The night was dark and grim. The stars shone in the sky, darkened in sadness by the absence of their friends, the twin moons of Rythas. Rythas was the world over which they hung, and it was fairly large, as worlds go. In another time and place, entities called scientists would marvel at its gigantic size, being as large as a world of gas called Jupiter. But magic didn’t exist in that time and place, so Rythas could not exist there.

Here it did, and on it traveled a young priestess, with hair all the colors of the rainbow and just as hard to catch, eyes currently as black as coffee yet possessing the power to turn color at any moment, and beautiful cerulean colored skin. Here and there on her body were pink Dragon scales, and with them were odd wings, seemingly Dragon, Demon, and fairy like all it once. She was an odd woman, and the only one of her kind to make it to adulthood. The result of many generations of adventurers, she was chosen by the gods to become the first Summoner.

Her goal was a manor far away on a continent called Eloria. Eloria was the civilized continent, or so its inhabitants boasted. Of course, Eloria was inhabited entirely by humans, and they thought themselves the darlings of all civilization. It was them that prayed and prayed for aid against something all their wizards powerful though they might be, and all their warriors mighty though they were, could not defeat.

It was an entity called The Sandman. The Sandman was a powerful demon that had escaped being sealed in the infernal plane where all demons dwelled. Nobody knew for certain what The Sandman looked like, but everyone agreed he had coarse sandy colored skin, which was how he got his name, though surely there had to be more.

Pondera had every confidence in Irene, but that didn’t help hers much as she stood outside a giant pair of gates on a hill, the mansion obscured in darkness. It was made of wrought iron, and flanked by two beastly looking gargoyles. She touched the gates, and the gargoyles eyes began to glow as they sprang to life! They didn’t attack, merely uttered a single dreadful warning as they opened the gate.

“We are the sentinels of stone, guardians of the gateway of the damned. Those who trespass here shall not return alive.”

Their voice sounded like gravel grating upon itself. Irene swallowed the overwhelming fear racing through her mind as she slowly tiptoed through the open gate. Her wings shook nervously, and she screamed out in fright, as the gate slammed shut behind her.
She was trapped now, no turning back. She made her way up the hill, towards the castle obscured in the cloudy night. Yet almost as if by magic, the clouds moved aside and revealed the castle in its entire splendor.

It was made of a stone that shone brilliantly in the light of the full moon, its walls reaching three stories into the air, and its tallest tower reaching five. A garden grew out of control in the front of the castle, full of deadly nightshade, and cannibalistic roses that fed on one another as they struggled for dominance over the garden. The trees, weeping willows, hung in silence, as though depressed by the knowledge they held of the futility of the struggle of the roses at their feet. Beyond them, statues of made of many things stood in silence, given over to a fate of being unloved and unwatched by any living thing, save for the moss that grew so abundantly over their bodies. Then there was the castle itself, a work of art and beauty in its heyday, its arched entryway obscured by black ivy that that had for ages stood atop the castle in dominance. Windows were covered on the inside in dust and webs, and in one a spider as large as Irene’s head sat leering at her, waiting for her to go up and visit with it. Irene didn’t know how large the castle was, for she did not dare to tour its whole grounds.

The hooting of an owl both snapped her out of her revere, and made her scream again for the second time that night. Something told her it would not be the last time, as the feeling of something sinister permeated her being. Slowly, fearfully she crept towards the doors, wishing fervently she had the spine to disobey the orders of a god, and knowing in her heart that if she did she would face far worse than a creepy old haunted mansion. Almost as if sensing a visitor the doors, made of a hard variety of brass, swung open of their own accord, one of the last remaining enchantments on the castle still intact. The other was one that made the torches in the mansion light themselves, burning away several years worth of cobwebs in the process, and inspiring the fireplace to light itself in response. Irene turned and ran back to the gates, and it took her several minutes before she dared to creep up to the still open and waiting mansion again.

She stepped inside, and held her nose with her clawed hands to keep from breathing in the acrid smell of decay and death that permeated the air. A foot of dust lay upon the floor, or so it felt. Flapping her wings, she sent clouds of it before her. With a slam, the door closed behind her, and Irene just stood there, blubbering in sheer terror, tears streaking down her cheeks. She always fancied herself a brave woman, but here in a den of evil, knew she was really just a coward.

“Welcome.” The words were whispered as though by a woman, but light and airy, as though from a spirit. They didn’t come from any one place in particular, but seemed to come from all around her.

“Geitfreet Manor has been empty for so long, so very, very long. We’ve forgotten what living flesh looked like.” A similar male voice said.

Irene had backed up against the nice safe door, turned, and yanked on its handle trying to get it open.

