#imperial deepbite

[trollcafe]

but he talks like a gentleman,  like you imagined when you were young

#juleus monark #imperial deepbite #obsidian (smaller) is cherrytrolls btw!!! #i didnt wanna ruin the format of the post #dead man walking #ive been thinking f themn. #all day. #ghost.art #for others

[ask-them-bois]

Ask-Them-Bois' Fantroll Sale

Alright so, it looks like much of this blog's cast is looking for a new home! Basic character info and prices below the cut.

You will receive any and all art/sprites of the character, (excluding ship art) as well as their info sheet in a google doc. After purchasing, you have my permission to change any small details to their info or design, but I ask that you keep most of their original design intact. Please no reselling after purchasing!

If you just want the design and not the lore, that's okay, too!

DM ME IF INTERESTED!

*Some of these characters are ancestor/descendant groups! I'm offering them for a package deal! (Not required to be purchased together)

The Innocent (Open)- $20 -Amadri Gorsin -Limeblood -Has sprites

The Incoding (Open)- $20 -Gold011001 or "Cody" -Goldblood -Has sprites

Ruthless Deepbite (SOLD) -Erimus Faslet -Violetblood seadweller -Has sprites

Gehero Urfath (Open)*- $10 -Purpleblood -No sprites

The Hounding (Open)*- $20 -Arrach Urfath -Purpleblood -Has sprites

The Decaying (Open)- $10 -Brigan Almawt -Rustblood -No sprites

Rufuss Wacoba (Open)- $20 -Indigo seadweller -Has sprites

Ashhur Jaybez (Open)**- $10 -Mutantblood (red) seadweller -No sprites

The Survivor (Open)**- $10 -Krakyn Jaybez -Mutantblood (red) seadweller -No sprites

The Deadscar Wanderer (ON HOLD) -Ishran Maddel -Oliveblood -No sprites

Bohwie Akshai - SOLD -Indigoblood -Has sprites

Zeruki Ursida (Open)***- $10 -Tealblood mutant -No sprites

The Bladepen (Open)***- $10 -Dolion Ursida Tealblood Mutant -No sprites

Fayroe Fallen (Open)****- $10 -Fuchsiablood -No sprites

The Imperial Enforcer (Open)****- $10 -Godric Fallen -Fuchsiablood -No sprites

Alaric Evrren (Open)*****- $10 -Jadeblood seadweller -No sprites

The Warhound (Open)*****- $10 -Lucina Evrren -Jadeblood -No sprites

#ooc #ooc post #fantroll community #fantroll adopts

[homicidalfantrolls]

Mr Conquest, do u have any thoughts on Mr the Imperial Deepbite? Have you heard of the name?

I have heard of him, yes. We have been in a couple of meetings together as well regarding varying fleet happenings. He clearly is…nostalgic for his younger days. Though I’m doubtful many know what those entailed.

#ask #:3 #Her Galactic Conquest

[sunnetrolls]

arveri, are there any fleet trolls you do have an interest in? past or current, just any guys uve heard of and think are cool?

"Oh, of course. All sorts. I have my fair share of idols."

"Obviously, there's my ancestor, the Militant. As a master of tactical strategy, of course I look up to him! It's quite the reputation to live up to, as the only remaining true Scorga, but I have faith in myself."

"There are others too, of course. Perhaps it would be good to aim for fame like Calamity or the Imperial Deepbite. Or in terms of strictly character, the Sorcerer-- Velzka Kollin, to specify-- is a good one. Cold and calculated, but incredibly efficient. All of them really qualify for that reason too, of course."

"There are dozens more, of course. But these are the most notable."

#arveri things #so now you're all charry huh #ok i see

[trollcafe]

ew who let this guy look cool 

#chow.txt #wips #ghost.art #juleus monark #imperial deepbite #scars fun....kinda.... #idk what im doin w his tattoos they sucked lmao

[trollcafe]

homesick and desperate to return to a place that doesn’t exist anymore. the stars don’t love him like the sea once did. 

#juleus monark #imperial deepbite #ghost.art #hes done.......

