Fishing had been awful lately, so Bill E. Bobbin had decided to make a change in his practices. Instead of taking his little runabout out, casting a line in and hoping for a bite, he procured some rather more powerful things for his tackle box.

In the early morning light, he loaded up everything he needed and then pushed the boat away from the dockside with one of his emergency oars. He didn't plan on going far out, just far enough to catch some fish.

Once he succeeded in getting about six hundred yards away from the docks and into the harbor, he cast a surreptitious glance around, then pulled out his new 'fishing lures'.

They weren't really lures. They were dynamite. But that seemed like an inconsequential thing.

He had bought them a few days ago from some guy in a trenchcoat who just introduced himself as an 'imports and exports' specialist.

"Will these work, yeah?" Bill E. Bobbins had asked.

"Oh yeah," the specialist had replied.

Counting on this being the best haul that he'd had since five years ago, Bill E. Bobbins lit the first stick and threw it into the water.

He found out right about then that it was not just a stick of normal, run-of-the-mill dynamite. First, the explosion sent water and fish about four hundred yards straight up into the air. Second, it flipped his boat over like a toy and sent him flying quite a good distance himself. And third, despite the effects on sound by water, the explosion was still loud enough to echo quite a ways inland.

Bill E. Bobbins shook his head, trying to get the ringing out of his ears, and started to swim for shore.

With any luck, no one would ask any questions.

He sort of gave up hope on that, though, when parts of Rhy'Din started getting rained on with fish.

James Greystone, officially First Mate now of the Brigantine Al Na'ir, had not failed to notice the raining of the fish from where he had been loading the vessel for her voyage. Given that this was Rhy'Din, though, he had seen far stranger in his life and therefore wrote it off as just weird. The few fish that fell on the brigantine were taken by Blackie to make some chowder out of, and they went back to work.

It was mid-afternoon when the fog rolled in. And, being a sailor, he immediately thought something really awful was happening — peculiar fogs like that could only mean some kind of supernatural trouble. Quickly he gathered his crew together, sometimes going out into the thick of it to find them in their loading duties, and then he had them stay at the base of the foremast while it cleared.

When the fog cleared, Grey looked through the dissipating mist towards the road beyond the Salvage Yard. It looked like the road was covered in flashes of silvery cool-colored objects. And the smell that permeated the area was...

...was...

"HOLY F*&$!" Ducky shouted, when he saw what had happened. The rest of the crew turned, practically as one body, to look for themselves.

Jonson blinked, then said, "It is good we are going to sea soon, yes?"

Piled up against the Salvage Yard's chainlink fence were fish. In fact, it looked like there were fish all along the road, almost as far as the eye could see. The fence was holding back a tidal wave of fish. Fish everywhere.

"Yeah....yeah, it is," Grey said in reply. "The sooner the better."

Carley, dressing what some would be considered eccentric but what she'd rather call eclectic, moved down the dockside, a bounce in her step. Her clothing was bright and blue, practical, save for the beret perhaps, with the jewel and feather present. She did like a little flashiness to her appearance, and she was under the false impression that feather made her appear taller, 'adding inches' to her small stature.

Today, she was on an important mission, at least she treated it as such. Carley treated all favors for friends as important because A) They were her friends and B) It meant they owed her back. Oh, and there was sometimes C) When she messed up, she could bring up the favor, and then they couldn't get mad at her, ha!

She didn't usually venture out to the docks, not even to the popular fish markets since she normally caught her own fish in the various rivers weaving their way through Rhydin's woods. Not knowing the docks well, she had found herself kind of lost.

"'Scuse me!" She bounced and waved down a passerby, a tall and broad man, young, tan, and carrying the scent of salt about him. He was a sailor, working on one of the ships stationed at the docks, but he wasn't the stereotypical type who shouted obscenities and swilled rum until he barfed. At least not in public. No. He was gracious enough to stop and offer assistance to the little elf in need.

"Is there something I can help you with?" His smile was warm and genuine as he looked down to Carley. He toppled over her by considerably more than a foot.

"Yah huh!" She nodded, sending the feather in beret to bounce as a letter was whipped from her back pocket and waved about the air. "I'm supposed to deliver this to someone, but I can't find where they work at! Do you know where DeVernon Dockside is?" She bounced a bit on the balls of her feet as she regarded him, nose wriggling faintly as the stench of fish grew rather overwhelming all of a sudden. She assumed it was him.

