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Who: Abelas (

getoutofmytemple) & Angela Ziegler (

valcurie)
What: A friendly spar with his One Friend
When: a week after this conversation.
Where: outskirts of the city
Warning(s): none atm

[As much as the walk through the city had not been unpleasant, Abelas was relieved to get into an open, less populated areas of the city. From there it wasn't difficult to find a suitable place for their little spar. Somewhere open, but with enough debris to make for suitable cover. Even if he was still dressed in what he considered his casual "civilian clothes", such meant a very different thing to one of a society as advanced as his. Gold trim offset the dark fabric of the finely crafted ensemble, and it likely looked too nice for one to be sparring with, but not to him. These may as well have been hand-me-downs to the ancient elf.

Finally satisfied he took a deep breath, and drew his staff with a little flourish to gather magic to it. He closed his eyes and just revelled in the familiar feeling. Even if it was not a true fight, it was familiar, and he would take such gifts whenever he could find them. After he let out a slow exhale he straightened up, holding the staff upright like it were a simply walking stick, despite the shimmer of flame and magic weaving about it.]

This seems to be a suitable enough place to me. What of you Lady Ziegler?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's fine, Abelas. Definitely more suitable than your clothes. ( She gives him a significant sideways glance as she says this, effectively repeating what she's said about twenty times already, just worded slightly clever now that she can make something of a joke out of it. If he thought his society being more advanced an excuse for such wasteful indulgence as risking such fine clothes, she definitely had something to say about that. Her own society was quite advanced before it was wiped out, and she's always liked to make a statement, but this excess spoke to her of decadence, more than then any state of progress. He has told her he considered his people an arrogant lot.

Practical as she is, it would be uncharacteristic for her to relent on this point. As he flexes his magical muscles and she sets down her things, she takes her own staff out, a sturdy but plain quarterstaff she has taken to carrying around with her for self-defense. She lays it on the ground with a deal of care before going through a quick set of exercise to warm up. Her hands are over her head when she asks: ) Can't you at least take off your coat?

[He glanced down at his clothes, clearly still trying to see just what about them she thought to be in any way gaudy. Such clothes weren't exactly uncommon when your tailors literally had all the time in the world.]

Do you really consider this to be finery? [But he still conceded with a shrug and a sigh. Though he passively wondered just what she would consider the actual finery of his people. These rags didn't even have a scrap of magic woven into it.] Very well then.

[He shrugged off the coat and tossed it onto a large rock that happened to be near him. Probably not the best place for one to lay "finery", but it might as well have been a sweatshirt by his standards. He then gestured with his arms spread so she could better see his clothes without the coat.]

Would you like for me to remove my shirt as well?

[He's actually asking seriously, but there may be a slight air of humor about it]

( Of course, she has no way of knowing just how much of this spectacle is a quirk of his culture. How intricate the clothing of his people are, even after centuries spent as a nomadic shadow of themselves. When hardly anything is produced by hand in your own culture, it is hard to remember just how much pride and individuality can be expressed through the design of garments with a specific wearer in mind. Even the crafting of her own bespoke suit was no where near as long, or intensive, as the hours spent on the clothing from his world.

As practical as the clothing choices she's made are now, she removes her jerkin, not wanting to expose it to the blaze she knows is coming. At least her staff is lacquered with something that's supposed to retard flames. Beneath is a loose white long-sleeved blouse that also provides no special protection, but it is something more easily salvageable, she thinks, with the sewing skills she possesses as a surgeon.

At his question, she sighs, and is clearly amused. He's actually sort of funny! ) You shouldn't strip yourself of all protection. ( She picks up her staff now. ) While it is your fault for wearing such clothes, I also wouldn't want you to trip over your own extravagant coattails.

Would you like to start? ( She is, after all, much more used to being defensive. )

[There was a moment where he tilted his head and amusement of their little banter. This one had a clever tongue. Of course he had to point out a flaw in her reasoning. He had learned in his years to have a ruthlessness about him in combat, and even in a spar he would make use of any weakness he could, even if were not something that would be typically found in a fight.]

If you saw it as a potential tactical advantage you should have kept silent and used it against me.

[He lifts his staff and positions it at a more combat ready angle, with the tip pointed towards the ground, and slowly began to move, circling her as he gauged how she moved in such a standoff.]

Very well, but first you shall tell me what it is you expect from an opponent that wields magic.

Edited 2017-08-12 06:55 (UTC)

Am I making it too easy? ( A hypothetical question as a quip, she follows it with shifting her weight with a single fluid, efficient step. She presents to him the narrow length of her side, her trim, slender form providing less of a target from this angle. Then, as he begins to circle, she shifts on the balls of her feet, making sure that as little of her is facing him as possible.

From the start, her eyes are locked on his. ) Besides fire and brimstone? ( She gives a smirk, dips her head slightly, but the concentration on his line of sight does not waver for an instant. No matter how interesting a sight the lambent tip of his staff may be, she figures that mages, just like everyone else, need to actually aim. ) Advantage in your favour if you're in range, and openings presented between castings. You don't need to reload, but you will eventually tire.

If you would not extend such a courtesy to an enemy, you should not extend such to me.