[trollcafe]

1, 2, 3, 8 and 15 for Worse Dad (deepbite)

1. How often does your character admit to being wrong? Do they ever change their way of thinking?

Juleus...I can't say any apologies or acknowledgments of wrongdoings are weaponized. He doesn't...really BELIEVE he could be in the wrong. He will -admit- in a way, but primarily to just...appease the masses. Or whoever is upset with him. The apology is hollow at best. He truly does not believe it. He can change his way of thinking, but moreso to just...navigate around what upset you prior.

2. What's something you constantly have to re-explain about your muse

I don't feel like there's much I end up reexplaining about Juleus? Nvm i lied I feel like I explain frequently that he has an unspecified psychotic disorder. That's because (frantic waving) same hat! Juleus is, in a way, the personification of my fears surrounding my psychosis. But, iI explain constantly, that his psychosis is not what makes him evil. He has always, his entire life, dealt with it. He was put into a bad situation, wherein his untreated mental illness certainly did not HELP. He flips frantically, rapidly, between intense paranoia and ideas of grandeur. He isn't real. He's a god. He's the only real person alive. He's terrified. Everyone in the world is out to get him. The blueblood that looked at him is secretly working for the government and is going to follow him home and kill him. He can take that man he's a god. Furthermore, Juleus is...very much so an important and sensitive character for me. So while I typically try to handle mental illness topics with a little more tact...its hard for there to be much tact in how I handle the disorder that's made my life miserable. U know?????

3. What's an inherently problematic view your character holds

um. beyond the uh, whole, you know, IM A GOD thing? Juleus thinks he is 100% justified in turning Brutus into a battery.

8. Does your character feel like their in the wrong? If so does it bother them?

No, and no. That's what makes him neurotic, where as Bubble is not. Juleus does not see his actions as wrong. He believes he is correct to have done every little thing he's ever done. Tormenting Leonra, making Leo kill his only friend for entertainment, going behind his mate's back, crossing boundaries, playing god? That's all justified, because he had a reason for doing those things.

15. Do you think your muse needs to pay for all that they've done?

This is...where things get tricky. Because, in a way, yeah! He should pay for it. In another...if he was able to get treatment, there's a big possibility that he could change his views. I say this as someone who did an entire 180 after getting treatment myself. Juleus HAS the capacity to change and be a good person, he just can't take the right steps to get there. Plus, the Empire benefits from him being the way he is.

#juleus #imperial deepbite #I CAN ALSO TALKABT JULES FOREVER IT SEEMS #jazz.ask

[trollcafe]

juleus.. hm.. power

You don't like letting others have power over you.

You liked giving people the illusion of power. You did this often with Obsidian. Though, you were certain he was aware of the façade. It was part of the game you played. The thought brings forth the hint of a smile. You glance down at the violet, who had only returned to your ship a couple hours prior. He had quickly found his way to your bed, and, at the moment, appeared to be asleep. Maybe just resting. maybe just waiting.

The air swirls around you as if the ship itself were breathing. It was difficult to focus on the paperwork in front of you. Important as it was, you found the work tedious and below you. Instead, you rest your chin in your hand, watching as the violet's chest rose and fell, as the air seemed to follow his lead. Funny how the hallucinations acknowledged him. Made the air feel as thick as it looked.

Was it trust that let him sleep in your presence? Or just plain foolishness? Letting his guard down so completely. Your quarters were secure and safe when you weren't in there with him. Sleeping by his side was part of the illusion of power and trust. Extending the olive branch far enough for it to seem real.

Obsidian couldn't hurt you, not even if he tried, not even if he wanted to. Any power he had was an illusion. One you could break in an instant.

"Take a picture, Jules, it'll last longer."

Nevermind all that, he wasn't sleeping. With a laugh, you rise to join him. Work could wait, a nap with your matesprit was far too tempting.

#dead man walking #juleus monark #imperial deepbite #ghost.ask #drabbles #obsidian issss @cherrytrolls btw!!!!! #thinking abt them.

