One troll's 'magic' is another troll's engineering. 'Supernatural' is a null word.
- Troll Robert A. Heinlein

You are now ERIDAN AMPORA, and you are visiting a lousy lowblood town on some fuckin' planet in the middle a fuckin' nowhere. This is not your idea of fun, obviously, but what the Empress says goes. At least in regards to you.

At least she's here with you. You couldn't fuckin' stand it if she wasn't.

You had wanted Feferi on the throne for sweeps and sweeps. She's your moirail, and let's be fuckin' honest about it, you've been harborin' a flushed crush on her since who the fuck even knows when. She's the best troll you know, better than you, and not just in blood either. But now that she's actually on that damn golden throne, presiding over the whole fuckin' Empire, you are increasingly of the mind that she's too soft, too giving, and all that.

You mean, that makes sense of course, she's always been caring too much about fuckin' everybody. Like, actually everybody. All the trolls. Every damned one. It's just who she is. Some nights you wonder how the fuck Her Imperious Condescension could have spawned a troll as nice as her. You just hope she doesn't get herself assassinated or some shit. The Culler is probably still out there somewhere, and you'd bet Ahab's Crosshairs that there's probably some other trashblood revolutionaries plotting against her to boot, what with how soft she's been.

As you walk, Feferi at your side, through the town hall, to meet the the trolls who run this dump. You arrive in the office some blueblood, one of the folks in charge of the local lowbloods. Feferi waves, shakes hands, drinks tea with him and so on. She's all excited and cheerful, as usual. She really seems to enjoy being Empress, at least since it became clear the Culler didn't have it in for her. She's so happy you could almost smile.

You, on the other hand, are starting to get really bored. Yes, you're used to diplomatic procedures and you've dealt with blueblood bureaucracy for most of your life, but that doesn't make it any less pan-numbingly dull. Eventually the niceties are done with and it's time to leave.

"- and we need to remember that the Septima trolls need more policeradicators patrolling the system and-" Feferi was going on about more procedural things, half talking to you, half to one of the many assistants that floated around as a royal entourage.

You sigh quietly and nod as the group walks back through the town square to the ship, making a mental note to grill the assistant on whatever the hell Fef was talking about later. Things seem pretty quiet so you allow your mind, and gaze, to drift as you walk.

Since coming into power your Empress has lost a lot of weight. You always try to keep her eating and make sure she takes care of herself, but with the rigors of ruling an empire that is all but falling apart she forgets.

Not that it doesn't suit her, you have to admit to yourself. Noticing your thoughts drifting where they shouldn't you quickly shake them off, snapping your gaze away from the young ruler. Staring pointedly up at the buildings you notice movement.

"These buildings are supposed ta be empty…" you mutter to yourself, too quiet to be heard by anyone else. Squinting slightly, you try to get a better look. It was definitely a troll, but they weren't going anywhere, just watching. And pulling something out of a sylladex that looked suspiciously like a-

"GET DOWN!"

You leap sideways, bowling into Feferi and knocking her to the paved ground. Barely a split-second later there was a crack! and a bullet went speeding overhead, hitting one of the assistants in the chest. Brown blood began to seep through her clothes as you rolled off your empress and pull Ahab's Crosshairs out of your own sylladex.

The would-be assassin had just enough time to fire again, the shot going wild and ricocheting off the ground, before you fire yourself. A wide beam of light blasts out of your rifle, burning a fair chunk of the building into a smoldering wreck. There was no way the assassin would have survived.

You turn to assess the damage, dismissing the wounded lowblood almost immediately and going to your moirail to help her up. Feferi is knelt on the ground, eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock. The whole incident had barely lasted three seconds. As soon as you have her on her feet you march towards her ship, the newly commissioned Merciful Empress, glancing around nervously for any other snipers.

Once you are safely on board the ship, you breathe a sigh of relief. The door seals behind you, and you turn to see Feferi, sobbing her eyes out.

After you scream at the pilot to get the two of you offworld, you do your best to calm her down. The two of you sit in the shuttle, and you hold her close.

"Eridan," she says, looking at you. "Why, why would anyone do that? I'm - I've been trying to fix the Empire, and that poor assistant, she, there's no way she's going to survive that wound, she's dead, because I decided I needed to meet my subjects! Hear their problems, and try to fix them! And she's dead, and it's my fault!"

She's more upset about that assistant getting shot up than the fact that it coulda been her. Of course. Typical Fef, but whatever. You shoosh her as best you can, but you gotta admit, you don't think you're that good at it, judging by the continued sobs. You guess you probably need more practice or something. After all, she had always been the happy one, at least until she wound up Empress.