"I certainly do!" His smile melted into a grin, as he seemed delighted he could offer his assistance. "For one, you're going the wrong way." He leaned over and pointed behind her. "If you just go that way, you'll come across the Maritime. From there, you'll want to-" He finally looked towards where he was pointing and stopped talking, eyes growing wide. "Christ alive!!"

Startled by his sudden exclamation, Carley turned suddenly. "What's-"

*SMACK*

The impact of the fish against her face sent her to the ground in a dazed state, the letter she was to deliver, addressed to one Sebastian DeVernon, slipped from her fingers during the fall and to the ground.

Bright blues fluttered slowly as she turned her head to look over the horizon. "...that's a lot of fish.." The poor elf was still dazed, thinking the blow she had just received was causing her to hallucinate.

The sailor, a lad by the name of Heath, watched the fish pile in the horizon grow. His jaw was agape. This didn't qualify under things that 'one saw everyday'. Others were moving to the fish, working to toss them to sea, but his attention was on that little elf. He couldn't just leave her here to be trampled and trounced by people and fish.

Kneeling down, he easily hefted her off the ground, carefully cradling her in his arms. He would take her to an infirmary he knew of near where his ship was stationed, get her checked out, make sure she was okay.

The letter, unfortunately, was abandoned and forgotten, left there on the ground to either become lost forever, or found by another.

Bill E. Bobbins had been staring out the window ever since he saw the mysterious fog roll in, then dissipate, leaving behind absolute carnage. He had been staring with his mouth hanging open.

He had managed to get his boat, and oddly enough, his tackle box back. The "dynamite" he had stashed behind some barrels, hoping no one could trace it back to him. Then he had gone home, wincing internally every time he came across a fish on a road, or falling off a roof, or once impaled on a street sign.

But, he figured, it couldn't get much worse.

He was wrong.

As he watched people trying to heave living fish back into the sea, some of them knee deep in shiny fish bodies, he felt a certain measure of dread. And when his old lady of fifteen years came home, he announced that he was taking her on that holiday she wanted out on Whitewall Island. And by early evening, Bill E. Bobbins was on his runabout, with his wife, a hastily packed suitcase and a severe case of the nerves.

He didn't realize that what fish had not ended up on land, or that had yet were washed out to sea again, would land right on the shoreline of the island he was making his break to.

Once Nevel recovered from his stunned state, he was taking stalk of the situation, devising how best to turn this around to his own benefit before that goody two-shoes drow in the blinding shades over by the maritime tossed back all the good fish! Once he was back on his own feet, he had run to the office for his tricycle with the large crate attached to the handlebars.

Pedaling furiously, he was back to the docks in record time. Jumping from the banana seat of the bike, he began to scoop up as many of the slimy, stinking critters as he could and tossed them into the crate. It was to be his small, unselfish, contribution to the clean up effort.

"I will be loved! Honored. They will erect a statue of me in the market square!" He paused to strike a pose in his delirious daydreaming. It was while looking upward with that gleaming smile that he was struck in the eye by the first incoming bomb of the swooping, screeching seagulls. "Holy Mackerel!"

Deserting his good intentions, his crate over flowing with enough fish to feed a small battalion, he wiped the bird-drop blessing from his eye and after mounting the tricycle, took off at a snail's pace under the weight of his load. Heading for the Governor's office, The Oracle, Those Scathing wimmens?and that ill-humored Norse woman's bar. Just the first of many deliveries. It was going to be a long night! Stinking of fish, covered with seagull bombings and slime was the least of his worries. However, there was a small niggling thought in the back of his juicehead that he might want to relocate his office after this.

The crew of the Al Na'ir didn't try to do any more loading once the fish had piled about four feet high against the Salvage Yard fence. In fact, they stood and practically breathed as one body as they watched and prayed that the fence would hold.

Grey was fairly sure that Maia was cut off, especially given the disaster area that had become the dockside and who knew where else. In as such, he conferred with Diego and Ayrani and they all decided that their captain would not mind if they put to sea a little early in light of the situation.

It was that or risk the little brigantine becoming a fish market.

The fence was holding for now, though, so they didn't move just yet. And Jonson, ever loyal and stalwart, offered to go brave the insanity to try and find their captain. Even Hayes agreed that it was best if Maia was with them, and not cut off somewhere else.

Just as Jonson was about to go and climb out of the Yard, though, the world turned white and shrieked.

"Aw, sh*&," Grey said, throwing down a rag he had been wiping the sweat off his brow with.