[trollcafe]

i think abt Juleus and his war criminal loving boyfriend way too often to be normal 

#i am not normal about them #chow.txt #obsidian my beloved <3 #juleus #imperial deepbite

[trollcafe]

Decommissioned

Google Docs Link. The Handler is not mine.

The process for answering one of Handler’s calls has always been, frankly, tedious. Lockjaw’s pager goes off, giving him a time and a number. At the given time, he calls that given number from a payphone outside his apartment. The voice is always a little different- he had realized by now that the Handler used a voice changing device to remain anonymous. Probably for the best, in his opinion. 

The pager had given him fifteen minutes. By the time Lockjaw actually looked at the pager, he had five. He scrambled to find a notebook and pen, nearly dropped it all thrice, and forgot to unlock the door twice before trying to open it. Meanwhile, Rumble had yet to finish her breakfast. She watched him with an amused expression. 

He made it to the payphone twenty seconds late. It took another twenty to properly enter the number. He set the phone on top of the phone box and nervously tapped the pen on his notebook. He could hear the receiver just fine from a distance, thanks to his improved hearing. And typically, Handler didn’t want him to respond, so he didn’t need to hold it close. 

He wasn’t…afraid of the Handler. If anything, there was a moderate healthy respect for the anonymous individual. So far, Handler hadn’t done anything to really warrant any concern from the blueblood. But…there was a level of professionalism to uphold. And the annoyance was ever clear when they answered the phone. 

“You’re late.” 

“Elevator broke.” The lie rolled off easily. Though Lockjaw’s voicebox had said it so softly, he wondered if they even heard at all. 

“Whatever.” Apparently, they had. “Do you still have the girl?” 

Lockjaw stopped his nervous tapping instantly. Panic began to bubble in his chest, though he remained silent. They weren’t supposed to talk about her. That was the agreement. A little extra came his way to cover her costs, and he would take on more jobs to pay for that. Handler knew- or so he thought- how protective he was over her. His silent thinking was interrupted once more by Handler’s robotic voice.

“Yes or no, Lockjaw. Do you still have the girl?” 

“...Yes. We had agr-”

He was once again interrupted, this time by a sigh that wasn’t fully caught by the voice changer on the call. 

“Of course you do. You’ve just made this so complicated, now. Listen- do you know who she is?”

“...She is Rumble?” 

“No, that’s what you call her, idiot. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Imperial Deepbite. Real nasty guy. She’s his descendant.” 

“...Okay?” Confused, Lockjaw scanned the world outside the phone booth, as if it held any clues why he should be concerned. He had met the man once, during his own Fleet time. Though he remembered very little, he recalled the man as a giant. Tall, girthy, with an all-knowing gleam in his eyes. He was intimidating, to be blunt. 

“The descendant that went missing. The descendant he wanted to replace him. He’s looking for her. And you have her. And I have a job for you, a hit on Deepbite.” 

“You want me…to take out a major Fleet official?” That seemed impossible. Sure, Lockjaw was experienced and had an impressive number of successful hits under his belt, but none of them had been a fuchsia. And none of them were important high-ranking officials. The assassination of a major high-ranking official would just draw an unwanted amount of attention. Not to mention the impossible task of killing a fuchsia- especially one of that man’s size. 

“You don’t have a choice, really.” 

“Can you not find someone else?” He sincerely doubted the Handler only had one pawn under their grasp. Surely they had someone more experienced in handling such high-profile targets. 

“Well, that’s the thing. I heard from the grapevine that he’s been looking...for you.” 

Lockjaw’s blood ran cold. 

“My hands are quite tied, you see. And, as surprising as it may be, there are trolls above even myself. I may be the all powerful, all knowing being in your life, but consider that there are even scarier all powerful, all knowing beings in my life.”

“What makes you think I can get rid of the Imperial Deepbite?” 

“Because the other option is, he finds you. From what my sources tell me, he already knows where you’re residing. He’s scheduled to land in Mordamere for two weeks to restock, then he’s coming to Alternia. Consider yourself lucky I didn’t realize who she was a long time ago.” 