After she's calmed down, (which takes a fuckin long time, you'll add), she heads to her room and takes a nap. You let out a sigh, and look at the sight of her sleeping for a while before you leave, and take a seat on the sofa in the common room. You notice a fantasy novel you'd not had time to look through much lately, though you'd been enjoying it a good deal before Fef got crowned. The book is the 4th in a series full of betrayals, death, war, and the occasional pailing. You're rooting for Troll Stannis Baratheon, the seadweller brother of the dead king who had usurped the throne from Troll Mad Emperor Aerys, a fuschia-blood who even you admit probably deserved what he got. There aren't too many good options to root for in these books, really. Basically everything and everyone sucks, and those who don't are dead.

Troll Stannis is skilled in battle, ruthless and clever, and the rightful king. He even has a sorceress in service to mysterious god on his side. With magic and all that shit. You sometimes wish magic was real, and you had it on your fuckin' side. But that's a silly fuckin pipe dream. You want to save the Empire, but Feferi is closer to Troll Sansa than Troll Daenerys, no matter how much you feel like you're a real-life Troll Jorah Mormont. Fuckin' moirail-zone.

You are interrupted from your reading by your cellular telecom device buzzing. There's a text from an official channel.

brkthrgh. wtnss n cllr cse n cstdy. rspnd nw pls. lwbld clms cllr s n hmwrld.

Oh my god that that is the worst typing quirk you've ever seen. If this asshole is exaggerating with his "witness" story, you are going to vaporise him, blueblood military officer or no. You're getting sick of hearing people's theories about the Culler. You just want that fucker dead.

Putting the book down, you call this asshole up.

"Alright, this had better be fuckin' good."

It sounds like a genuine breakthrough, bizarrely enough. You don't tell Feferi about it, as she is still sleeping. You do, however, tell the pilot of the to meet up with The Battleship Condescension as fast as fuckin' possible. The Merciful Empress is one of the fastest ships in the galaxy, and the Condescension is the fastest bar none, so within an hour the rendezvous is in progress.

Feferi is still sound asleep when you board the Condescension alone.

You walk past rows of some of the higher ranked soldiers of the Threshecutioner order, who salute you. You're a well known and well respected member of the nobility, far more so now that your moirail is Empress instead of merely the Heiress.

A Threshecutioner commander stands in front of you. He's taller than you, older and likely stronger, being the same blood caste as yourself.

"What brings you out this way, Count Ampora?" He's got a wry smile on his face that you wish you could get away with punching in.

"Important business regarding a lowblood prisoner. Top secret. Get outta my way."

He raises an eyebrow, and lets you pass, but as you walk away, he asks, "There've been no Culler victims in the last several nights, Count Ampora. Can you tell me- is it him?"

"No," you say, and keep walking.

The blueblood officer who brought the prisoner in is named Ertwin Sarmis, and upon meeting him you immediate decide he is an insufferable bore. You've gotten that impression over the cell, but it's more painful when you are there in person, because you can't hang up.

Eventually you get him off his rambling about how he's practically solved the Culler case with this, and get his assurance that only you know, he's kept it on the down-low, and contacted you immediately due to your being close to Feferi, and giving you his sympathy having gone through the stress of that just awful assassination attempt on her, and you swear to yourself that vaporizing this pompous buffoon would be doing the universe a favor.

Eventually you grab the prisoner file from his hand, and browse it over. You then look at Ertwin dead in the eye.

"Tavros Nitram, a lowblood cripple, henchman to a "criminal mastermind" who he claims is now deceased at his hand. Claims the Culler is a youth on Alternia, where this Nitram was as well, illegally. Sent a distress signal from a stolen Threshecutioner ship on the planet's surface. Says the Culler culls using... a magical notebook. Insists he has more precise and detailed info he will give if he can talk to someone close to the Empress." You sigh. "The chances of this being a waste of my time just went way the fuck up, but I'm already here. Might as well go ahead with this."

Ertwin stammers out a reply, probably worried that you will punish him if this turns up a dead end, which you will. "I- I think it's a good lead! So, what do you want to do with him?"

"I want to interrogate this fuckin' cripple myself."

As you enter the interrogationblock alone, you close the door behind you and lock it. It's a small block, with a table in the center, a locker filled with the prisoner's belongings in the corner, and a fan rotating slowly above the table.

