A magical effect blocks access to spellcasting. It suppresses the ability, not a spendable mana pool.

Your muscles lock rigid as stone, every limb frozen in place by a surge of arcane energy or a paralyzing toxin. You cannot so much as twitch a finger. The world moves around you—blades swinging, spells flying—while you remain a statuesque target, utterly defenseless.

A creeping grayness spreads across your skin, hardening flesh to cold, unyielding stone. Your last conscious thought is of terror as the mineral creep seals your eyes, your mouth, your very being. You become a monument to your own fear—an inert statue until brave hands can undo the curse.

Your mana pathways sear with agonizing heat every time you channel power. Each spell you cast sends white-hot pain lancing through your body, as though your very essence is being scorched from within. The temptation to cast grows ever more dangerous, for every invocation is a gamble with your own life force.