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04:58] They spent some time exploring the cities shops before arriving at their destination. A tower which boasted the sign of the red cross. The universal symbol of healing was easily recognizable to the two Sorcerers.

If not it than the constant chatter of lesser minds going in and out of the old building. Not that either would spend much efforts on these simple folk except perhaps as tools to advance their own knowledge.

As they strode within a few clerical no-magi sought to impede their exploration of the building. It was a simple matter to convince them that their entrance into the more secluded sections of the hospital was perfectly fine. After all, Loktar was a magi connected to the Holy school. He could mend the flesh with a thought and some mana.

Still, he wanted more and as they found themselves within what was clearly some form of morgue. His gaze flicked across the room. Taking note of the dissection tables, the various books of learning on the walls, the anatomical skeleton even.

It was to the books he went first his finger trailing along the spines and seeking one out. "Aha, here we are." With a grip of its cover he pulled out 'The Medical Arts' a book written by one of the Pelleaux centuries ago and since becoming widespread.

It was this book that he sat down on one of the clean tables between them. "It's a bit of a bsic run down of first aid but there are efforts to plumb the deeper mysteris of healing within."

"Tell me Cardan, how far have your studies taken you? Should we begin at the top as it were with this book or perhaps seek out a non-magus whose injured and test our talents upon them?"

"I am sure even half-trained medicae of our caliber could do better than the average healer such a person would have access to."
(Loktar Mogrel)

[05:19] Cárdan's eyes scanned the chamber. Where others might recoil from the place - morgues, after all, were reminders of limitation. He found himself eerily at home. Crystals shimmered across his veins, pulsing across inscribed sigils as though his body, despite the setting, prepared for something more.

He listened to Loktar speak. A book of the Medical Arts thumped onto the table, and Cárdan offered only a slight tilt of the head before approaching. He glanced at the spine, then the aged sigils of the Pelleaux on the cover. Proud dynasts of healing arts, long since outpaced by newer minds and other magic.

"I've not read a single medical book once." He circled the table as he spoke, trailing fingers across the surface as though sketching the shape of a future operation.

"As for my studies, I've hardly had the chance to read, since I'm always wounded. Although, I had an idea." he nodded toward the skeleton in the corner "The real learning comes from the tension in a pulse, the twitch of a nerve under blade or sorcery. I can't heal myself, but others who come into contact with lifeblood, might. But yes, I hope even half-trained people like us can manage. I do have another idea, too."

A crystalline glimmer sparked briefly at his palm, veins lighting like a constellation beneath his skin.

"I could start with a small cut on my flesh, and we could read on how to properly treat it."
(Cárdan)

[05:39] Loktar thought about that for a moment. It was true that they could skip right to the meat of the matter and work on mending the flesh of one another. It was the work of a magi to outpace the mundane after all.

Even while Cardan spoke of what it meant to heal the masked man's hand shifted to the now old and outdated tome. Flipping through his pages, noting that its information was several hundred years behind those of modern minds. Yet, he often look to what was to help explain and explore what is or could be.

Leather creased as he shifted the book to the side. He'd read it long ago and knew it was excellent for a starting mage but couldn't argue with Cardan's assessments. "Yes, quite right. The act of doing provides more experience than a thousand life-times within a dusty tome."

Then a chuckle escaped his lips. "Hah, I believe Cardan that is were our diverging approaches compliment one another." He shifted and looked to the younger Sorcerer. Those lenses turning towards the crystals that danced under his skin. He knew of course that it took a truly skilled crystal practitioner to interweave the gems with the flesh.

"I need not read on such a thing. As I have already done so. Now, if you would humor me the theater of the mind is adequate for this kind of wound." As he spoke the man shifted towards the nearby cabinet.

"You see, that book details all of the most basic of healing arts. Though, simple and certainly out of date. Seeing how those with less advanced arts achieved the same results is most beneficial to establishing your own framework to build upon."

