[hr][hr][h1][color=39b54a][center]Karlus Marsh[/center][/color][/h1][hr][hr]
The use of magic was always draining up the user, this is a fact known my all scholars and mages. Every mage only had so much power they might draw upon at a given time. There are ways to enhance one's capacity, the potion known as Caster's Milk being one of the more common, but ultimately all mages are limited by their strength of their own innate magic. 

The lesser effects of expending magic are no different from expending other forms of energy. It begins with a tiredness, a weariness in the limbs. It makes one's thoughts run slow, causes the eyelids to grow heavy and droop. When a mage expends too much of their innate magic, these effects worsen. Overextending one's capabilities leads to cold sweats, painful headaches, shortness of breath, muscle spasms, leading to loss of consciousness, and in some cases, even death.

But there is another side to the use of magic. It drains, but so do does it invigorate. With the use of great power, some mages say there is a feeling of elation, a euphoria that is indescribable to those who have not experienced it for themselves. Like the flush of endorphins the athlete knows, or the rush of adrenaline the fighter makes use of in battle. A high that comes before the low, before the potentially fatal costs. In that case, is it any wonder some mages have been known to destroy themselves in pursuit of ever greater magic?

Karlus was sat on a bench at the back of the treatment room, feeling the after effects of his own use of magic. He felt tired, but pleasantly so, satisfyingly tired even. The joy of letting his power flow through him and into Arlo was fading, but the end of the warm glow it left behind was still there just. He enjoyed the feeling while he could. It had been a long time since he had been able to use his magic so freely. It was nice, despite the circumstances.

His reverie, however, was short lived, as a figure emerged into the ward through the curtains that hung over the doorway. Karlus immediately snapped back to being alert and shrank back into himself. But it seemed to be alright, whoever he was Aemma was dealing with him. Karlus just made himself small at the back of room, surreptitiously watched the newcomer through his lowered eyes. 

He was young, he couldn't be much older than Karlus himself. A little taller maybe, and more robust, though still lithe. He was dark where Karlus was fair though, both his hair and his tanned skin. The biggest difference between them was how he carried himself though, there was a sense of assuredness, of confidence, in the way that the young man moved. His accent was Viscellean, but well spoken, he was educated, perhaps even noble born. His name was Sacha it seemed, that sounded familiar for some reason.

Karlus watched as he approached Arlo, and he could not help but feel his lips curl up ever so slightly when Sacha exclaimed his incredulity at Karlus's magic. It quickly faded as Aemma directed the young man's attention to where he had been quietly sitting at the back of the room. He averted his gaze, but not before catching the look of surprise on Sacha's face. It did not surprise him, people had always underestimated him. 

But what Aemma said next made him glance up again. Sacha intervened in the initiation.[i] Sacha, that was the name the Knight Captain had used earlier, that's where I recognised it from.[/i] He studied him once again with his vibrant green eyes, half hidden behind white-blonde hair. When he answered, his voice was soft, and low. 

[b][color=39b54a]"Don't apologise."[/color][/b] There was a moment's hesitation before Karlus continued. [b][color=39b54a]"You don't have anything to be sorry for... you must have a kind heart. To help him, I mean."[/color][/b]

He pointed at the still, bandaged form of Arlo, lying atop the table. As he did so, the sleeve of his shirt rode up his arm slightly, exposing the raw damaged skin at his wrist, from where he had been so recently bound and shackled.