“We won’t harm you, we promise. It’s the other denizens we can’t promise, and if you keep acting out like that, they shall stir and come get you.” The female voice said.

This made Irene stop yanking on the door almost immediately, turn, and peer intently about the inside expecting to see sleeping demons turning in their slumber. She sighed in relief, seeing nothing.
“May I assume then, that you are friendly spirits?” Irene asked, her voice quivering with the fear she felt.
“We are neither friendly, nor hostile in our own right. We just want to be free, like all the other wandering spirits. To that end, we are willing to forgo killing you and consuming your weakened newly slaughtered spirit, if you promise to free us.” The male voice said.
Irene stood up a little straighter, regaining some of her courage; maybe spirits weren’t so bad after all.
“That, that really isn’t comforting, All the same, how do I free you?” Irene asked.
“Free us, the answers lie within.” The voices said in unison, retreating.
“Within what?” Irene called after them in confusion. She received no answer however.

She looked around, clearly this room was no help, it was a simple entry hall, having a rotten wooden bench that was once oak, a stand for coats and hats, and a simple marble fireplace. She ventured off to the right, and came to be in the sitting room, and it was furnished with a divan that had fallen to pieces, a table that appeared to be ready to fall apart. A crystal Chandelier still stood, surprisingly, but then it was suspended by Mythril and that lasted almost forever. There appeared to be nothing of use. A surviving scrap of paper appeared to be part of a banker’s balance sheet.

“Geitfreet estates: -100,000 Gold. Foreclosure on estate in seven days.”

She stood up; apparently the Geitfreets were in financial trouble once. She realized there were no pictures on the walls, and usually, landowners loved to hang pictures, both of themselves and of other things all over the walls. But even the entry hall, which should’ve boasted a picture of the lord of the manor, was bare. Maybe time had taken the pictures down itself.

She moved on to a nearby room, the kitchen. It was a standard kitchen, with a fancy wood burning stove and sink that could put out water if one pumped the handle. She peered in drawers and cabinets, and found nothing. Curiously, in one drawer though, there was no dust, only a large knife she recognized as being ceremonial to some of the darker gods, but it was for one she did not recognize immediately, it had a black pearl handle with two small white pearls set as though they were eyes. The blade itself was made of black Mythril. After she touched, she gasped, opened the drawer and looked at it again. She remembered the stories of a time long ago when a force known as The Fiends walked the world. They were the worst of the worst, said to bow to no deity. Among the fiends was an entity called The Shadowlord. The Shadowlord was fear personified. No one could withstand The Shadowlord’s presence, for he could use your own mind against you, and his powers of illusion were so great, that he could simply alter reality itself. He manifested as white eyes in the darkness, when he wasn’t formed as your own greatest fear.

Irene thought of the balance sheet she saw in the sitting room, and ran back to grab it. She returned to the kitchen, and looked for the knife, but turned frost white when she found it missing. Had the Geitfreet’s been so desperate for money, as to turn to Sinister forces? What was loose in this place, and where did the knife go? Something was in the kitchen with her. She saw a shadow looming, and two white eyes in it. Remembering the knife her mind immediately jumped to the conclusion of it being The Shadowlord. She was terrified of ghosts, and she prayed he would be merciful and not take the form of a phantom, yet knew he would.

To her relief, a giant cockroach crawled out of the shadows. It was fairly aggressive as roaches go, and wanted some fresh meat, and Irene was its meat. It came close hissing at her, Irene hissed right back, and swiped at it with her claws, opening a large wound in its backside, making it flee.

She exited the kitchen through a door to the dining room, and found it decorated with skeletons sitting at a large, and most likely, very heavy solid oak table. The sat before a feast of kings, fowls of all sorts, next to the rarest of game. Fresh and exotic fruits, wines, cheeses, breads, milk even! She couldn’t understand how all this good food remained, despite everything else being dead. Were the guests just sitting down to eat as they died? Maybe it was a trap for unwary adventurers.

She didn’t know, but she laid a hand on the comfortable and still intact mahogany chair covered in green silk. Suddenly, she wasn’t herself, she was someone else, a young woman still, but now completely human. She knew she had blond hair and green eyes, but didn’t quite know how she knew that. She was wearing an expensive looking blue dress.

The guests, all those still seated at the table, were alive and looking at her. There was no dust, or webs, or skeletons anywhere, infact, it was a very nicely kept room.

“Lady Geitfreet, how nice of you to sit us down to dinner. Again we apologize for having to repossess your estate, but banking is banking after all, it’s just business nothing personal.” A weedy looking old man in a brown jacket said.
“Have not a care, my husband and daughter are in the basement vault gathering the funds as we speak. I shall serve the first course, and then retreat to the basement to help them.” Lady Geitfreet said.
The bankers seemed interested in both dinner, and how she got the money, but Irene didn’t find out anything more, for she was herself again, back in the run down abandoned room. Both the experience, and the fact that she was staring down an empty table with skeletons sitting at it disturbed her. She couldn’t explain what happened, she just knew it happened.

