"Let me teach you what the Fangs of Death does to men like you."
With a flick of an elongated fingernail, Nyrielle spilled a drop of blood from the tip of a finger before flicking the drop of blood across the room where it sailed toward one of Hamdi's many open wounds.
"Blood Curse: Lethargy," Nyrielle intoned, filling the drop of blood with a swirl of dark crimson energy just before it spattered against the wound on Hamdi's chest. Instantly, the rich, bloody energy burrowed into his flesh like maggots, drilling into his mussels and leeching strength from his limbs.
Hamdi's knees buckled and he slammed the point of his heavy-bladed sword into the floor, piercing through the thick rug beneath his feet and sinking more than three inches into the stone beneath it before his blade bound and he leaned on it like a cane, holding himself up with what little strength remained in his body as he struggled to resist Nyrielle's insidious curse.
