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Firewing Point.
("We've been asked in particular, as Cressidha here's the eminent arcane expert of our two squads. We shall defer to her mastery from here on out.")
"How's it look, Cressidha?" asks Silvestre.
The mana bomb looks deceptively benign. Cressidha is no engineer, but she can put two and two together. It isn't full, but it still has power in it. When she reads off these codes, the detonation sequence will begin.
Ben directs Sir Gavynn and Silvestre to watch for reinforcements, as Cressidha studies the codes. Every second she takes is time for those reinforcements to rally.
"So. It's not fully charged, not even close. I think it's on a timer. It's not a long timer." Cressidha isn't even certain about the timer.
"So we trigger and run?" Silvestre suggests.
"I don't think the blast will reach far beyond this outpost, possibly not even beyond this courtyard," Cressidha says with more hope than certainty. Can they tell?
"How much time we got to run?" Ben asks. "Any idea?"
Cressidha studies the mana bomb some more. It's round. It's partially full. It does not look particularly lethal.
(Soggy fur in the moonwell. A druid's corpse. No one's pulled it out.)
"A Blessing of Protection from Sir Gavynn might be enough for me to set it off and survive even if I can't get out in time. Five seconds, maybe?" It's a guess. She's guessing.
"And I can shield you too," Ismene says. "Never too many."
"Say when," Gavynn says, raising a hand.
"Everyone off to a side while she does it," Ben tells the others, and they back out of the yard together.
Ismene hesitates. "Light see you safely through, Cressidha," she prays, and Cressidha feels the warmth of the Light bloom around her in a protective shield.
They believe her. They have faith in her. They're risking their lives, staying this close. The one in the Cenarion Thicket hit a much wider radius. But that one would have been full. This one definitely isn't even close to being full.
"Get ready to run," Cressidha warns the others, and layers her own ice barrier on top of it.
("For one thing, I can not afford to lose the brain of this operation.")
Cressidha looks down at the paper in her hands. She reads.
Sir Gavynn's Blessing of Protection layers itself around her ice barrier and Ismene's shield, sturdy and resilient.
The mana bomb is spitting out sparks.
("Cressidha'll know wot' to look for.")
Cressidha finishes speaking the code. The mana bomb pulses blue. She turns and runs. She blinks forward for more distance. She runs.
("Properly done. Brilliant work, Cress.")
Blue. It ripples over everything, emanating from behind her. She feels the weight of it, the sudden pressure, tip her forward onto the grassy dirt of the forest floor, hands coming out to brace herself inside of her three different layers of shielding.
The shields are gone, all three of them. Her gloved hands touch the ground.
Where is her squad? What color is her squad?
White. This is White Squad, with Ben, Ismene, Sir Gavynn, and Silvestre. Not the White Squad with Dane, Colson, Auralind, and Alysson.
Blue. Blue, everywhere, a thick mist of it. Not the Blue Squad with Dane, Colson, Cambrin, and Velrin.
What color is her squad?
Blue: Ismene's body, a crumpled rag-doll across the forest floor, that ridiculous hat flung off her head into the grass.
Blue: Ben's body, behind Ismene, like he thought to shield her from the blast.
Blue: Sir Gavynn's body, closest to Cressidha, with his red-and-white Scarlet Crusade tabard.
Blue: Silvestre's body, furthest away, the fastest runner of them all, still emanating that same blue mist.
("S'good thing we have you about, isn't it.")
She can fix this. She needs to fix this. She can take their bodies to Colson, and Colson will bring them back. Where is Colson? What squad is he on? What squad is she on?
Cressidha whistles for Cinnamon. There is no answering whinny from her horse. The forest is oddly, uncomfortably silent.
She doesn't want to leave their bodies here, but she can't levitate them all at once. She could put them in one of her bags, but that seems particularly undignified.
Cressidha whistles again. Cinnamon does not respond.
She walks.
The forest is littered with corpses—warp stalkers, mostly, glowing with that soft blue mist. She finds the bodies of their horses, next, still warm.
("You're properly earning your keep these days, aren't you, Cress.")
Help. She needs to get help.
A teleportation stone. Not a portal stone; portal stones are worth eight silver more than teleportation stones even with the discount she gets in Stormwind. She's only bringing herself. Best to save the money. She'll find help in Shattrath; she'll lead them back to her squad. Her blue-white squad.
Shattrath is quiet.
("It's a curiosity, and I must admit something of a shame that you are not a member of our order, sorceress.")
Blue: The body of Archmage Khadgar, dead on the dais, emanating that soft blue mist.
Blue: A strange, empty vacancy where A'dal should be.
("Prince Kael’thas will tolerate no further delays. We should teach a lesson to both the Horde and the Alliance. One that they will not soon forget.")
Another teleportation stone. Stormwind.
Blue: Four robed mages, scattered throughout the room, like they simply dropped dead. Blue mist wafts from their bodies.
What color is her squad?
Cressidha runs: through the portal, off the ramp, flicking a feather into the air as she nears the bottom of her sharp descent, landing gently on her feet. She runs: north, through the streets of Stormwind, the Mage Quarter, and there are bodies on the street, blanketed by thick blue mist.
She's not even out of breath by the time she reaches the park. The park, with those flickering-blue streetlamps that the druids grew.
Where is her brother?
No one answers the door of the Aspenwood townhouse, but she has keys. At the top of the stairs, she nearly trips over the body of her cat, blue mist rising from his fur.
She checks Colson and Mordecai's room first. Empty. Of course it's empty. Colson is on a squad. He's on her squad, isn't he? What color is her squad?
She doesn't know why she checks her own room, after that, but she does.
Rain pours in from the open window. Ivrianna Barlowe's body is curled up in her bed, on top of her covers, wearing a too-large shirt and tattered pants and no shoes. The mist has tinted her skin blue.
Ivrianna Atley.
This isn't right. This isn't how it happened.
That thought is enough to snap her eyes awake, and Cressidha sits up in bed—in that same townhouse bed she was looking at a moment ago. "Colson?" she calls, her voice hoarse.
Nothing. Colson is in Telaar, with Mordecai.
It's still dark outside. Cressidha traces a symbol in the air to conjure herself a bottle of water and sips at it slowly, getting her bearings. She is on White Squad, with Dane, Colson, Auralind, and Alysson. She suppresses the childish impulse to run downstairs and check on Mr. Rhinehart, or her cat. It was just a dream. She knows better. She doesn't need to reassure herself of this.
Cressidha sets the water down on her nightstand and pulls the curtains back to look out the window. Rain streaks down the glass. She can see those flickering-blue streetlamps of the park, but she can also see the shape of one of the kaldorei, possibly a druid, pacing back and forth by the fountain. He is thoroughly soaked by the rain, and either he doesn't care or that's why he's outside in the first place.
She combs the rain-streaked shadows of the night for Ivri, but Ivri isn't here, either. Ivri is probably at home, with Dane.
It doesn't matter. She doesn't need them. It would be nice, of course, to see her brother or her best friend right now, but she isn't a child. Cressidha shuts the curtains and settles back down beneath the covers. It's late, and Cressidha has things to do tomorrow, and so she slowly and stubbornly digs herself back into the endless abyss of sleep.