The Blade and the Cycle

Pvt. First Class Actium of the Delv is a badass.



He knows this to be true, and he holds this truth to be self evident, for he has proven it time and again. His boots are tucked, black, and brilliantly polished. His pants are pressed and his gold-and scarlet uniform is resplendant, all epaulettes and braid. His rapier is thrillant and keen. His footwork dazzles; his foin is immaculate. He has scored in the top fifth percent of his fencing classes since he was strong enough to pick up a blade.

Pvt. First Class Actium is, in short, the bossest, ballsiest bravo to walk the streets of Fortress Kiprik in at least a generation.



So what's he doing reading this stupid book?



Grippa thinks two hours of studying a night is good for the focus, even if you're only learning stances and such.
Well what Actium thinks is going out and finding a flashing street duel to get stuck into is even better.
Grippa also thinks back talk will get that raised up to three hours this evening, Private First Class.

So here Actium sits, learning about Meisterhäue.

He flicks an eraser shaving off his desk.
It lands with a TOK.
Wait, that can't be right.

TOK.

Someone's tossing rocks at his window.