xp_logs | Angelo in Asgard: part two

Angelo works on his sword training with the Elf Swordmaster, and then tells Prince Calin a little about his life at home.

"No! This is a sword, not a club! There is no need to swing it so wildly! Your enemy will see such a blow from afar, and dodge in time." Falla, the Swordsmaster, glared at his latest student, the grey-skinned outworlder. When Angelo charged at him again, swinging the sword at his head, he merely stepped aside, swatting Angelo across the butt with the flat of his sword. "Like so."

Angelo bit back a yelp and looked at Falla ruefully, getting the point - if more from the gesture than the words, his Norse still not being what you'd call fluent, although he'd got the gist. He lowered the sword and returned to where he'd started. "Again?"

"Perhaps a club would be better suited, Angelo?" laughed Calin, from where he was sitting on the grass, watching. "A nice big heavy stick?"

Falla shot the elven prince a dark look, and beckoned Angelo to attack again. "Remember, the sword is sharp - only a slight pressure will cut skin. Now, again!"

Angelo didn't *actually* stick his tongue out at Calin, but managed to create the impression anyway with the look he gave him, moving back into attack position and trying again, doing perhaps slightly better this time.

Falla grunted approval as he parried the blow and Angelo followed with a backhand swipe. "Better, much better," he said, blocking that with his sword and returning a strike of his own. Despite the fact they'd been training for a couple of hours now, the elf was unruffled and composed, his clothes unmarked and his long blonde hair (tied back out of his face) smooth.

Unlike Angelo, who was sweating and covered with grass stains from where he'd been knocked to the ground several times. He was also bleeding from a couple of nicks on his arm, 'instructional wounds' Falla called them. The Swordsmaster was unlike most of the elves - he seemed to if not enjoy fighting, then take a far more pragmatic view of it. A necessary evil, and one that he had applied himself to become the best at.

Angelo tried to parry the strike, but wasn't quite fast enough, and acquired another small cut on his arm for his trouble.

"Enough. You grow weary, and weary is stupid. Rest, refresh yourself, and we shall begin again in an hour or two," said Falla, putting up his sword. He wrinkled his nose slightly in distaste at Angelo's sweaty - and somewhat stinky - state, and the blood trickling down his arm. "See the healer - it would not do for the wound to go septic. I have no use for a one-armed warrior."

Angelo nodded, lowering and sheathing his sword. "Back here in an hour, then?"

Falla nodded, and left Angelo and Calin to it. The elven prince cocked his head at Angelo's arm. "Does it trouble you, that you bleed in our service?" he asked, actual concern in his voice. Over the weeks of teaching Angelo the language, he'd come to like the offworlder, despite his violent nature.

Angelo shrugged, dropping to the grass nearby for a moment's rest before going in search of the healer. "You feed me, you teach me, it's the least I can do. 'Specially since I don't know where my friends are, how t'get home, or if I ever will."

"I wish we could assist you in that regard, but such a feat... it is beyond our magic, even if we could ever find your home. And there has been no word of outlanders like yourself." Calin looked a little unhappy. "I am afraid that whatever disaster befell you, it was you alone."

Angelo looked unhappy too, but there was resignation in his eyes - after the weeks he'd spent with the elves, what hope he'd had of finding his way home was starting to fade. "Yeah, I figured, since none of the others finished up here. Might as well make the best of it, though. 'S not a bad life, here..." His thoughts drifted, not for the first time, to Paige, his mother and his close friends, and what they'd thought when he disappeared, not to mention who was taking care of Joyita.

"But you miss your family, your friends. Tell me of them? Your world is very strange to me - in times long past, we Fae had more contact with Midgard, but now it is spoken of seldom, and then as children's fairytales." It was not a new question - Calin had frequently asked Angelo to talk about his home as part of their language lessons, but until now he'd avoided anything particularly personal - or painful.

"Don't have much blood family - only my mother. My friends, though... well, we're strange even by home standards. I don't s'pose there's any mention of mutants in your fairytales?"

"Mutants? No." Calin used the English word, as Angelo had, the elves not having a word of their own for the concept. "There are tales sometimes of heroes and tricksters and magicians, but it is a rare child of Midgard indeed who has these gifts." Calin looked at Angelo curiously. "So, your friends... you are telling me they have this mutant enchantment?"

"Not an enchantment", Angelo corrected. "Way I understand it, it's somethin' you're born with, or not. But, yeah, most of them do. An' almost every one of them has a different power."

"It is all very strange," Calin said. "You say there is no magic in your world?"

"No, there is", Angelo answered, trying to think of a way to explain it. "Just... mutation an' magic usually don't have anythin' to do with each other. One of my friends back home is the exception to that, though - her mutation is to be able to use magic. Or to channel the power, I s'pose. But, yeah, magic exists in my world."

Calin blinked. "Channelling the power? But..." Then he cut himself off. "It is all very interesting, but you should go to the healer, lest we both face Falla's wrath when he returns." With fluid grace, the elf rose, holding out his hand to help the far-clumsier (in his opinion) human.

Angelo nodded, prodding gingerly at the cuts on his arm, and took Calin's hand to let the elf pull him to his feet. "They're not bad, but I should get them cleaned up at least. Don't want them gettin' infected, like Falla said."