Choose Your Weapon
Three minutes later, Essenla and Gram joined Morne as he was finishing up.
He dropped the withered, grayish-green husk of a woman and turned to them, his arm whole once again and the back of his knee likewise back together.
"I'm almost out of Chimh," he said simply. To fix what the Dryad had done to his arm, he had needed to use Withering Touch as a Practitioner Spell, and by the time his arm was back to normal he had barely enough Chimh to fix his knee.
Altogether, he had around seven Apprentice Spells left before all he had was the Spell from his plant-heart.
"I've got four-ish minutes of my Greater Speed Spell left, along with eight Apprentice Spells," Essenla replied, looking at the battle between the goblins and elves. "This is going to be close."
"That's where she's wrong, Grommett," cackled Gram. "She forgets that I'm here. These irksome elves won't survive another hour."
Morne raised a brow at that.
By the looks of it, there were around twenty-two elven spearmen left.