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The unconscious dwarf’s buddies withdrew their binding hands from their comrade. Some of them glanced to each other nervously, and one of them even stared questioningly at the dracon. “Uh…doc? What’s happenin’?” He asked again, suspicion suddenly creeping into his voice. No one could disclaim Dravol’s spell; it had worked a miracle upon the dwarf’s leg, but why was he unconscious then? Had something gone wrong? As most dwarves despised magic and some even held it in contempt, it was clear who they would hold for blame if something happened to their friend.
After clearing his mind of his apprehension, Dravol would be able to enter clara. The realm of the Astral Plane descended upon him, revealing the magical world in all its glory. Every object, both living and not, radiated an energy that scholarly mage’s had defined as vis. An object or person’s vis was another’s ara, and this was exactly what Dravol would see. Each of the dwarves emanated a field of energy, much of which was presented in various hues such as red, blue, green, and yellow. The nearest dwarf was surrounded by it in abundance, precisely as other creatures that Dravol had interacted with previously.
Most peculiarly, though, was the wounded dwarf himself. He glowed a soft green, but the intensity of the light surrounding him was not nearly as vibrant as the other dwarves.
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