[He takes in her assessment and gives a nod. It was a very good assessment from one who had only been introduced to magic recently. t was indeed the most common way to wield magic, and against the general masses of Thedas, she would succeed. Of course such assessments still limited her, and would get her killed if she continued thinking that was the limit of magic.]

A fair assessment. However...

[He paused, and put his weight on his front leg as though he would sprint forward, but when he should have lifted his back leg to go into a sprint, he simply vanished. In a moment, she would feel a rush of air that goes through her. When he speaks again his voice comes from behind her, and there's a bite of a cold blade against her neck.]

You are dead because you limited how you believe one can use magic. There are mages just as capable of fighting in close proximity as there are at range. Magic itself is not a discipline of combat, it is but a weapon, and weapons come in a variety of forms. We can fight as archers, devastating but fragile, or as swordsmen on the front lines, or as assailants, disorienting and changing the battlefield to their advantage.

Magic is only limited to what the wielder can envision. You may find a mage that comes at you with a blade made of flame, or one that can transform themselves into a wolf or bear.

[He stepped back and sheathed his blade, returning to circling her as he had been before. That was a light lesson, to get her used to how he taught. He at least had the decently not to throw her to the ground or set her on fire before she could figure out how to counter.]

You cannot make an assessment until you understand where a mages specific talents lay. On any battlefield, whatever your duty, you must always focus your attention on the mage. Yours must be protected, while you must take caution where your foes attentions is focused.

( Her breath hitches in her chest, and it feels like the knife is cold enough to be the reason why her throat and heart freeze, but Mercy resists the reflexive urge to spin around and face him. Whether the cut she feels there is real or not, this was the correct move, because just as quickly as he was there, he's back here again, in front of her, and she's prevented herself from losing her balance with her back to him.

It's a lot of information he's giving her. Staying light on her feet, she keeps pace him with, step by step, taking in what she can without overcommitting. That seems to be a lesson he's trying to impart as well. Carefully, she rolls her shoulders, continuing to move with him. Things are more serious now, her muscles tenser, but she still manages some lighter wit. )

All right, so I'm lucky you don't actually want to kill me. Yet.

( A few more steps, following along and processing. Evidently, intelligence, awareness of one's surroundings and ability to actually think, a big part of fighting against a mage. Caution and calmness help too, to foster a greater creativity so that one might outsmart a magical foe. ) Let's see what you can do, mage.

( To determine where his speciality might lie, she feints at him with a half-raised staff, seeing what his reflex is: to pull back or draw in, he may have a tell. )

[He reacts by adjusting his stance to plant himself in his spot, holding his ground and raising his own staff to prepare to counter. Being a defensive and reactive fight was something he was more used to when he lacked the element of surprise as he had in his first strike. Not that he was offensively weak in terms of spells, but without the raw power of his ancient magic behind them, he could not make use of them how he'd like.

Still, for this, such would be more than enough. He summoned a ball of flame, there's some strain as he does so. It takes him far more power than it should to keep the spell stable, but he forms it enough to throw at her, then follows it up with a similar spell. ]

Oftentimes a mage cannot use the same spell in rapid succession. The more powerful the spell, the longer it will take to properly form the spell again. A spell they are using repeatedly is likely a spell that is survivable, and should not be your focus. It is a distraction for something else.

[He makes to effort to hide the ambient magic left behind by his assault with fire. The air around him crackles and shimmers, but he maintains a mid-range distance to her.]

If you can defend yourself long enough to see the pattern then you should be able to interrupt the cycle of their casting. When the mage is off balance, then you strike.

[then he moves again, the same posture, as if he's going to sprint forward, but instead vanishes. The rush of wind returns, and he reappears. If she manages to predict his movement and turn and block with her staff, he earns a brief nod in approval from him... then a shock from his staff. If she does not catch it... well... she gets a good whack from the staff and a jolt. It wasn't s serious charge of lightening, but enough to cause muscles to tense and lock up. Enough to give him the moment he needed to take her arm and twist it behind her back.]

You are dead because you did not anticipate that I could summon more than simply flame and old magic. Do not let the flare of one's staff blind you to the full extent of their abilities. We are also capable of fighting without a staff, but doing so can hinder the speed and force with which we cast.

[He release his grip on her arm, but held it gently as he moved it in front of her once more. He suspected the harsh movement after the lightning had hurt, and he did not want to cause unneeded damage or pain by making her use the stiff muscles to right herself again.

Once done he steps back once more and watches her recover.]

I shall give you a moment to recover. When you are ready, come hither. I believe it would do you a service to understand how magic flows when being cast.

( Even without her wings to propel her it is an easy matter to side-step his two-shot assault, made more so by the dampened state of his magic and her amplified awareness of what exactly he's doing. And she is paying attention--having long halted her own attack, she is taking in his stance, his staff's position, the strain or sweat that may start to show on his face from wearing such overwrought clothes, paired with his professed difficulty with casting.

It is as she suspected, really. Magic is a tool, like weapons: use it too often, depends on it too much, and it overheats. For whatever reason it is like the mage needs a period to cool down and recharge. Something worth keeping in mind, like the direction of his gaze when he isn't about to make a fake sprint at her, or the curious sound that isn't quite suppressed, underneath, faintly heard if at all, not just the roar of the fireballs that singe the air around them, something sweeter, and it's there even when--

She does predict him, this time, pivots on her foot and in the right direction--she does only have the one back. Clenched teeth when his strike meets her staff, and then she makes a small breathy sigh as the electricity runs through her system and overcharges it with sparks and chills ands leaves her falling her to her knees. Her staff settles into the dirt after rolling a bit, she looks up at him with her arms limp and awkward at her side, her face in an odd-half grin. The expression at her time of seizing up.

