tongueamok | XOqNI

[He will be thanking his goddess for the fact Regis doesn't live on the eighth floor of any Spire the moment he hangs up. He did his time climbing stairs, thank you.]

I will be there shortly.

[Hanging up now, which takes him a moment because he refuses to learn how to be proficient with technology. In bad news, it's still cold enough that he's wearing a sweater rather than his usual jacket; however, his tabard mostly covers the unsightly design on the front, so he can't complain too much. He simply wouldn't want to embarrass himself or his goddess with improper attire when performing his duty as a healer.

Thankfully, Regis isn't too far away, so after he gathers his satchel, a jar, and some ingredients for tea -- just in case -- Carlisle makes his way over, knocking on the door solidly before straightening his glasses and smoothing his hair, trying to make himself look presentable despite the false gods' poor taste in winter wear. He's only a little winded -- at least it was only three flights of stairs rather than eight.]

Edited 2017-02-18 06:51 (UTC)

[The sudden knock upon the door wakes Regis out of his slight slumber. He fumbles a little as he rises off the couch, his movements slow because of his poor knee. Noctis isn't home currently and neither is Lunafreya. So he has to limp his way towards the door with cane at hand.]

Please be patient. [He calls out once he finally reaches the foyer.] I'm simply not as young as I used to be.

[After a minute or two, Regis finally opens the door and greets Carlisle with a warm smile. Despite the gray hair and the too pale skin, Regis is quite a dapper looking gentleman who has the regal making of a king. His fondness for black weave a tale unspoken but as one would guess, he's indeed in mourning.]

I humbly thank you for your aid today, kind sir. Upon this bad leg, I doubt I could make the journey to your clinic unscathed.

[This all feels very familiar, going to one of the houses in the spire to mend the injured leg of a man who has to take his time to reach the door, lest he exacerbate his wound. The fellow who answers the door is quite a bit older than Chris, though Carlisle had expected as much, what with the way he spoke and the fact he has a son.]

Just Carlisle, please. [He returns Regis' smile with a nervous one of his own. 'Sir' makes him feel old, and he already feels beyond his years these days; despite the bags under his eyes and his position as clergy, he's not much older than Regis' son.] As it is, I do not work for the clinic, so it's best I came to you.

[He can only take the people there, much like modern medicine, in small doses.]

[Regis oddly surprised when he meets Carlisle at last. This man is no older than his son despite the thick framed glasses that make him seem slightly older. He can't help but chuckle some at that observation. Carlisle would fit in well with Noctis and his spirited companions. That much is certain.]

Very well, Carlisle. [Regis says with such a smile as he holds the door to let the healer through.] So you're not affiliated with the clinic at all? Ah, good! I may or may not have ransacked their inventory for supplies before.

[He confesses with a hearty laugh as he leads Carlisle to the living room. Poor Regis is quite unsteady upon his feet.]

I doubt they realize I'm the perpetrator but the guilt lingers.

Edited 2017-02-20 01:14 (UTC)

[Carlisle's eyes trail down to Regis' legs as he walks -- it's easy to tell which one is the bad one. Old wounds are tricky to mend, but with the proper application of energy, even injuries that healed incorrectly can be fixed. The sensation of one's body putting itself back in order is unfortunately unpleasant, though.]

They will find more supplies, I assure you. Kate -- er, the woman who runs the clinic, that is -- is persistent, if nothing else. [Also nosy. Demanding. Far too self-degrading for Carlisle's liking, as such behavior reminds him of his own insecurities.

Though it's Regis who leads him to the living room, Carlisle gestures for him to take a seat.] Tell me about the wound. It helps to have a better understanding of what it is I'll be mending.

[Regis gladly sits after using far too much energy just traveling between here and the door. His bad leg gives him more grief than it honestly should. The poor man is borderline handicapped because of this unsightly injury. He longs for his youth when he stood upright without the aid of others. Regis wants to be the powerful young man he once was but those days are long gone. If anything, Regis will settle on just being able to walk straight again.]

It's not exactly a wound but rather the effects of syphoning magic for too long. [The old king begin as he rubs his throbbing knee.] When the Old Wall fell and invasion seemed imminent, my father forged a magical wall comprised from the Light of the Crystal. The Crystal is the heart of our world, the Heart of Eos. Its powers are great but potentially deadly to mortal hands even with our covenant with the Gods.

[A tense sigh escapes Regis once a shot of agony raced up his leg.]

