Mages ought to wear robes

The Tavern

"Ever wondered how is it that almost every mage you see prefers a light robe over some heavyplate? Ones that are still alive, at least..." Cryo began, talking to noone in particular, sitting by the counter of an inn that he stumbled upon. There were some differences to his usual self that day.

His armour of dark steel was covered top to bottom in white frost. The ice cracked with every move he made, the stool he sat upon also frozen. As he grabbed his tankard of warm mead the cup was engulfed in white, the liquid cold as it finally began pouring down his throat."Aye, I 'ave. Why'd those spellslingers never protect themselves against some solid blades? Too cocky for it?" A burly barbarian from a couple of seats away answered, turning to watch the hooded man.

"What would you prefer, to burn some cloth or get covered in molten steel? I suppose the latter not many would pick. I have only recently thought of a good way of explaining a certain phenomenon to non-mages. What most call overloading. A mage has his limits in a certain school, that's obvious. But there are many ways to... Bend those limits. To take in far more power than you should be able to. Everything comes at a price though, ain't that right?

Magic comes to living creatures as metal to magnets. Some outright reject it, some are more prone to take it in, but overall the differences are small. An archmage can attract just as much as a random boy with the right genes. What really makes the strongest mages that powerful is their ability to overload. They can force their bodies to create a far greater attraction of power, thus gaining the force that noone else would match. The toll it takes is their bodies though. If a fire mage needs to get out of a very tight situation and has to go with that risky method they can end up anywhere from perfectly fine to scorched to ashes. An ice mage could quite literally blow up was his blood to solidify.

Some of us have quite the advantage. Fire is quite dangerous to a dry corpse, but the lack of senses provides us with the ability to go further down the overloading pit as far as ice is concerned. At a certain point the magic becomes so pure that even we feel the great price though. What you see on me now is not a planned aura. It's me repaying my debt to the world. I was in dire need of help and thus had to go far over the edge. Someone such as me having almost frozen to undeath just a few days ago. Some sorts of cold bite through to your mind, overcoming the body. It finds your spirit and stabs right through it with icicles.
I have to admit, the foe I faced that day was a worthy opponent. It had been decades since I last had such an even match. Wanna guess what was his mistake?" The lich turned to the barbarian finally, his pale skin proving him to be gone from the world of living for many years.

"Uhhh... You began with robes and armours..." Came the answer.

"Exactly. It's quite satisfying to see your foe aflame when you know you can barely go further. Since the price was set already I made sure that his molten armour would cover him into a neat statue and froze him that way. A true warrior's burial, won't you agree?" The smile stretching the lips of the lich was very unsettling.

No other words, save for a few more orders, were spoken that evening.