Once her muscles aren't quite so locked up, she reaches for her staff and pulls herself up, then steps back with a handful of rickety movements. Tingling in her fingers makes her grip tentative at best, though it's quickly passing. )

So I can die again to my own foolishness? ( A laugh and she backs up again. ) Uh-uh. ( Should have tried knocking him over before she made it to her feet, she thinks with a roll of her head., but he had stepped back. ) Why don't you show me from there?

Edited 2017-08-13 01:31 (UTC)

I did not claim I would go easy on you. [There was amusement in his tone, but as he continued he fell back to his usual curt manner, as he was stating a fact. She had shown improvement, and he was willing to recognize it. He knew he was a harsh teacher, but he did not wish to see her discouraged after only a few rounds.] You last longer with each attempt. You are beginning to understand it, but you work with the disadvantage of only seeing it over the span of weeks whereas others have seen it their entire lives.

[He eventually relents and returns to her instead, but this time he holds out his staff for her to take. Of course once she did the flame and crackling energy about it would fade, she did not have the ability to keep it maintained.]

Because at a distance you would not understand what it is like to cast a spell. This is not intended to be an attack, Lethallan. [Once the staff was taken he would hold out his hand for her to take. If she did, she would feel a warm tingling sensation run through her arms, and the staff would once more spark to life.] Do you recall how I showed you what it was like to summon veilfire?

[Implying he was going to do something similar. However, channelling a meager spell through someone's hands was one thing, channelling a few spells through a person was a bit more complicated. He also had to be wary, she was no elf, and no mage, so it was impossible for her to understand it as he did.

But the raw, hazy, power of the fade would be something she could feel, and as long as he did not overdo it she should remain fine. Humans could dream after all, she had a connection to the Fade, if a weak one.]

Nor would I want you to. ( Given his background, if he did give her anything less than his best, she would be more than a bit miffed. He said he respected her. This is a way of proving that. Still, that didn't mean she had to be a fool and fall for everything, let him give her a thorough thrashing. He had told her himself not to treat him any different from an enemy, and she definitely wouldn't have just walked over to one who asked her to. Not unless they were hurt--and even then. Caution can't hurt, in any case. ) I was just keeping my guard up. Nothing personal.

( Which seems to be the best defense around mages. Mercy doesn't quite ease as he comes closer, her posture is still firmly poised and proper, and it takes him proffering his staff for her to deign it all right to relinquish her own. Bending at the knees to place it down, she disarms, frees her hands, and then reaches for his staff, lets her fingers linger in the crackling, energised, fulminating air above it, where she feels something breeze across her skin, before she finally closes her grasp around the thin haft.

Then, silence. Stillness. The inertness of her own non-magical world.

She cocks her head, wondering what he intends, then, if not an attack, and what that unknown word might mean. Something to ask--later. When she does not have his hand in hers, when she is not suddenly a conduit for a real force, like wind, something she can't see or understand and only feel churning through her. There's a chiming on her skin that sings sweetly, while a prickling like gooseflesh warns her of vaguely promised and comprehended power. Muted, it seems, and not so bright with a less than porous length added to the circuit, his staff, but it has come back to life through her.)

Yes. You called upon the Fade and pulled from it memories of fire. ( A slight pause as she shifts her weight so that her shoulders are squared and her weight evenly distributed. She looks to him, then back to his staff, and angles it well away from her face. Exhales, making herself calm, the sky of her mind clear. ) What should I do?

[Only after did he realize what he had called her, but it was a thought he easily brushed aside. It was how he referred to many he had sparred with in the past, and she was a friend. Odd that it had slipped out without his thinking on it, but it was what it was.]

I did not take it as such.

[On the matter of her wariness, at another time he would employ such deceit. Though he usually reserved it for those that did not yet know battle, the young ones where he feared their compassion would cost them and others their lives.

Such was not the focus of this lesson however, understanding magic was, and he thought this to be the best way to go about it. This was something he was as new to teaching as she was at learning, but judging by the look on her face he had made a good call.]

Follow my movements, and trust me not to harm you.

[He stepped so that he was behind her, and shifted their hand so that his palm was against the back of her free hand, and his other hand wrapped over hers on the staff. For a moment he had to adjust himself to get used to the set-up. The warmth from someone's hand was not the familiar cloth grip of his staff, and having someone in such close proximity without the protection of his armor was jarring. Enough that for a moment the power he channelled would waver before he was able to regain his focus.

Once he has readied himself he moved their hands in a gentle sweeping motion, as one might idly stir water in a pool or fountain. This is anything but an idle motion though, the power thickened around them as he drew the magic of the fade to them, the staff serving almost as a beacon or lightning rod for the ambient energy in the area, keeping it drawn to them.

Then the air in their hand shimmered as though it was giving off heat, but other than the tingling warmth, there had been no increase in temperature. Then finally a spark, rapidly followed by another until they had a crackling formless cluster of electricity emanating from the palm of her hand. Like he had promised, there was no pain despite the angry sparks dancing along their arms.

