The spell took away all of her strength, and she fell.
The ice broke right away. Valthor broke free and charged again.
Lylia caught Seraphine before she hit the ground and pulled her to safety. The mage was still alive, but barely, and she was covered in frost from head to toe.
Mana exhaustion caused it, not death, and that's close enough in real life.
But she had said it. She finally said what she had been holding back for months.
The defensive formation was falling apart because Seraphine was down. Now, no one was stopping Kael'thas from walking toward Greg.
Her divine forge-fire constructs cleared the way.
Elwen was in the middle of them.
She didn't have any weapons left. There are no more spells left. Not much defensive magic. It was just her and a choice that had been made two hundred years ago.
She reached into her family's history, which was a bloodline connection to every weapon her ancestors had made.
Sword of Seven Sorrows.
Bow of Silent Death.