Jonson didn't whimper, but he looked like he wanted to. Still, he said, "I will still go..."

"Nah, stick here. Maybe those damn gulls will have it cleared out by mornin'." Grey thought about it for a moment; the place still reeked and it would only get worse. "Ducky....throw out that damn fish chowder. I don't think any of us're gonna be eatin' it."

Ducky had no trouble answering, "Aye aye sir."

There was a hard set to her jaw as she stood at the perimeter line, arguing with a guard almost twenty years her junior. Beads of sweat glistened on her brow at the heat, which certainly was not helping the situation- or the smell.

"I understand that this is a disaster area, but my ship is in there."

"Ma"am, I have orders. Nobody gets in. It isn't safe."

She actually snorted at that; the boy should spend a little time in the streets after dark. The he'd probably have a different opinion about the astonishing number of fish. And gulls. Maia tried to breeze right past him. The damned fool had the gall to put his hands on her, and physically push her back to the other side of the line.

"Civilians to the other side of the line. Between here and the ships is no place for a lady."

She glared at him, and noted a fair number of other guards not so far away. It took a great deal of restraint for her to not brain him- in truth, she was about as terrified of the guard as she was of the swooping birds. They were all nuisance, in her mind. She squared her shoulders, turned, and walked away. Maia would just have to find another way to the Al Na"ir.

Naturally, she was pondering the possibilities, and ruling out all of those which were too far fetched, or ridiculous. It was in this state of reaction that she saw the arrival of the first of the cats.

They were hunters, territorial creatures, not often associating outside of their established groups, but they were also furry, mewling opportunists, and the wind advertised a free fish dinner from halfway across the city.

They came from stables, leaving the mice to play. They came from the dumpsters behind alleys. They came from windowsills beside freshly baked pies, and little girls tea parties, abandoning the bondage of their frilly bonnets. They came from trees, porches, lazy sprawls in overstuffed armchairs and worn old rugs.

The guards could not stop them. The fences, perimeter lines, and swooping birds could not stop them. Not even that pungent smell would slow them- that just urged them on.

It was not until they caught sight of the gulls- who in turn caught sight of them- that things got especially chaotic. It became an out and out war, basic animal instinct- the battle for food, mingled up with the hunt and defense. The cats went after the gulls, who in turn, went after the cats. Some made off with fish, successfully. Some fell injured- or worse- at the beaks and talons and claws and teeth of their assailants.

Maia watched it begin and shook her head, turning away from the smell and back towards the city. It was time to launch a plan B. And maybe it was time to launch the ship" but how to get there" Or how to alert the men?

Bloody fish.

By the time the softhearted mischief-maker was stealing back to the scene of the crime under the blanket of nightfall, dense mist had turned the ordinary landscape into a queer realm which was surely the domain of piskies and trolls and who knew what other fey creatures.

The panic, which had accompanied her departure, returned tenfold. The possibility of being caught was undeniable as she dodged, darted and scurried toward the barrels in a panicked attempt to avoid the guards now surrounding the docks. She briefly considered turning for home with none the wiser for her lack of spine. But no, she would never be able to face another market day without some self-accounting of her clash with what she had already dubbed the Flying Fish Debacle. There was also another inward chastising for what she was sure would be a sudden downward spiral of fish sales.

However, she was of a mindset that a wrong could be righted. Or corrected. Made better" Somehow. Oh, the foolishness of the well doers.

Crouched behind two barrels pressed almost flush together that did well to conceal her slight form, she peeked between them as she leaned forward on the palm of her hands, fingers brushed across the smooth and long cylinder objects hidden away there. "Hello, what?s this?"

Stuffing the findings into her satchel with no time to debate on what they might be, she was suddenly mesmerized by the sight of cats and seagulls in a frenzied battle for the prize each was determined to claim. Slack jawed, she stared in wonder. Then horror.

With a jerk and a spin, she slid her back down the barrel, dug within the pouch to retrieve The Sturdy Book of the Drunken Chameleon's Spell of Simplicity, grabbed the crooked little wand and begin to pour through the possibilities of putting things right. "I swear by all that is good and proper, if I can get this one right, I won't ever, ever, ever steal another mulberry cobbler off of Miss Wiggum's window sill."

Page after page was scanned over as snarling and hissing battled for dominance over shrieking and squawking. Wrinkled and stained sheets were flipped back and forth in a frantic whirl. All the while, Carsadi was muttering under the mounting pressure as her fingers speared down the list of spells " Calling Forth Splendid Fighters, no,no". The Unspeakable Hex of the Accursed Sea Serpent' She winced at that one then flipped a page and grinned. "Carnage Deflection. Perfect!?