While he spoke to Cardan his lenses peered into the medical cabinet. Reaching out he gripped the small knob, pulling it back and opening the cabinets treasures to his pilfering. He rummaged for a time hunched over and acquiring the items that would be needed.

Then he came back to the table, actually a dissection bench, and sat down several items of note. The first was a bottle of antiseptic, a small jar of lax essence, a clean cloth, some high-grade medical thread, and last but not least a surgical needle. It appeared much like one for sewing clothes but instead curved at a soft angle to best exit the flesh after that intial piercing.

"These are some of the more basic items utilized in healing a flesh-cut such as you've described. While, yes, we could wave the mana-circuits and flesh together to promote healing? I believe simple, relatable, tools such as these. That can be used by even the non-magi are what will uplift Humanity in the end."

To him it made sense after all the average healer lacked even the most basic magical talent. "So, before you cut yourself consider what each of these items are and how you'd utilize them to mend a laceration of the flesh."

Stepping back he watched Cardan. Curious how the martial young man would view the items and their uses. Or, if perhaps, they would eschew them all together in a desire to grasp less mundane methods. That was after all the joy of working on these types of skills with another.
(Loktar Mogrel)

[06:00] "Back in Gehenna, they always did say, demonstrations are better than explanations." There was a glint of something behind his eyes. It was curiosity tempered in pragmatism.

He watched the arrangement of tools upon the dissection bench. Not the items themselves, but for what they represented: means.

As Loktar spoke, he didn'tt interrupt, not once. He let the older sorcerer speak in full, because he respected the foundation even if he no longer needed to walk across it.

When the final instruction was given - consider each - Cárdan took one step forward and swept a finger lightly over the medical thread, then the antiseptic, then the needle. He turned the latter between gloved fingers, examining the bend as it reflected the light. A brief moment is taken, allowing Cárdan the time to mull over the array of items.

Eventually, a memory resurfaces, and that was the fact that, he has been involved with most of these items in the past, given his history of being injured, and being treated.

"Flesh is patient. It remembers the wound long after the pain fades, and it recalls both the healer and the weapon." He set the needle down with a click. "I'm not a total idiot, since I've watched people use said tools, and had them used on me. The antiseptic halts corruption?

Infections-- yeah, that! The cloth staunches blood. Lax essence dulls sensation of pain. The thread weaves what was apart into one.

Now, if that concludes that, might I cut my hand, now?"
(Cárdan)

[06:10] Mogrel offered an amicable bob of his head. Yes, he quite agreed on the notion of flesh possessing a memory. In fact it, as the spirit and soul layered beyond it, often knew things that the conscious mind did not. It was in fact his personal belief that the highest form a Sorcerer could achieve was one in which the soul, spirit, body, and mind truly aligned in harmony with one another.

Though, that was neither the here nor the the now. Instead it was the topic of how best to heal another. How to utilize the tools of the mundane man and perhaps extrapolate those same tools into something wonderous befitting a sorcerer.

He held his palm up as if to ward off a blow. "Come now Cardan, I would never imply you lacked wit. One would not survive the masters tutelage without a keen mind and a streak of cunning."

Then his hand lowered and he looked to the instruments themselves. Yes, Cardan had been correct on all fronts. Even if he'd struggle just a littleto find the correct wording to express what he knew. Though, did not all people struggle to express themselves in such ways?

His gaze shifted back up towards Cardan. Lenses flashing a soft orange before dimming. With a gesture he signaled the go ahead. "You may, do try and avoid cutting any tendons. I am less confident in repairing those with the mundane and fear I would have to rely on a spell."

He knew his limitations and felt no shame admitting them. After all, knowing where one's limits rested was the best way in breaking past them.
(Loktar Mogrel)

[06:39] "Well, you never know. Lot's of people have implied I lack wit before. It shouldn't be the case! But yes, I agree with you. In any case, to cut is easy, anyone can wound, and be wounded. But to health, at requires faith. In process. In accuracy. In knowing when to trust the hand, and when to surrender it."

