Jorwen followed Marcel into the fray, hoping to keep close enough to cover him. When the atronachs manifested from thin air, he stumbled back, shielding his face from the heat of its form hovering just above the ground in front of him. He'd only ever seen one once, controlled by a Thalmor officer and standing behind her as she disappeared behind the tent's flaps to torture one of the legionnaires captured along with him. He was frozen in place, staring at its graceful but wrong feminine form. It had no eyes, but he could feel it looking into his own. This demon from beyond his realm raised an arm and  tossed a fireball in his direction, missing him as he scrambled away. The Red-Bear was a killer of men and mer and betmer, but the power of mages was something even he was afraid of. A length of steel could never protect him from magic and many of his fellow legionnaires fell to the otherwordly stuff of Thalmor mages and Reachman witches.

Images of the scraggly trees jutting from cracks in the rock deep in the Reach seemingly coming to life and spearing men with their branches, of roots coming up from the ground in the dead of night and crushing sleeping warriors. Of walls of flame making young Legion men into nothing but black-charred bones, of the Thalmor inspiring a terror he'd never known he could reach with a single touch of a magic-cloaked hand to a young Nord's pallid, sweat-soaked skin in that torturer's tent those many years ago. He lost fingernails, he lost pride, he lost sense and humanity and bravery. And he gained a very real fear of magic and a very real hatred of those under the black-and-gold banner of the Thalmor.

Another fireball painted his shield black and the heat of the conjured mageflame penetrated the thick rawhide and wood. It followed him, never touching the ground and he stumbled back even farther. Suddenly, a brilliant light and heat filled the chamber and the raised walkways that Daelin and Dax were perched on came crashing down, thankfully crushing the atronach. He stood, panting, while Marcel hurled a pickaxe at the mage they'd all come to kill, apparently. He couldn't concentrate on what he said to the Orc across the room, but he hoped it was a plan to end this battle. In the face of magic, the Red-Bear was nothing.