Rolling over to get to her knees and peering over the barrels edge, she raised the crooked little wand, concentrated hard and then recanted the words of the simple little spell as the wand was waved and twirled and spun in a tight circle to a definite point toward the turmoil that had become the docks.

With a blinding flash, Carsadi fell forward against the aged wood of the barrel and held her breath in soaring anticipation of the impending success of the spell.

As the smoke cleared and the mist covering the dock was burned off with astounding speed, she was astonished to see all the cats, their sandpaper tongues lapping in and out of whiskered mouths with the slowness of molasses being poured in winter, scraping and fighting with whatever was lodged to the top of their mouths over and over again.

The gulls took advantage of the situation and begin a kamikaze dive on the remaining fish before the tides could turn to their disadvantage again, ignoring the disoriented and disgruntled kitties.

With abject horror, she let loose her own little cry of terror before she was once more on her feet and running with the book, wand and satchel clutched to her chest. The Mystic Curse of Peanut Butter was a horrible spell to cast! Even if it did somewhat deflect the carnage. Kinda.

The cat had a dress on.

Grey looked at the unhappy ball of fur that had somehow ended up halfway up the brigantine's foremast and thought that it sort of summed up the entire past day.

It was a cute dress for a baby doll, but it was missing something in its translation to cat-wear. He doubted that whatever little girl had inflicted the dress on the cat would want it back now, though.

While Jonson went to try to get the cat down, Grey ordered that reloading recommence and swiftly. Between the birds, and now cats, nevermind the stinking fish, it was definitely time for the Al Na'ir to move somewhere a little less crazy.

The crew worked through the night, and by morning, the last of the supplies were loaded. Ballast was in the hold to steady the vessel until she could pick up her cargo, and then all but a few of the crew manned the boats and towed her into the harbor. The sun was just coming up when they were finally out far enough; Grey, who had gotten good at leadership but was still learning how to apply it to sailing, conferred with his three men and Maia's man and woman.

The consensus was to take the brigantine north aways, find a spot without the carnage, then send people to shore in boats to find the captain. So, that's what they did. They also set up the signal flags, on the off chance that Maia would see them, giving her a message to head north and look for them at anchor.

As they looked back at the seaside, though, it was apparent that while the droves of scavengers cleaning up the mess were starting to make a dent in it, it would probably be awhile before the dockside was anything more than a zoo. Fish, birds, cats, raccoons....Grey even thought he saw a bear.

It was definitely better to get somewhere sane, get Maia, and get the Hell out of there.

It was beginning to feel a bit like there was a zoo outside. Archie had decided at some point towards morning that he must be seeing one of the strangest phenomenons known to man. He had never heard of fish that multiplied so rapidly, or large hoards of birds coming to clean up the mess.

After so long in the sun, the smell was beginning to get so strong that he wondered if it would ever go away. It was like the walls and the wood were just permeated with stench. He had to get outside into the "fresh" air.

Grabbing a rag (which he held over his nose and mouth) and a large chunk of wood attached to a stake, he made his way out of the front door of the Maritime. The fish were started to dwindle in numbers, but there were still more than he had ever seen in his life. Such a strange thing; something that could only happen in Rhy'Din.

The air was less stagnant outside, with the wind blowing off of the sea. In a way, it was a relief. Oh, Harry, he thought to himself, if only you knew the things that have happened since you left. There wouldn't be words that could accurately describe it.

Picking his way through the seas of dead, half-eaten fish, he noted the large numbers of cats sitting around. They all seemed to be licking them mouths like something was stuck inside. And every so often, Kennedy caught a whiff of what he imagined could only be peanuts. Logically, the cats would have eaten the fish before the peanuts, but....well, logic seemed to have nothing to do with recent events.

He gingerly picked his way along until he made it to the docks, nudging fish over the side and into the water. He had been around the oceans enough to know that not only would the smell drive small land critters crazy, but it would certainly attract a lot of carnivorous sea creatures as well.

This was were his good sense was starting to take over. If anyone was idiotic enough to swim in such a mess, he wanted to warn them of danger. So, he wedged the old sign between the planks of the docks and made sure people could see it from the muddy, fishy, racoony beach.

http://i25.photobucket.com/albums/c68/misskittypti/BeachClosed.gif

It was a good thing that the sign had been left behind so many years before the Maritime was opened. It sure came in handy for strange situations like the one facing the docks of Rhy'Din.