The first thing that strikes you about the prisoner is that he's quivering in his seat. Tavros Nitram has large horns that you suppose many would find attractive, unfortunately attached to a head the has brown eyes filled with trepidation and fear. He's a scrawny whelp of a lowblood, and you already can't fuckin' stand him. It doesn't help that when he opens his mouth to speak, he stutters out a nervous greeting. He even attempts to wave at you with one of his cuffed-together claws, as if you were a fuckin' friend of his, though he can't possibly be that stupid. You can tell he's afraid, after all.

"Tavros Nitram. What the fuck sort of game are you tryin' to play with these lies?"

"Um, what lies? I'm not a good liar, I'm kindof, well, terrible at it, so I guess I don't really bother? I mean, what part of what I told, um, that other officer, did -"

You cut him off, sharply. "I'm not an officer, I'm a Count, you did notice the fuckin' gills, I hope? In your deposition to officer Sarmis, you said you had vital information regarding the Culler. And from what the officer told me, it sounds like it's probably all fuckin' lies. So how about you tell me, why the fuck should I not cull you on the spot?"

He pales, and, leaning away from you in his four wheel device, states, in a small, terrified voice "Because it's, it's um, well, true, I think?"

"You think?"

"Well, Vriska said- but then again she, um, said a lot of things, and not all were, uh, well -"

You freeze once he says the name. He keeps blathering on, but you interrupt him again.

"Vriska?" you say, as if that was all you needed to ask.

"Uh, yes?"

"Vriska Serket?"

He seems taken aback, but nods his head. You are still reeling - this loser knows her, this nobody knows the troll you met who'd done the most earn to your hatred. And worse, she'd rejected it, back in your FLARPing days.

You've never forgiven that bitch.

You leap over the table, knocking him out of his four wheel device onto the floor, and in a flash Ahab's Crosshairs is drawn from your sylladex and pointed at his terrified face.

"What the fuckin' hell does she have to do with all this?"

The lowblood is crying now, terrified, but he answers, still stammering.

"She, she found out the Culler was on, on Alternia, where he was, how he culled. I don't know how she knew, but she said she found him, stole eight pages, of the culling notebook, and, and, umm, left him alive. You need write the, the name and know the face to cull someone, and the Culler, knew nothing about her. But, but she knew all about him, he was, is, young, and, his name, um, starts with a V, I think? I don't know why he, um, stopped culling, though."

You kick him in the ribs, hard, and snarl "And I'm supposed to believe you, a scrawny crippled lowblood, culled Vriska Serket! That's what you told the officer, that you culled a criminal mastermind, her of all trolls, apparently and came to inform the empire of of his alleged location! And this story - these lies, about magic! Who the fuck do you think you're trying to fool?!"

Tavros Nitram's face is contorted in pain. You might have broken a rib when you kicked him. Nevertheless, he still answers, though the sobs. "She, Vriska, was going to write the Empress's name, destroy any hope of peace, I had to stop her, I had to cull her, so I, I shot her, and she's dead."

The story about the notebook is still preposterous, of course, but it occurs to you now that he seems to truly believe it. He thinks he saved your moirail's life by culling Vriska Serket. You don't know what sort of mind game she was pulling on him, but he probably really did gun her down. What an embarrassing way for a tough bitch like Serket to go out. It almost brings a smile to your face.

"So," you ask, careful not to sound angry at the downed lowblood anymore, "where are these notebook pages?"

"Um," he says, hesitating as if debating internally, but then continues, "they're folded up in my jacket pocket, in the locker up over, over there. The officer, uh, missed them when he confiscated, my jacket."

You walk over and yank the jacket out of the locker, and find the folded pages, and a pen. It seems Nitram had tried to keep them as a backup plan, but had it taken from him and put where he couldn't reach without being able to stand. You sling Ahab's crosshairs over your back, and look at the pages. They are all blank, and there seems nothing out of the ordinary about them.

You take the pen and write Tavros Nitram. He's still lying on the floor, but is very clearly alive.

"Tavros, magic isn't fuckin' real. Vriska lied to you, start to finish. It's what she does, or did, anyway. I don't know how the Culler culls, but magic's not real, you hear me?"

You show him his name on the paper. Tavros flinches, and anything resembling hope drains from his his face.

"But, that's the thing, it, um, magic is real."

Then, suddenly, he twitches and clutches his chest. His eyes roll back into his skull.

You say "What the shit," and after you check his pulse, it dawns on you.

This is exactly what you've always wanted.

You leave, vaporizing the blueblood officer with Ahab's Crosshairs. You burn the file he has on Nitram, and then hurry back to the Merciful Empress.

Magic is real.