[WP] "I hadn't expected that to work."

...

It took eight years for a talented mage to learn the healing arts of the white path.

First, one would need to prove themselves worthy in their affinity of the subject. The most traditional method was studying beneath a trained and practiced Master of the arts, picking from a list of those who would deem the applicant acceptable. This often involved a great sum of money and risk, as for a full year one would need to study from dusty books and ledgers under watchful eyes, having their knowledge tested and confirmed on strict guidelines. If a student did not find themselves rising to meet their Master's standards during this period, they might easily find themselves thrown back out on the streets a failure with their pockets now empty; spent on a wasted investment.

In this way, eight years might easily slip and turn into nine or ten- or even more, but for those with the skill and constitution needed, an aspiring Healer might carry on.

Once they were deemed acceptable by renowned Master for learning and mastering the basics, the student might continue on learning the flows and channels of the white mana- beginning to apply the knowledge from the texts and diagrams of the body. Work upon Cadavers might begin in this time, practicing the arts on non-living flesh before moving to help those upon the city streets under strict watch and tutelage.

Healing the vessels and aliments of the blood took one year, muscles another, and bones another still: But it was the organs of the body that took the longest time. Healing a heart, a stomach, or the dreaded smaller organs of uncertain function: These were was truly troubled the great Mages of White Magics, for knowing the intricacies of the body in all its aspects was not only difficult- but sometimes impossible.

Healing all at once was the work of legends.

That kind of magics was attributed only to the Great Sages, the Holy Leaders of the Church and its rigorous Masters of specialty- Wise old Priests who focused their learning solely on individual portions of the human body to know all that might be possible. Great men who might heal even a fatal piercing of the heart- should they reach the stricken in time.

As Falazar lifted his hands from the wounded man before him, he wondered if the task he'd just accomplished might have aspired to an equal measure of that greatness. Three deep wounds, through skin, muscle, vessels, and organs alike. Horrible and rounded things, ripping more than cutting in their entry and removal.

Injuries of almost certain death out in a field of battle, now miraculously healed beneath the guidance of his own two hands.

"I hadn't expected that to work." The healer leaned backwards with a heavy sigh of relief. Three deep stabs to the abdomen, well known as some of the most difficult of injuries to treat, and yet the blood covered patient was finally breathing steady. "But it is done."

As Falazar let a shaking hand rise to wipe the sweat away from his brow, the soft sound of a single pair of hands began to rally. First one, then two, then more as those who had watched him in the work began embracing a rounding applause. As his eyes lifted from the wounded man, only then did he realize how many people had gathered.

The cheered of victory, and his spirits bolstered. Falazar had done it, somehow. He'd done the impossible, and for all his considerations of how, he'd come up with little.

Quietly, the wounded man lay sleeping, head resting on his companion's knees, hand held quietly by another- the young boy who ran to retrieve Falazar in the first place. A strange trio to be certain, a cursed Elf and an adolescent that was almost certainly some mixed breed of a different sort, rallied beside the youngest battlemage the healer had ever seen.

A foreigner for certain, that was recognized the moment his hands set upon the man's skin and the flow of magics delved deep into the tissue below. Falazar had been surprised to find that the made Mage hardly seemed to possess the smallest ounce of passive magics, barely enough for a small spell- yet that tiny glimmer of mana fed Falazar as he worked all along.

Like a glass that poured without emptying, the Mage's energy passed along all throughout the final moments of the procedure as if an endless well. As Falazar's exhaustion loomed, he grabbed hold of that unfamiliar current, using it in his own magic's stead. The healer knew that without such bizarre reserve of strength, it was certain beyond any doubt that the Mage would be dead.

Slowly, hands pressing around sore knees as Falazar rose, crowds applause growing silent as they watched him- many now aware of the serious expression upon his face. Perhaps they wondered at his thoughts: If news might still turn grim or perhaps if he'd only bought the man time.

Instead, Falazar let the powers of healing spark to life in his open hands, a quiet show of brilliance as he shouted. "What are you waiting for? Bring me to another! I still have some strength!"

Deep in the blackened lands beyond the Holy Walls, on a day of bloodshed and hard-won victory: The cheers of men erupted once more.