Acquired Knowledge (Private)

[Imposter]

Frustration rushed through Abel's mind as he searched his small chamber. His body moving back and forth between boxes of all he had acquired. Scrolls, books, and trinkets rustled amidst his hand's frantic movements to find what he sought. The memories of each thing that passed through his hand were brushed away by the need to find it. At last a sound of both familiarity and unfamiliarity reached his ears. His hand pulled out the chain linked shirt from the box with each link clinking as it unfolded creating a small symphony only for his ears. Quickly he slipped on the shirt slightly wincing as the cold alloy pressed against his chest. Fumbling he finished putting on the brown cloth shirt and his cloak over top.

Abel paused taking a moment to make sure he was prepared. The thought of forgetting something lead to his hand checking his body to see if anything was left out. His eyes widened as he reached out and grabbed the sheathed sword lying on the desk beside him. As he fastened it to his belt he let out a sigh. Something isn’t quite right in all of this; I better go prepared just in case. The thought concluded with the sound of the door to his chambers closing behind him.

He hurried towards the meeting place as his mind went over all the symbols he had learned over his years of study. The confines of the building gave way to the limitless sky and the light of the sun. Abel looked across the plains towards his destination without a cloud in the sky it could be clearly seen in the distance. Years ago it had been a village of wealth and power but was reduced to nothing in the flow of time. It had been leveled entirely and now produced a suitable place to hold some of the most entertaining duels that anyone has ever seen, a place where combatants tested each other’s strength, skill, and knowledge. Abel favored the place for other reasons however. It had held a place of sentimental importance and since so many battles had taken place there traces of spiritual energy could still be found.

Abel now found himself there alone like many times before. He would often come here to practice his ability away from others, to reflect on times passed, or to question his own motives on an issue that was being discussed amongst the group. Today would be quite different; his eyes glistened in the sun light through his black hair, small lights of both blue and green. A small breeze came and lifted the bottom of his cloak the sound of the cloth whipping in the wind changed his mood. As exciting as this was going to be it may result in a conflict, if so it would also be the first time in years that someone else would witness his ability.

He wondered if any of his new companions had even noticed the fact that he did not have a right arm, he always wore his cloak when he was with them. More importantly he was curious if he had learned to control the manifestation to a higher degree now? Stories told of battles here brought a sense of worry to the forefront of his mind. Adversaries who were powerful and their spirits were strong; if the need presented itself would he be able to control it?

Thoughts only gave way to more thinking and soon he found himself reflecting on the recent past. A letter had arrived for him asking him to come if he is indeed in the pursuit of knowledge. Of course he suspected a possible trap but despite what may be awaiting him, he pursued the lead in hopes to find knowledge in one form or another. Now that he was here he couldn’t help but notice the absence of other people. The birds however still sang their songs to anyone who would listen and Abel was happy to be their audience.

“Why is it like this now? This place was once a luscious town beaming with people who always smiled now it is nothing but a place where battles are fought over menial things.”

The words came from his mouth before his mind could catch up. Abel realized that he needed to clear his mind and pay attention to what was going on around him and he had to stop getting caught up in the affairs of his mind.

Enough!

The word halted all his thoughts and his eyes fixated forward, the birds had stopped singing.

[T.G. Oskar]

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...
__________________________________________________ _______________

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!!"

[Imposter]

Abel couldn’t piece together his sudden change in demeanour, was it the presence of Lord Oskar himself or the words which he spoke. Either way his mind had cleared and no longer was he troubled by the rushing of his mind, instead a restlessness of what would soon come to pass urged him to proceed. Abel’s lips curled as he spoke to the ruler of the Seekers.

“Mi lord, my thanks for this opportunity; pray thee that I shall not disappoint.”

It was only a brief lapse in time, the moment in which Abel manifested the spirit of Lord Oskar. Prior to the act he had noted that other spirits had gathered about and wondered if their presence would cloud a pure manifestation but as if on cue they quieted and Abel saw for well the spirit of his lord. Now he stood his cloak open wide bearing the new manifestation. His fingers curled and straightened to his will. Thankful for an ability such as this, to substitute what he once lost he welcomed the new arm but now was not the time to be thankful, it was time to learn.

