well beyond his sweeps.

The job: to locate, detain, and bring in a rogue Jade blood, to be tried for high treason, due to the abandonment of his post. A case open and shut by every meaning of the phrase. 'The Sentinel,' according to the file Jakobi was given, was additionally thought to be with another troll, one who had been snatched from the hatching caverns. Little was known about this unnamed wriggler, though speculation from his higher ups had reached him, and from what he had heard, the Pursuant was slightly wary towards this assignment. A mutant?

No, really, a mutant? Mutants were, to highbloods, viewed with the same disbelief as many lowbloods approached their ancestors with. Aka, mutants were tales for those with wet palates and weak, fleshy think pans. And now, they were telling him that there was a mutant, and he was tasked with possibly hunting it down? Impossible.

If anything, he was dealing with an exceptionally bright rust blood. No more, no less.

For six full perigrees, the Pursuant 'pursued' his charge(s), tracking them with a meticulous care that appeared only within his work. He was good at what he did, because what he did was instinctual. The thrill of the hunt was what pushed him, the drive planting a fire of determination in him that spurred him onwards continually. Eventually, Jakobi's relentless digging landed him some solid information.

A pair of trolls had been seen in town, according to one brown blooded troll who trembled like a leaf in the wind before the authority that came with the fins and amaranthine colors that flowed through the Eglish veins. A Jade and a hemoanon, with eyes the most brilliant shade of vermilion. They had stayed on the edge of town for two and a half days, and while the elder had avoided fuck all contact, the hemoanon had amassed himself a little following.

"What kind of following?" Jakobi had asked, mouth pressed into a thin line, making a show of reaching towards the pistol he kept at his side. Judging by the increased anxiety of the lowblood, she noticed.

"He was speaking with them. N-not just speaking, he was...preaching."

The two of them had talked a little while longer before she slipped away, sweating profusely from the nerves likely tearing through her system. From that little 'interview,' the Pursuant had pulled several pieces of new information. One, there were indeed two trolls. Two, the Jade blood's companion was, most likely, a mutant.

Three, they had left for the desert town of Calvaria two days ago, on foot. Meaning they had only just arrived. And Jakobi had a much faster method of transportation.

---

A crowing voice rung out across the crowd, heads bobbing in murmured whispers as the muttered back and force to each other. The Pursuant had abandoned his noble uniform for the rags of an olive peasant, black hood wrapped tightly around his head to hide the plum stained fins that threatened to give him away. In the center of the square stood a young troll adorned in garbs of grey, streaks of red appearing in spattered places across it. He appeared to be gesticulating wildly as he spoke, and as he continued his speech, Jakobi could feel a growing unease in the pit of his digestive organ. It wasn't the heresy that upset him, or even the unspoken thoughts of rebellion that filled the pans of the lowbloods around him. It was the fact that what this troll preached actually made sense.

Before this expedition, he had never had much contact with civilization, outside of fellow seadwellers. Never before had he realized how far the plight of the lowbloods extended. And now....

Jakobi Eglish was beginning to grow very conflicted.

Turning to the troll next to him, he began to open his mouth in order to ask a question before noting his appearance. Jade blood. Pointed shades. Tattoos. Not to mention, a very familiar face. As luck would have it, the Pursuant had just met the pursued. Slowly, he drew his pistol, tapping the Sentinel (or so he assumed) on the shoulder lightly. Moral dilemma or not, he had a job to do.

And he was about to do it.