[Less benevolent and more desperate deities, then. The gods of other worlds are so different than his own that he can't help his curiosity, want to learn about them and see how they compare to his goddess. It will wait, though. For now, he nods, and after a moment of careful consideration on exactly where he should place his hands upon the king's knee, he gets to work.
The first sensation Regis might feel is only a slight stinging as Carlisle closes his eyes and expels only the barest amount of his energy, trying to feel for the wound from the inside using his channel alone. It trickles in like the beginnings of stream, the channel bumping against both muscle and bone, rippling back against itself as it finds something amiss. Carlisle's brow knits: there is magical residue there indeed, something that taints the wound just enough that the clergyman can sense it. It could have been left there from a spell gone wrong; it could have become trapped there as magic cycled through the king at some point. However, Carlisle suspects that Regis is right, and that siphoning from that Crystal of his left such a deposit there; it then festered much like a physical wound, drawing in excess energy with every subsequent use of magic, eating away at both it and the kings' physical frame without his ever knowing. It will need to be cleansed.
The stinging intensifies as he prods further, invisible tendrils seeping into Regis' body, faster as they delve ever inward. A normal man would only feel an almost electric stinging, but someone with magical ability is generally more attuned to the sensation of energy flowing through them, and thus, Regis may be able to pick up on the way what energy is pouring into him from Carlisle's palms flows into his chest, down through his limbs as the clergyman uses his own magic to scan for further injuries. Carlisle's brow hardens but, finding nothing particularly of note, the energy recedes, pulling itself back to the wounded knee.
With a quick breath to steady himself, Carlisle works on mending the root of the problem, and what had simply been a fevered pulse amplifies to a white-hot searing, something akin to fire in the veins. Carlisle's fingers curl, his nose wrinkling as he grits his teeth and focuses his channel, using it to flush out the dregs of old magic that prey upon Regis' wound, eating away at him. It takes nearly a full minute, but he finally relents, the decaying magic washed away so that he can continue his work.
With that healed, he redirects his channel again, this time honing in on the scar and what damage lies behind it. Muscles have long-since healed over, but with the right coaxing, such scars can be undone, forced to repair themselves in the correct way. However, it took more out of Carlisle than he thought it would to oust that remnant of magic -- he will do what he can for the aged injury. Getting Regis walking again is within his reach, easily -- if he wants the limb fully mended, Carlisle will have to come back for a second pass at it once he has recovered himself.
But for now, 'get him walking' is the goal, and that is absolutely doable. That fiery searing intensifies again, focusing now on the muscles and bone, old tissues being compelled to rend themselves from their places to move back into the correct ones. As one can expect, that part is probably unpleasant for just about anyone.
Carlisle finally pulls his hands away, gasping, stifling a series of coughs. The scar is still there, as is some of the damaged tissue behind it, but Regis ought to be feeling better than he has in years... well, save for all that burning and pain he just went through to get to that point.]
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Date: 2017-02-24 09:58 am (UTC)The first sensation Regis might feel is only a slight stinging as Carlisle closes his eyes and expels only the barest amount of his energy, trying to feel for the wound from the inside using his channel alone. It trickles in like the beginnings of stream, the channel bumping against both muscle and bone, rippling back against itself as it finds something amiss. Carlisle's brow knits: there is magical residue there indeed, something that taints the wound just enough that the clergyman can sense it. It could have been left there from a spell gone wrong; it could have become trapped there as magic cycled through the king at some point. However, Carlisle suspects that Regis is right, and that siphoning from that Crystal of his left such a deposit there; it then festered much like a physical wound, drawing in excess energy with every subsequent use of magic, eating away at both it and the kings' physical frame without his ever knowing. It will need to be cleansed.
The stinging intensifies as he prods further, invisible tendrils seeping into Regis' body, faster as they delve ever inward. A normal man would only feel an almost electric stinging, but someone with magical ability is generally more attuned to the sensation of energy flowing through them, and thus, Regis may be able to pick up on the way what energy is pouring into him from Carlisle's palms flows into his chest, down through his limbs as the clergyman uses his own magic to scan for further injuries. Carlisle's brow hardens but, finding nothing particularly of note, the energy recedes, pulling itself back to the wounded knee.
With a quick breath to steady himself, Carlisle works on mending the root of the problem, and what had simply been a fevered pulse amplifies to a white-hot searing, something akin to fire in the veins. Carlisle's fingers curl, his nose wrinkling as he grits his teeth and focuses his channel, using it to flush out the dregs of old magic that prey upon Regis' wound, eating away at him. It takes nearly a full minute, but he finally relents, the decaying magic washed away so that he can continue his work.
With that healed, he redirects his channel again, this time honing in on the scar and what damage lies behind it. Muscles have long-since healed over, but with the right coaxing, such scars can be undone, forced to repair themselves in the correct way. However, it took more out of Carlisle than he thought it would to oust that remnant of magic -- he will do what he can for the aged injury. Getting Regis walking again is within his reach, easily -- if he wants the limb fully mended, Carlisle will have to come back for a second pass at it once he has recovered himself.
But for now, 'get him walking' is the goal, and that is absolutely doable. That fiery searing intensifies again, focusing now on the muscles and bone, old tissues being compelled to rend themselves from their places to move back into the correct ones. As one can expect, that part is probably unpleasant for just about anyone.
Carlisle finally pulls his hands away, gasping, stifling a series of coughs. The scar is still there, as is some of the damaged tissue behind it, but Regis ought to be feeling better than he has in years... well, save for all that burning and pain he just went through to get to that point.]