Neverwinter Forest What the feck

Ganon stood up slowly, wrestling with himself for control over his actions. He had not yet noticed Astara following him — he was too focused on dispelling the curse that had latched onto his psyche. He had not found any stone to concentrate his energies onto, so he casted weak spells almost daily in order to free his mind. Of all of the things that his mother had taught him, magic was the only thing he truly clung on to. It was the only thing that he knew worked — if the Gods existed, they were fickle and uncaring, unworthy of his worship.

But it required energy. Focus. Concentration. There was only so much a single being could do — that's why he needed a stone, something to channel his energy. In the Woods the magic was so strong it required little to no effort, elsewhere he felt it weaken, but he never felt this helpless. This curse, or whatever it was, was strong. It oppressed him constantly. 

He bowed his head and began to murmur the words, the phrases coming second nature after days of repeating and repeating.