Search the Community

Saturday, May 20th, 2015 Frankfort, Michigan, United States Late afternoon Frankfort was a small town of barely a thousand souls, full of picturesque buildings, sandy beaches, and a startlingly white lighthouse out on the point. Families walked or ran up and down main street, people on vacation enjoying the warm spring weather and the cool breezes that blew off the lake. It would be a perfect image, if not for an air of tension that hung over the town. You didn’t have to go far to find the source of the tension. The town’s docks had been interdicted, with Atlantean troops standing on the boardwalk and stopping anyone who tried to get to their moored boats. Tourists stared at them; police talked at them; angry citizens and protesters yelled at them; but the soldiers of the underwater kingdom were impassive in their verdigrised armor and lightning-staffs. For three days and three nights they had kept up a silent presence, not intruding further into town or attacking any of the surfacers (well, except for one guy who showed up at the ER with a broken arm and an electrical burn, but he should’ve known better than to throw a brick) but not allowing anyone to reach their vessels, either.

Roooooll for it.