He gave her some time to study the feel of it, and when he thought her ready he continued.]

I am going to show you what happens when a spell is halted before it is finished. It may sting, but less so than my earlier spells.

( What can she do, other than laugh? She might have stifled it in other circumstances, but now she cannot, not with both of her hands otherwise occupied. So it ripples through her, for a handful of seconds, a physical manifestation of her amusement at him pointing out the painfully obvious. She has to trust him, that's really the best she can do, especially now that she has so thoroughly submitted to his care and tutelage. The propinquity is odd. Not necessarily because it's an overly uncommon for her, more the purpose if it. Usually people who get so close to her are looking for something, touching her to take comfort she's usually willing to provide, to give whatever meagre consolation it is they may find in the turbulent wake of unutterable tragedy and trauma.

But he's not seeking anything from her. Not to take from her, anyway. She can tell that just by the way he holds her hands: firm and resolute, and not searching. An awareness of how skittish he was to anything approaching intimate contact also informs her of what he may be feeling just now--the jolt, the dispersal of concentration, the need to gather himself around such circumstances. Very briefly, she smiles to herself, grateful but unsure how to express her gratitude that he would put himself through such discomfort for, what, her sake? The only benefit to him could be feeling capable, surely being able to train a shemlen would be a testament to his abilities, and he didn't need to share his magic with her to do so.

That seems most intimate of all--here she stands, receiving power directly from him, though at best all she could do on her own is mime and parrot his techniques and never so much as conjure a sliver of a spark. Only through him is she able to hear the song, stronger this time, with much more melodious notes, and the whispers on her skin seem to have a shape. Several of them. All straining against her, sliding on her skin, sometimes snagging. They pulse, and she listens for something like his heartbeat, because she assumes that these motes of power are his. Dissipated, somehow, but not quite abated.

Then the gathered power produces a heatless, contained storm, tendrils of hazy violet splitting and reaching like impotent stingers of jellyfish. She considers this amorphous bundle of plasma in her--their--hand for several seconds, not so much studying it as imprinting these moments upon her urgently vivacious consciousness. Such a display must seem a muddied, insipid shadow of what he can manage back home, she thinks, but what he's showing her right in this very instant, there are a lot of things she would have gladly given up to see.

So she keeps her awe and her anxiety and her nerves steady. She wants the image clear, undisturbed, but quick to snap back into place in case she gets tugged away by something else. She has eased into his touch, she has matched her breathing to his, her guide's. The tingling in her skin is now just from the magic in her hands and her head her body. Not from the contact between the two of them. )

All right. I'm ready.

[The moment she gives the go ahead, he ceases the spell. The dancing bolt lose their form, almost like they are being unravelled violently. They spark, not as lightning should, but rather like the spell short circuited. This time there is a sharp heat to it, and a recoil that stings up to the wrist, but as he had said, it was nothing serious.

Much of the magic dissipates, like water slipping through one's fingers, but some remains, leaving the air charged. With a few waves of his hand, he is able to direct the remains into a more stable current.]

Aetheric feedback. It can happen when spells are disrupted before they are finished, it is why disrupting a mage is an important part of defending against one.

[A disruption was all one needed to turn the tide of battle, and for her such could be life or death. He gives pause as he considers something. There were varieties of magic she would need to consider as well, and while he could now show her blood magic, or anything like that, he could show her his magic. There was a nagging at the back of his mind, reminding him that she was human. There was a part of him that momentarily debated whether she had the right to experience such magic, but as quickly as the thought formed, it was dismissed. He said he would teach her how to handle magic users, and this was a part of that. She had earned his confidence enough to be trained and he would take the same care with her as he did his Sentinels... but there were more realistic concerns to her being human.]

There is one more thing I wish to show you. I am going to use my magic for a more complex spell, so you understand the differences in magic. After that I shall stop. [A beat.] If you feel unwell at any point, tell me and I shall stop. I do not believe it would cause you any lasting harm, but you are no mage, much less Elvhen. Channeling such magic may be uncomfortable.

[Again he starts with the gentle pulling motion, but it grows more forceful as he draws the magic. His eyes flash that gleaming silver, not that she can see in mer position, but she would likely notice the familiar black smoke-like energy that he's summoned in the past. Only now she could feel the force behind it. Where before he was pulling threads from a distant realm, here he was more like a gateway to the very source of the power. And what he was able to take from it was pure and raw, not the gentle warm tingle he showed her before. It was a rush, a wave of something far more crisp and raw, but also less difficult for him to weave- perhaps channeling it through her was more of a feat, but this magic was as much a part of him as breathing or a heartbeat. However this also lead him to be unaware how taxing this energy could be on one who was not of his kind.

Then he starts to direct the magic, gathering it in one place before them towards a half collapsed wall. The rest of the building had long since been reduced to rubble, but this still suited his goal just fine. White tendrils crawled up the structure in waves, each wave coinciding with a gesture from their hands. There was a growing weight to the gesture as well, each movement was met with more resistance from an invisible force as more power was guided into the spell he even had to start coaxing it along with the staff as well.

Whether she lasted, or requested for him to stop early, he would begin to slow the motions, gently letting down the force that was summoned until only little flecks remained hanging in the air and his eyes returned to their regular golden hue. What he did, or was trying to do to the lone structure, could not be seen as of yet. He would make a display of it in a moment, but he first needed to make sure there were no ill side effects on Angela.]