“....She’s just a kid.” 

“And you’re just a decommissioned killing machine. You have two options here; you kill Deepbite, or Deepbite kills you.” 

click.

#ghost.art #rome falls arc #lockjaw #rumble

[trollcafe]

Detained

Google Docs Link  WD is not mine. 

“The most important part of a sniper is his spotter,” The frail rust signed slowly. To the untrained eye, it’d be hard to discern Wingdaze’s intentions, as his face by now was mostly covered. But to Lockjaw, his partner was as clear as day. 

  “I don’t know how.” 

“It’s easy! I’ll show you.” WD’s excitement glitters in his eye. He elbows the rifle strapped to his back, sending it spinning into his arms with a practiced precision. He props the weapon up on the mount, aiming down range. He uses a wing to pull Lockjaw into his side. A spotting scope is pulled from his side bag and unceremoniously handed over. Words aren’t necessary. Lockjaw nods, inching closer to his partner. A wing tucks around him. 

—

“Why are we being so sneaky about this again?” Rumble asked for the tenth time that day. 

“Because he is a major public official.” Lockjaw’s response was the same as the first ten times. His robotic voice was flat, devoid of the humor he could usually convey with sign. His hands were busy prepping his mount. 

“More like a major pain in the dick. Major pubic official. He looks like he’s blitzed out his mind half the time we see him. I bet you could crush him.” 

“He is nine feet tall.” 

“That’s never stopped you before! The bigger they are the harder they fall, that's what you tell me all the time!” 

“That is my excuse for being five foot nine. Have you swept our surroundings? The most important part of a sniper is his spotter.” 

There is only a groan, and the sound of a disgruntled and annoyed teenager rising to her feet. Lockjaw sighs softly in relief, or perhaps in victory, as the young fish finally stops nagging him, thus allowing him to finally lean into his scope. How hard could it be to find such a large man amidst the crowd? They followed him for days. He was inside that hangar, and should be leaving shortly. Lockjaw had never met a man who followed such…odd routines. 

As Rumble begins to search the tiny abandoned apartment they hunkered down in, she notices some things aren’t normal. At first, it seemed like nothing. The door to LJ’s room was closed. The kitchen had been tidied. Papers cleaned up. The only odd thing were the cups, previously on the table, now stacked and placed in the drain. Rumble thought it might’ve been another odd quirk of her guardian’s. She didn’t often see him snipe, after all. But then she saw the front door. 

It was ajar. There was no way Lockjaw didn’t close that door- no, she was sure he even locked it. Which meant someone unlocked the door. And came in. And didn’t close it, so they wouldn’t be heard. Her blood ran cold as she thought to the cups- moved from the table to the sink. Someone was in the apartment with them. Someone was in the apartment, and explicitly moved the glass cups off the table, stacking them up, placing them inside the drain of the sink, to avoid their footsteps from being heard. 

It was difficult to contain her panic, yet remain calm. How did they get in without Lockjaw noticing? How did she not notice? LJ’s door was shut- the intruder had to be in there, right? Rumble turned on her heels, trying her best to keep her footsteps light but quick as she hurried back to her guardian. 

“H-Hey LJ? LJ-? I-I think there’s an intrud-”

Lockjaw was focused. Too focused. It was the sniper’s job to focus on the target. And the spotter kept the area safe. A troll much smarter than him once said the most important part of a sniper was his spotter. The Imperial Deepbite had finally shown his face. Lockjaw didn’t need a scope to see that smug grin. It almost sent chills down his spine. All knowing. As if he saw beyond the scope. For a moment, LJ thought he made eye contact with the fuchsia. It was impossible, of course, no troll could see that far up and away. And Lockjaw had been careful- very careful. There was no way his cover had been blown. But that man’s grin…his sharp teeth, the slits in his eye narrowing as they seemingly made eye contact. Few things bothered him as much as that man's smile did. One such thing was how shrill Rumble’s voice got when she got scared. 

