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Finally, a worthy test of his power. An art that was as potent and mysterious as the very art he practiced.
Oskar reminisced. During his years as the librarian of the God's Sanctuary, he devoured the books that spoke of ancient, mysterious arts of grand power. Word. Gesture. Thought.
All of them shared a common ideal. Their power was truly frightening: to change and unravel the fabric of reality. Yet, for all such power, the words, the gestures, the very thoughts...they followed a pattern. A true fail-safe design, a glimpse of Order.
The mortal races had indeed known of such arts. Some students of the complex patterns called it "Magic". Others, those who sought to unravel the Universe by their own power called it "Psionics". Yet, some faithful called it "Miracles". He was most familiar with unraveling the Universe by means of great faith.
Then there were the simplest. A system with only words. A system with mere gestures. A system with mere designs. A system of thoughts. And a system of mere willpower.
During his years as librarian, he sought to discover the power of faith, seeking to understand the reasons why his Paladin training gave him such great power, but such a limited power. He absorbed himself in research, in deep immersion. Little by little, he found the importance of the words, of the gestures, of the thoughts, of the inner faith and the inner power. And, by accident or by divine will, he found the truth, one of those days.
It is spoken that God created the Universe within days, by uttering the words of the Ancient Celestial Alphabet. Speaking, merely uttering a divine letter caused great power. Word, indeed, was considered a tool of his Divine Master. If he was a follower of his Will, was it worth to immerse in the depths of the wells of knowledge, to seek the method, the ordered pattern upon which the Lord created the Universe?
Then, perhaps by divine intervention, by mere exertion of his willpower, or perhaps by a grand stroke of luck, the events happened. He assumed the control of the Sanctuary. He sought to unify the forces of Good upon one banner. He heralded the quest for knowledge as his goal. Warriors, mages, scholars...all sought to follow him. And with such power, he finally had the resources to achieve his goal.
It started little by little. Analyzing the power of the words within the prayers he uttered. Seeking the meaning, the intention of such words. The power within blessings, and within curses. The meaning, the power within the arcane incantations, between the lyrics of sung music, between the mantras of meditation. His skill and prowess in many aspects grew within each minute, yet his zeal to achieve greater power by the word consumed his days. Every day, in each possible moment, he languished into thought, seeking the understanding, the reason within the power of the Word.
The art of Greater Theosophy, the power of unraveling the Universe by the mere action of a word, where the meaning of the word was more important than the language, was thought to have been lost. The secret of linguists, the curse of Babel: the languages formed, scattered. Chaos causing the loss of great power. It was at the core of the ethical battle: the meaning of the Word, one and only within the millions of languages, bending the curse, breaking the confusion. Such was the power before the days languages even existed, when one sole language was more than enough. Oskar's quest had only begun, but he found great truths.
Finally, after many years of hard training, of hours poured unto research and investigation, he caught a glimpse of great power. He unraveled into himself the universal meaning of the Word, and how the Universe could be recodified by uttering the words with the correct meaning, with the correct entonation, with the correct pattern. Indeed, his art was one of greater power.
Now, the time had came. There were other disciplines, other paths to alter the code of the Universe. The arts of Gesture, the arts of Thought, the other arts of Word, even the arts of Writing.
And...after seeking a suitable practitioner of said arts, he could only extend an invitation. To share knowledge, indeed. It was his quest, to satiate the hunger for knowledge instilled by his search. But, he needed to know. What when patterns conflicted? Would Word be supreme, echoing the deeds of his Lord, or are the other arts more powerful?
Only one way was to know...and it was not a way he would have liked. But, only through combat, the practitioners would unleash their full power. And, in such conditions, research would be purer, most precise...
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The battlefield was one strictly chosen, and for reasons varied. It was a place of training, a place of meditation. A place where spirits gathered, the remnants of great wars eclipsing a bustling town. The lingering emotions left by their ancient inhabitants: tears of joy, tears of sorrow, bursts of intense anger...all floated, dragged by the spirits. The place was common for duelists, for it was claimed as the best land for duels. His was not a duel, he expected.
He arrived late. Birds flew from the area, where he met the individual. He was not what he expected: indeed, he had the shape and complexion of a warrior, but he was...odd. He could swear, he was limp of one hand. One glimpse of the cape, swept by the wind, gave Oskar enough time to realize what was wrong. His heart leapt: if indeed, such a warrior could fight with such limitation, indeed this man had to be powerful. He had heard of him, only slightly: people spoke of his unnatural manifestations, where no known magical pattern or recognized system could be identified. Indeed, someone with a power perhaps similar to his.
As a dart, the lingering meaning struck Oskar's ear with the malice of a dart thrown. The word was simple.
Enough.
Enough...the intonation was of fury, perhaps frustration. It was a word of war, of battle. The birds felt how the word held hostile intent, and escaped the source. Indeed, how at times words could hurt more than the blade he held dearly...
The silence subsumed the area again. Silence was relative: the code of the Universe could only be heard in absolute silence. Or understood. Oskar closed his eyes, palpating the area. Spirits of hatred, of sorrow, of joy and happiness, all lingered near. His presence was revolting: a balance of war and peace, walking with inner calm yet utter awareness. The spirits swarmed, shifted around him. And Oskar uttered the word he sought to utter.
Calm.
The spirits calmed, as if he was their commander. Indeed, the entire area was now calm, save for the two warriors. Oskar opened his eyes, gazing at the warrior.
The silence broke again. A brief greeting, and the precise words he sought to utter. No show of power, unlike before. Just...making his intentions clear...
"Abel, is it? I bid you greeting. I am he who is known as Lord Oskar, ruler of the Seekers. I assume you read the notice. You are seeking, pursuing knowledge. So do I."
"Teach me...the truth beneath your mystery. The manifestations, you may know...they are now the source of rumor. I seek to dispel that rumor. Perhaps we may...reach a common ground. Perhaps you will learn, and grow...or grow stagnant, unable to progress."
Drawing his blade forth, not using his words to convey the meaning, Oskar taunted his enemy to strike first. Indeed, he needed to experiment the power firsthand. Perhaps the meaning would not be clear, but once the battle began, he would experience. And learn. And understand.
"Come. Strike me, with that power of yours. Consider this your first...lesson, in your pursuit of greater knowledge!!"
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