( Given that she was expecting some kind of explosive recoil or kickback to knock her backwards into him, the actual sudden dissipation of the little storm is, strangely, satisfying anticlimactic. She shakes her wrist out under his hand; it feels no worse than if she's leant too hard on a desk, or done a few too many push-ups. )

Is there a risk of having that blow up in your face as well, or only the caster's?

( Which determines whether or not it's safe to get into melee range to disrupt spells. She means to turn and look over her shoulder at him, gently shake him off and resume sparring so that she might put what he's shown her to use, but then comes his offer of one more thing. Absolutely she's up for it, and, the way he explains it, over her shoulder to her, it seems like it's going to be something good. If not a bit dangerous to her, but she has no reason to not treat him as a teacher who has a genuine interest in seeing her succeed. That this is magic he's better off not showing her, is a thought which doesn't occur to her, even if he's basically saying he has no idea what her limits might be. )

All right. I'll let you know if your magic--doesn't like that I'm not an elf? If anything feels too weird.

( The magic that courses through her next initially builds like the first kind, but it feels different immediately, even to her lack of expertise. There's nothing soft or playful about it, no song for her to want to hum to, no rhythm other than that with which he provides and directs it. He seems to have more control over the currents of it, but the eddies are more violent upon her, much harsher and visceral and it feels as if something smooth about her were being roughened.

She of course doesn't know about mana, at least not in a way that matters. As the magic courses through her it skims along the surface of herself, kept from sweeping away something essential from her only by dint of his own aeons of focus and control and being what he is. Right at the peak she finally, finally flinches--sweat beads the nape her neck, her breath catches, she's curiously exhausted, and it feels like all the force in her body has been snatched to reduce her to such an enervated state. She's about to say something, when he starts to wind down whatever it is he's channelling. His will, his force, his spirit? All the while her hands follow his, copying the movements and signs they make with a significantly growing languor.

Finally, it's over, and she trembles for a few seconds. But, she is a strong woman, and she stands through the shaking of her knees. With a quieter voice: ) Are you trying reconstruct that buildings with the sheer strength of your will? I think if you're going to do it, I'm probably not going to be much help. I don't think I can do that again.

[Abelas noticed her tremble as soon as the spell had been completed, and moved his hands to her shoulders to brace her. Once she seemed a little more steady he began to walk her somewhere they could sit and she could recover. He fetched his canteen of water and offered it to her as well.]

Drink. We shall take a rest for now.

[He scrutinizes her as she does, making certain there were no lingering effects aside from the fatigue. in hindsight he was debating whether or not his decision had been wise, he had been admittedly blinded by his own experience and limits that he did not anticipate just how much it would tire her, and if he did not anticipate that, then just how much else had he overlooked? He would keep a close eye on her for now. It was the best he could do.]

Tis not strength of will. The Elvhen were people of the Fade, for us it was no different than wading through water. Between my natural affinity and the power from the Vir'abelasan, I am still able to conjure magic as though the Fade is still part of this realm. [He dips his head in apology.] I apologize if I have put too much strain upon you. I did not think the spell to be great enough to tire you so.

[To him it was equivalent to simple temple maintenance, and the difference between how they handled the effort shows. She was exhausted while he seemed almost refreshed. Not that it hadn't taken effort to wield the spell, but such was more like a pleasant walk to him. It was what he was supposed to be in essence.]

To answer your earlier question: Typically the caster faces the worst backlash, but I would be wary if the spell looks potent and complex. If a caster is skilled enough they could redirect the backlash, though that is uncommon.

( As it is, her exhaustion is not a profound, soul-weary sort. Though she doesn't exactly understand what it was that was taxed so much, she's not lost, or overwhelmed, or scared by it, rather she observes the ebbing waves of tiredness, as if watching the strains and stretches of a muscle. Angela doesn't protest being aided and sits down where he has shepherded her by their things. Nor does does she make a fuss about accepting his water or feign a put-togetherness she does not feel. Just smiles, dips hear head, shows him her effort at making a recovery. Even in this she's graceful somehow, conducting herself with an elegant economy movements, conserving as much energy as possible.

And while she drinks, he's not the only one doing some scruntisinig. She watches him closely. The evidence of his apparently invigorated state is telling, to her, at least. )

You are more accustomed to the effort it requires then. ( Angling her head slightly, she considers if this is apt or not. ) I wonder if that explains our different states. It's almost as if I've just got done doing an exercise I've never done before, while you've gone through a familiar warm-up. I wonder if it's something to which I could become more accustomed. This kind of magic is--you wouldn't fight with it, you would you? You used the destructive kind before, even if your ability for it has been limited.

( She's thinking that, without whatever it is that's supposed to be between her and the raw experience of the Fade, perhaps it was just that she had exerted herself in a way she never had before. A way in which one could train to become proficient in, in time, even if they did not have the innate aptitude for it. Not that she'd really be for that effort; the training she needs is another kind. But, whatever the truth of it is, she's recovered most of her energy by now, if she's still not mentally stretched just a bit. Every so often a tiny snag on the periphery makes her feel slightly exhausted, but it isn't anything worth mentioning really. )

Right. Dependent on the situation. Just like most combat.