I know naught how to heal such a wound inflicted by magic. When King Morus fell, twas I who had to uphold the paling. The power of the Crystal stripped away my youth and aged my bones. I'm far older than I should be thanks to its malevolent magic, a price that all within my bloodline paid in full.

[Oh, now there's an interesting story. Though he longs for his home, Carlisle cannot help but enjoy the opportunity Hadriel grants him to learn about magic from other worlds. He's always been more of a scholar than a practitioner of other crafts, given healing is his only true talent. At least he's skilled in what he does, though magical wounds tend to be more complicated than those of the purely physical variety.]

I see.

[As he lets Regis get settled with his knee, Carlisle takes a seat himself and digs through his satchel, pulling out a few things: a mug, an empty jar, a piece of paper, an ink pen, and a bottle containing some leaves with curved thorns on the end. He fishes out a couple of leaves and tucks that bottle away before he starts tearing the thorns off. Accidentally drinking those would be just terrible.]

Are you a king, then?

[Try as he might not to seem the least bit curious, Regis can't help but peer at Carlisle with such intrigue once he opens the satchel. Just what manner of mage is this man? The young man almost reminds Regis of a 'witch doctor' of some sorts. Those strange leaves with the thorns upon them catch the king's attention quickly.

Is Carlisle making an elixir of some kind? Certainly seems that way. Regis never been one for potionlore or herbology, so he has no idea what the healer is doing. His study of magic always revolved around the elements and the Crystal itself.]

I am the King of Light, the One-Hundred and Thirteenth of the Lucis line, Guardian of the Crystal. [A pause.] Or rather I was prior to my death, murdered by the hands of my kingdom's foes. My son, Noctis, carries my name and legacy.

[He frowns a little.]

...Even if he sometimes wishes he didn't.

[While the full name may be a mouthful to some, it's actually a little comforting to Carlisle, who has a long list of them himself -- most of them not good. What faint smile he has at all the names vanishes as he learns this king is a former-king.]

Another brought here after his death. You are not the first like that.

[He sets aside the declawed leaves and gets his pen, using it to draw a series of circles, arcs, and sigils on the paper. It appears he's writing a glyph of some sort.]

The weight of lineage can be a heavy burden to bear.

A ghost like me should've stayed dead, Carlisle. [The old king murmurs as he leans against the cushions of the sofa. He looks weary from his thoughts, exhausted even. There's many thoughts that weigh heavily upon his soul but none heavier than the fate his son must endure.] There's no purpose for me here in this Den of Woe.

[A frustrated sigh passes through his lips once they linger upon the topic of Noctis. He averts his gaze from Carlisle and glances towards the windows ahead.]

Bear it he must for there will be no other. Noctis is the last true heir of the Lucian throne, the Chosen King destined by the Gods of our world. If the boy doesn't finally become a man, my sacrifice and that of others, would be for nothing.

[Carlisle's eyes flick from his work on the glyph to the despondent king, his own brow knitting. For as much as he abhors the necromancy the gods of Hadriel cast upon their captives, he cannot say he's not a little envious of someone who has been given more time with his family, even if only a brief period. His own life would have been so different if his own family hadn't fallen to the misfortune brought upon by his curse.]

Perhaps, then, it is best you aren't still dead. [He caps his pen, letting the glyph dry as he sets the leaves into the mug.] Perhaps there is purpose for you in granting him the guidance he needs to become a man with this time you have been given, however dreadful the circumstances may be.

[A sharp gasp escapes Regis once Carlisle's words start to sink in. Maybe instead of berating Noctis as he had done prior, maybe he should've shown the boy what it means to 'walk tall'. It's obvious that Noctis is terrified and as a father, Regis should've been more sympathetic to that. Noctis is terrified out his wits after losing everything and everyone he ever loved.

How could he not be the slightest bit sympathetic?]

You...[His voice feels so raw now, so hoarse.] You just might be right about that Carlisle. This is my chance, my only chance, to be with him. There will be no others.

[A mournful smile settles upon Regis' lips as he thinks of his son. It will pain him tremendously to say 'goodbye' to Noctis a second time. It's not something he's looking forward to, not at all.]

Your wise beyond your years, young man.

[After a brief flash of quiet surprise, a soft smile graces the clergyman. It feels good to help others with the burdens they bear, if only because it's what's he's used to. His devotion to his work, to his church and goddess, was all he had for a time, after all. It's only since his unintentional departure from Bear Den that he's found there's more for him, that he more reason to be alive than the sins for which he must make amends.

