Owner Pose
Angelo Tampambulos     Friends visit friends. Rarely do they need a reason beyond that friendship. But at times, a good excuse can come in handy! So it is when Angelo rang Zatanna... yeah, he knows how to text. He just prefers to hear a voice rather than reading words on a tiny little screen. He -maaaayyyy- be just a tad old fashioned.

    But the call had to do with asking for her help and expertise on a matter that with all of his experience, he had -zero- ability to work with. He wouldn't come out over the phone and say it was magic related. But there was that implication.

    And so, upon arrival, Zatanna would be greeted by Angelo wearing something that may catch Zatanna off guard. It is quite literally a black teeshirt with a graphic design on it. Darth Vader inviting the reader to join the dark side, with bribes of cookies. (https://i5.walmartimages.com/asr/7e5fd6f1-6255-4fbf-8690-b0b7c7b861e4_1.0ff5e17d7d516b0ca81af1f6908b476a.jpeg)

    And a simple pair of blue jeans. What? He can't always be in thousand dollar suits. But he has what appears to be a sword lying upon his dining room table. The sword rests upon a clean cloth, and is in a scabbard. But it appears untouched by time. It also appears to be of Viking style, circa 1000 AD.

    Angelo answers the door and says, "Welcome again my friend. Would you like a beverage? If so, hot or cold?"
Zatanna Zatara Zatanna's father left the estate in excellent order, in other words, she is wealthy and wants for nothing. The mansion also possesses inter-dimensional closets which is a good thing. One of her foibles is that she likes clothes and seldom uses magic to dress herself. Of course, she is not above using a portal to shop in Harajuku, Paris or New York.

A scurry of wind announces her arrival at his door. When he opens it, she promptly answers, "Cold, please! Do you have lemonade?" She grins and holds up her arms full of shopping bags as explanation.

Behind the bags, the magician is wearing loose white linen pants, cinched at her small waist and a large white linen shirt unbuttoned enough to show the bright red camisole she layered under it. No fishnets, no high heels. Flats.

Once, inside she whisks her purchases back to Shadowcrest to be dealt with later. Then, without asking his permission, walks over to the dining table to examine the scabbarded sword he has laid out.
Angelo Tampambulos     "One lemonade for the true shopping professional, coming right up." says a cheery Angelo. He closes the door once she is inside and shakes his head as he turns away. "Not that I really have a -need- to know but.. perhaps -is- there a reason why you came here, only to teleport your purchases away when you could have sent them first and -then- showed up at my door?"

    He asks this with a smirking grin on his face as he steps into the kitchen and opens the fridge. Another old fashioned thing for him. Lemonade is not bought in cans or bottles. It is -made-... and that is what he draws out from the fridge.. a pitcher of homemade stuff. He's not like the lemonade-whisperer or anything. His is no better than other types. But he has had a -lot- of practice over the years.

    So in about twenty to thirty seconds, he walks out of the kitchen with a large glass full of the stuff. Just the tiniest amount of pulp in it also. "I see you've noticed the centerpiece of the day. This was why I asked you to come by."

    That said, he hands over the lemonade and approaches the table, gesturing to the scabbarded sword. "I've had that sword for a long time. It was given to me by a dying Viking hero. He bade me take it and avenge his fallen family... the task that he was on.. a quest one might say. He was unable to complete the quest, so I did it for him. With that sword. A sword that never failed me. In the nearly one thousand years since then with minimal maintenance... it has retained its sheen and luster. I merely wonder if there is more than just metallurgy involved here. If perhaps the gods saw fit to bless the sword for the quest.. or perhaps some other source of empowerment? Or if it is just a well made sword."
Zatanna Zatara The glass already beads with moisture when she accepts from him. Ignoring his question about her purchases she takes a long drink of the lemonade and puts it on the pass through window away from the sword.

"Shopping is hot work, but I prefer real bought clothes. Some people think I'm eccentric for that. I should have thought about sending them on ahead but thought it rude to fill your living room up with bags." The last words are spoken with an abstracted air as the magic in the sword acts as a magnet on her, drawing her to its side.

