The Thyrsus fidgets uncomfortably. He didn't like any of it.
"Vector seemed to have the most direct involvement." The name comes out with no small amount of venom. "Asian mage, for all the help that is. Very skilled with Prime and Forces."
"Some sort of taint in his fingertips. Just like the tass. It feels similar to magic, but not quite." More nervous movements. The next words come out hesitantly, with a hint of fear. "Probably abyssal, from everything else we know."
And then another nervous thought. Cook had been hit the hardest, but they'd all felt it. And that meant ... what exactly? He didn't want to find out, but he had to know. Eyes flick between the others, searching with a creeping dread.
What's the prognosis?