Lockjaw’s fins perked up at the distinct sound of his charge’s panic. His head shot up, quickly abandoning his clear shot of his target. But before he could say anything, the world went dark with a loud clunk.

#rome falls arc #lockjaw #rumble #ghost.art

[trollcafe]

Detectable

Google Docs Link

Mordamere is a rather mild planet, roughly a two-week flight by commercial space ship. The soil is high in iron and rust, making it hard to farm on and very red. The trolls who live here wear long sleeves and facial covering to keep themselves safe from the dusty air. The only seadwellers around were the CO’s and high ranking officers who supervised the bustling military activity just out of the main cities. Despite its bleak skies, dry weather, and busy military ports, the native residents of Mordamere boast a vibrant music scene. Or, so Rumble explained as she read the travel pamphlet to her guardian once again. 

“Do you think they have guitars and shit? Like normal band stuff? Trumpets?” It would be difficult to hear her voice from under the protective face scarf, if she didn’t have an earpiece with a microphone in it. Lockjaw was just as covered up as she was. This rendered his fins almost useless. The microphone connected to his language processing chip so he could still hear her excitement. 

“They are still trolls, they came from Alternia.” To the outsider looking in, Lockjaw hadn’t said a word. It went directly to Rumble’s earpiece. The bundled up fuchsia didn’t seem to mind as she tailed the blueblood. 

“But they’ve lived here for centuries! Maybe they have new stuff! If we find a pawn shop can I get a Mordamerian trumpet?” 

The audio clip of a sigh played in her earpiece. “Maybe. We do have a job to finish.”

Rumble huffed softly, looking up from the pamphlet to glower at the case on Lockjaw’s back. Inside was a weapon he very rarely ever used. “Yeah, but you’re just gunna…you know, S-N-I-P-E him. That’s so-” 

“Rumble.” Lockjaw stopped suddenly, turning around to make eye contact with his charge. She froze in place. Her glare moved from the rifle to his eyes, then to his hands. Her guardian was too frustrated to speak, opting instead to sign to her. It was highly unlikely, in his reasoning, that anyone here would pay much attention to a stranger using sign language. Especially considering the wide range of sign languages. “Spelling it out loud is no better than saying it out loud.” 

“Okay? Nobody can hear me under this scarf! Except you! You still won’t tell me why we have to do it this way!” Though her face was mostly covered, Lockjaw could see her pout loud and clear. 

“Because we do. Because it's easier this way. Because I don’t want to get caught. A million reasons, Rumble. Stop arguing. Please. We’re going to be late.” The blueblood waited for Rumble to groan in defeat before continuing on. The Handler had said to be in the apartment just before the sun had set. It would be around then that they would call the apartment itself, rather than paging Lockjaw. He cycled through the plan again, and again, and again, as the pair made their way through the dusty streets. 

Stake Deepbite out. Watch where he goes. The day before he leaves, take him out. Dispose of the rifle, shells, and case in the dumpsters down the alley. Stay three more days in the apartment two floors down. Leave. Easy.

- - -

Staking out a target was the hardest part to Rumble. Thankfully, Lockjaw didn’t require her to tag along with him- in fact, he gave her specific instructions to stay as far from him as possible. The young fish wasted no time planning out all the sights she would see, running each idea by her guardian first to ensure she was far enough away. Luckily for Rumble, their target was not a very adventurous man. 

At roughly the same time every day, the Imperial Deepbite would leave the hangars and mosey his way down to the restaurants, in the downtown portion. He ate at the same one almost every day, only changing his routine once or twice. Lockjaw observed from across the occasionally busy street at one of the coffee shops. He would enter at roughly the same time every day, order the same thing, and sit in one of the window seats with a stolen Fleet-assigned laptop.

The story, as he told the barista who asked, was that he was an auditor for the Fleet. He was going over the maintenance files of the various ships to ensure all parts and pieces were up to date with their care. He even went on a small, sign language tangent about how often Fleet ships overlooked the expiration date of parts they never considered important, such as seats. Seats are floatation devices AND provide protection from incoming fire! The barista didn’t seem too impressed by his scpheal, but bought it nonetheless. And considering most trolls continued to wear facial protection indoors, nobody questioned the state of his face. 