She quickly scooted away from the table and chairs, a knot rising in her stomach with the knowledge that a child was involved. She wondered just what happened, for few things were as valuable to the dark gods as the innocent soul of a child. She almost retched with the thought of the things that might’ve been done in return for money. The poor girl!

Terrified of having another experience in the past, Irene ran out of the dining room, and fell up a staircase. That is, she tripped, fell, landed on a stairwell, and as she beat her wings to try and correct herself, the scrambling of her hands and feet caused her to mover up to the second floor, thus making her fall up a staircase. She hadn’t wanted to go upstairs, really, but then it occurred to her if she could find a roof access, or a large open window on the top floor, she could fly out of this crazy place and be done with it.
“Feed me.” The voice came whispering behind her. Irene got chills down her spine, walked five steps forward, and deliberately did not turn around when the pleading ghostly male voice, different from the one she heard in the entry way earlier, came pleading again.
“Feed me.”
“There’s a feast downstairs, I saw it myself.” She said, not turning around to look.
“The feast of the damned is only for the blessed forever they eat, forever their hunger is sated.” The voice said.
“Then I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I’m not food, nor do I have any.” Irene said, clenching her fists tightly.
“FEED ME!” the voice came again, yelling, demanding. Irene turned around, and immediately regretted her choice, for there stood the half decayed corpse of the most recent treasure hunter to come this way hoping to find treasure hidden in the old abandoned castle. It was a man, and all that was left of him were some internal muscles, and his skeleton. Irene promptly lost what little breakfast she had all over the corpse. This very act seemed to startle the dead man, as though he hadn’t been expecting it.
“Happy?” Irene asked, backing away from the corpse as she wiped her mouth off.
“FEED ME YOUR SOUL!” The corpse demanded. It stumbled off after her, as Irene turned and ran, fleeing in terror. How was she supposed to kill a dead thing?

She ran, and it followed, she began to tire, and it showed no signs of slowing. She ran down hallways and around corners, across rooms and through doorways, throwing things down in the path behind her, and still it came, attracting with it, a large group of cohorts, mostly bodies that had degenerated into skeletons, as well as a few spirits. Finally, she came to stop before a door with a pink heart on it, unable to run any further for she had reached a dead end. To her surprise, they stopped well away from the door.

“Come back, please!” the original pleaded gently.
“We didn’t mean it.” A spirit cried out.

Irene opened the door, and stepped inside. She was in a little girl’s bedroom. It was neat and clean and well kept and completely free of the presence of dead things. It had a four poster bed with a big lavender curtain about it, trimmed with gold. The bed was of a similar color scheme and the pillows were a cross between pink and purple. This little girl was a reader, and interested in folk lore. She had a bookshelf that ranged from common titles such as “The complete collection of stories from the fairy realm” to more boring titles like “The complete magic Encyclopedia.” To books that made Irene wonder just how innocent the little girl was like “A beginners guide to Demons” and “The Demonology Compendium”. “Secretum Obscurum”, a text in the language of The Gods was hidden behind the other books. Irene, being familiar with the language, opened it and discovered one section had been read through so much, it separated from all the others.

“Sandman I call to thee tonight, comfort me and remove my fright. As nighttime falls, and monsters loom, I bid you welcome to my room. Watch my room from upon the floor; let the evil come no more. Cast your spell of slumber deep; guard my soul, while I sleep. If I should die, before I wake, I grant to you, all souls to take.” Read a small entry written in a little girl’s flowery script in the margins. Irene, as the world’s only Summoner, recognized the potential such a verse held, especially with the art of demon calling, which was infact the precursor to summoning.


She read on, the section was about the very thing she was here to stop, The Sandman. The Sandman was a major demon in servitude to the Fiend known as The Shadowlord. The Sandman got his name both from the sandy color and rough texture of his skin, and from his tendency to use a magic sand to put his victims to sleep with. The green thing one found in one’s eye was infact this magic sand all used up and no good. The Sandman was a devourer of souls and he used them to make himself more powerful, the souls of those he ate came to be his servants. His favorite method was to pluck out the soul from the eyes of his victim, sometimes taking the eyes entirely.

Irene put the book back, and looked around the room some more, taking interest in this aberration of a room among so many destroyed ones. She didn’t think she was in a ghost’s mind, like she was in the dining room, she was quite herself now. So something had to be keeping this room safe, and nice, something that made the ghosts and undead afraid to enter. She noticed a large shelf full of dolls, made of a delicate substance called porcelain. They were all very pretty, in their little dresses and hats. Some sported ribbons instead of hats. But they creeped Irene out, it seemed as if they were watching Irene. She took a step backwards towards the door, and a scream died in her throat as she found herself face to face with a very much alive looking little girl.

