The sting of a new scar hissed through Y'orhen's teeth as a salve was applied to the wounded area. It was a common sound for one in their profession, but the Hyuran medic still felt the need to apologize for the discomfort. Y'orhen shook his head, dismissing the man's worry.
"'Tis no fault of your own. I was reckless in my own way, and now I'm paying for it." He chuckled in a somewhat wry manner. "You'd think by now I wouldn't throw myself so carelessly into such situations."
The medic had no comment for him, though as Y'orhen inspected the site of his scar - on the upper half of his bicep, right before it meets his shoulder - he clicks his tongue with disappointment. "Ah, that's unfortunate."
"W-what is, sir?" His comment was under his breath, but the young Hyuran man that was tending to him couldn't help but overhear, so close was he to the Miqo'te's words. Y'orhen's ears flickered bashfully as he realized he was overheard, but he decided to go ahead and explain himself anyway.
"Ah, I'm just going to have to get my ink re-applied, you see." He reached over gingerly, wincing slightly as the stretch pulled at his wounded tissue. He pointed out the ring of arcane lettering that wrapped around his upper arm, intersecting with a more sweeping stroke that connected to a circular, geometric design. The sweeping, almost feathered hook was slashed across by the cut that was being tended to. The medic seemed almost transfixed by the imagery, curiosity boiling behind his dusky eyes.
"You want to know what they're for, don't you?" Y'orhen asked matter-of-factly, a comforting grin pulling at his cheeks as he regarded the man - who had jumped slightly at the callout, as if caught stealing pastries from the communal jar. He ultimately nodded though, his curiosity overpowering his momentary embarrassment, and Y'orhen nodded in kind.
"I'm sure you've heard of the Arcanist's Guild, yeah? It's rather prominent here in Limsa, so I'd be surprised if you hadn't at least heard of it in passing." He paused for the medic to nod in response, and continued. "Well, these tattoos are a sort of runic formula similar to the ones they use to summon Carbuncle. Though, instead of summoning a semi-sentient creature, I use these to form tools. Or weapons, more like." He raised his non-injured arm, looking at the scrawlings inked into his forearm. "In Arcanima, a circle is the most stable shape. Everything that matters is built upon the foundations of a circle. Whether it be a solid circle -" he brought his arm around his chest to point at a circular design on the outer half of his bicep, "or simply the shape of one -" he traced his finger around the ring of runes that circled his upper arm - the identical twin of the tattoo on his injured arm, minus the slash wound. "This ideal of stability is why summoned constructs are so resilient, and why any arcane geometries that aren't circles tend to be connected to them." He looks back over at his other arm, where the long stroke was severed from its connection to the circle. "If that connection is severed, the formula becomes unstable and unpredictable."
"So... Do you just re-apply your tattoos as they wear out with age?" The question came from the medic unbidden, but Y'ronan smiled as he answered anyway. He always did have a soft spot for the curious.
"Aye, as the ink ages and becomes less solid, I must essentially get tattooed again. Thankfully, I don't need to get it all done at once like the first time..." His body reflexively tensed and shivered slightly at the memory. "...Painful. But worth every moment." As if to demonstrate, Y'orhen lifted his right, un-wounded arm, and the ink began to glow, until an image of the same runes projected themselves outward, hovering about two inches away from his skin. Then, the aether of those projections broke apart, as if shattering, and converged on the palm of his hand, crystallizing together into the shape of a rough, unrefined knife. The Hyur's eyes widened in awe - it was a reaction common to Y'orhen, especially when he broke out that trick - but he still felt the need to explain. "Where Carbuncle use the natural aetheric geometry of gemstones to anchor their physical forms, I use my body's own aether, with these tattoos lending their geometry to the form." Demonstrating once more, he dropped the crude knife, and though the fall was brief and soft, it still shattered into a thousand pieces of aether as it hit the ground, unanchored from its host as it was.
