The Sandman

Two figures sat quietly by the lake. The hour was questionable. The moon was bright in the sky, but it had shown for many hours by now. Still, there wasn't yet any hint of morning approaching. A pleasant breeze drifted through the grass and trees, carried up from the water. The lady stretched out her legs in front her, leaning back on her arms as the man wrapped one of his own about her shoulders tenderly. They spoke quietly together for some time, content.

An eerie melody began to drift from behind the tree nearby. The sound was that of a music box, though more haunting than it was comforting. Nieve leant against Trianon, glancing over his shoulder bearing a mildly curious expression. The blonde man too glanced up towards the base of the tree, a brow arching.
"What's that?" he questioned, twisting his head in search of any other people about them. But there were none in sight. "Someone else out to see the sun rise over the lake?" he offered, grinning at Nieve. She grinned slightly in return.
"Probably something from the faire..." Nieve responded.

But the melody persisted. It grew more and more discomforting as it continued. Somehow corrupt.

"Should I go check? If it's a Faire worker, maybe I can get them to move on?" Trianon proposed. Glancing up at him, Nieve gave a nod of affirmation. The man smiled fondly down at her as he released her from his arms, giving a gentle pat to her shoulder as he rose. "I'll be right back," he assured. Picking up his shield from the grass, he made his way about the side of the tree casually, glancing about for the source of the music. Arching a brow, he looked down as he reached the tree. Half buried in the grass was an ancient looking music box, playing away. "What on earth...?" he murmured, leaning down to shut it as he called back towards Nieve. "It's a music box!"

From the shadows of the tree, a flash of red and white appeared. It was hard to make out what exactly. Pale fingers outstretched in front of a mouth. With a gust of breath, a glittering cloud was blown from the figure's palm and into Trianon's face as he hovered over the small music box. Trianon coughed and sputtered, rolling quickly to his side in instinct in case of a follow-up attack. His bright blue eyes opened again as he looked back towards the shadows, coughing again before quickly rubbing at his nose and eyes, blinking rapidly to try and make out what was in the shadows without avail.

"What on-..?" Trianon began, before suddenly slumping to the ground again, out cold.

Nieve frowned at the strange noises that came from Trianon's direction, and finally rose to her feet bearing a frown. While the music had stopped for a moment, it suddenly began once more. Nieve's frown deepened as she made her way towards the origin of Trianon's voice. Ignoring the music box, she knelt beside his fallen figure, gently shaking his shoulder in concern.

"Trianon...?"

The music box snapped shut. Nieve turned her head to glance briefly at the thing. The red figure stepped fully into view then, hard to make out fully in the moonlight however. A mixture of tattered red cloth, buckles, blades. The figure was long and slender, though utterly androgynous. The other palm was lifted to pale lips now, blowing another cloud of dust towards Nieve's face. She blinked, reflexively lifting a hand towards her face and shooting a confused look towards the figure.

"Wha...?" she began to murmur, blinking rapidly several more times, wafting her hand heavily in front of her face as she began to slump to the ground. Her eyes closed, collapsing beside Trianon's limp form.

"Shh... everything will be alright," a soft voice murmured. It was silken sounding, but also hard to place. Whether it was human, elf, male or female was nearly impossible to tell.

In a few moments, all three figures were gone from sight, as well as the music box.

* * *

The human man was tied up against a wooden arch, somewhere high upon a stone platform. Elven in appearance, almost, and yet hardly any time had passed at all. He was still upon the Eastern Kingdoms. His arms were stretched out to either side, keeping him standing, his feet bound together. His head hung against his muscled chest, tired golden locks falling in front of his face. A few drops of water began to splatter on the top of his head, the chill suddenly causing him to wake sharply. He inhaled deeply before being wracked by more coughing and sputtering, shaking the water from his head, looking around in wide-eyed panic and confusion. But there was no one to be seen. There came a creaking of wood above him, and suddenly a cloud of red cloth swung by, landing before him. It was the same strange figure as before. Trianon gasped, flinching away and tugging against the ropes, but they held fast.

"Where am I? Who are you?" Trianon demanded.

"I am the Sandman. Where you are is of no consequence, but where you are going...?" the figure responded, trailing off, though seeming to suggest that it had the intent to send him somewhere. Again, Trianon tugged futilely at the ropes.

"What do you mean, where am I going?! Let me go and I will!" he pleaded. The Sandman did not respond, but drew a cruel looking knife from a sheath at its thigh, looking up towards one of Trianon's tied hands. The man stared at the red clad figure with wide-eyed trepidation. Lifting the knife, the Sandman dragged the tip along Trianon's palm before drawing it back, allowing him to see the blood upon it. Trianon shrieked in pain, clenching his wounded hand into a fist and pulling back against the ropes, trying to lean as far away from the figure as possible.

"To be more precise... I am the blood red Sandman..." it added. Which was exceedingly accurate.