She had blond hair, and pretty black eyes full of sorrow. She wore a little blue dress with the white knee-high socks and brown shoes all little girls seemed to wear. Her eyes began to glow red, like a full demon’s did.

“Welcome to my room strange lady. I hope you enjoyed your look around.” The little girl said in a singsong little voice that was several octaves deeper than a little human girl’s voice should’ve been.

She waved at the dolls, and they stood up, and crawled down to the floor. Irene caught her breath, marveling at the fluid movements of the dolls. Then she realized they had hostile intentions, as their hands started moving in a spell.

“Don’t fight it, it’s much nicer as her doll.” One said. Irene realized the dolls seemed to be watching her on the shelf, as though alive, was because they were! Irene reconciled her desire to not harm others with her desire to escape unharmed very easily, and kicked the dolls so hard they shattered against the walls, their spirits escaping the fragile bodies. The little girl started crying, and Irene felt terrible about herself.

“Just wait until Sandman wakes up, you’ll be sorry, you’ll see!” she said, disappearing.

Irene quietly left the room, the information running through her mind. Apparently the Geitfreets had run into a financial difficulty, and at some point, encouraged their daughter’s interest in demons. She was missing step three that lead to their immense profit at step four which apparently enabled them to pay the bankers off. How did the knife with Shadowlord’s mark on it fit in? She knew she couldn’t just leave now. Now she understood better why she was sent, for to deal with a summoned menace, it would clearly require a Summoner, though why Pondera didn’t just blast the manor into oblivion baffled her.

She discovered the halls, empty. Apparently the ghouls and such thought her a goner. She peeked into rooms and poked around items that might be of interest, but found nothing. She found a stairwell to the third floor, and sighed with resignation as she climbed to the third floor of this place.

She found the third floor in perfect mint condition! There were no ghosts, no ghouls, no dead people wanting to eat her, no dust, no webs, no insects, and everything in good repair. She thought of the little girl’s room, and realized it was a play room. The rooms and such below were guest rooms, or parlors, or kitchens or drawing rooms or studies, or simple storage rooms.

Remembering the little girls play room she knew there must be exceptionally powerful spirits up here, which was clearly why the more degenerate spirits avoided it. Though why the powerful spirits stayed in such clean areas she didn’t know, not that she particularly blamed them. She decided she’d look in all the rooms up here.

She went into one room, the master bedroom. She was lady Geitfreet again.
“How do we owe the bank so much money?” she screeched at the top of her lungs.
“You know how much my research costs!” Lord Geitfreet responded defensively.
“Yeah, research, on how to lose a fortune in the gambling house!” Lady Geitfreet responded sarcastically.
“All is not lost; we might be able to recoup our losses. We’ll simply take that which is ours from those who took it.” Lord Geitfreet said, with a note of desperation in his voice.

Irene was herself again. It felt strange, being in a ghost’s mind, seeing their memories.
Now she knew what got them into trouble. She poked around the room, but found nothing more.

The other rooms yielded a collection of scraps and half faded memories. Irene puzzled it all together. It seems early one spring Lord Geitfreet, up to his ears in gambling debts took out a rather hefty loan from the bank. This paid off his debts, but now he owed to the bank. He tried to win back his fortune, and almost succeeded, but a misplaced card lost him everything. Lady Geitfreet found out, and came up with the idea of robbing the lords and nobles who had their fortune, and paying everything off that way. Unfortunately, the robbers they had hired were repelled, and so they ended up owing them too. So how did they go from being on the verge of getting a visit from a mob to, this? How did their daughter’s fascination with demonology fit into everything?

She was about to go back downstairs, when she noticed a door that quite plainly was not there before, or so she thought. She thought back, and realized there had always been a door in what she thought was a blank wall, but she had been so busy looking for ghosts and information that she never noticed it, which was quite odd because it was hard for her to miss anything.

Now that she knew it was there, she wanted to see what was inside. She went over to the door, opened up, and gasped in delight as she saw the largest most extravagant tapestry ever to grace any wall she had ever seen in her life. It was made entirely of very tiny squares, and came in every color conceivable, and even included colors beyond the scope of mortal imagination. The threads in the tapestry wove a plethora of images, designs, and circles, each more complex than the last, and when taken in scope altogether, formed even more complex images she could no quite grasp. It had to be worth the fortune of several kingdoms! Was this how they got their fortune? Her eyes fell to the bottom of the tapestry. It was still being made! At the bottom sat a beautiful young woman, very much alive and breathing. She had a fortune teller’s cap on, and was dressed in the garments of the gypsy caravans that sometimes rolled across the lands. Her skin was a dark tan color, as though she had spent many days in the sun. Her wavy hair was brown, and reached to the floor itself, for she was sitting down. Her eyes were green, and seemed to hold untold knowledge of things to come. The woman was busy weaving the tapestry, seemingly unaware of Irene’s presence.  She must’ve been working on this tapestry for a long time, for it covered the whole of the room. Naught but a single chair sat in the room, and it was upon that the woman sat.

