“I pray thee rest, that your pain may end.”
The Physic ministers healing via ichomancy, a magick that channels the blood’s own innate properties. It’s an obscure school of voyancy that is not fully understood, but about which the Physic is passionate.
An identical vertical incision down the belly of both healer and patient, linked by the wound, allows both to draw from a larger shared pool.
An exquisite cut between certain vertebrae to prevent further healing. A cruelty, to be sure, but is not all life an endurance of cruelties great and small until we are returned to the dark?
When rosy flesh becomes pallid, and the eye’s sclera withers to pale grey, the final ritual may be performed.
The Physic has trained to shun that fear which seizes mortal hands, ere considered a boon to his loathsome tasks. But the dearth of terror in his cold veins angers the Vivisectum; for Fear is its victual, and where none may be found, pain must be supplied in its stead.
The pain is empty, empty; it sustains neither god nor supplicant. Yet the god still demands this hollow recompense, and the Physic provides. O how he provides! How generous a servant the god has found in the Physic! How his wretched corpus expresses agony in illimitable measure! Every faculty and nerve torn from its original aspect, and restruck into a resonating bell of torment — towers, walls, crimson paths erupt from that rippling skein of bloodless flesh — a city! A city of worship! A peopled metropolis whose edifices contort and twist and writhe in unholy supplication; its thousand voices wail a single dissonant hymn of disease; the flayed city dances, dervish-like; its desperate labors heaped in vain upon the forgotten altar of a blind and deaf god, possessing only — composed of only — a single mouth through which it must feed, but can only scream.
Opponents within AOE radius are slowed and take additional voyance damage for 10 seconds.