With a quick motion of his hand, mana flickered through his veins like stained glass catching the light of flames. It ends by his Ouroboros mark, and a small verdant crystal is retrieved from it. He makes an incision across his palm. Lifeblood welled up, cyan hues of liquid pouring from the wound. He raised it toward the light, studying it. Letting the scent of 'water' join the sterile tang of the morgue.

"This methodology is not without elegance." He picked up the antiseptic and dabbed the wound, watching his skin twitch beneath it. A quiet smile touched his lips, before pulling the antiseptic away. "One method teaches the hand. Another teaches the eye. And the last reminds the world why we are called sorcerers."

With that, Cárdan extended his hand across the dissection table, the cut bleeding. The lifeblood itself was a viscous liquid, catching the last lights of the sorcery, crystal-veined magic in his wrist, before it inevitably coils away. It was docile for now, restrained by his will. "I imagine this is where you show me what the mundane has to offer."

A beat passed.

"So go on, then. Let's see what you have to offer, Loktar. Go on, then. Show me what makes your holy craft yours."
(Cárdan)

[07:06] He watched the younger man as they went about getting down to the cutting. It was a little clear to him that was what Cardan enjoyed the most. Which, in his mind, would make the lad an excellent surgeon someday. After all what was a Surgeon but a butcher working in both directions?

He made a mental not to pen that down later in his journal. It sounded profound but also shallow. His favorite kind of metaphors. Still, he looked to the wound curiously. Sarradians, what a curious people crafted by the angelic just as his own had been. Though, he would not label them such. To put a label upon a colleague that was not granted to you was limiting.

As he looked to the wound and considered how he'd like to treat it he made casual conversation. "It is simply a difference in culture. The Gehennans I've met have always had a fiery passion for the concrete. What is before them and can be acted upon in the moment."

As he spoke his hands trailed acrossthe mundane instruments and he considered which to utilize the best. "It lends itself to a simplistic approach to problems. Even if that approach is the best it lends itself to others taking a dim view of them."

Then with a smile he tapped the tools at his hand. "Yes, the mundane has much to offer. However, we are Sorcerers and you touched on something I agreed with."

As he spoke his focus turned away from the tools and towards the wound itself. It wasn't an overly deep cut and Cardan was doing well to control the flow of 'blood' from causing any issues.

"The tools are just that tools. Perfect for those who lack our talents to utilize and yet we need not limit ourselves with the physicality of it. We know what purpose each holds and can replicate that purpose in the manipulation of essence."

As he spoke the man's attention turned from the tools to the wound itself. "You have applied what is in essence a collection of ground herbs designed to staunch mundane infections. We could view it as a cleansing ritual, yes?"

As he spoke he considered the wound and began to imagine the process in which it would be mended and made anew. "Let us be inspired by the mundane and apply them with Sorcery. You were quite right. No need not to practice both talents intertwined."

As he gazed upon the wound he began to imagine the manner in which it would be mended. The steps were there like a recipe for him to manipulate and in essence were the construction of order from a state of chaos.

Order, harmony, was the original flesh uninjured and made whole. Disharmony, chaos was a marring of the design first crafted by the creator of all things. As such he merely needed to consider how best to utilize essence to mend it.

In his fingers small dots of light began to coalesce. Mana, given form and purpose. The soft glow of Holy energies helping to apply a soothing effect upon not only the physical pain but the emotional that often came with being injured.

Then he began to go to work. His fingers hovering over the wound as he willed the the flesh to remember that which it was. Flits of softly glowing light weaving in a criss crossing patter over the wound. Bringing the skin back together.

Almost as if a sewing machine was being utilized to quickly stich up the wound. Motes of light and threads of essence quickly mending the flesh and rebinding it together.