"W-what do you want?! Why are you doing this?" Trianon cried out. The wound upon his palm tingled and burned strangely despite the initial pain. The Sandman lifted its other hand towards Trianon's good hand, action unseen, but Trianon yelped in pain as though he had been cut, writhing against the ropes. He began to blubber, his speech becoming less coherent.

"Stop! Please! ...stop! I've done my best... I've been trying so hard..." he pleaded, his voice aching with despair, nearly tangible.

"That woman called you Trianon. She knew your name. How is it you know her?" the figure replied instead, tilting its head to one side slightly. Trianon's eyes widened in bleary shock.

"What? You got Nieve too?!"

The Sandman looked up sharply as Trianon shouted, but the eyes twinkled slightly which seemed to suggest it was smiling.

"She is unharmed."

Trianon blubbered some more, this news seeming to do little to comfort him.

"Please... don't hurt her... We don't deserve this!"

"My justice is blind. You are here, and so you must suffer. If it is your wish, I shall deliver your last words to her…" the figure responded, seeming to peer more closely at Trianon for a moment, and adding more quietly. "You are of a noble heart... such a pity."

Trianon's eyes began to widen to maddened proportions, flailing against the ropes in an animalistic way.

"What?! Please! No! Don't kill me! What can I do?" Trianon cried, trailing off into incoherent sobbing. The Sandman stood unaffected, watching with chilled indifference.

"I told you that I was the Sandman... but the sleep I deliver you to shall be most eternal..."

"Nooo!" Trianon screamed animalistically, lashing forward with his legs as best he could to kick the shield left at his feet towards the Sandman. It slammed against the figure's shins, causing it to jerk back before looking up to Trianon once more, any hint of playfulness now gone from its eyes.

"That is what you would tell her...?"

Trianon gasped for breath, hyperventilating.
"Wait... tell her... Tell her that I love her! ...And... that I'd pick her first... before saving the world..."

And with that, Trianon began to weep unashamedly. Sobs wracked his body as he hung his head. The slender, pale fingers of the figure before him curled into his hair, pulling his head back. It dragged the blade swiftly across his neck.

The man collapsed.

* * *

Nieve stirred from her induced sleep, blinking slowly and trying to move only to find her arms restrained. She turned her head to look at her arms, muttering in confusion to herself before she caught sight of the hooded red figure striding up to her, bloodied knife in hand. Without a word, the figure unsheathed the second blade, reaching out to place each tip against one of Nieve's palms, pressing and dragging them into her skin to draw blood. Nieve cried out in surprised pain, curling her fingers over the wounds as she looked up at the figure in shock and a touch of fear. Pulling the blades away, the figure kept its head lowered so as to shade its eyes from view.

"I am the blood red Sandman..."

Nieve grimaced, clenching her jaw as she glared at it.

"You may thank that boy that I am here for you now..."

"The boy... Trianon? What have you do-" Nieve began. But the Sandman had already begun speaking again, pulling down its mask as it did so.

"And I was meant to deliver this to you." it hissed, reaching out to grip Nieve by the neck. The grip was loose enough to cause no pain or suffocation, but enough to hold her in place. The mask pulled down, it leant forward, pressing a kiss to her lips. Nieve tried to pull away sharply, but only succeeded in hitting her head against the wood behind her. Drawing back and hiding its face once more, the Sandman lifted its hands, showing to her the blood upon them.

"This blood... is not yours. He also gave me a message. To tell you that he loved you. And that he would choose you before saving the world. Perhaps those words will prove some consolation to you as I guide you to eternal rest."

Lifting both the blades, the Sandman dragged them sharply across her wrists, though used the blunt edges. Nieve choked back another cry, glaring at the figure as she curled her hands into fists. Her eyes burned with undisguised fury.

"I'd ask you for any words you wished for him... but I do not think he'd hear them anymore." it murmured apathetically, eyes lifting slightly to watch the blood trickle down her arms. The Sandman began to turn away, but paused in thought.

"I could deliver you to sleep... to see him... but I think now that I should not. I need someone... to warn of my presence."

The Sandman took a step forward again, eyes narrowing and crinkling in the corners to hint that it was grinning. Nieve continued to star at the figure, though had begun to slump back against the wood, fading.

The Sandman advanced upon her, leaning in closely to whisper against her ear.

Tell them that I am the Bloodred Sandman, and that with me I bring pain. That I bring both flames...

A hand was placed upon her right wrist, and suddenly it felt as though the touch burned. Nieve tried to pull her right arm towards herself, grimacing as the rope pulled taut.

And that I bring cold.

The other hand was placed upon her left injured wrist. The touch seemed to sting with painful cold. Nieve chocked back another cry of pain, forcing her left arm to remain where it was.

Tell them...

The voice hissed in her ear as the Sandman began to lean back ever so slowly, its eyes locking onto hers for a moment that might have been an eternity, and finally backing away. There was a chilled, silent pause for a moment before the Sandman suddenly raised the two blades, slamming them into the wood, cutting the ropes that bound her, though they landed sickeningly close to her wrists.

Nieve lifted her head, starting to spout something venomously, but dropped to the floor unceremoniously as she was cut free, out cold.

