7th of Winter, 514 AV
Late Evening
The citizens of Zeltiva were winding down after a day like any other in the bustling City of Sails. Mothers set their children to their beds that they might embrace the warmth of Nysel’s realm. A chance to find joy in different places away from the unusual cold gripping the city. Sailors meandered out of the Kelp Bar happy that it had been restored after the renovations that were made not long ago. Drunk on kelp beer and filled with the stories of their adventures on the high seas, some went home to their wives, others went to find comfort in the arms of willing strangers. The simple folk made themselves happy with what happiness they could find. The rich prepared themselves for a different form of war. In the grand estates of the Ancient Quarter the affluent citizenry pined and plotted for favors and influence. No one would have suspected that this very night would be the last night some of them saw on Mizahar.
It began with a whisper.
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Sergeant Lionel Morganson heft a young man who was just a little too intoxicated for his own good up to his feet. The lad hadn’t been causing any trouble but it was obvious he could do with a night’s stay at the World’s End Grotto. The sight of the fledgling sailor too drunk to stay on his feet struggling to make it a few steps without tipping over had made the sergeant chuckle. He’d come over, helped the lad up and was now supporting most of the young man’s weight.
“There we go. Easy does it.” The young man groaned which only prompted a shake of the sergeant’s head. He turned to his comrades, two other uniformed Wave Guardsmen.
“Go on, I’ll help this one find his way home. Meet back up with you outside the Council Hall.” The other two guardsmen chuckled giving the sergeant a wave as they continued their patrol. As the two made their way through the streets of Zeltiva, Lionel hummed one of the songs popular in the city pubs. He adjusted the young man’s weight with another smile and shake of his head. To his credit, the lad was trying.
“I remember some of my first romps with the beer, kid. Don’t be ashamed. Many a man with stouter stomachs than you have fallen into its drunken stupor.” The young man groaned mumbling out a reply.
“Never again.” Lionel laughed.
“Not to worry. Some of Serra’s famous hospitality and you’ll be—“ Lionel’s words were cut short as he stumbled. He fought to regain his balance suddenly confused. He was a surefooted man who had been in many a brawl. It was unlike him to just loose his balance. He moved to take another step when the ground shook.
“Earthquake? There are no earthquakes in Zeltiva. What in Laviku’s—“ The air was filled with the sound of a whispering sigh. It was a dead thing. He had heard such a sound before, the death rattle of someone grasping for its final sliver of breath.
And then the air was filled with a terrible screaming.
Lionel was dropped to his knees, the young man cried out and both of them grasped onto their skulls trying to block the awful sound. The sergeant turned his eyes skyward and his gaze was drawn to Matthew’s Bay. Far out into the waters a pillar of light speared forth into the darkness of the sky. Lionel would have sworn it was as bright as the dawn only the light looked sickly and poisoned. The obelisks. One of the enigmatic structures that had arisen from the depths a few years prior. For whatever reason, it had awakened and that awakening was a nightmare.
The screaming ceased and the light rocketing forth from the obelisk pulsed before exploding outward as the obelisk crumbled. The explosion itself was too far away from the coastline of the city to do more than make the very ground beneath them shake. As Lionel slowly rose to his feet, able to see perfectly what was unfolding from his vantage point, he was filled with horror. His eyes were wide as he stared at the tidal wave billowing out in the wake of such an explosion.
“Gods help us…”
And he couldn't help but wonder, could they?
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