"Cisth, you are new," Carlisle utters, his hands moving to the last puncture in his leg. The massive thorns got him tightly there, but just like the others, it's there when he places his hand over it and gone when he removes it.

"No one is 'from here,'" he clarifies, getting to his feet now that his leg is fully mended -- his pants, unfortunately, are still a complete mess, one leg filled with holes and tears where the plant got a hold of him. "We were all brought here, spirited away to be used as food for the beings who rule this place. And for the record, no, most humans don't usually have their injuries heal up on their own, and mine weren't doing that to begin with. I was healing them."

He'd thought his being clergy would be answer enough for his abilities, but he has to remember that they are from different worlds, and some have no magic at all, no matter how strange that may sound.