“I should probably clear my throat, and let her know I’m here. She’s so beautiful, I wonder who she is.” Irene thought to herself.
“No need, I knew you were here since about three hundred years ago when I decided you would arrive here about now, and thanks for the compliment.” The woman said. Her voice was strong, commanding.
Irene’s eyes widened in surprise, “Can she read my thoughts?” She wondered privately.
“No, but I do weave the tapestry of fate, and decide all things to come.” The woman said.
Irene thought hard, she hadn’t heard of the tapestry of fate before.
“No, of course you haven’t, father’s real quite about family matters, as is mother.”
This of course led Irene to wonder who her mother and father were.
“Ponder, King of the gods, and Arianna, Queen of the gods. Now before you go asking yourself what’s Gypsy, Goddess of Fate and princess among the gods doing sitting in an old abandoned castle, let me tell you. I’m trapped here. The Sandman is and always has been an abomination of fate. Something, I know not what, removes him from the tapestry of fate. I can’t see his future, for he has none. I can’t very well weave the tapestry for this continent, because of his actions. If I decide a wedding’s going to happen, here comes the sandman to ruin it, then fate is wrecked, and too much Chaos is let into the mortal plane. So I came here when this all started to try and convince the Geitfreets personally to not summon The Sandman, and leave him in his slumber. I even offered to turn their fortunes around, but so incensed they were with a fate that was their own doing that they summoned Sandman anyway. I’m not capable of fighting, so I was forced to let Sandman imprison me in this room. Here I sit day after day, century after century weaving The Tapestry.” Gypsy said.

“But, I know they were in a spot of financial trouble and hired highway men to get it back for them, but how did they get from that to demons?” Irene asked, voicing her thoughts this time.
“Oh dear, you really didn’t find out? Come here, and look closer at the Tapestry beneath my feet.” Gypsy said. Irene nodded, and knelt before gypsy, examining the tapestry closer than ever before. She gasped with amazement as she discovered the tapestry was not silk at all, as it felt, rather it was energy! She was standing on an energy field! The Tapestry zoomed in on what Irene realized was actually a massive sandstorm that showed no signs of stopping, ever. She had heard of The Sands of Time, but did not know it was a literal term.  Still the tapestry zoomed, onto one little section, and the sands cleared away to reveal a room Irene had not yet seen. It looked like a temple sanctuary of some sort, but where was it?

It was decorated in profane symbols, and smeared with blood, but Irene didn’t want to know of what. A large black alter stood in the exact center, and on it laid the little girl. Irene felt sick to her stomach.
“Don’t you dare get sick on my Tapestry!” Gypsy’s voice rang in her ears.
Irene realized she wasn’t kneeling anymore; she was actually in the room, standing there!

She was invisible though, unknowable and watching only. Lord and Lady Geitfreet were kneeling by their daughter’s side.
“It’s going to be okay, we just need you to lay there long enough for Sandman to come, then run out of the circle. Some really bad men took all our money, and now they want to throw us out of our homes. We’re going to have Sandman right the wrongs done against us, regardless of what any strange passing woman says.” Lord Geitfreet said.
“Its okay daddy, I understand. I made up a poem to tell sandman when he arrives.” The little girl said.

She lay down on the table, and Lord and lady Geitfreet began reciting things in the demon tongue which made the house shake with an eerie green light. Lord and Lady Geitfreet suddenly lost their voices and were unable to continue. Irene realized Gypsy made them lose their voice as an act of fate. But she forgot to remember the little girl’s fate as well; for children are incapable of invoking great evil everyone knows it. The little girl recited her poem she made up, the same that Irene read in the margins. Gypsy paled as she realized her mistake, and what the new ending meant of Sandman escaped. Unfortunately, the little girl got up and ran out of the circle, scuffing part of it open in the process on accident. The Sandman appeared with a shudder and a boom, and quickly killed the Geitfreets escaping the now opened circle, all three of them. Gypsy, being immortal, could not be killed, but could be locked away. So began the haunting of Geitfreet manor. Over the years Sandman would wander the continent, killing whomever he wanted, and devouring their souls.