The fish and gulls had puzzled him. The felines and then the raccoons had plain alarmed him.

Deciding it might be best to indeed stay inside the Maritime's walls for another day might be prudent, Renne moves about keeping the place clean. The problem is, even he can smell the....evidence...of the disaster area outside. And it isn't pleasant.

Perhaps indoors is good for a while but maybe...

Yes.

Although he regrets having to wait a little on his nightly letters by the oceanside, the blue-skinned imp crawl-hops on out to find out what can be done about the nastiness spread on the ground. It's times like this he's glad he can't see a whit. Still, letting out a trilling call, Renne tries hard to sniff through the fishy air for anyone that might be nearby. If anything, he can at least lend a hand in clearing some of this mess away from land.

Finding her husband proved to be a trial in patience (and of her gag reflex) that she quickly lost. Even the light footed fey found it hard to bypass the streets teeming with fish. Walking on top of the piles of sleek, squishy bodies was highly undesirable even though she was aware they had all long ago stopped flopping about and passed on to their fishy afterlives! Unfortunately, she had little choice. Being able to defy gravity was no help to her as the skyways were wholly given over to the hungry seagulls. So, brave the streets she did.

Heading towards the Pride and Fury at a snail's pace'she was stopping to apologize to the fish she was continually stepping on and cringing each time she heard a squish, squash, or felt something break and ooze beneath her feet'she encountered her first real challenge: cats. They were everywhere! Trying to step around a particularly large fish, she ended up stepping on the tail of a particularly peeved feline (she was sure that the frilly collar it wore had something to do with its disposition) and was ceremoniously attacked in return. The cat dug both its nails and its teeth into her denim covered leg and held on for dear life as Jewell started to flail in an attempt to free herself of the painful kitty-grip. She was shouting, the cat was yowling (though, how it managed that while it was biting her was beyond The Empress's understanding), and eventually she just had to use her other foot to kick it off her. The cat went airborne, screeching all the way. Unfortunately, her attack on the cat caused her to lose her balance, slipping on a particularly slick fish, and she fell down amongst the scattered half-eaten fish with a screech similar to the airborne cat's.

She sniffled, taking a look around to make sure no one was present for the humiliating downfall of the Empress. Nope! She was all clear, except for the seagull that had been hovering above the incredibly amusing scene and chose that moment to defecate on her shoulder. She looked a the splatter on her t-shirt, "Damn." Despite what local superstition may say, this was not her lucky day.

Sadly, the day was only beginning. The sun was soon to rise when she started on her way again. She didn't make it too far, the amount of fish steadily increasing the closer she got to the actual docks. Even with the help of those shoveling and removing what fish they could, the path was still impassable unless she wanted to brave the air. She loved her husband and all, but one look at the flock of seagulls and she just shook her head. Forget the Pride and Fury, she backtracked a little and attempted to find a way to the Powder Keg instead. The bar proved harder to reach than the Pride and Fury as she encountered a bear, yes a bear! It was lurking around a corner she turned and munching on a particularly yummy looking fish. He eyed her and she eyed him before she just nodded and turned around. It was obvious she was not meant to get to the Powder Keg either.

But what to do, then? It was obvious something needed to be done, especially after she survived a rather vicious raccoon attack as she attempted to head towards the Pride and Fury again. Smelly, pooped on, scratched and bleeding, The Empress had had enough! A crazy scheme hatching in her brain, she discretely (so as not to attract the attention of any crazed seagulls) flew up onto a roof of one of the warehouses nearest to the docks. Once there, she surveyed the fish invested Dockside. With the sun rising, she could already sense the smell increasing. This could not be tolerated! She also noted that while the tide was helping with the fish removal, it would certainly not be enough to clear the fish that had been pushed further inland by Carsadi's crazy spell. She, The Empress, would simply help the tide along a little!

The process would take extreme concentration. Sitting down on the edge of the roof, swatting at an errant seagull, she reached out a hand towards the sea and got to work. It was easier since she was working with the tide, but she could still only manipulate small sections at a time. She started with the streets directly before her, calling the tide further inland than it would normally go. Much further. Urging the water forward, drawing it closer to her, Jewell began to flood the streets of Dockside.

Vicfryn was exhausted. Even for a drow, even for a very young man with a lot of energy, he was exhausted. After he had dropped the letter off under the door of Archie's room in the Maritime, he had gone back to work trying to clean up the docks. Hard enough to do that, along with avoiding being attacked by all of the wildlife. Including the bear.