It was a simple wound and the effort to repair with with Holy essence caused the healing to advance rapidly. "I believe the difference between utilizing this method is the knowledge needed to apply it. A simple mending spell would heal a wound like this but it does so by causing the flesh to work in overtime."

"Using its own memory as you've said to heal the wound. However, this is an active application of our talents. Then with a littlechuckle he confided."

"I also just wanted to see if I could replicate the tools effects completely utilizing essence." Then he looked back up to Cardan.

"However, you have witness yourself being healed countless times have you not? I think you'd do well to work on another." As he spoke the man took off one of his leather gloves. Revealing the mark Ouroboros, weaved into the pitted black-lines which coated the back of his hands almost like veins.

Then turning his hand over to showcase the palm? He would retrieve a small skinning knife from his pelt and place the tip into his flesh. Bright crimson blood poured freely from the new cut.

However, there was no display of control of his bloods flow as Cardan had done. However, he did place the hand over the table. Letting the sound of blood drip-droping upon table to echo.


(Loktar Mogrel)

[07:53] Cárdan's eyes slightly narrow as he observed the play of light over his mended skin. The holy magic stitched him cleanly, but the sensation was not gentle. No healing ever was. He inhaled slowly, tasting the scent of sanctified mana. There was something disconcerting about being on the receiving end of magic. Not the blast of combat sorcery or the heat of a spell, but this. A hand held just above his own, the sting of the antiseptic still fresh, and then?

Warmth.

It began in the air before it ever touched him. Subtle. Like the stillness before a fever breaks. Mana, coalescing between Loktar's fingers, casting light like a bead along an invisible thread. Cardan’s gaze lowered to his palm, where the wound gaped. Lifeblood still beaded along the edge slowly, granting him memories of a time now long past. But, that was for another day. For the time being, he didn't speak, but?

Loktar did. Softly. And, at the cadence of instruction at that, but not for show. The Sorcerer's words were scaffolding, giving shape to the working as it unfolded. A dissection of pain, order, and restoration.

Cardan could feel the closure of his skin. Not exactly the brute force of accelerated healing, but something more elegant. Like watching a master tailor mend silk without breaking the pattern. The flesh did not simply close, it remembered itself, recalled its instructions, and complied. That in essence, was restoration.

He let out a breath, almost surprised he'd been holding it. When it was done, he turned his palm again. There was no wound. Not even a seam. But still, it felt like there should have been something.

"Your method doesn't leave scars. I assume harsher wounds that would struggle to be restored, would leave scars with this same process, then." He flexed his fingers once, watching Loktar now trace red invitation across his hand.

Cárdan's visage followed with slow gravity. The blood struck the steel table, different than his own. Thicker. Redder in colour. Drip. Drop. A metronome of flesh. Cárdan tilted his head, considering the rhythm. Considering the challenge. He stepped forward, brows slightly drawn in concentration, sleeves already rolled past his forearms.

"A proper demonstration, right." he murmured, stepping forward. "Ironically enough, there's a far easier way to do this, but I have to learn the basics, too." His voice was soft. A shift from the typical barbed sharpness it so often bore in battle or debate. This was study, after all. Reverent in its own way. Cardan reached for the clean cloth first. He folded it, then applied it to the wound, not to stop the bleeding entirely, but to slow it. Pressure. He watched how the blood pushed through the fabric before slowly beginning to ease.

"Pulse is steady. That's good."

Then, he no longer reached for any of the mundane tools, Cárdan's palm hovered beneath Loktar's wounded hand. He drew in breath and exhaled slowly, letting the memory of the cleansing ritual hum through him like muscle-memory made manifest. Mana glimmered at his veins, first in amber, then deepening into that verdant crystalline hue that was uniquely his own. No spell was spoken aloud, but the essence of one coalesced through sheer familiarity. A lattice of geometric light glistened between their hands, refracting through the blood like it was glass.