So, every day, Lockjaw put on the persona of a Fleet Auditor. Alongside his stolen spaceship audit spreadsheets, Lockjaw kept a detailed record of the Imperial Deepbite’s schedule. Who he left with. The names and ranks of those who most often accompanied him. What he ate, which trolls served him. On the weekend, Deepbite would leave the hangar later, and stay late at one of the bars. Lockjaw observed him from the scope of his rifle, watching the bartender prepare and serve the fuchsia’s drink, how long it took Deepbite to drink it, who he was there with, and what he was doing. Deepbite was mostly followed by violets, a few bluebloods, other highblood officials. His main accomplice was Typhon Iottah, the Catalyst, a violet with crutches. There was another violet, too, but Lockjaw determined that his best bet for a successful hit would be to strike when the fuchsia was accompanied by his friend on crutches. 

Meanwhile…Rumble explored. She’d return to the apartment at their agreed time. She would recite the events of her day with such vibrant excitement, it almost made Lockjaw forget what they had been there for. Music venues, local concerts, coffee shops on the other side of town. She met locals, visited thrift stores, even found some instruments she thought were exciting. By the end of their three-week stay, however, Rumble had run out of things to do. As such, on Deepbite’s final day, Lockjaw asked her to stay with him. 

To spot him, he insisted. To provide alibi. 

But mostly to prevent her from getting caught. 

#rome falls arc #lockjaw #rumble #ghost.art #drabbles #i did NOT proof read this so #what happens happens yeehaw #ive been chippin away at her for a few weeks now #i actually uh. STARTED with this one

[trollcafe]

jodiah, it doesn't have to be your favorite but is there a quote, poem, or turn of phrase that's stuck with you?

“Was briefly in the same like, Fleet dock as Imperial Deepbite for a short period. During that time I heard him say something along the lines of ‘bite the hand that feeds you, before it beats you.’ Which only stuck out to me because dude is a fuchsia. Like he’s an ACTUAL Monark, a literal fuchsiablooded seadweller top of the food chain motherfucker. And he’s like 8ft tall. Nobody is trying to beat that man. What the fuck was he talking about.”

#chow.ask #jodiah speaks

[trollcafe]

How have things been going with Lockjaw?

"Fine."

>He switches from the voice box, to signing. Seems he wanted to say more than he was able.

"Needless to say, the hit on the Imperial Deepbite did not, in fact, get finished. My cover was blown. I couldn't bring myself to hurt Obsidian.

Rumble, however, gave him a right fight for his life. If I hadn't been so frazzled, it would've been hilarious. Watching a seasoned Fleet special operatives second hand man get his ass handed to him by a pissed off teen? He was holding back, I could tell he didn't want to hurt her. And Rumble, well...she was just mad.

Obsidian asked a lot of questions after she settled down. He's aged. A lot. He had more life when I saw him last...he's...dead inside. I'd say who isn't, but look at Rumble. She had to translate a lot for me, and learned some things I didn't want her to learn. In the end, Obsidian was...horrified, is the best word.

It didn't take me long to figure out why. Rumble isn't exactly the spitting image of the Imperial Deepbite. She is, however, very similar to Obsidian.

Rumble and I are returning to Alternia. We are about to board the ship returning. I've been out of orbit so any messages Handler has sent were missed. Hopefully they haven't needed me much in my absence."

#lockjaw speaks #chow.ask

[ask-them-bois]

Not added: The Forsaken (dead), Bluegill (dead), and The Hierophant (dead)

#ooc #ooc post #all ancestors #poll

[trollcafe]

hmmm id love 2 talk abt all my different ancestor’s titles 

Juleus mr Imperial Deepbite, The Revenant, Sinopa Vagrant Cenobite, Mr The Exterminator, Boe Syndicate, the WatchDog, The Repoman, The Crestfallen, and last but certainly not least Mr Undiminished 

#chow.txt #im not creative w titles so i ignore the 8 letter rule