With the glyph on the page dry, he sets the mug atop it and conjures an orb of water, the globule hovering just over his palm before it falls into the cup. There's more in Regis' troubles that is familiar as well, though painfully so.]

I know what it is like to have lost a father.

[Regis' eyes widen with surprise once the healer conjurers up a near translucent globe of water seemingly out of nowhere. He stares at the globe for a moment before it suddenly splashes into the cup. The magic that this healer wields reminds him vaguely of his own.]

Do you? [A slightly pained expression lingers upon Regis' face momentarily.] I fear that the feeling is mutual. The Crystal claimed my father's life when I was young man around your age or so. I know Noctis feared the same but to know that I was murdered...

[He sighs quietly. The manner of his gruesome death still haunts him even now.]

[Carlisle can tell. For being a healer, he's not terribly warm on the gruesome details, and will just assume the worst when it comes to murder. Such a vile act is never clean in any sense of the word.]

He must be glad to have more time with you, as you were stolen away from him so cruelly.

[With all the ingredients in the mug, he places his fingers on it; the glyph lights up from the contact point for a moment, the water in the cup rapidly boiling. He keeps his fingers there, letting the tea steep.]

This Crystal, then -- would it have killed you eventually? If you don't mind my asking, of course. We have magical artifacts where I'm from, but nothing like that.

Edited 2017-02-21 05:10 (UTC)

I'm...glad as well.

[Regis mumbles quietly as he slowly clutches his chest. His heart aches just a little, undoubtedly caused by the mere mention of the scar upon his chest. That's where the sword pierced him, right through his noble heart. A slight whimper of a sigh escapes Regis briefly. He closes his eyes for a time.]

Yes. [The king mutters in a whisper as he opens his eyes.] In time, the Crystal would've drained the last of my life much like it killed my father and others before him.

[He looks to Carlisle in curiosity again. Just what is this healer conjuering? Regis is so intrigued.]

The Crystal is a powerful remnant of Eos' gift unto our world, her eternal blessing in tangible form.

[Carlisle's eyes flick to the older man, taking note of his aches elsewhere, his brow knitting in a moment of polite concern. What lingering effects are there from this Crystal, and were they worth the price paid? What if one wasn't capable of using it? Were all from his world born magicians?

So many questions, but he has work to do. He pulls his fingers from the glyph and the light fades, the tea cooling as the ink on the page evaporates away.]

It's easier if there are less layers between the point of contact, so if you don't mind, ah. Baring your leg, that would help.

[He's clearly not keen on asking people to undress in any way, given how many layers he has on himself. He removes the fingerless gloves he's wearing.]

Tell me of your goddess. Why did she bless you with such a powerful and dangerous gift?

Ah, of course.

[The suggestion serves as a mild distraction from the agony that haunts Regis. Even though he's been revived, the fickle deities of this realm didn't revive him completely anew. The aches of yesteryear lingers upon his fragile form. He's weaker than ever before physically but his affinity to magic seems strong. Quite the oddity.]

[It only takes Regis a moment to unbuckle his boot and roll up his the right leg of his trousers. There's a old medium size scar that lingers upon his knee, perhaps an injury the king endured a lifetime ago. He used to fight upon the front lines.]

The Starscourge. [Regis explains as he rests his head against the gentle cushion behind him.] It began when Eos herself fell into Darkness.

The Starscourge festered upon her corpse when the Pyreburner found her. Upon his dying breath, Ifrit rescued what was left of our Goddess and carried her to place unknown to mortals at the time; Owlyss Haven. There he laid her upon the pyre and burned her remains. By then, the sickness had spread to the Lord of Fire and he too become infected by this plague he wrought upon us.

[He pauses briefly as he recants this old tale from memory. Certain bits and pieces of this story is skewed because of the many who told it but this is the bulk of what Regis learned in his youth.]

Had it not been for Bahamut the Draconian, King of Dragons; humanity would've never gained the Crystal from Eos' burnt remains. The Crystal was a gift to the House of Lucis because our affinity to magic. We were the ones closest to Eos and the only ones who bathed in her divinty. Bahamut watched over the Lucian Kings through the Heart of the Crystal. The Divine lend us their guidance in the form of Messengers, so we could combat what they couldn't fight...the Starscourge.

Edited 2017-02-22 04:48 (UTC)

[Carlisle examines the scar as he listens, adjusting his glasses. He's seen his fair share of scars, bearing a few himself beneath his religious vestments; however, this is something more akin to what a warrior might bear. Magical wounds are funny like that sometimes, though -- the worst of them lies beneath the skin, preying upon an individual's health in a way that can go undetected by the untrained eye.]

