Among the tailor’s mundane materials – fabrics, threads, lumps of beeswax – the investigators discovered evidence of his odious craft: illegal pixie dust, pegasus pelts, troll tongues, bottles of dragon’s blood, and worse – a chest of elf skins.

Good luck writing that report; first the magical firefight that saw the old man incinerated, and now proof that the surge in dark artifactivity was the tailor’s handiwork – what a can of wyrms!

“What kinda deranged sicko-” Cheb stopped. He’d unlatched a trunk before noticing a symbol on it: a warning. “Uh. . . ”

Too late.

Someone yelled, “get out!”

The others fled as Cheb exploded.

This flash fiction in 100 words was crafted for the M3 blog’s Flash in the Pan (Deranged).