As time passed, and Sandman’s activity died down, mostly out of boredom than anything else having no limitations upon him due to the girl’s poem, people began to suspect there was a treasure hidden inside the manor, and so people came, and began to rob the place blind, anything they could get their hands on. Of course, this angered the sandman, and he chased them down, those he caught, joined him forever in the manor, each seeking to devour souls for themselves. Irene felt herself rising, back to the current day. She realized Gypsy had placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Now you know, now you should go, to warn people, and keep them from here.” Gypsy said.
“But why doesn’t your father just stop this himself?” Irene asked.
“And annihilate me in the process too?” Gypsy asked.
“Oh, didn’t know that would happen.” Irene said.
“He would simply blast it with five hundred thousand megatons of thermonuclear energy, which would obliterate me, and the entire local populace for miles, making it uninhabitable by anything of any species for a very long time.” Gypsy said offhandedly forgetting Irene didn’t know what she was talking about.
“What?” Irene asked, confused.
“He would smite the area with his god power and curse it for centuries.” Gypsy said.
“Oh. I guess that’s why he sent me.” Irene said.
“He did? Being this close to Sandman has really thrown me off! I would’ve known instantly any other time!” Gypsy said, throwing down the tapestry, picking up Irene as she stood, and swinging her around in circles as she hugged her tightly. Irene blushed as the thrilled woman even kissed her directly on the lips out of shear enthusiasm.
“There’s just one thing missing from you to defeat Sandman.” Gypsy said.
Before Irene could ask what it was, Irene had been set down, and Gypsy had started tearing down the tapestry and folding it up neatly, revealing a very bare room. She folded it more times than Irene thought possible, and where exactly it went, Irene would never be sure of, for it simply disappeared.
“I was four hundred years ahead anyway, at the part where Xos discovers the power of The Flares.” Gypsy said as she began drawing symbols around Irene.
“Who? What?” Irene asked.
“Never mind, you live long enough to find out eventually.” Gypsy said. She kneeled before Irene, and began praying, as though to a higher god. Irene thought she might be praying to her own father, but realized she was praying to something else entirely. What could be so powerful as to make the gods themselves pray to it? Irene felt something entering her, an energy she never felt before. It felt like pure joy, an ocean’s worth all pouring over her. She realized she was glowing, literally. Golden White Light was radiating from her body.

“That’s what you needed. Now, anything you strike will be taken to The Place that is Every Place and dealt with properly. Kill me, strike me down and kill me, you have the power now. Release me from this place, and as I die my final scream shall awaken sandman.” Gypsy said, standing before Irene.

Irene felt horrified. She couldn’t kill simply because someone wanted her too! Then another thought entered her head, almost as if the light in her body was helping her, suggesting things to her. Why not simply banish the goddess? That would also send her away. She had the power to banish magical creatures, and a goddess was certainly magical, though it was also true that they were something else entirely. The light was telling her that it didn’t matter, it would make it happen.

Irene smiled, and decided to listen to the light. A banishing wouldn’t hurt Gypsy, though it might disorient her. Irene put her hands directly on Gypsy’s chest, it felt soft and inviting. Gypsy’s heart beat faster in surprise, and before she could react, Irene spoke only two words, and willed it to be so.
“Be gone.”

Gypsy disappeared with a gasp. But now how would Irene find Sandman to defeat him? The light was again whispering in her mind, telling her not to worry, for the situation would soon resolve itself. Irene strengthened her will to go on. She wasn’t afraid anymore, now that she had the light in her. The demon had to be abolished, the souls of those so trapped must be allowed to rest. Suddenly, Irene realized something was happening.

A single cathedral bell tolled from somewhere within the castle. It was midnight, and as it tolled, the light of the candles and torches throughout the castle turned green. After the twelfth stroke, the bell continued to toll, and Irene realized it signaled the awakening of The Sandman. She began to rush downstairs at the urging of the light, and saw the dead fleeing in terror. All the bells in the manor began to toll in a melodious manner, making a dreadful song that sent chills down Irene’s spine. Green Energy filled the air, as something new awakened, and began to move about the castle.

Everything actively avoided her, in their haste to get away from where they knew sandman to be, somewhere on the first floor. Down there, Irene searched room after room, but found him nowhere. Irene saw the spirits of Lord and Lady Geitfreet gesturing for her to follow them, and so she ran after them

To her surprise they ran to the entryway, and had pushed a brick behind the fire that moved the entire wall!  Irene walked down the newly darkened corridor to enter the sanctuary she had seen them summon Sandman from all those years ago.

This was the worst place of all, for the stench of human blood emanated from the symbols drawn on the ground. She could see the tattered remains of ghosts hanging down from, something’s, jaws.

