The man appeared over the small whitecaps of the Tuskwater, less than a mile south of Misthaven. It was a windy day, as was normal in late July, and fishing boats dotted the surface of the massive lake, bobbing about as their crews went about their work, unaware of the danger that flew above them.
‘No matter – these pawns will be safe for now,’ the man thought as he turned toward the city and flew, scanning as he moved, in search of…there it was. The cranes and hoists of the waterfront, and masts of a number of ships stood high above lower rooftops, marking the large collection of docks, piers, and adjoining warehouses along the southeastern side of Misthaven. It was one of the commercial anchors of the city, and thus made an attractive target. The fact that there were a great many people about on this work day made it even more attractive.
‘Invisibility against mundane peoples was almost too easy,’ he thought, as he made his way under the largest pier and affixed several alchemical charges on key pilings and supports. ‘No matter – they picked the wrong side of the argument.’ Within a few minutes he was finished, and the pier and a particularly large warehouse at its base were both rigged with several large explosive charges, their chemical fuses already steadily melting. They would not ignite in the perfect order, he was sure, but they would work. And if a few didn’t, well, the fire would get to them eventually.
The first blast was midway down the pier, and was magnificent, throwing boards, barrels, and stevedores into the air in a massive fireball. A moment later another, at pier’s end, detonated, followed by one on the roof of the warehouse, and then the pair on either side of where the pier connected to the land. The flames were massive and hot; the carnage immediate; and even a ship was aflame. This is when the man began hurling his own fire and lightning at the buildings, crowds, and anything else in range. True, his aim was sloppy – his adrenaline was surging and he could hardly contain himself. It was so rare that he could really unleash it all, leaving nothing but his return spell in reserve.
Thirty seconds or so later, the entire waterfront was pure chaos, flame, and death. Irovetti had wanted a fitting response to the attack from the day before, and the man figured that this would do well. He was sure his bonus would be significant. Only one small task remained before he was to return. Looking over his shoulder at his work, he flew swiftly south and toward the nearest fishing boat, landing with a heavy thud on its deck, scattering the small crew in fear.
“Here. Give this to your petty lords, courtesy of his magnificence, dread King Irovetti of Pitax,” he stated as he handed a small pouch to the nearest sailor. The line was rehearsed, and had been written by the king himself. With that, the man disappeared in a flash of light and wind.