The homo magi stands staring down at the leather scabbard which is much more modern than the pommel that shows. "Mind if I draw it. Or would you do the honor?"
Angelo Tampambulos     With a double handed gesture, Angelo says... without words, 'by all means, be my guest.' And he indeed steps back a bit to give room to work.

    But after doing that, he says softly, "I've always wondered and never really spent any time in the company of anyone skilled in the art."

    He smirks and shrugs, "I know, it seems unlikely that the immortal man wouldn't find a wizard or some such. But I wasn't really looking for them either. I was very busy trying to be a part of history, without being -recorded- in that history."
Zatanna Zatara With a nod of her head to his invitation, Zatanna grasps the pommel leaving the tip of the sword touching the table, saying with a faint smile of approval, "Discretion is the better part of valor. And certainly safer. It has an excellent feel in the hand though I am no sword fighter or expert."

Lifting the sword with her hand under the scabbard, she slowly withdraws the sword, whistling her admiration as the steel glints under the dining room lights. "What a beauty. It looks just a few years old if that much," she exclaims with wonder. "The wards on it are still holding. Someone knew their stuff, Angelo. And you say you used it?"
Angelo Tampambulos     There is a pause as Angelo thinks this through. How much detail to give... How much does she want to hear... but more importantly, how much is too much to tell her...

    He pauses for a full ten seconds before he shrugs his shoulders and tries to keep casual as he states, "For a few days, yes." He is specifically -not- explaining that he killed forty three men who were in defensive positions, in various means such as decapitation, arm and leg removal....

    Yeah, he leaves all of that out. Not many people really -want- to hear about how many lives were taken, or any other of the bloody, gory details.

    "But never since then. I buried it with Hrolf.... and it was fished out of the water recently. I recognized it and made sure to acquire it once more. So not only is it a thousand years old... it has spent most of that at the bottom of a lake."
Zatanna Zatara The homo magi's eyes widen slightly at the sword's age and recent resting place. "Without rusting," she comments neutrally. "And it came back to you." Still holding the sword, she examines it and then Angelo intently.

The din of swords clashing against shields sounds distantly in her ears. There is a tang of blood in the air.

"There are things you haven't told me. Did you know the sword is wrapped in spells?"
Angelo Tampambulos     Inclining his head, Angelo lifts a brow. His jade green eyes peer at the sword, and then lift up to Zatanna's face. "I mean.. aside from seeing that it hadn't rusted, and seeing how easily it cleaved through armor and shields... I suspected. But I never knew for sure."

    Then he closes his eyes and attempts to summon the memory. Every tried searching for a single file on a two terrabyte drive? Yeah.. there's a lot of files in that brain of his. His head tilts to the left... and then slowly transitions to the right before coming back straight up and down. "I do remember feeling a bit... well exhausted is a mild term. I fought without pause for seventeen hours. I was exhausted, but I felt -more- exhausted than just the exertion explains. I never thought about it because... I did not want to think about how many lives I just took. But thinking back now, I feel like I was not just tired but... drained. Like the sword -took- energy from me to fuel it and potentially to fuel me. Does that sound at all correct? I could just be way out in left field."
Zatanna Zatara Watching him search his memories, Zatanna has a startling realization. Angelo had told her he was old, but without the cues of grey hair and wrinkles it had no immediacy. Nodding slowly to herself while he searches his memories, Zatanna integrates just how old the man is. After a quick calculation she arrives at him living through roughly 100 generations.

It prompts her to look more deeply at him, at the magic deep in his cells, knitting his bones together and preserving him against age and harm. He and the sword share something in that regard. His magic given to him as a birthright and the sword's magic made integral to it through spells.

"You got rid of it quickly didn't you? After using it, I mean."

