Ignatius is in a state of barely consciousness, so overwhelmed with pushing back against the elemental misalignment that he can only hazily glance through cracked open eyes as Peridot taps on him. He senses the warmth of the blanket, and he senses the presence of others, but right now he's so focused on maintaining his presence of will that he can't really do anything about it.
Creation isn't always obvious when it works, or how it works. When it comes to responding to requests, it doesn't pay much attention to specific wording, and instead to intent, and flows with the path of nature to make it happen. Healing, strengthening, stopping pain. Those are all things it can be used for in great effect. Sometimes, though, a heavier and more obvious hand is needed.
Everyone in the area will feel Creation's presence, then - like a holy ghost that flickers between them, until it settles into its target. Ignatius's skin will start to glow more vibrantly again, but differently - in a flash of blue, and then a flash of red. What is perhaps unexpected, of course, is the fact that Ignatius cries out as it takes hold.
He rolls around beneath the blanket like he's sweating out a terrible fever, turning onto his front and bracing his hands against the ground as he tries to keep himself steady, muscles straining. Finally, it's all he can manage to say:
no subject
Creation isn't always obvious when it works, or how it works. When it comes to responding to requests, it doesn't pay much attention to specific wording, and instead to intent, and flows with the path of nature to make it happen. Healing, strengthening, stopping pain. Those are all things it can be used for in great effect. Sometimes, though, a heavier and more obvious hand is needed.
Everyone in the area will feel Creation's presence, then - like a holy ghost that flickers between them, until it settles into its target. Ignatius's skin will start to glow more vibrantly again, but differently - in a flash of blue, and then a flash of red. What is perhaps unexpected, of course, is the fact that Ignatius cries out as it takes hold.
He rolls around beneath the blanket like he's sweating out a terrible fever, turning onto his front and bracing his hands against the ground as he tries to keep himself steady, muscles straining. Finally, it's all he can manage to say:
"Get back," he breathes. "I can't..."