He tiredly heaved another shovelful of half-rotting fish bodies into the incoming tide, at first not registering that the tide itself seemed to be almost unnaturally high. When it did occur to him, he thought that it was a good thing — afterall, it made his job a little easier.

But it kept rising.

He paused for a moment, watching the water beginning to lap up onto the dock, then frowned. It was doing a nice job cleaning up the fish bodies, certainly, but wasn't it going to flood businesses and homes if it kept rising?

He retreated even as the tide came in, taking a moment to look around in the darkness before dawn to see if he could find the cause. But he couldn't.

Worried now, he retreated all the way back to the Maritime. The old building was very close to the dockside, but at least it had a bit of an incline and was built on slightly higher ground. With any luck, it wouldn't end up flooded — bad as the fish were, the water damage to the building would be worse.

He was so worried about that, that the explosion took him by complete surprise. And wide-eyed again, Vic watched the manhole cover out front blast out of the street with a flaming belch. He watched it as it flew....and kept ascending until he lost track of it amidst the still circling birds.

Then, he did what any sane person would do.

He sat down on the porch, wiped his forehead off with his cleanest sleeve, and muttered the two words that he really could boil it all down to.

"Al, shu."

It was hard to escape the scent of dead and rotting fish that lay thick in the air, but Kacey had been trying to ignore it as she went about her business. Working on repairing the walls of a rather dilapidated house just outside of the Dockside district wasn't the best-paying job, but it was what she could get, and so she'd wrapped a scarf over her nose and mouth and continued sawing and hammering away. Her stash of "retirement" pay wouldn't last forever, and hard work was better than starving. Even when the air reeked of dead fish.

She'd been stuck at the worksite longer than planned, as the sounds of chaos had increased for a while, birds, cats, and other wildlife obviously enhancing the confusion. Finally, however, it sounded like the streets were calming down, and Kacey decided to make a break for the room she was renting. It was, of course, inevitable that in the madness of the day something would go wrong - the violent explosion rather fit the bill.

As Kacey automatically ducked into a defensive crouch and glanced around, nothing immediately appeared to be a threat. It was just bad luck that she was looking right as a manhole cover came whirling in from the left, struck a glancing blow across her head just above the temple, and continued on its way into the wall she had just spent all day and a good part of the night repairing. Of course, it was good luck that it was a glancing blow, and only knocked her down (and, briefly, out).

Kacey was, as far as she could tell with her eyes closed, sitting propped up in a chair, and her head was throbbing, especially on the left side. Since the last thing she remembered was the explosion and looking around the street for its source, she was just a bit disoriented.

One hand reached up to the worst point of pain as she began to pry open her eyes. A wince as the hand encountered the tender lump left behind, and the bandage wrapped over it. Finally, blinking a bit to try and focus her eyes, she managed to shape a semi-coherent thought.

"Oww....what happened?"

The dockside had finally quieted. Most of the fish were gone out to sea, though remnants remained even then of the lengthy and surreal disaster. Sometimes someone would come across fish bones lodged into a space between crates; sometimes someone would come across bear prints in the mud by the sea, heading back towards the woods.

But it had come to an end for the most part, and all was as well as it ever got on the Docks of Rhy'Din. The seagulls had drifted away for the most part, as well as the cats and raccoons. People cleaned up what flood damage had been caused, and went back to their day to day jobs.

Several hundred miles away, Bill E. Bobbins had felt nothing but relief since taking his wife to Whitewall Island for a vacation. At least until the heat was off. He had spent the past couple of days feeling safe and secure and relieved, counting on the fact that even if someone could figure out that he started the mess, they wouldn't think to look out here for him.

He woke up late in the afternoon, having spent the night before celebrating his get away in the local pub. He thought that he smelled something funny, but brushed it off as him needing a shower. Slowly, leisurely, he went outside to stretch in the summer sun and feel the rays.

Then he sniffed again.

Then he looked.

Strewn all along the beaches of Whitewall Island were fish. Rotting fish. The same rotting fish that had been on the docks of Rhy'Din. Bill E. Bobbins stared, unable to believe it.

He stared for a long time.

And as the first of the seagulls began coming in waves, he let out a little sob.

The End.

((Thanks to all the muns and characters who made this thread a thing of chaotic beauty. I think this is a good place to end it; if anyone else wants to post about the disaster, feel free to start another thread here Dockside!))