She lays it carefully back on the table then dry washes her hands as though they got dirty handling it. "It is not a good thing, Angelo. I'm glad you didn't handle it for long. It drinks life force, both from blood and through the person wielding it."
Angelo Tampambulos     "It did not belong to me. It belonged to Hrolf Sigurdson." Angelo replies simply. As if it was common sense. "The weapon belonged to his family. With his death, his line no longer existed. I went with him to help him avenge the deaths of his wife and daughter, to raiders from another Vyk."

    He doesn't smile, as the memories are not fond ones. "When he died on the way to achieve his revenge, he offered me his family's blade... he told me that it had been in his family for seven generations. But he made me swear that -I- would use it to deliver his vengeance upon them."

    A pause, and he turns to walk over and sit down on his sofa.... It is almost as if he feels like he no longer has the strength to stay on his feet. In fact, he uses a hand to help lower himself to a seated position. But whatever it is, it is not physical weakness. "I was not going to deny a dying friend his final request. So I swore to him that I would finish his revenge." A brief pause where his eyes are seeing something far away and long ago. "I did so. Without pause and without mercy. But when the task was done, I returned to his body and carried it home." A pause and he shrugs, "I placed him upon a funeral ship fit for a hero. I laid his sword upon his breast along with gifts from the whole village. Then I set fire to it all as it began floating out into the lake."

    "And now.." he gestures back towards the table, "I find the blade in my possession once more. Like it -wanted- to return to me."
Zatanna Zatara "Like it wanted to return to you," Zatanna echos and sadly shakes her head. "The Vikings had powerful magic wielders in their number. Witness this sword that has remained as young as you do. There the likeness ends...you do not stay ageless by drinking blood or a person's life force."

Zatanna remains next to the sword on the table, her back to it, facing Angelo. After considering his story for a moment she gravely observes, "That was a fitting end for a brave man ravaged by grief. Something in you saved you against the sword's need to exist. It is dangerous. Do you think you should keep it?"
Angelo Tampambulos     "Powerful magic has been a staple of many societies... right up until it wasn't." offers Angelo with a smirk and a shrug. "Personally, I think that for some of those peoples, it had to do with the level of involvement the gods had with them. As the gods withdrew from direct involvement, the mysticism of the peoples waned."

    But then he looks to the sword, "But there were dark powers that did not come from the gods." And Angelo chuckles, stepping closer to the table, the sword, and the magician, "Don't get me wrong. The gods were no pure and innocent peoples. Just like humanity, there were good, bad, and every shade in between. But that begs the question... did the pettiness and dare I say it, humanity of the gods -cause- humanity to be as they are? Or did humanity in their belief, cause the gods to be petty and capricious?"

    And then he turns his back to the table also, sidling up alongside the Magician as he folds his arms over his chest. "Perhaps the blood of the gods, the Ambrosia, or the Styx blessing... or some combination of the three shielded me against the corruption of the blade?"
Zatanna Zatara Overly aware of the man next to her, Zatanna barely turns her head to give him a sideways glance and nod. "Well, the gods claim they were first. So, don't put their foibles on humanity. Don't most of them claim we were made in their image? It's a dismal thought most of the time."

Arms crossed, she looks down at the sword, unconsciously rubbing her upper arm, then glances back at Angelo, "I believe you're right. A less magical man and certainly someone with less willpower would have succumbed to the blade's corrupting force. Nevertheless, it is not something we need or want in these times, is it? I can counter its spell."
Angelo Tampambulos     Nodding his head, Angelo shrugs, "Well, did the gods really predate mankind? Or did they come into being due to the belief -of- mankind?" he asks. "That is, what we in the circles like to call a ... divine version of Chicken or the Egg." he adds.

    But when the spell counter is mentioned, he nods, "Knock yourself out. I do not believe that any magic that dark should be allowed to continue. The only question I have is.. will it harm the weapon itself? That thing is gorgeous, and I'd hate to have it consumed."
Zatanna Zatara Zatanna considers the man next to her, her sapphire eyes locking with his then dropping to the sword. She shrugs uneasily. "Possibly, it will depend on whether the sword was forged magically or the spell was put on it after it was made. The first case makes the intent behind its making dark. In the second case, it may have been driven by need. Marauders rampaging down the coast and threatening the sword owner's land and family, perhaps. I will probe it before I do anything." Her gaze returns to him, "What if it must be destroyed to remove its power, Angelo?"
Angelo Tampambulos     "If it must, then it must. I would just hate to lose such a pristine piece of history. It could teach modern man much about swordmaking and steel smelting of the age." But he steps back a half pace. "It is a loss, but not an insurmountable one. So if you must unmake it entirely, then do what you must."

