Crystal Scribe Hadrael inspected the wagons of tribute. Various ores, rare woods and magical sands. All specially-requested and to be ferried to Thul, then airshipped to the northern region of Atlantis near Dol Ethra.
“70 obsidian marks,” the old toothless merchant said. “Order’s fulfilled. I’ll take my payment now.”
“Of course,” Hadrael said. He reached for his satchel. It was light — he might be short — but if he was…
The old merchant squinted and pointed up into the sky. “Something, something… Something’s not right.” He muttered.
Hadrael looked behind him, up in the sky. What had been the purest light blue moments ago had gone dark purple, with streaks of sickly red. Impossibly-vast pulsing tendrils of chaotic light reached outward. There was a sudden shockwave which blew the clouds away all at once… And then the winds reached those below. Pulse after roaring pulse tore at the trees and soil, toppling the old merchant, and lashing Hadrael with stone and vine. “Atlantis,” Hadrael thought, “It’s all coming from Atlantis. His mind began to numb, and his vision blurred. His last thought was of how he had grown scales all over his arms, that his fingertips had become claws.
Originally published in Faerie Solitaire Harvest