I took the below notes from a young malos nicknamed "Mj". His mood wasn't the best, but some shooki liquor soothes anyone's problems...
I'm a healer.
That doesn't mean I sometimes put on my fancy amps, throw a spell at you, and call it a day. Nonono, no sir. You see, healing's a queer job to do full time.
They call me to battle, and I go. A healer is like a replenishing fountain with pure waters - no matter how close to death you may be, you shall be called back. Your life may hang by a thread. You may only have a sliver of sap left. No matter, no matter, you will be made whole again. Again, and again, so many times that you'll forget the breath of Emptiness when your time is running out.
And yet, it's a strange job, to heal. I make my own spells, of course. Some feel like hugs, needing close distance and a lot of time to throw. They're the best to give.
But in battle, there is no time to wait. I must summon a great strength of will, and give my life force away just so that a fighter lives a few more seconds. And, in giving them that, I chip away at my own health and sap - often times, bludgeoned into a coma right after releasing a spell. It's liberating, oh so liberating, so never fix on a target. The field of battle is the bittersweet place where you see your loved ones hurt - and you get to pry them away from the cold hands of the Void.
I've talked to other healers, too, they've all felt this. That sensation of giving life, of creating a wondrous thing - doing away with your own, fading with a sigh, satisfied someone else may carry on your fight. This is how the Fyros have endured, you know? Security isn't only in the strength to swing a Clevenyx.
Do you ever feel .. of course you don't, you never leave Pyr except with rare occasions. But I'll tell you what - I could be with only one another priest, or guardian. And I will never be afraid for my life. Water and security. I could be in the great vastness of the Outlaw Canyon, and feel ... safe.
Write it, do write all of it, for those who may yet come and learn.
with a wave of the hand, I was dismissed, and he nodded off to sleep...
I'm a healer.
That doesn't mean I sometimes put on my fancy amps, throw a spell at you, and call it a day. Nonono, no sir. You see, healing's a queer job to do full time.
They call me to battle, and I go. A healer is like a replenishing fountain with pure waters - no matter how close to death you may be, you shall be called back. Your life may hang by a thread. You may only have a sliver of sap left. No matter, no matter, you will be made whole again. Again, and again, so many times that you'll forget the breath of Emptiness when your time is running out.
And yet, it's a strange job, to heal. I make my own spells, of course. Some feel like hugs, needing close distance and a lot of time to throw. They're the best to give.
But in battle, there is no time to wait. I must summon a great strength of will, and give my life force away just so that a fighter lives a few more seconds. And, in giving them that, I chip away at my own health and sap - often times, bludgeoned into a coma right after releasing a spell. It's liberating, oh so liberating, so never fix on a target. The field of battle is the bittersweet place where you see your loved ones hurt - and you get to pry them away from the cold hands of the Void.
I've talked to other healers, too, they've all felt this. That sensation of giving life, of creating a wondrous thing - doing away with your own, fading with a sigh, satisfied someone else may carry on your fight. This is how the Fyros have endured, you know? Security isn't only in the strength to swing a Clevenyx.
Do you ever feel .. of course you don't, you never leave Pyr except with rare occasions. But I'll tell you what - I could be with only one another priest, or guardian. And I will never be afraid for my life. Water and security. I could be in the great vastness of the Outlaw Canyon, and feel ... safe.
Write it, do write all of it, for those who may yet come and learn.
with a wave of the hand, I was dismissed, and he nodded off to sleep...
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Xyan Palteus, unofficial scribe