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Jarod's hands ached as did his knees, but the need to finish was greater than the pain.  The fat piece of chalk slipped from his fingers again and again and he finally gripped it with both hands, knees digging into the stone floor as he leaned forward to complete the diagram.  Jarod finally sank to his right hip, the last sigil in place, and stretched his legs out carefully, avoiding smudging the drawing.  A greater ache began in his stomach when he thought of the night to come; the night where he would perform the high magic needed to complete the spell.  It made his already tired body and mind sink into an agony of weary dread.  Anticipating pain and knowing there was no way to avoid it and, even more than that, willingly inflicting it upon oneself was worse than the act itself.