As instructed, Daelin rounded up his team two hours later, based on the movement of the sun as it traversed the sky. They were rested up after their fight, and those with minor and manageable wounds were more or less back to their usual physical well being, albeit with some aches and sores to accompany them for the march ahead. Although he did not know Rothvar, the man seemed an honourable sort who seemed all too eager to lend a hand after the group’s intervention; he seemed to be guilty for the injuries he indirectly caused as the team rushed to his rescue. Still, if he ended up being a problem, Rhasha’Dar, Sevine, and Keegan could likely keep him in line, despite their injuries. 

And so, Daelin headed the column again, not worrying about scouting across this largely dead and scorched landscape as he followed the provided map to Cindershine Mine, with Daixanos, Jorwen, and Marcel carried across the scorched landscape, the sun getting unsettlingly low across the horizon. They’d be arriving after the sun dipped below the mountains, although the march back wouldn’t be difficult, given much of the forest was clear cut from flames. There were no sounds other than the shifting of their equipment as they carried on, their footfalls cushioned by ash. No animals were around, and the absence of even birdsong gave the air a chilling vibe of death. 

And they were marching towards the cause.

~ ~ ~

When the team arrived at the entrance of the mine close to two hours later, it was already shrouded in shadow, the rocks about it darkened from scorch marks; the usual moss and overgrowth that jutted from between rocks had been cleared away, leaving everything around the entrance, save for the wood beams that lined the entrance, were blackened like a discarded black soul gem. Worryingly, some spots of the sand in the area appeared to have traces of crystallization; ordinary flames could not turn sand to glass, and yet here were traces that whatever had touched upon the ground here was almost approaching that heat. It was a foreboding sign.

The team entered the mine with trepidation, not sure of what to expect as they entered the portal of the mine. Soon, everything was becoming too dark to see, and the discovery of a torch scone gave everyone a moment to consider that they’d ruin any element of surprise if they illuminated their coming, but an equally compelling argument was they’d get nowhere without sight, and the pyromancer would be at an advantage against them, especially since the floor had numerous puddles from water seeping through the rocks. The group was uncertain of what they’d discover as they traversed the old tunnels of the mineshaft, abandoned an unknowable amount of time ago. Some tools and equipment were still in place from when the last workers set them down, and piles of rubble dominated some of the dead ends where workers had begun to clear more rock in search of mineral deposits. For whatever reason, the mine was abandoned, and outside the team and the pyromancer that was reputed to lurk within, it was impossible to know if anyone else had set food in the mine; conspicuously absent was the lingering scent of animal habitation, as several creatures claimed abandoned caves such as this as their own after the lingering scent of man disappeared. 

Carrying the lit torch ahead, and prepared to extinguish it in one of the numerous puddles of water that dominated the mine, the group pressed forward in search of their quarry.

Before long, and in such short amount of time even with the tension, light was seen flickering up ahead, prompting Daelin to plunge his torch into some water he had passed several steps behind him, and voices were heard up ahead. Whispering to the others, the Bosmer said, “More than one. Be ready.” He said, notching an arrow into his bow and carefully walking to ensure that if he touched more water, it would not splash. As he approached the illuminated corridor, he could not help but feel like he was walking into the mouth of a dragon, and he really did not wish to see what waited around the corner; even for someone as experienced and battle hardened as Daelin, creeping around in caves in search of a man who incinerated an unspeakable amount of forest was hardly an encouraging proposition. Still, he had a job to do, and if he were lucky, he’d be able to put a shot through the eye of the pyromancer before he became a threat to anyone.

Reaching a corner before catching sight of who was beyond, Daelin could hear the argument, and given the circumstances, was almost disappointed at how mundane it seemed.

“You were once my apprentice. I would have thought you’d be happy to see me,” A familiar deep voice said. Daelin chanced a look, and he immediately caught sight of a young orc woman in the robes of a commonwoman, flanked by an altmer with a gaunt face and dark robes; something about him reminded Daelin of necromancers, and the origin of the voice, whom he could only see the back of his head. The three of them were facing a bosmer, and a ghastly looking one at that; a hunched over posture with dried and cracked skin that had the appearance of having bled and dried on numerous occasions dominated his appearance, and eyes that Daelin could only describe as crazy. The bosmer was fidgeting, his skin saturated with the sheen of sweat that permeated through his tattered clothing. He looked like the kind of individual who evoked the Wild Hunt and was ejected from the horrible mass that resulted from the ritual. However, when the bosmer spoke, it was far more clear and powerful than Daelin was expecting, as if it belonged to someone much more put together entirely.

“I still have work to do, and you will not stop me. The lands need purification… the Green Pact demands it!” the Bosmer stated with fever. 

The deep voice, a Redguard, shook his head, visibly surveying the Bosmer’s living situation distastefully. “I don’t give a damn about your Green Pact, which you’re defiling by burning down the forests, I might add.”

[B]“PURIFYING!”[/B]

“I do not have time to argue semantics. The Synod is still looking for me and for you, and I am here to offer you a chance to come with me peacefully, my apprentice, and we can pick up the pieces that we left behind from the shattered Blue Blood Mage Guild… or did you forget your brothers and sisters?” the voice asked accusingly. The Bosmer appeared to flinch at the word, but otherwise did not appear convinced.

The Redguard reached into a satchel at his side, and a very large black soul gem filled his hand, the crystal so dark that in the dim torchlight appeared to drink all the light that touched it as it thirsted for its vessel to be filled. “Or you can come with me in here. One way or another, you will be helping me with my research once more.”


“You’re mad!” The Bosmer shrieked, finally sounding as feral as he looked. The Redguard chuckled in response.

“Bold claim from the lunatic who has been burning every living thing he can get his wretched claws on. How many people have you burnt alive? Quite a few, I imagine. If I could find you so easily, the Synod is not far behind and you know that whatever they’ll do to you will be far worse than what I could to do you, and you recall my teachings in conjuration…” the Redguard trailed off.

Bright white flames emitted from the pyromancer’s clenched fists. “You’ve made a mistake coming here, Jonimir.” The Bosmer threatened. 

Daelin’s eyes widened. Jonimir… his mind raced back to the Reach, the Redguard soul trapper who was once a part of the company, albeit not for very long. Suddenly, it all came rushing back and it was as if he were seeing a very unsettling ghost; there really was no question that it was their former comrade standing in front of the team with two strangers, about to confront a very dangerous individual. 

The team would have to make a decision and act fast, as things were about to come to blows. The altmer stepped forward, a powerful ward in one hand and a fist arcing with electricity in the other.