Humans cannot naturally wield the magic I have shown you. They can draw it from our artifacts, but they cannot call upon it themselves. Regardless of how many times one may be exposed, it would remain foreign to you.

[He was quiet as he observed her, he noted her more subtle movements. The way she conserved her energy and strength. He tried to think how to explain it, how to help her understand that to him magic was more than a simple 'tool' as it was to others, that he was not complete without it.]

Magic is different to me as it is to others. To others it is a tool, to me tis like... [He let out a sigh. How does one explain sight to the blind?] tis like your hands. You can still live without a tool or a weapon, but without your hands you are not whole. My "hands" are bound, but I am still capable of using them, unlike my fallen kin who have none at all.

[He still had them. It may shed some light on just how unsettled he was by others not of his kind, but most notably other elves. It was like looking into a mirror, except what stared back was mutated somehow, and the knowledge that could be him. Other races it was easier, yes, they were different but he had never known them to be anything but what they were.]

What I was trying to show you was- [This was truly one of the most difficult things he's tried to put into words.] I was trying to get you to see through the eyes of an Elvhen. However, you do not have the "hands" for it, for lack of better term. Which is why I am concerned that you may have handled it more poorly than I anticipated.

( She recognises that look he's giving her: it's a keenly observant one, that a concerned and responsible party user when looking after their charges. It's one that's very familiar to her. What does he see when he looks at her? Probably not a failure, just something that is--utterly different from. Beyond her lack of magic and bluntly whorled ears, there's something that she just intrinsically lacks. This lack makes her a shemlen: she is not immortal.

She wonders briefly if he can see any signs of the lingering effects of her strange exhaustion, but she figures it's probably no. He evidently didn't know what could happen, the extent of what would, and so he most likely doesn't know what signs to look for. He has no way of knowing it feels to her as if she's slightly frayed around the edges, that bits of her have flecked off, as if she were made of glass, and become full of muffling wax. )

In my world, we replace the limbs which we lose. With better ones.

( And that's the difference, isn't it? They live short brutal lives, and they change, and they adapt. They are resilient in a jaunty, but also short-sighted, way. They simply cannot see like he can: with power easily pulled to his fingers tips, the ability to form things as he's seen that htey should be in the past that he actually remembers, and hasn't just been fed by bitter old men dreaming of their own golden years.

Very gently, she raises her hand and brushes his in an inexplicably thoughtful manner against his.

When she looks up at him then, it's with something like understanding starting to light behind her semi-unfocussed eyes. From channeling the Fade so directly, some of her subtler subconscious nerve controls are a bit crossed over. She has attributed this to her tiredness. )

I don't know what I saw, exactly, but I know what I felt. That was--something I am not. Honestly, it felt like...your magic didn't want to be in my body. And my body didn't like either. You said your ancestors are spirits, didn't you? It is obvious to me now that you have a connection to the Fade that's profoundly more complex than what I initially thought. ( And, if he can believe it, she smiles. ) You're absolutely fascinating.

[He never ceased observing, but eventually he realized it would not be physical signs he could see, but likely more he could feel. She still did carry the charge of magic about her, which was what he was intent on watching. He could try and disperse it if need be, but he would prefer if it happened naturally.]

Your synthetic magic, I recall.

[Perhaps such was partly why he was more tolerable of her than others of her kind, she did not have magic, but she had instead innovated a substitute. It was indeed like a prosthetic, it made the uneasiness of sensing no magic about her easier to take. She had it, just of her own way, even if it was not connected to her as it was to him.]

I mentioned that was merely my guess. I am no scholar. But I am glad you understand it. Tis not something easy to explain. [He noted the brush against his hand, at first he thought it to be merely a reassurance that she was well, or that she understood what he had been trying to explain. But then there was that charming bright smile, and the sudden interest in him specifically. He tilted his head inquisitively at her, and his expression was curious, but there was no hiding some amusement either.] Are you propositioning me Lady Ziegler?

[Not that he would be against it if she was, however such was something he would want to make certain was not some bizarre byproduct of the magic.]

( Smiling, still. Not that it would have been easy for him to forget it, she thinks, if he respects her like he says he does. That had, after all, been the entire purpose of their first exchange. ) Yes. With it we can replace entire bodies. I will have to...tell you about it sometime. I don't think I can show you here. Not until more of my friends wake up.

( Aaaaand, then a moment of silence. Is it some bizarre byproduct of the magic? She's actually thinking this through for a moment, thinking it must have made him more sensitive. Before she breaks out laughing, hand on her stomach and her laughter a bit louder than she normally would allow it thanks to the softened, harried edges of her self.

Once that's over, she tills her head, as she notes there was some genuine curiosity in his expression. Hopefully, he wasn't on the verge of staring at her for a few seconds in another attempt to mirror her own style of human care-giving. Somehow, that doesn't seem like it would fit in with the whole sparring theme of the moment. )

Because I got a little handsy with a legitimately interesting man? I am a professional, I will have you know!

Maybe you were asleep for too long. ( Some amusement shimmers in her tone, but she's employing some deflection. She blinks rapidly, trying to regain a sense of focus over her eyes. ) Besides, am I not a little young for you? I'm not even Elvhen.