"I prefer this way. If I can recreate the purpose of antiseptic like this, then there'll be no need for it. This'll tell the body that, the wound won't contaminate." He snapped his fingers once, and a crystalline veil flickered over the open wound, purifying it without searing. Gemstones were powerful in their own regard, and here, he utilizes the rejuvenating emerald. There would be no infections, no harmful bacteria to grow.

Then his fingers danced again, coaxing fine threads of crystal to rise like surgical sutures. They moved slowly. "Mending flesh is like reading a scripture. I'm learn its rhythm, the grain of its pain, and persuading it back to symmetry."

The wound closed beneath the spell work, like time had taken a gentle breath backward. Once finished, Cárdan stepped back, flexing his newly healed hand once, then gesturing toward Loktar's hand.

"I knitted a rejuvenating gemstone into the cut. They accelerate our body's natural rejuvenating factor, so it'll be good in no time." Cárdan leaned back and let the silence fill the space again. The dripping had stopped.

"I did think about using my lifeblood instead, but that would've robbed the purpose of this lesson. I'd have another cut trying to heal you, so it's better I do it more naturally. That said, I get what you mean, you have to understand the wound before you erase it, that's where the difference lies. Thanks. All good to go?"
(Cárdan)

[08:16] "Scars of the flesh are easily mended. Scrubbed away with the brush of a hand. It is the wounds which damage the spirit which remain forevermore. Even if the flesh is restored the spirit recalls the pain and accepts that part of its shell was damaged." As he spoke the man tilted his head to the side. A flow of orange light trailing up his grated mask.

"That is why even when a fleshmancer regrows another's limb it never truly replaces the original. Pain, trauma, leaves scars deeper than the surface of our awareness. Perhaps, if one were to master white magic it would be possible to completely mend such scars." He mused, contemplating the opposite of death magic. After all if the soul could be wounded or destroyed what was to say it couldn't be healed?

However, he stopped speaking once the work on his own palm began. Finding the gentler tone of Cardan to be pleasing. It was good that they'd a bedside manner. Even if it were falsethe act of soothing another's heart with words did much to open them up for manipulation. Be it of the flesh or otherwise.

He watched as Cardan manipulated his own mana. Not using something as blunt as verbal casting it seemed. No, this appeared to be purely of the temple? Then his eyes narrowed with the mask as he watched the latticed framework trailing down like a web between their hands. No, this was casting of the heart. Far too natural for the mind to be overly involved.

That alone made it clear Cardan had practiced this many times int he past. Enough that the body remembered and synchronized with his will. "Ah, yes I see what you mean. The flesh knows what it should be and what it should not. Reminding it of such will keep foreign entities without and the native within."

It was a good application of cleansing. One that he found applicable himself if he were to practice it some. A mental note was made to revisit the idea at a later date when he was free to think on it as long as he wished.

Loktar, however, took time in the present to appreciate the pain. Suffering was integral with life after all. You could not have one without the other. For stillness would lead to death. Stasis, that which Azrael's insanity had aimed towards in the end.

There was a sublte grimace upon his visage, behind the mask, at the snap and the subsequent glittering veil drapped over his hand. There was a spark of green within that lattice and he knew it to be one of those potent rejuvenation gems that made facing a magi of the quartz so difficult in battle.

Once Cardan was finished and had spoken his final words. Loktar took time to gaze upon his palm. His lenses sparked a bright shade of orange as if reflecting the magic within before dulling as the man slipped on his leather glove. Pulling it tight at the cuff so it fit snugly.

Then he shook out his hand and laughed. "If only we'd known how to do that when the brand was applied it'd perhaps not sting so." Then he took a moment to wipe away his blood upon the table. Cleaning it, good as new.

He offered a nod to Cardan at the end. "Yes, you do have that talent don't you? Though, I believe we've learned a good deal. Perhaps, a few more session of combined effort and we'll have mastered the healing art enough to mend our companions of their myriad ails."

"All good to go."
(Loktar Mogrel)

[08:16] * You have been awarded 1 Levels