“I told you Mr. Sandman, she’s the bad lady that let Gypsy go. She’s the bad lady that destroyed my dolls, she’s the bad lady prophesized to stop you.” The little girl’s voice said. With a sick horror of realization, she knew the thing before her to be Sandman. It had muscles and a generally human form, true, but she had never seen a full demon before. Its claws dripped with spiritual energy. Before anyone could do anything, Sandman snatched the girl with a growl and stuffed her in his mouth, eating her spirit. Sandman cupped his hands, and sparkling sand fell from his hands. He blew on it at Irene, who covered her face with her wings, hands, and turned away.

“Heh, I can’t believe a circus freak is going to take me down. Your not going to harm me, are you circus freak? No, you’re a woman; you’re too weak to harm me. Why don’t you take off those robes and we’ll talk about letting you live, but only if you serve my every command. You are attractive after all, even for a circus freak, it’d be a shame to kill you now, wouldn’t it circus freak?” Sandman asked, unfurling his wings behind him. He wore nobleman’s clothes, and carried a cane, as though he were rich.

“I’M NOT A DAMN CIRCUS FREAK!” Irene shrieked. She was always called names because of her appearance, and it bothered her to no end.

“Of course you are.” Sandman cooed, as though that would help.
“I think I’ll rip your manhood off and stuff it down your throat.” Irene growled dangerously, moving in close to Sandman.

“Now see, you had to go and become downright unfriendly.” Sandman said, balling up his fist to punch Irene. She dodged, and slashed at him, and even opened up a wound only to find sand pouring out of a rapidly closing hole.

How was she supposed to beat The Sandman if she couldn’t even hurt him? The light sent the thought across her mind that she was supposed to summon Grath first, before it’d empower her to defeat Sandman.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, Sandman. I already have a boyfriend. I’d like you to meet him.” Irene said. She raised her arms to the sky, wavered, and disappeared. Fog rolled into the room, and in it, one could see the entrance to a great Labyrinth. The doors swung open, and out walked a giant hulking brute of a Minotaur. It had the head of a bull, brownish black in color, and reminded her of a type of creature called a Longhorn. Its eyes, though decidedly human-like, were reddish brown in color, and clearly taken with battle madness. Its body had the physique of a warrior, hidden beneath thick shaggy hair. It wore chainmail, steel chainmail that gleamed green in the ghoulish light. As for its lower torso, all it wore was a loincloth. In its hands it carried a large and powerful battleaxe. Its shaft was of Steel, its head of Mythril, a magic metal that was thought to be the most powerful of all metals.

Suddenly, Irene and the Minotaur’s bodies were glowing Golden White with power from Gypsy’s earlier prayer.

“YOU HAVE THE OMNILIGHT?!” Sandman screeched in outright fear. Irene had no idea what the Omnilight was, but if it intimidated Sandman, she was going along with it.

“Yeah, I have the Omnilight; I got it directly from the source in the usual fashion. I advise you leave now before I sic Grath on you and things get ugly.” Irene said bluffing. Grath of course was the Minotaur.
“Then, as a servant of The Consuming Darkness, I must destroy you, servant of The Glorious Light.” Sandman said bitterly. He had really been attracted to Irene’s body, even if it did look a bit clownish. He let out a bloody roar that seemed to transcend mortal bounds and reach into infinity. Irene shook her head in confusion as the room seemed to be infinite in size. At least they would have plenty of room to take down Sandman.

“Grath, Kill him!” Irene commanded.

That seemed to be the start of a battle Irene would always think of as truly epic. Grath and Sandman circled each other like dogs spoiling for a fight, sizing each other up. Then Sandman struck first slashing at Grath with his claws. Grath sidestepped and swung with all his might at Sandman’s torso, and scored a glancing blow off the demon’s hard powerful abs. Sandman tripped Grath, and the axe was thrown by Grath towards Irene. It fell with a clatter and landed at her feet. Free of his Axe, Grath wrestled with the Demon, gouging him in the ribs as he struggled to all fours. Sandman took the blow in stride, and sent a kick flying towards Grath’s face. Sandman realized his mistake too late as Grath simply turned his head to let the foot land on his horn, his left horn to be exact. Sandman howled in pain as he took his foot back and favored his other for awhile.

Irene meanwhile had picked up the axe. It was heavy, far too heavy for her. She could barely lift it. She slowly stumbled towards the wrestling pair. If she could catch Sandman on his unprotected backside, she just might be able to end this fight.

Grath had by this point stood back up, and was punching Sandman every time the demon got close. The Demon wasn’t weakening though, or at least didn’t seem to. He was moving a little slower than when they started, but so was Grath. Sandman suddenly knew what to do. He got in close, and grabbed Grath’s hands as they came flying at him. Then he leaned in to bite the Minotaur, but ended up screaming in Grath’s face as pain flooded his body. He went limp, and Grath grinned at Irene as he yanked his axe out of the demon’s back.

