If there's one magical discipline the Shapers guard almost as jealously as they do the creation of life, it's the preservation of it. They'll allow the lesser mages to learn the craft of manipulating fire, ice, lightning, crude and basic elemental forces--but healing craft, they keep for themselves. It's too inextricably tied to the Shaping art to risk teaching it to the uninitiated.
But it doesn't work the same way here, because nothing does. The elements still answer him, sluggishly but reliably, slightly distorted as if coming from somewhere unfamiliar--but real magic, the kind that draws on his own body, the kind that uses life to power life and makes both beings the stronger for it, has proven impossible no matter how he tries. (And tries, and tries.)
He's come to the infirmary to see if there's any worthwhile substitute here at all, or if Thedosian healing really is nothing but bandages and roots. The concept of spirit healing has been explained to him, but he doesn't understand it, nor especially want to--what good is a healer whose craft is dependent on the favor of nebulous beings from some other, ill-defined realm? (Never mind that Diwaniya is a being from some other ill-defined realm, now.) He has no use for sorcerers who can't supply their own power.
His tread is quiet as he opens the door, finding the room occupied and opting to watch for a moment rather than announce his presence. Diwaniya still isn't in the habit of excusing himself, or asking permission to insinuate himself into activities. As he observes, transfixed, he's incredibly grateful he hadn't interrupted.
It's clearly blood that the man is using, not essence, but the visual is nonetheless so familiar it stabs at him like a nostalgic scalpel through the chest. How often has he done the same thing, drawing tendrils of essence from his own reserves to heal an acid burn, or repair a guardman's limp, or save a wounded creation? How has nobody told him this was possible here?
"What are you doing?" he asks, stepping into the room and closing the door halfway behind him, just ajar enough not to look to an outside observer like he's trying to hide anything. His tone is anything but disapproving. He looks as though he's been given an unexpected gift.
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But it doesn't work the same way here, because nothing does. The elements still answer him, sluggishly but reliably, slightly distorted as if coming from somewhere unfamiliar--but real magic, the kind that draws on his own body, the kind that uses life to power life and makes both beings the stronger for it, has proven impossible no matter how he tries. (And tries, and tries.)
He's come to the infirmary to see if there's any worthwhile substitute here at all, or if Thedosian healing really is nothing but bandages and roots. The concept of spirit healing has been explained to him, but he doesn't understand it, nor especially want to--what good is a healer whose craft is dependent on the favor of nebulous beings from some other, ill-defined realm? (Never mind that Diwaniya is a being from some other ill-defined realm, now.) He has no use for sorcerers who can't supply their own power.
His tread is quiet as he opens the door, finding the room occupied and opting to watch for a moment rather than announce his presence. Diwaniya still isn't in the habit of excusing himself, or asking permission to insinuate himself into activities. As he observes, transfixed, he's incredibly grateful he hadn't interrupted.
It's clearly blood that the man is using, not essence, but the visual is nonetheless so familiar it stabs at him like a nostalgic scalpel through the chest. How often has he done the same thing, drawing tendrils of essence from his own reserves to heal an acid burn, or repair a guardman's limp, or save a wounded creation? How has nobody told him this was possible here?
"What are you doing?" he asks, stepping into the room and closing the door halfway behind him, just ajar enough not to look to an outside observer like he's trying to hide anything. His tone is anything but disapproving. He looks as though he's been given an unexpected gift.