“Okay. Well, that sounds hellish.” It makes sense that Mobius wouldn’t want to actively court those symptoms, in that case. While the templar takes a seat, Stephen leans his weight back against one of the heavier tables here. He wishes he had a notepad and a pen; wishes he could still write at all; wants to have this on record.

He’s already decided that when they get back to the Gallows, he’s going to get this written down so it’s in the infirmary for reference. Won’t file it under lyrium, to respect his promise to Mobius to be discreet about it; perhaps it’ll just be labelled as withdrawal symptoms.

He’s trying to walk this delicate line: how to speak as both a doctor and a friend, trying not to sound too brusque and cold and professional. He keeps his voice gentle and as sympathetic as he can make it, even as his thoughts are already spinning and filing away all of this information on the pathophysiology. So lyrium was a stimulant, certainly, which tracked with how mages could use it to augment their own powers.

“Is it possible to overdose, taking too much at a single time? If someone is disordered, can’t remember how much they’ve already taken, and then takes too much.”