<span style="text-decoration: underline"><b>The Gymnasium</b></span><br/><br/>Heinrich listened to the undead man’s stream of thought and nodded in agreement. It was certainly true that many of the toys on display were dulled by time and use. While there was a degree of pride in the completeness of his collection, he was aware that introducing novices to very sharp objects often led to the medical facility writing sternly worded letters of complaint. The Reik hadn’t managed to make it as far as it had without deploying a certain degree of sense, namely, don’t kill off your own men if you don’t have to.<br/><br/>The instructor stroked his chin. Something befitting an uncouth savage who required brute strength over finesse to overcome problems. Something blunt and simple, like the creature who wished to wield it. He paused to think, mind tracking back over the countless battlefields and border skirmishes that the Reik inevitably instigated or, more frequently, ended. He tapped his chin and mulled over the options until a small spark of inspiration forged its way to the forefront of his mind. Heinrich snapped his fingers together for added emphasis.<br/><br/><b>‘I believe that I have just the thing that will suit your needs. Come with me.’</b><br/><br/>With a rigid snap in his stride, Heinrich marched along the wall with purpose and direction. A smile had crept onto his face, as it usually did when reminiscing. About three quarters of the way along the seemingly endless array of motely weaponry the instructor paused and with a degree of reverence reached forwards. He used both hands to pluck the tool from its rack, muscles bunching beneath his shirt as he did so.<br/><br/>The weapon was, frankly, enormous. From the hollow sphere of the counterweight to the mighty and rather vicious looking head, it measured from booted feet to Heinrich’s chin. Shreds of some cheerful red pennant still remained tied to the ring as the base and tough, badly cured leather wrapped around the haft to give sweat or blood-slicked hands purchase, but it was the business end that commanded attention.<br/><br/>It was forged from an odd dark metal and inscribed with some manner of crude runic language. It took on the shape of a demented hell-smith’s anvil with a vicious, thick spike on one side and an almost flat striking head to act as its main function. Each corner of the head featured another, thick and pointed barb that appeared to be designed for piercing armour. Heinrich hefted it and twisted the weapon in his hands so that the angry-looking striking surface pointed in the vague direction of the ground, whereas the spiked point soared high like a nightmare shark fin.<br/><br/><b>‘This delightful fellow was the chief weapon deployed by the Borogravians. A fine race of people with an ancient history, rich culture and uncouth tallness. They charged our lines at the Battle of Knakk Plain, these beastly things raised high. I’m sure they’d have done a damnable amount of damage too, except of course they failed to take into account one small aspect…’</b><br/><br/>Heinrich paused for dramatic effect, his eyes sparkling with remembrance.<br/><br/><b>‘…rifles don’t care about bellowing savages running across open ground. I don’t think a single Borogravian made it to the battle line before we put them to flight. Now there’s a fun thought! The dreams of what could have been, what, what? I do believe that the last I heard of them, they’d put down the hammers and taken to wine production. Some damned good vintners, so I’m told – I prefer schnapps myself. So, what do you say? Fancy putting this little lad to use?’</b><br/><br/><br/><span style="text-decoration: underline"><b>The Library</b></span><br/><br/><br/>If looks could kill, Anina could have reduced the entire globe to a twisted and lifeless wasteland haunted by dread spectres with a penchant for revenge. What had swiftly become clear to her was that the foul heathen had somehow achieved control of her body. Resisting his insidious commands resulted in exhaustion unlike any she had known before. Still, he hadn’t taken away her mental faculties and they screamed bloody murder at her. She was no toy to be tossed hither and thither. She was an elf of the Reik and she wasn’t going to let centuries of education and indoctrination simply hide away because of some dark threat from a race of inconsequential beings.<br/><br/>She tried to bite Grobk, of course she did, but his command easily prevented her from doing so. Instead the librarian settled for eyes of daggers and snarled in an almost feral manner when his long fingers were withdrawn, slimy from her thick saliva. Of that he paid no attention. She knew this game and understood her position, which had no bearing on her acceptance. All his talk of foreign breeders only strengthened her resolve, although it only showed in her nails digging deep into the surface of the table.<br/><br/>When his fingers, so helpfully coated in her own saliva, descended upon her helplessly spread cunt there was nothing she could do except spit a few choice insults, muted by the tension in her body. They were laden with as much bile as she could muster, which thanks to his treatment and incorrect superior attitude was unsurprisingly thick. She gritted her teeth and attempted to force her legs together, but achieved only a trembling of her thighs. Anina felt utterly humiliated, but still her spark refused to die.<br/><br/>Then a flare of hope. One of the new officers had somehow bundled herself into the scene, all hissing pistons and haughtiness. An inward ray of light opened up and some of the rage inside her dissipated. The zozkar, in a typically bravado-inspired act slide a finger inside her unwarrantedly wet pussy and teased at her innards. Under different circumstances it might have been a pleasant experience, but not in this fashion. Anina gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, but her body refused to allow her to wriggle away. She snarled like a cornered dog, but watched as instead of drawing a pistol or sword, the officer circled them and came closer.<br/><br/>Anina barely heard the words that were being exchanged, through dint of sheer galled shock.<i>Woo </i>her? As far as she was concerned, after his vile actions, Grobk couldn’t seduce his way into the arms of a well-paid prostitute. What was the officer playing at? The familiar, aching rage boiled back to the surface and she spat it forth in rapid and angry Teutari.<br/><br/><b>[Teutari]</b><span style="color: #ff0080">‘By Gerhardt’s blood! What the fuck are you talking about woman!? Fetch the guards, fetch everyone! Have this deviant staked to the rocks to greet the sun! I want to see his skin split and peel as it bakes under the midday sun! Don’t bloody well give him pointers!’</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>