The Silvermine complex lay shrouded in the gray light of late afternoon, its abandoned structures casting long shadows across the scarred earth.
What had once been a thriving mining operation now served as a monument to failed ambitions and, more recently, as the stage for an even greater failure.
The acrid smell of spent explosives and magical residue still hung in the air, testimony to the violent confrontation that had erupted mere hours before.
Supreme Elder Theron Drake knelt beside the shattered remains of what had been the complex's main entrance, his weathered hands sifting through debris with the methodical precision of a man accustomed to finding meaning in destruction.
Around him, the joint Drake-Northwind rescue force regrouped with the grim efficiency of professionals adapting to an unexpected setback.
"Seventeen separate ward barriers," he reported to the assembled leadership, his voice carrying the weight of bitter experience.