Something was very different about this manifestation, the wonder if he had he finally been able to control the vast amount of spirit the arm could manifest or was it the spirit itself. His eyes rolled over the new appendage. Surprise painted his face as his mind drew conclusions to his arms appearance. A soft glow radiated from the silk white skin of the manifestation. The unnatural elongation of the arm was unbefitting to Abel: however his eyes were examining the elegant wing stemming from his right shoulder, the same glow cascading off the feathers as they ruffled.

Such is spirit flowing from the opponent. Lord Oskar is indeed a very spirited man. Now that truth is shown to me all too well. Perchance is it that Lord Oskar indeed is more than he appears to be. This chance given is one where many things could be learnt, I must make every effort possible.
As Abel’s left hand drew out his short sword from its sheath the symbols imbued in the sheath gave forth their light. His new found wing outstretched and covered his right hand as it pointed towards his new “pupil”. The fingers etching out a symbol behind the cover of feathers, a green glow following his fingertip as the symbol achieved completion. In one synchronized swift motion the wing and arm swung behind Abel causing his cloak to flutter in the rush of air and revealing the green symbol in the air. His eyes narrowed and he smiled through the symbol to the sword wielding man before him. The thrill of battle once again invigorating him, Abel sprinted forward passing through the symbol, the green glow fading against his body as he rushed his opponent.

As Abel approached the lord the ground he ran on began to rise and move forward along with him, his feet being the focal point of the symbol's power. Abel was very careful to keep his feet apart causing the ground behind him to stay flat and not to form a point. Well aware of the crunching of earth pushing through earth behind him he waited for the distance between himself and Oskar to diminish. When the time came Abel leapt skywards over his opponent. Whilst in the air he spun allowing his sword arm to ride the momentum and used it to thrust forward hoping to connect a blow as he landed.

However once Abel landed he was unable to see what had transpired; quickly he looked to see the fruits of his diversion. Not wanting to doubt the skill of the ruler of the Seekers, Abel readied himself in a defensive stance. The soft glow of his right side brightened and the wing stretched spanning its full length.

[T.G. Oskar]

Oskar, as often always expected his enemy to deal the first blow. There was no tactic, or courtesy, in always allowing the first blow: the truly skilled always used that first blow to their advantage. If anything, the act was one of preparation. Oskar was not as interested in ending the battle quickly, but to see the warrior in front of him in action. He was truly excited to see Abel's power firsthand, to experience the patterns studied, to see his chosen path.

Yet, he was not prepared for what would happen. It was, indeed, the very first time he had seen such marvelous act.

In matter of seconds, Abel opened his cloak, revealing an arm of iridescent light, of pearly color, replacing the hand he now realized it had once lost. Truly, Abel had manifested a powerful art, as he realized the realism of the divine arm. The wing drawing from his shoulder, however, ticked him off. Something was really wrong with him. For the arm was not of particular relevance: it could easily be an illusion, or a power, a spell. Yet, the wing...it was awfully familiar. He had seen that wing before. It was unlike an animal wing, unlike the wings of beastmen. It was like the wings of angels, but the form was of a higher hierarchy. Indeed, he could have sworn to manifest the wing of an archangel, or even a seraph.

But the time of rumination was over. Abel, seeking to test the very power of Oskar, rushed upon the holy warrior. Whilst on his analysis, Abel had glyphed, invoked, formed into existence a sigil of unknown power. The sigil had long faded, as Abel lunged for his attack. Oskar realized the distance was not very favorable for his weapon to be used, but the width and size of Abel's blade, shining in his hand, allowed for swift reaction. Oskar prepared for Abel's strike, which gathered further momentum from the leap, by placing his left arm crossed upon his body, ready to intercept the blade, while using his weapon to sidestep.

For a moment, it worked. Oskar lunged, and regained his stance as Abel readied his own. The distance was not prudent for a strike of his blade, given the large size. Distance was prudent for him, as the speed of his opponent would not let the Innocent Avenger be properly used. Perhaps...

