<span style="text-decoration: underline"><b>The Gymnasium</b></span><br/><br/>If Heinrich could have rolled his entire body he would have. Instead the combat instructor settled for a laconic revolution of the eyes and left it at that. The general consensus in the Reik was that paracelsi should ooze and be used, rather than paid much attention to. They served a useful purpose, just like all constructs of the Reik and more importantly, typically knew their place. A lot of elves might have got uppity about failed protocols, but Heinrich was not one of them.<br/><br/><b>[Teutari] <i>‘Oh do stop inspecting the floorboards woman. Feel free to attend to the dead thing. Maybe you can cure its temperament, but I wouldn’t wager any pfennigs upon it. I believe it has some anger issues that can only be cured by hitting things repeatedly. You know, the healthy way of dealing with your problems?’</i></b><br/><br/>Sarcasm practically dripped from every single one of Heinrich’s words, but regardless, he offered Hermisia a pleasant, if a little toothy, smile. He returned his attention to Ithalin and studied the creature as if it were a slab of meat. Heinrich was a man who knew how to look at a man like a hung cadaver in a butcher’s window. Some campaigns had been long and dangerously deprived of supplies. Soldiers got hungry and sometimes there had only been one type of readily available foodstuff. Sometimes they’d eaten it.<br/><br/>Ithalin attempted a barb, or was it a joke? Heinrich found it hard to tell with the thick accent with which it was uttered. An unruly Felinyashae had done the most damage to his face, although that had been while young and fresh. He’d taken no steps to alleviate the scarring, preferring instead to keep it as a reminder that cats were not to be trusted and had better be spayed before they had a chance to become dangerous.<br/><br/><b>‘Oh, I wasn’t insulting. I merely killed her. Taking time to gloat rarely works out in your favour, what what? Melodrama has no place on the battlefield my good fellow, leave that for the thespians and children’s stories.’</b><br/><br/>Heinrich resumed preening his moustache until it had acquired a lustrous sheen and distinctly caddish shape.<br/><br/>He didn’t flinch when the finger snapped loudly back into place. The only indication of displeasure was the momentary quiver of his moustache. Realising that there was little need for his continued presence, the instructor turned his back and returned to his desk. He picked up the magazine, sat down and propped his feet back up. He unfolded the magazine and peered over the top of it as the punching resumed.<br/><br/><b>‘Do be careful. We don’t have the budget to replace half of this archaic junk’</b><br/><br/><br/><span style="text-decoration: underline"><b>The Library.</b></span><br/><br/><br/>Anina blinked in a lopsided manner. First the left eye, then a second and a half later the right followed suit. Alarmingly, a thick trickle of brackish blood oozed from one nostril and into the small groove between nose and upper lip. The crimson liquid seeped across it and into the seal between the upper and lower. She reached up and touched the blood with dainty fingers and then for a tense moment studied the smear on her tips.<br/><br/><b>[Teutari] </b><i>‘<span style="color: #ff0080">Well that’s not a very good sign.’</span></i><br/><br/>The elf blinked a few more times and gradually her eyelids synched. She looked from her bloodied fingers to the uncouth creature of bells and disruption and narrowed her eyes. The colour had entirely faded from her cheeks and it was painfully obvious that all was not entirely right with her. Her second nostril started a weaker trickle, but it appeared as though she were no longer concerned about what was being expelled from inside her head. Sweat formed upon Anina’s brow and she wiped it away on her white shirt sleeve. A drop of blood splattered onto the white fabric and spread brightly.<br/><br/><span style="color: #ff0080">‘Prized…possession. Rare…tome. Yes. You heathen…You. You wait here.’</span><br/><br/>Anina jabbed an accusatory, bloody finger in the direction of Grobk and then teetered away on feet that barely knew if they were going forward or backwards. Left or right was anyone’s guess.<br/><br/>Somehow the librarian made it to a small iron lift and collapsed into it like a gutted fish. She wrenched the concertina door shut and put all her very slight weight into a brass lever. The lift rattled into life and began to ascend to the top tier of the library. By the time it reached the top level it looked as though the elf had regained some of her bones and lurched out of sight. Faint cursing in Teutari could be heard from the gloomy recesses near the ceiling. There were several very unpleasant declarations of the questionable nature of Grobk’s parentage and a few choice expletives that made no sense, although the tone and general unpleasantness of the slotted together words were entirely clear.<br/><br/>Anina reappeared with a book that was practically the same size as her own torso and as thick as fist. She staggered under its weight, but shuffled over to the lift regardless. The door screeched and closed behind her. It rattled downwards with inexorable slowness. Still clearly quite dazed, and a little more bloody, the librarian elbowed her way out of the lift and back toward Grobk. She dropped the book down on the table before her and winced as though the action might have hurt the precious tome.<br/><br/>The elf’s hands reached out and caressed the ancient leather of the cover. They traced every cracked line of it, but she didn’t seem to notice the twin red trails left by her fingertips as she sensually touched up the impressive tome.<br/><br/>She looked lost in a reverential stupor.<br/><br/><span style="color: #ff0080">‘You should feel honoured, savage, in the presence of this. Eight hundred and sixty three years old. Hand bound in the finest Felinyashae leather and painfully illustrated, by the most gifted scribes in the young Reik. Hans Kepler’s original publication of <i>Foundation of the Reik and Recipes from the Court of Gerhardt Teutar.</i> The last copy I know if…it’s utterly priceless, I have no idea how we ended up with it, but…so beautiful.’</span><br/><br/>Anina made a small noise that almost sounded like a climax and then sighed. She failed to notice a splotch of her nose bleed splatter on the ancient leather where an Old Teutari rune had been inlaid in faded gold paint. She turned back to Grobk with a resurgence of petulance.<br/><span style="color: #ff0080"><br/>
‘What could you possibly want with this? It’s not for the likes of you.’</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>