Grath raised the axe to finish Sandman off, but Sandman dissolved into a sandstorm that howled around them. Both Summoner and Minotaur had to shield themselves from the fury of the stinging sand, covering their heads. Irene wrapped her wings protectively about herself. Grath simply closed his eyes and raised his arms as he turned away.

The sandstorm abated suddenly, and Sandman sent claws flying at Irene who was not prepared for an attack. As the claws ripped through her torso like a hot knife through butter she collapsed in agony. The agony quickly began to subside, and Irene decided it must be because she was dying; her mind must be shutting down, when in truth the light was regenerating her wounds. Grath meanwhile had went completely berserk when he saw Irene attacked, and as Sandman turned to face him, Grath let out a mighty roar of his own, and swung his axe into the ground so hard it opened up a deep crevice into the earth from which came the liquid fire that was the world’s heart.  Grath seemed to somehow control this fire, and he directed it as if it were himself. It formed a giant hand at his discretion, which grabbed Sandman and pulled him into the fire. Sandman again became a sandstorm. Irene, thinking she was dead, didn’t protect her eyes, and so sand got into them, making her fall asleep. Grath did protect his eyes, and the sandstorm abated quickly, even as the crevice closed up from Grath’s attack. Sandman reformed to kill Irene, but Grath was quicker this time and swung his axe so hard across the kneeling Sandman’s body that he almost cleaved it in two. Sandman’s body dissolved into sand completely, as the demon died.

This seemed to end the sleeping enchantment on Irene, for she awoke at that point.

“We, we won?” she asked.
“Seems so.” Grath said.
“No, it’s not over, he can be killed, but he always returns the next night. Banish him to the infernal plane!” the Geitfreets cried, morning the loss of their daughter.

Irene didn’t want to touch the demon, but she had to. However, as she laid her hands on Sandman, the light surged into Sandman’s body, and connected her soul with his in a way she had never expected, for it reversed, and began feeding Sandman’s soul into her body!

Irene screamed in an agony greater than any she had ever felt, the ground began to shake, and the green spirit light flicker. It was the start of a massive earthquake brought on by a surge of power.

All across the Continent, Green Light could be seen, surging upwards into the sky and towards The Land of The Dead. Great pillars that marked graveyards and abandoned cities, but the greatest of these was the one at Geitfreet manor.

As the Earthquake rolled across the landscape, buildings collapsed partially, but none completely collapsed, save for Geitfreet manor, collapsing upon itself completely, and burying Irene in the rubble, dying after being hit in the head by the ceiling.

The Earthquake subsided, all was right again. Then, movement, Gypsy returned, walking through the rubble. She pointed at it, and it disappeared, leaving behind Irene’s bleeding and almost completely dead body.

“Because you spared my life, I shall now spare yours.” Gypsy said, kneeling by Irene’s body. She rubbed her hands across Irene’s body, removing the wounds and restoring it to health. Then, after completely healing Irene, she got up, and left.

Irene woke to find herself being stared at by villagers from the nearby villages.
“It was her that must’ve done it! I saw her enter last night, now here she is and the haunted castle is gone! Our babies are safe!” said one elderly woman.

Irene sat up, her head fuzzy.

“But she wrecked our towns with the earthquake, we must kill her I say!” said one man. Irene stood up, and stared him dead in the eye.
“If you so much as lay a hand on me, I swear to Pondera I’ll release Sandman from my soul and send him after you with my dying breath.” She threatened.
The villagers backed up.
“You don’t have power over Sandman.” The man said.
Irene thought she didn’t, but decided to act as though she were summoning Sandman, but summon Grath instead.
“Sandman, come forth and obey your Mistress!” She intoned, and raised her arms to the sky. To her very visible shock, and everyone else’s, A Sandstorm emanated from her body, blew around everyone, and then reformed into the grudgingly kneeling form of Sandman.

“So, who’s the Circus Freak now?” she asked, smirking.

The villagers had by this point fled in terror.
“This is temporary. I’ll find away out of this.” Sandman said.
“I doubt it.” Irene said.
“I’m going to torment you at every turn. You’re going to see me in your reflections, in your dreams, and feel me in your thoughts. You’re going to feel my touch and desire things you didn’t before. Oh yes, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Sandman said.

Irene banished him, and searched within herself for any remnants of the light, and found only a little spark. She wondered what it was, but didn’t dare ask, only felt a warm tingle of delight knowing it was still there. She wondered what the darkness that Sandman had mentioned was, and resolved to find out the secrets of The Light and the Darkness as soon as possible.