Such a beneficial relationship you have with these deities, where you depend upon one another. My own goddess can be very aloof to those who serve her, but our duty is an important one, as you will see for yourself.

[He scoots his chair closer as he continues his explanation. He has more questions, but work first.]

Just a note -- you're going to feel a slight burning sensation as I channel into you. Perfectly normal, nothing to worry about, though given you have a proclivity for magic, you might be more aware of it than others. It's not often these days that I heal someone with any kind of talent for magic, as most here come from worlds completely devoid of it.

[A slight laugh escapes Regis but it's a humorless one that beguiles his bitterness.]

The Gods only sought a mortal's aid when they realized they couldn't defeat the Starscourge on their own. They still hold to their loftiness since they were the ones who entrapped our Goddess within the bleakness of night.

[Regis shakes his head slowly in mild disgust. The deities of his world are just as cruel as the ones here. He's starting to realize this truth. His faith in the Divine has always been challenged but more so nowadays.]

Worry not about me, Carlisle. I can handle a little bit of pain.

[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.]

Edited 2017-02-25 09:36 (UTC)

[A faint hiss escapes Regis once the stinging intensifies. No stranger to pain and certainly accustomed to agony, Regis could feel the healer's magic seep deep within his flesh in a valiant attempt to draw out the impurities of his wound. It hurts quite a bit. The old king is slightly taken back by the agony and it shows upon his aged face. His brow is knitted together in discomfort and his lips sullen downward into a mighty frown.

The slight jolt of energy that flows into him from Carlisle's hands causes the king to recline some in worry. This is the first time he relied on such foreign magic and Regis is on edge. His mana flares subconsciously in warning to the invading entity that lingers within giving Regis the faintest hint of light around him. His magical aura always been quite white and airy, much like celestial glimmer of the moon. While he knows Carlisle means no harm, Regis is still on edge. He's had one too many attempts at his life not to be wary.

Once the remnant of the Crystal's malady is cleansed from him, Regis drops his guard at last and sighs. A wave of relief rushes through the elderly king once the worst of this session is done. He gives Carlisle a rare smile, a token of his sincere appreciation. However, that quickly changes once the healer starts mending the flesh and bone itself. A sharp hiss of discomfort escapes Regis once he feels every nerve and muscle being meticulously mended into place. He sighs deeply and leans against the cushions of the couch more as he forces his eyes closed.

It hurts that damn much!

Once all is said and done, Regis is jolted out his reprieve when Carlisle starts coughing a little. It's a choking sound that catches Regis off guard. His hand rests upon the healer's shoulder out of worry. While he's ignorant as of how this kind of healing technique works, Regis is worried for Carlisle's health. He knows that healing the wounds of others can be a tad difficult at best.]

[Carlisle holds up a hand as Regis places one on his shoulder, a gesture to signal that he's all right -- he just needs a moment. When given a brief reprieve from his hacking -- it does indeed sound more on the choking end than a simple tickle in his throat -- he rasps out a few words.]

Try it out. [His fingers curl, and he wonders if he should go for the empty jar, or the tea first.] Couldn't fully repair it at the moment, but— [probably the jar] —I can come back another day, if that is not adequate. Old wounds take a bit more energy to mend.

[Regis eases his hand off of Carlisle's shoulder hesitantly. It seems that the healer is anything other than "fine" but Regis won't coddle him. He gives the young man a skeptical look before glancing back at his leg.]

The pain is no longer there. [The old king mutters as he rubs his fingers along his knee.] Even for partly healed, I must say I'm somewhat impressed.

[After a few stretches here and there, Regis rolls down his pants leg and attempts to stand. There's no immediate pain or any indication of that awful limp from earlier. For the first timr in a long time, Regis Lucis Caelum stands tall.]

Edited 2017-03-08 00:29 (UTC)

[Despite his coughing, Carlisle smiles at that response, reveling in the results of his craft.]

I suppose I'll call that a success, then. I'm frankly surprised you were able to tolerate the wound at all, given what a mess it was.

[He stifles another cough and, despite his earlier inclination, goes for the tea, downing it all in one go. Better to get it into his system and dulling the stiffness that overtakes his joints before the ink starts coming up.]

XOqNI

[voice] → [action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

/mild headcanon territory, this part is a theory at best

Awwww yessss. Lay it on me.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject