THE NEXT WEEK resumed studies for all [First Years] with warlock practice at the academy's Guild. All four factions of the school of witchy made their way in to the mess hall in karate Gis matching the colors of their various Arcs.
The vast training center was soon filled the sounds of students chattering, voices overlapping in many degrees about who or what party rocked the most during the weekend. A particular group of geeks lazied about the rear end, staying away from the circular rugs for ninja training as if a wyvern nested there. And a bald boy, in glasses too huge for his pudgy face; apparently the leader of the dork gang, hung around the bosomy statue of a [Rank C] lady knight.
He petted the incline of her long sword with the arm people could see, and with the other—which they could not, he secretly felt along the alabaster swells of her stone tits.
Everyone else was too engrossed in their own dialogues to notice this weirdo.