    The truth of the matter is... some items are enchanted by spells. Some are imbued by gods. Others are empowered by concepts... this sword was ensnared in dark power, not through the use of spells. Not by the touch of the gods, but by the sheer will and rage of a man who never knew he was homo-magi. The man who lay dying... wishing for nothing but dark revenge... filled with one primal emotion... utter and pure rage... and whom, with his dying breath... augmented and cursed the blade to fulfill his vengeance. Angelo had no idea. He just did as he was asked, but the blade.. the blade -is- the distilled essence of a dying man's endless and boundless rage.
Zatanna Zatara Caution has kept her fingers at bay. Zee learned the hard way not to touch magical objects, especially ones with a bloody history. It is like touching a live high tension wire that will glue you to it and burn you from the inside. Silently she wonders how many lives it consumed.

"Do you have the time for me to begin now, Angelo? It might take a moment."

The first order of business is to ward herself from being eaten alive so she can probe it and read its beginnings.
Angelo Tampambulos     "If you require, I am perfectly comfortable taking a ... hands on approach to things." offers Angelo as he takes a half step back. His lips quirk into a grin as he watches the woman work.

    "For such a magical woman, I -always- have time. Nothing -but- time to be honest."

    Another pause and he asks far more seriously, "Do you require anything of me?"
Zatanna Zatara Zatanna's sapphire eyes flash with humor. Smiling faintly she shakes her head, then closes the distance between them to lay a light hand on his arm. She fixes him with an earnest gaze, "If it goes badly try to take the sword away from me. You seem to have been invulnerable to its effects until now. I'm still not certain how I will go about it. I may have to take it and you back to Shadowcrest where I can lay it in a warded circle while I work."

After a moment's reflection she nods, "There. Sometimes I need to think aloud. Willing to come back with me?"
Angelo Tampambulos     Inclining his head, Angelo shrugs, "Well, I have no magical wards here. This is just a house." Then he smirks, "I do have a bit of a security system in place. But.. no cameras to record things in private areas."

    "I think that we -should- adjourn back to your place." A pause, and he adds with a chuckle, "Was that a wizardly way of asking.. your place or mine?"
Zatanna Zatara Laughing softly, "In a manner of speaking." She grins briefly, deliberately being ambiguous. "Good to know about the cameras."

Gesturing back to the magical sword, she is no longer smiling, "Yes, we should adjourn back to Shadowcrest for the wards and other things I need to do the deed. Do you need to bring anything with you? Toothbrush? change of clothes? I don't know how long this will take."
Angelo Tampambulos     Pausing for a long moment, Angelo just stares at the blade. Then he nods his head.

    "I've a go bag." he states as he turns and walks over to his coat closet. He opens it and reaches down to pick up a simple rucksack. Hitching it over his shoulder, he turns back and lifts a brow, "I presume that I will not need my car keys, right?" he asks before moving closer, "So, how does this transport thing work? Do we need to hold hands? Because I would totally hold hands."
Zatanna Zatara Laughter lights her eyes as she shakes her head mildly no. Contradicting herself, she holds out a hand. "You do need to stand close. I don't intend to take the carpet and couch with us and it -is- easier." She waits for him to approach her before whispering a word to open a portal to Shadowcrest.
Angelo Tampambulos     Stepping in close, Angelo inquires, "Just -how- close?" as he reaches a hand for Zatanna's forearm. "Are you sure we don't need to hold hands?" he asks in a breathy whisper.

    But he -is- standing there and waiting to go. Poof. Off we go, into the dark gray wonder...