This was incredible.
The initial shock of another lifetime of memories flowing into him was quite staggering but, now that Gogonji knew of it, he could brace himself properly. Rather than a full Echo experience, he could force his own mental dominion and keep his mind here in the present. All the while, his mind was aglow with knowledge long forgotten.
Before this, he certainly knew the formulae and the symbols well enough, but it had always held that disconnected feeling of having learned it secondhand - a feeble, bootstrapped sort of knowing when merely imparted by the Soul Crystal. Yet, when he made the same gestures when in contact with the Awakener - as he had taken to calling it - there was experience behind it. Experience that resulted in a speed and a crispness to his movements that were not there before. The protective galvanized fields of aetheric energy that he had come so accustomed to shaping came out so much faster, so much stronger than before. This was truly the power of knowledge, the knowledge of power.
It made him feel so... so alive.
So much so that the Lalafell's Scholastic motions felt obnoxiously sluggish when used out of conjunction with the Awakener now. Like there was something missing, a memory long forgotten that nagged at the edges of his senses to remind him of what once was once at his fingertips. Yet, while he had not possessed the foresight to calculate the strength and speed of his mathemagica prior to his jarring mind-trip back in time - for who could have expected such results? - he had begun to almost religiously tracking it since. And, while it was nowhere close to the levels that he got from direct contact to the Awakener, he was able to plot a slight but definite improvement in his skills.
But, this was only with knowledge and skills already bequeathed upon him by the Soul Crystal. Things already under his purview; things he already knew, like an advanced lecture on a course he already knew the material of. This, of course, led logically to the next question: but what of matters he knew naught? Could the Awakener bestow upon him skills and abilities he had never practiced, had never attained?
Such questions, as much as they harangued him to be answered, turned out to be difficult to test in any reasonable time-frame. For something as powerful and intrinsically useful as a Soul Crystal was understandably both coveted and rare, and even outlawed with regard to the more forbidden arts. There was only one type that he could attain with any sort of speed, and it still required quite the time investment coupled with even more draining of his quickly waning financial resources, for it came from the gil-devouring desert jewel of Ul'dah. For, what art had more practitioners than the way of the Holy Blade - the Paladin?
And it was a "misplaced" Soul Crystal of a former Sultansworn that was now submersed within the depths of the ceruleum bath. Even though he had his results from his own Soul Crystal, the Lalafell went through the same arduous procedure again with this second stone. For, who was to say that differing Soul Crystals didn't react to different amounts of electrical energy? He had sunk quite a vast amount of time and gil into this project thus far, and Gogonji was not about to lose his investment to sloppiness and assumption. He was toeing the line on discoveries and powers far too great to make even the smallest mistake.
And his wariness turned out to be also prudent, for the Paladin Soul Crystal Awoke at a mere 80.3 millilmramz rather than the Scholar's 80.7. Like its sister stone, its symbol that looked not unlike the Holy Knight's shield glimmered and brightened to an almost divine brilliance. That untainted white light reflected in Gogonji's violet orbs, making them seem almost pinkish under the pearly glare. And it was only the adaptations of his Dunefolk heritage that allowed him to look on without turning away from the enthralling magnificence before him.
The eldest son of Zozonji tore his gaze away for only the briefest moment to glance at the two new additions to his table: a sword and shield of cheap and simple make, picked up from a vendor in Ul'dah. Had had crafted such weapons under the guidance of his stubborn smith of a father, but had never brought to bear like those they were peddled to. They seemed simple enough to use, but a test swing of the blade against a training dummy had sent a thought-correcting jolt of pain up his arm on impact and sent his teeth to chattering. He could still recall the barely-concealed sniggering of the Gladiator's Guild residents as the waifish bookworm had gathered up the armaments he had somehow dropped in his exertions and crept shamefully away.
An embarrassed flush had marred his cheeks then as they did now, along with the same look of righteous indignation. If this worked as he theorized, that he could gain all the knowledge and experience of a swordsman long deceased, then he would be able to return to that hall of muscle-bound brutes and put them in their place. What sniggering would there be then when he confronted the largest of them and cast them down with the techniques and skills of an ancient master of the craft?
It was with those thoughts in mind that Gogonji reached out and touched the smooth glass of the Awakener's core.
At first, the Hellsguard thought the crowds surprisingly thick, especially considering the heat that was pounding down from overhead and threatening to back him within his ceremonial armor. However, for all their filth and lack of class, Gogonji had to admit that miners were quite the stubborn and determined individuals. With many of them being lowborn, unlearned commoners, he had no doubt that there was an air of desperation that aided in this resolve of theirs.
