As befitting his reputation, Deimos didn't hesitate to unleash his magic once Jigano was braced for it. It wasn't a sword's slash so much as grasping bony fingers of cold and weakness, a lethargy that clawed at his limbs and tried to wrap around his heart and lungs. It was stronger now than it had been the last time he'd felt it, but though last time he had been helpless to resist, this time he was prepared. His healing magic expanded within his chest, easing the strain on his organs before pushing back the darkness that nipped and dragged at his arms and legs. The feeling of vitality draining out of him like water slowed to a trickle, though it didn't stop entirely, and the bard swayed in place as he fought to hold his own against what he had already lost.
"Gods least fortunate," he swore through gritted teeth. "It feels like... like being grabbed by a corpse pulling me into its grave. Or hugged by a ghoul. Damn that's unpleasant. What does it feel like to cast it?" Because though Deimos might have found strength in silence, Jigano sought distraction from the discomfort, and succor in greater understanding of what was happening to him. It might help him counter it, if he knew how Deimos's magic operated... or it might just give him something else to think about than the way his fingers and toes were tingling unpleasantly and starting to go numb at the tips.
"Gods least fortunate," he swore through gritted teeth. "It feels like... like being grabbed by a corpse pulling me into its grave. Or hugged by a ghoul. Damn that's unpleasant. What does it feel like to cast it?" Because though Deimos might have found strength in silence, Jigano sought distraction from the discomfort, and succor in greater understanding of what was happening to him. It might help him counter it, if he knew how Deimos's magic operated... or it might just give him something else to think about than the way his fingers and toes were tingling unpleasantly and starting to go numb at the tips.