[He nodded at her offer to explain more about her curious magic. It was something of interest to him, even if it was not proper magic as he could cast- or the watered down swill the shemlen threw around.

His confusion only seemed to grow at her outburst of laughter, but he waited patiently for her to gather herself. He wasn't sure if he had offended her- but then she was laughing? Needless to say he did not understand the humor of it, if that much wasn't obvious by how he continued on in his blunt manner.]

Perhaps I have.

[She had a point and it simply that he had been the time he had spent slumbering. So distant he had become with just gestures that when he did encounter them he misinterpreted it. It was likely inevitable as he continued to integrate himself back into society.]

I believe you are of an age to take my years into consideration and make the decision for yourself, as for me- there are none I shall find "my age" as it were. I am the last of my kind. [He simply shrugged it off, if her reaction was any indication he had simply misunderstood.] I was merely curious. Tis not something I would be against should you change your mind.

You just come right out and say it, don't you? I knew there was a reason I liked you so much.

( She delivers this with a smile, one that's a bit smaller than what she had to show him before, but it's warmer somehow, shades more self-aware and well-meant. Angela keeps it while she, careful as she can, parses what he's telling her. This gives her a rather amicable cast, her confusion a genuinely touched air, and it's almost like this is a fine time to be considering such things.

Despite the fact that she's still, quite literally, Fade touched. With a tone that's not unkindly: ) ...I'm flattered, really, but ( and here she sighs softly, dips her head slightly, a display of regret at her actions ) I think I may have deceived you. Perhaps through omission, but it amounts to the same thing. For a human woman, I'm much older than someone who's the last of his kind should offer these kinds of things to. My body may be young for my age, but--

Ah, well. ( A laugh, again, as she shakes her head and settles her hands into her lap. ) I don't think I need to explain the basics to someone so old. ( Her pupils are still a bit too wide as she says, with a voice that's quieter than before, even if it's lined with veins of amused self-deprecation and brimming with a knowing resignation to inexorable facts: ) I've past my use-by date. I wouldn't want to--gamble.

Edited (hah no-one saw that) 2017-08-15 18:50 (UTC)

[A dumbstruck look crossed his face when she brought up children. If not for his age and knowledge it would probably almost look as though it was news to him that sex lead to children. He did know of course, but in a world of immortals, overpopulation was a true risk. Children were rare and precious things, yes, but often only desired a few rare times in one's life.... sex however... well, that was far more popular. It was such a common pastime it was easy to forget it's original purpose after a while.]

I... did not intend to make it sound as though offspring was my ambition, unless that is a human trait?

[He wouldn't be surprised if it was, they did have short lives. Perhaps they could not afford to partake in such things without attempting to conceive children?]

Children are not a matter of import to me, personally. There is no one with whom I could couple that would allow me to pass down what I am. It would simply be yet another mortal I am to watch wither and perish.

[Or perhaps she was worried about accidents? Well, those could happen he supposed, if something interfered with his magic.]

That said, if I were to have a child... I would not be adverse to having one that was a human, rather than a twisted visage of what I am.

( She watches his face, of course, more than a titch confused by his apparently flummoxed reaction, one which only really makes sense to her once he's spoken and she can parse his meaning. Even then, her words come slowly, her brow twisted and her words weighted by some hesitancy still. )

...My apologies. I did not realize immortals had much use for, let alone enjoyment of, recreational sex. Especially when, you know...magic and everything else seems so much more productive than casual sex. You do act like you're enlightened compared to the rest of us, so I hope you can understand where I am coming from.

( She laughs a bit, but the levity doesn't last long in the face of what he's telling her. Even if she had been thinking him about taking up on the offer--and she hasn't said no--anything like desire would've been squelched now by such awfully heavy thoughts. Seeking to comfort him, she sought out his hand again, this time to rest hers on the back of his. )

Again, my apologies. I did not mean to trouble you so. For humans, one of the worst possible things to imagine is being a parent who outlives his children. I would not wish that upon you. Though I don't understand why it would be preferable to you to outlive a human child, than an elven one. I thought you...I suppose that's what's puzzling me most. The way you see us, I'm honestly shocked you could find one desirable enough to lay with one.

Edited 2017-08-16 01:15 (UTC)

[He listened, truly trying to wrap his head around what she was saying. In a way it made sense- at least from what he could imagine as her perspective. She was mortal, having children was a staple of their culture, it had to be if the species was to survive. He also had to think back to his youth, the years he had almost forgotten. Years when he thought he might have a future for himself to make with someone... it was a very narrow vision.]

Tis a pleasant enough act, however among immortals overpopulation was always a looming risk. While many would eventually go into uthenera, it was not enough to compensate for careless procreation. After a few hundred years, it loses some of the romanticism. Tis little different from eating, it can be done for survival but also for pleasure. I would imagine that mortals hold it to a different standard?

[He looked down at his lap thinking again on the topic of children, and the "Far off possibilities" he once had for a future that was never to be. He was not sure if he was lucky, how much would a child of his had suffered? Would they have been slaves of the Evanuris? Killed in their wars? Or perhaps they would have wound up under the heel of Tevinter.

Or they would have continued to live the life he had.

None of those were options he would wish for his child.]

A human child would be in their natural state. They are mortal, have always been mortal. To see an Elvhen child, cut off from what they are and going through life never whole. I do not think I could bring a child into the world missing so much of themselves.

