Chapter 3

Continuing to follow up with the of the bone deep realization that magic is real, (being cursed will do that to a person) Me and my pal Curse started hanging out with witches, sorceresses, wise women of the shamanistic traditions, abbottesses and priestesses, trying to get a handle on all this magic stuff. I got my introduction into the unseen worlds of women of mysteries via my herbalist mistress. Again, somehow the women were aware of each other and passed me along like a vacation gnome. I was glad I was still interesting, I didn’t need to piss off another magic user like I had Vanessa.

I learned enough from various different traditions of magic to get a feel for the real deal, and instead of having to go by rote, tradition, and sect, I found I was able to freestyle. I was beyond my teachers by now, and worked on my own to perfect my talents. I kept my skills to myself, having no need to prove anything to myself like I did with the combat defense test. I knew I was the applesauce. And anyway, I didn’t want to start up any witch hunts.

I constantly worked to improve my off-the-cuff improvisations, training my reflexes to chose which magical response to invoke, trying to overcome one of magic’s major limitations, which is how long it takes to cast. By having preset spells in my quiver so to speak, I could whip one out pretty darn fast, and adjust it on the fly to fit the exact circumstance. Of course, sometimes it just took time, so I decided to become more deadly as a back-up plan.

Starting simple with the weapons training, first is knives, and there aren’t that many female blade masters. I got lucky, and found the best. Her training knives had tiny razor edges, that cut the skin and caused pain, but the cuts would heal in a few weeks or a month. She didn’t seem to mind if our post training writhing embrace was lubricated with my blood. It only stung a bit, added the spice of danger, and was interesting for awhile, -until I improved with my own blade and our fluids mingled instead. The scars were invisibly fine, just badges of my earned skill.

Next I combined studies in saber with a Physics Doctorate at University of Heidelberg. I wanted to know what exactly was happening behind the everyday environment we all take for granted, such as what exactly causes electricity and how it flows through wires or strikes as lightning, Why five is such a favorite number in nature, and atomic level details to sharpen my focus when casting.

German is a very fine language for pursuing knowledge and teasing out science, as it is an aggregative language, and you can describe anything practically in one long word, just by adding more pieces and meaning to it. A marvelous language to think about physics in. Not so attractive to watch or listen to, but useful.

No longer were there student duels, and I didn’t need a scar on my face to brag my ineptness, but the advanced swordsmen still engaged with naked blades in their exclusive clubs, with eye guards and little else for protection. One of my Physics instructoresses was also a master of saber, and would try to distract me by posing Physics test questions while we were crossing blades. I had to learn to think of weighty ponderings while my body reacted to sharp pointy things slashing and jabbing at it.

It actually was a wonderful training technique, and I became much faster when I wasn’t able to think about my martial moves but instead had to mentally stand back and let my body take over. I revisited my other fighting skills, and using the same technique managed to improve my unarmed combat significantly.

Not wanting deadly skills to be automatic, I blunted my edge by training myself to differentiate, so I wouldn’t react deadly to some moron’s practical joke. Even if it was Freddy K. jumping out of the bushes, if his talons were rubber and not sharp steel, I would put him down gently.

I mean really, I was immortal now anyway, and didn’t need any life sentences. I can just guess how my buddy ol pal would act to fulfill it’s raison d’être. shudder

But no worries, I had a blessing too, and although it didn’t ‘converse’, it was more powerful than Curse, who hadn’t turned out too bad, more like a kick in the butt. I could expect to mostly enjoy life, with just enough distress to keep things real. I have always been the optimist, seeing the silver lining and looking on the bright side, so I didn’t allow myself to focus on possible downers ahead.

While traveling (traveling is always interesting, if sometimes in the negative sense) to Italy to learn longsword and Venetian rapier/main gauche, as I hiked through the Black Forest I picked up a powerful revenant. I couldn’t understand it at first, so I cast a few spells, making her visible and audible.

That didn’t help much, as she was speaking a barbarian language which had been extinct since Cleopatra’s time, and she was highly emotional, affecting her apparitional form as she was literally breaking up in her distress.

Adding to my alarm and providing incentive to learn to communicate quickly was the realization that she was also a powerful poltergeist, and she was tearing up the surrounding forest of any underbrush or fallen branches. (Of which there was luckily very little as centuries old gleaning rights were still exercise by descendants and poachers and for the most part there was little besides bracken to toss.)