And no small wonder. This would be the first Mythril mine to be opened and put under the auspices of his Sultana's Miner's Guild. Many had flocked to the banner when she had made the decree, seeking a chance to get their grubby mitts on even the smallest fragment of the valuable ore. A chance to vault themselves up in the ranks of society with the gil to be made from it. It was almost amusing to imagine the rabble descend upon the veins of ore like a pack of lowly coblyn.
The sound of the tent flap opening brought Gogonji's attentions back to the present and the bemused smirk evaporated away, leaving an unreadable, stern expression in its wake. His snapped to attention, his sword arm crossing his chest in salute as the figure stepped out from the fabric-granted shade into the unyielding light of the Thanalan sun. Along with the diminutive form came a burst of smells from within - of rare flowers and spices, of wealth and of class. It cut through the stench of the rabble, reminding the Sultansworn of what real Ul'dahnians smelled like.
He loved that smell. He loved the way she walked. The way she cast that look of unquestionable authority his way when she demanded information. Information he happily provided, as passed along to him by those under his command.
The rabble were ready for her magnificence. They were waiting, eager to have her cut the ceremonial ribbon that had been cast across the mouth of the new mine. To open it to the unwashed massed waiting to descend upon it and bring out of it a wealth of mythril ore. Mythril that, in the short run, might lift them up enough to perhaps at least start to ape their betters, but would ultimately make its hands into those who knew how to use such assets properly.
Like her.
Like the Sultana.
His Sultana - his Nanasha Ul Nasha.
Gogonji withdrew his hand from the Awakener in a much calmer fashion than his first, almost certain that the alluring scent of the ancient Sultana still lingered in the air. A huge hulking Roegadyn lusting for someone so far above his station? One who only attained his station due to the physical might he could bring to the illustrious Holy Knights of Ul'dah? Gogonji almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it as the memories quickly began to dissolve into the aether like, almost fittingly, waking from a dream. Yet, it was that very physical prowess that he desired; the skill he sought to test.
The rest of it was mere chaff.
Now aware of the memories that would assault him, the Lalafell again rested his hand against the Magitek amalgamation. And again the experiences of the brute of a man rushed forth to assault his senses, only to crash against the iron walls of Gogonji's will. He cared not for the man's hopes and his dreams, of his carnal desires and lusts. He needed only his experience and knowledge with the blade.
With his other arm, Gogonji reached out for the sword, and he found himself recoiling a bit. Such a shoddy blade did not belong in the hands of a Sultansworn! Especially not one so close to his Sultana as he. Where was his blade, the symbol of his station?
And then the feeling was gone, forcibly chained in the depths of his subconscious in shackles wrought from his ego. Yet, Gogonji still noted that he even took up the blade differently, held it in a style different to the haphazard grip he had brought to bear against the training dummy. His own knowledge of a blade's craftsmanship was echoed by the quelled memories of one who had truly used such blades before. And the flaws stood out all the more to him, and the Lalafell felt his expression twist again into a look of slight disgust.
He would need a finer blade in the future, he decided with a curt nod. It would not do for someone who was to bring about such momentous change to be swinging around a weapon of such shoddy workmanship. But that was for later. For now, he needed to see how much of the skill was being passed onto him; how much knowledge was being conferred by this link to the soul of the ancient Hellsguard.
The sword, questionable make or no, felt like an extension of himself as Gogonji slashed through the musty air of his cabin. Yes, he felt himself thinking, this felt right. This felt proper. The way such a blade was meant to be swung, rather than the aimless flailing he had done earlier.
Content with his findings, he again let go of his connection to the the Awakener, feeling those memories and feelings melt away into an imperceptible haze. Within seconds, it was all but the faintest flittings and sound and light that cheerfully stymied any attempts to bring them back into focus. However, he still noted he held the blade slightly differently, and there was a bit more purpose behind his swings, almost as if he had gone through a sun of basic swordplay.
But just how much had he retained? How much had he improved. As much as it filled him with dread, there was one obvious answer to his questions. Grabbing his ivory jacket and slipping it on in one smooth motion, Gogonji left the stifling confines of his home and into the frigid embrace of the Coerthas day.
He returned to his cabin that evening battered, bruised, and sore. His challenge had been quickly accepted at the Gladiator's Guild, and his brief touch on the mind of an ancient warrior had quickly proven to be not quite enough to keep his opponent's training blade from repeatedly finding purchase on his softer parts. Yet, he had still managed to startle the self-confident ruffian, and managed to land a single blow before being beaten to a pulp by the enraged Highlander.
Just a single blow, yet also a blow that Gogonji was fairly certain he would never have been able to make before then. A proof of concept? Perhaps. He would need to spend more time absorbing the knowledge from this new Soul Crystal. And tending to his myriad wounds.
And figuring out a safer way to test his theories.
... Freaking ow.
~