"As we all now, in the matter of curses, virgin women are valued for a variety of powers. There is the blood of the virgin, favored by vampires and vampiric users;
the kiss of the virgin, lusted for by the woodland satyrs that smoke so much they put our very own mister Klavir to shame;
the first very intercourse of a virgin -the necessity for any male succubus to rise to become an apex predator in his conclave, et cetera.
Why is this?
Why does those dark creatures of the night that prowl beyond the high walls of Moros Tyr crave the state of virginity in our human females?
As one knows -there is no real distinction between a female who is a virgin and a female who is not -the distinctive breaking of the hymen causing vaginal bleeding is not consistent from female to female.
And the Red Tower's experimental results tell us that a wizard casting a spell while visibly breaking the hymen of a woman does not affectate the magical density of that spell -they tried a variety of spells from all spell families.
There is no magic in the fabled state of 'virginity'.
Yet the monsters gain power from it. How?
The answer to that is Curse. In your second year of studies -for many of you who was retained -the nth year, but nonetheless, in this year, you shall approach the subject of Curse, a magical study into evil powers lurking beyond the human touch -yet very, very real.
Now, flip to page sixteen, where we shall begin with the first historical time Vandilieron researched the subject of virginital power and Curses, shedding light on this dark matter for the first time in, well, all of observable history.
Now, let us begin..."
Li Tanrin was snapped out of his dozing by the dozens of apprentices all flipping the heavy tome to the designated page.
He turned to the zombie guy on his right.
"Psst. Where."
"Dunno." The man even sounded like a zombie, sporting a rasping lisp when he talked. "Dozed off too."
"Fuck. Want a Mevius?"
"Sure."
Li Tanrin gave him a cig and popped the menthol while the professor droned on about curses and virgins.
"Damn." The guy took a lungful. "This some good shit. Where'd you get this?"
"From another world."
The guy looked at him askance.
"Yeah." He took another lungful. "I can believe that."
The class went on well past 1 pm.
"All right class," the beady old professor shut the tome, "You're all excused. Go back to you dorms and take a wank or something. Whatever gets you youngsters jumping."
He turned to look at Li Tanrin, "Mister Klavir, come see me in my office."
Li Tanrin rose.
The other guy proffered a hand. "Good smoke. Rene Voberelus."
"Tren Klavir." He took it. "See you at mess."
He sat in the office of the professor -a spacious and wildly decorated room, with three floor-to-ceiling windows and extravagant carpeting resembling the back of a snow leopard. A plaque on the door read 'Odeion Kaeroeloagus
The bird-like old geezer sat in his red leathery high-backed throne with his elbows on the desk and fingers crossed like some Absolute Cinema meme.
Professor Odeion exhaled after a long pause.
"Mister Klavir. Do you really wish for expulsion? At this rate," he frowned, "your misconducts will definitely pile up and give you at best a smooth expulsion."
Misconducts? Li Tanrin sighed inwardly. What the fuck was this boy Tren doing.
The professor rubbed his eyes, "look, I know it's hard for you -what with you losing your parents like that -horribly misfortunate."
A figure flashed through Li Tanrin's mind.
And deep, deep hate.
Red eyes.
A silver staff topped with pigeon wings and a deviant three-crossed eye centering a Thshir rune. A rare Core Rune painting temperature-powered flight and belonging to the runic language of Khoteph.
What was that?
Painful memories racked through his body, shaking him apart.
He'd never felt anything like this as Ewan Sorrenswal -just what was this hate?
Pain convulsed him to the brink of thought.
Fuck.
"Yes." The professor sighed and leaned back in his swiveling chair. "They didn't give you the justice you deserved -and you almost could've spent all your life in prison for your stunt last year. I understood why you went after him."
Fuck. The pain. It took him by the throat and threatened to burst both his eyeballs. Stop fucking talking you old shit.
"But listen here -you're not the only one suffering -almost every mage who succeeded here has got a terrible backstory like you did. But what you need to do is do something about it or man the fuck up -teaching second year Curse is already a shitty gig for me, without you doing your shit to me this year. You got it? Either go after the fucking killer, or just stay put, you little dipshit. Alright, get out now. And good luck if you go."
Li Tanrin barely managed to muster up the willpower to rise, and left the mahogany-walled room shakily.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He lit a cig.
Outside the arches of the hallway the bells of the Tower tolled two in the distance.
Roooong, roooong.
He drew deep from the cig leaning against the black stone wall.
Fuck. Footsteps approached from behind.
It was a girl carrying a 1st year tome. Probably lost then.
She was northerner-looking blonde-ass girl sporting a red woolen miniskirt and a white top beneath the shorter red wide tie and blue-striped black robes of the 1st years.
The blue on the robes increased with every progressing year, so too the length of the red ties. By the end of the fifth year the robes would be completely blue regalia with rose gold frames and the red ties would reach the waist, becoming a great hassle to put on.
Fuck Maler.
The visions of the Thshir rune still plagued his mind -sharp flashes of bright memories that made no sense. It pierced his skull like a spear driving in, hammered with every moment passed.
The girl approached.
"Um sorry but I sorta can't find the mess hall" the girl fidgeted like some startled bunny, "d-do you perhaps know where it is? You're a second year right?" She spoke it all in a single breath and inhaled.
What a nervous girl.
Li Tanrin pointed to a stair heading downwards to the left of the end of the corridor.
"There." He gritted his teeth.
"Oh, um, thanks! Haha, uh, are you okay?" She asked nervously.
Fuck just please leave already.
"Yeah I'm fine. Scamper on now you." He grinned weakly.
She looked at him in concern.
"Okay, then. Thanks mister, then, haha, I'll get goint then." She bowed her head furtively and walked past slowly, giving him a wide berth.
Mister? What the fuck. Guess he hadn't really looked in the mirror yet. Tren Klavir must look really old to be called a mister by someone who should be just a year younger.
He attempted to wave, but instead a jabbing sensation brought him to his knees.
A woman without a face. She smiled. She held a knife in her hand, readied to strike. Blood splattered her white dress.
"Are you okay? Mister? Mister!" The blonde girl held his head in her soft, warm lap.
He couldn't stay conscious anymore.
He shut his eyes.
Fuck.