Noting the failed attempts of the vast majority of his needles to incapacitate the foes coming for his allies—and him if they could manage it—Lhirin swore quietly under his breath. Silver eyes flashing from one divine-possessed vessel to the next—both ghoul and wraith alike—Lhirin realized that perhaps he had slightly overextended himself early. Gritting his teeth, the Deigan mage—now feeling the exceptionally unpleasant effects of the second stage of magical exhaustion— swallowed hard, noting the soreness in his throat and the ever-so-faint aching of his lungs. With a shuddered breath he nonetheless focused himself, moving despite the heaviness in his limbs.
He was not nearly done, but he couldn’t waste much more—if any—energy on the current encounter. That considered, Lhirin recalled his needles—excepting those in the table wraith that Freagon was slaying. Almost all of them streaked through the air and placed themselves back in his pouch, all but one. With that remaining needle, Lhirin narrowed his focus, firing it from its position on the ground, over the upstairs banisters, across the room, and into the body of one of the ghouls coming down the eastern (right) stairway. The needle—if it met its mark—would slip upwards from the ground and into the gut of one of the ghouls. Carrying its momentum through the body, the needle would pierce upwards into the body, disappearing entirely into the flesh, before finally coming to a stop with its tip through the spine below the neck, but above the shoulder blades. In its position it would be impossible to get to without the ghoul ripping into their own body to get at it—which would cause far more damage than the needle itself had done.
If successful, Lhirin would release Magnetic Field completely and turn, putting his back to Jordan and Nabi to face the two ghouls on the eastern stairway. Hopefully, one of them would be disabled from the neck down, leaving only one of them for him to dispatch.