[He tilted his head at her last remark. This was not a matter regarding all of humanity, he was not shy that no, on a whole he did not care for them, but as an individual he considered her a friend, and therefore did not associate her with the mass of her kind.]

You are an honorable and intelligent woman whom I trust and respect. Beyond that, I do not see what matters.

It's not simple, actually. ( A sigh. Not directed at him, but trying to explain the state of the human population before the world ended? There're a lot of different factors and facets to the answer, some of them complex, and it's a complexity compounded even further by their interactions with other issues. She runs a hand through her hair, down her scalp to he nape of her neck where some of the sweat from earlier has dried. Overall, she's feeling almost recovered now, the weirder effects of the magic having dissipated. ) Even with the recent horrific conflicts, humans are rather prolific. You think you had to worry about overpopulation? At one point, there were over ten billion of us on one planet.

( She pauses, then sighs again. ) Of course, in the end, that's not what ended up killing us all, but...maybe we were too concerned with procreation. Maybe it would have helped if we'd had an immortal's perspective on it.

( Now she withdraws her hand back to herself, looks away from him, and undoes her hair to bind it up again after she's messed it up. This time it's going into a tight bun to keep it up off her neck and out of her face. This gives her some time to consider how exactly she wants wants to address what he's telling her. Such a sensitive topic, and one that she never could truly related to, but she can't help be both sympathetic to and unsettled by his bias. If his child were a modern elf, would he be so put-off by them, he be unable to be a proper father? The thought alone leaves a vinegar-sour tang in her mouth.

Not that it mattered, of course. She chooses to share her own perspective on the matter at hand, and perhaps elucidate the relationship humans have with sex and reproduction. )

I've never wanted to bring a child into this world whom I wasn't sure would be loved and cared for as a child deserves to be. Besides my work being my priority, I lived as an orphan, and that is not a life I would ever want to subject anyone to, much less my own flesh and blood. If I had the privilege to care for a child, I would have adopted one to save someone else from having to live through that loneliness.

( After that statement, she manages to laugh, and she smiles at him. Blunt as he may be about it, it's one of the nicer compliments she's got in a long while. )

It sounds like you're describing what you want in a partner, not in a friend with benefits. ( Another laugh, accompanied with a flash of self-aware mirth in her now lucid eyes. ) It may just be a cultural difference, but you should be careful. Some people may find that utterly charming.

( And if she does or not, she stands up, and starts to walk over to where she left her staff. )

Edited 2017-08-16 03:07 (UTC)

[That... was quite a number. Personally he was surprised they managed to coexist well enough to make it to that point- or they were simply that efficient at proliferating. Either way he continued not to envy her.]

Perhaps you could stand to moderate themselves more, yes.

Though considering the Elvhen warred ourselves into naught but memory, I do not think we would be the wisest counsel in matters pertaining to sustaining a culture. Magic, knowledge, and copious amounts of needless leisure, however, I believe many of my people would have been able to offer insight.

[He got to his feet and followed her, pleased to see the effects of the magic dissipating, however, he did not plan on attacking her with magic again for this session. There were other skills of hers that he could harness. Her tale is an interesting one, though, and he found her insight on it to be wise. There was an understanding there was well, while he did not know her circumstances, he could still remember the day he was left to the Temple.]

That is an honorable and sensible way to consider it. Though children do not always take kindly to one replacing a role they already see as filled, it would take much time and effort to see them come to terms with it.

[Something that would no doubt tear her from her work for quite a time, even if the child was only half as troubled as he had been.

The next bit earned a tilt of his head, and his tone genuinely curious. He wondered if human's outlooks on such matters were so different from his own.]

Tis what I look for in a friend, is a partner not simply a friend that has become more?

( Angela agrees with him, mostly. Their overpopulation problem on Earth had something to do with self-control issues, and a stunning lack of foresight, and perhaps even an outright disregard for the future. And he may have a point about his people having their own issues in this certain matter. Though, she does realise, it is possible that the only reason her humans hadn't warred themselves into cultural oblivion was due to overpopulation, and a lack of another race which could overtake them.

This seems like it will just lead ito deal philosophical discussion, as will their talk of children, so, as she turns around to face him, she chooses to focus instead on something more practical. And, as it is, personal. )

Of course it is unhealthy and selfish to think that your love can save someone. If someone really thinks that, then it indicates that they might have a whole host of issues I'm not qualified to deal with.

( She is a doctor of the body, not of the mind. Watching him walk closer to her, she sticks one end of her lacquered staff into the ground, cocks her head too, and gestures at him with one open hand. ) Usually the people we end up with don't start out as friends. First we approach them because we want to reproduce with them. Respect and trust follow after you've gotten to know if it's actually going to work out between you. Those things are important in a partner, sure, but there are considerations for compatibility that probably matter a bit more because of how short our lives are.

What I mean is, the things we look for in friends and partners aren't mutually exclusive, but they aren't always the same. ( She is going to finish this without a bit of sass? Obviously not. ) And, given that your assumption of proposition over courtship, it's only natural that I'd assume your interests are recreational. And there's nothing wrong with that.

For now, though, the reaction I'm interested in is another round with you.

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So much for trying not to Tl;dr :x

quietly pretends to have self control

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