<span style="color: #ff4da6">“What could you possibly want with this? It’s not for the likes of you.”</span><br/><br/>Indignant even while charmed, Grobk thought to himself as he took a seat in front of the ancient tome. “Silence your mewling, elf. Or I’ll make sure you end up like the Felinyashae that binds this book. Ancient prizes are especially meant for me.” The Zozkar replied in common.<br/><br/>The Zozkar paused, rubbing his hands together as one might when presented with dessert. Next he said ‘grace’, his mumbled words seared into the air as he pressed his palm to the tomes cover. It was a minor identifying spell meant to scry out magical attributes; usually mystical traps. The tome hummed harmlessly in reply, a tone and pitch that could only be heard by those in tune with magic. The book contained some magical properties but nothing dangerous.<br/><br/>When the tome was opened its cover cracked and squeaked as old leather does. Each turn of ancient yellowed pages wafted with the smell of dust and parchment. The Zozkar’s black eyes drank in the Old Teutari words. He was thirsty for whatever secrets this book may hold. His fingers traced eagerly over the calligraphy that began each page. The artistry was modest in comparison to ancient Zozkar illustrations but nonetheless impressive for such a young race.<br/><br/>A chain of crimson beads splashed across the page Grobk was reading interrupting the moment of indulgence. Looking up he could see the librarian leaning over the table trying to peer at the pages. Her nose was red with blood and leaking in the same fashion of the bases poorly fastened steam pipes.<br/><br/>“Your species is a fragile one isn’t it?” Grobk asked while gripping the librarian by her white blouse and using it to dab at the page. The attempts did little but smear the blood and smudge the text in the process. “Tsk.” The necromancer sucked at his front teeth, displeased, but only for a moment when he noticed the calligraphy had somehow remained pristine despite the blood. He squinted at the artwork. Scrutinizing it not as a librarian or scholar might but as a wielder of the arcane. He drew his finger in a swiping motion across a bead of red smudging a long line across the illustration, still it somehow remained untouched.<br/><br/>“How delicious.” Grobk announced after several moments of intense studying had passed. “Old Teutari.” The Zozkar pointed to the words on the pages and then pointed to small symbols hidden within the same pages calligraphy. “Even older Teutari, one could say ancient, relative to your species of course.”<br/><br/>The Librarian blinked as long phantom tendrils appeared and disappeared down the length of her skull. Their twisting energies weaved and licked at her thoughts, lubricating her mind with desires not her own.<br/><br/>“Translate this.” Grobk commanded. “Or find me the right texts so that I may do it myself. Go, or I’ll feast on your brain for the information myself.” The Zozkar reclined, then sat up and attempted to recline again, noting the worn seat the Librarian had labored into her chair. His mind wondering to the possibility that if this bookish elf couldn’t transcribe this script that perhaps the scholarly Minotaur could.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>