Oskar's cheek opened in a slight wound, dripping the humour of life. Perhaps not the blade itself, but the manifestation of the opponent. But he gathered a new clue to unravel the source of his opponent's power. After all, even the wind speaks...the only need is to listen.

The slight breeze of the wind, with its beautiful language, spoke of the urge. The surge of power flowing from the blade, the fighting spirit behind...

And to whom it belonged. Oskar realized that Abel drew, somehow, from his own fighting spirit to enhance his own. He could not be sure the physical blade touched him, but he could infer, perhaps his own fighting spirit was used against him.

Now, it was his turn. And he loved to improvise...

Changing his large blade into his left hand, Oskar readied his own lunge. His right hand was gripping an imaginary blade, for he held no weapon. His real weapon was warding his back, and there was no weight drawback. The blade laid diagonally, the blade pointing the sky, yet his left arm was unburdened. With a crouch, watching fix, Oskar lunged into Abel, his arm readying a thrust, his unarmed hand...

Or perhaps, it was not unarmed. Oskar's hand glowed with a pure light, the symbol, the rune in his right hand shone brightly. The light, in mid-rush, began to flow pointing at Abel, and the radiant energy within Oskar's palm was growing unstable.

Not always Oskar had such a time to ready the Blade of Light in such a short time. But, he was wary...connect or not, he would make sure to strike with the Avenger as soon as he could take flight...

[Imposter]

Abel couldn’t help but to look amazed at the speed of Lord Oskar, despite being clad in armour and wielding such a large blade his movement was remarkable. Abel had just readied a defensive posture when the man rushed towards him with seemingly nothing in his right hand. Abel’s eyes widened as the realization of his misjudgement revealed itself. Remarkable! Too bad I didn’t see it sooner, I don’t think there is enough time to dodge the blow, but wait maybe... His reaction time was delayed by only a moment; however it seemed that was all the time that was required. Oskar’s Blade of Light pierced through Abel’s left shoulder. Instantly responding to the pain Abel light out a soft gasp, and his left had released the short sword. The sword rustled in the shallow grass as it landed, the short sword’s blade caught the reflection of Abel’s figure as he slightly staggered to hold himself from causing the Blade of Light to rip the wound causing more damage. Abel’s eyes followed the arm of his opponent to the luminescent blade and finally to his shoulder. A crimson flow tainted the light of the blade; Abel’s eyes looked back through the attack and passed his opponents arm to his face. Locking eyes he spoke, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.


“I guess mi lord that you connected a little better than I thought you wou-!”


Whether by luck or experience Oskar’s eyes gave way to what was following. This time Abel did not delay in the reaction. His new wing curved, intercepting the incoming strike from the large blade. Feathers ruffled out of place and floated about the two, their brilliant light fading as they descended and finally vanishing back to where they resided before they were manifested. Despite the fact the blade was blocked the force from the swing caused Abel to strain, this battle was far from over and if that wound ripped through it would make his left arm useless. His mind quickly sat at the conclusion that currently his opponent was currently out of moves, which left him open.


Abel’s right arm moved underneath his wing to his lord’s chest, quickly one finger began to inscribe a symbol. The red sigil that remained quickly dispersed as the palm of Abel’s hand slammed forward releasing the fire ball point blank. A hope that the move would send his opponent backwards pushing the Blade of Light out the same angle it entered resulting in only an open wound. Immediately Abel’s left hand began to form two sigils, one of a white glow another of a golden, the overlapping symbols glittered wildly as the mingled together. The combination was one Abel commonly used and would result in a bolt of lightning upon release. However the consequences of such rapid succession of symbols would result in effects Abel knew all too well and on top of that Abel couldn’t tell if the two of them were touching at all, if the bolt hit Oskar and he somehow was still in contact with Abel the chain would result in Abel feeling the brunt of the attack as the lightning passed through them both.


Abel’s left palm pushed against the symbols releasing the lightning forwards into the direction of Lord Oskar, Abel could feel the heaviness settle into his body as the energy was released, he was right the quick secession of the symbols did take quite a bit more energy than normally required. His eyes caught the flash of the bolt just as his mind was contemplating all this.

