The Coalition
There’s too much blood. We’re losing her," you murmur, holding your patient’s limp hand.
"I’m afraid I’ve more bad news, Chief," says your lieutenant. "The Phyrexians are breaking through the line. More warships have been spilling out of those portals all night. And there’s one more thing—"
"No time. Inform the fieldmaster we’re falling back. Round up the other healers, and let’s get out of here."
"That’s the other piece of bad news," says the lieutenant, looking down at the patient’s torn frame. "They’re targeting the leadership. She was fifth in command—just above you. You’re fieldmaster now."
You glance out the door of the medical tent. You can make out irregular shapes cantering and lurching over the rise, glistening like knives in the bone-white light of the planar gates. "What’ve we got," you ask.
"Not much. A few battlemages in the next tent, a Yavimayan with some war experience . . ."
"Conjure a sky-signal—everyone’s a Dominarian soldier now. We all fight, or we all die. Tell me lieutenant, have you ever summoned a dragon?"
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