[T.G. Oskar]

Barely a demonstration of his immense power, Oskar once again mustered his favored tactic. Abel, his opponent, suffered the wounds of the manifesting sword of light, a clean wound straight through the shoulder. However, despite the difficult situation, where the blade crippled his movement, Oskar's second move was throughly deflected. The wing on his back absorbed the impact of the Avenger, while he felt the tingling feeling that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

But, as with every gambit, it is either a good pay-off, or a risky pay-off. And this time it was the latter. Abel was not a common opponent, as he reacted to his situation at speeds that no normal human could ever react. To succesfully deflect his second blow was surprising enough, given that he would not risk his wings in such an attempt: yet, to do so and prepare such a clean comeback was not, indeed, something he expected. Yet, it seemed it was a double pay-off.

Not only he would strike his opponent, he was about to experience the very reason he sought this fight. Abel, using his right hand, his new wing shielding his traces, was moving his fingers. Within them, pulses of energy traced symbols he still was unable to decipher. He knew seeing the sigils was useless as of now: he needed to be focused in the combat. Abel's reaction time was too fast, but not enough as to allow Oskar the capability of deducting another piece of the puzzle.

If he could not see his traces...he would hear them...

Closing his eyes, Oskar felt the merciless brunt of fire repelling him from his opponent. The impact, enough to muddle Oskar's concentration, made the sword of light fade harmlessly from the wound. Within Oskar's ear, the primordial words of the tracing process began to unfurl.

Fire...repel...guide...lightning...safety...contro l...

The words faded, but the effects were not. He felt the fireball striking cleanly, a crushing wound in his chest. With the sudden gasp of breath, he began to feel the paths of air trembling. The air was frightened: soon, it would disappear, giving a path to devastating lightning. He was unsure whether the fickle nature of lightning would indeed strike him, but he was sure of one thing: lightning or not, the distance allowed for great precision. Oskar could not evade this strike cleanly, not without one of the shots hitting him. Hence, he had to rely within his power, within the power of words.

The words were clear on his mind. He could choose German, as the Runic traces of defense beat to that language. But, he wanted more impact. And what not than the language of Philosophy, which with pure knowledge could deny the very nature of reality itself? He sought the correct words, he knew that the seconds were precious, and that he needed to speak them correctly. With a thundering voice, pouring great amounts of his own strength, Oskar uttered with grand resolution...

"<ρους πορεία καταστρέφω!!> Disrupt the course of the flow!!"

The bolt of lightning flowing from Abel's sigil, now revealed for the first time, split into two bolts as it ripped right in front of Oskar's presence, the very flow of the bolt changed. It was as if it a leaf had met a blade, a sharp and deadly blade: the bolt was sliced in two, and the arc flowed far away, striking a nearby tree. The tree, dying as the land was, blazed into a spectacular fire, as if the tree gave birth to a flaming monster.

The crushing wound within Oskar swelled ever more. Oskar poured great strength into shifting the course of reality, and his body suffered the toll. He realized the magnitude of the blow for the first time: he suspected the crush weakened his ribs, which implied great danger to his lungs and heart. To his relief, he was able to breathe with relative ease. He had to be more careful, or else that impact would become a severe problem later on.

Realizing distance was prudent, Oskar began to swirl his grand blade from side to side. Air, normally wild and untamed, gathered within the blade of the Avenger, the glinting shine growing in intensity. With a rapid dash backwards, Oskar began to rush forward, seeking to recover his original distance and strike further, but catching more air in the process. The wind began to howl, closely uttering words of blood. With an equally sudden step, Oskar lifted his massive blade with two hands, and struck the earth cleanly, a blade of light briefly manifesting in his left hand and mirroring the position of the larger blade. Within a 90 degree angle, two howling waves of shining air razed the barren soil, swriling as twin snakes, forming helixes. The wind blades howled, desperately seeking to feed from Abel's blood.

Meanwhile, Oskar watched Abel very closely. He wanted to see his reaction, to see the sigil firsthand, his very beginning intention. He placed his right foot intentionally behind, readying a stance where he could parry easily his enemy's frontal attacks.