The Sandman returns.

You know I love it.

Spoiler:

I read the comic too, which makes these stories all the more awesome.

Afterwards

Trianon awoke with a rasping gasp for breath that nearly choked him. He rolled to his side with a groan and cradled his head as he waited for his surroundings to come into focus. When he realized where he was, he jumped to his feet, only to be betrayed by his knees and deposited in the grass again. A panicked survey of the surroundings didn’t immediately show any menacing figures in red, only the prostrate form of Nieve, a few yards away in the grass.

Trianon managed to remain standing then and rushed to her, never taking his eyes off the tree where the figure had hid for more than a second or two. He gripped her shoulders gently and pulled her up into a sitting position, cradling her against his chest.

“Nieve, wake up…”

She sighed in her sleep, completely oblivious as he stroked her cheek with shaking fingers. Suddenly, he noted blood in the palm of her hands and jerked back in surprise. Cautiously, he looked to find a cut in his own palm, and muttered possible profanities beneath his breath. He warily touched a finger to his throat where it had been ‘slit’ and winced in pain, though he could find no breach in the skin, merely bruising.

He looked back down to Nieve and put two fingers to her neck, feeling for a pulse as a cold sweat ran down his spine. The faint, steady thump made him sigh a sigh of relief that was nearly a sob, and his shoulders sagged. He brushed the hair from his sleeping beauty’s face and brushed her lips with his. At this, she began to stir from her dreams, a pained expression on her face as she murmured sleepily, incoherent. Trianon closed his eyes tightly and whispered a prayer of cleansing, calling a faint golden glow to his fingertips and releasing the energy into Nieve as he placed his palm on her stomach, to purify her bloodstream of anything that might remain.

As soon as his skin touched hers, her eyes snapped open and she began trying to push free with a strangled yelp. Trianon gasped in surprise and released his hold for a split second before recovering his gentle hold and pulling her back.

“Nieve! Nieve, wake up. It’s alright, you’re safe-“

“Get off of me-”

Nieve trailed off as the sound of her fiancée’s voice sunk in and her struggling ceased, confusion reigning across her face. Trianon regarded her with concern.

“Nieve, it’s alright.”

“I…” she began. Nieve cast a glance around the forest, and then returned her gaze to Trianon. “Was I having a bad dream?”

Trianon revealed the cut across his palm with a grim expression.

“A very bad one, if that’s what it was..” he said. “And I shared it. “

Nieve looked to his hand and the color drained from her face as she hesitantly brought up her own hands and uncurled her fingers to reveal cuts of her own.

“Was it.. real?” Nieve asked, breathlessly. Trianon sank down into the grass next to her.

“It would seem so.. yet.. then I should be dead.” Nieve leaned forward, cradling her forehead gingerly in a hand. Trianon pulled her against his chest a little tighter and rested his cheek against the top of her head. “Let me take a look at that..” He held out a hand for hers. Shaking her head at too recent memories, she absently held out her hand to him. Trianon murmured a quiet prayer of healing and pulled her hand to his lips, releasing the golden glow into her palm as he placed a kiss there. She shot a weak smile of thanks back to him and then frowned in thought, pulling back the cuffs of her shirt to eye her wrists.

“I thought he’d cut…”

“Yes, so did I..” Trianon said, gingerly putting a hand on his throat and nodding. Nieve lifted her fingers to touch the bruise there and then wrapped her arm around his waist and sunk against him. He cradled her tightly.

“Are you alright?”

“We are both alive and together.. I am wonderful,” he said softly, trying to lighten the mood, kissing her hair again. She shook her head.

“I don’t understand.. Why you? Why us?!” Trianon lifted his head and tilted it to see Nieve’s face. When he spoke, it was softly, his tone defeated.

“I don’t know, Nieve. He said.. ‘my justice is blind.’ Just someone who’s mind has been twisted and tormented beyond repair..” Nieve nodded and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I thought he’d… He told me that..” she trailed off, shaking her head again.

“Hmm?”

“I thought I’d lost you…” Nieve whispered, letting out a shaky breath. Trianon squeezed her tightly in a hug, turning his head and hiding his face in her hair.

“And there was nothing I could do to stop him.. to protect you…” he said softly. Nieve closed her eyes again.

“I think… I don’t think anyone could have done anything…”

Trianon clenched a fist and thumped the grass angrily.

“It makes no sense! That one person could… he was prepared, damnit!” he cried. Nieve stared down into her palms.

“It could have been worse…” she murmured. “I suppose we should be thankful it wasn’t.” Somehow, she didn’t sound entirely convinced by her own words, though Trianon nodded enthusiastically, and kissed her cheek.

“We are both alive, together, and in one piece.” Nieve drew in another deep breath and cradled her hands against her stomach. Trianon put a hand over hers.

“He told me… that you had said you loved me, and would pick me over saving the world.” Trianon blushed faintly, but his smile was truthful as he leaned his cheek against her head.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he assured her softly. She smiled despite herself, and fell silent, eyes glazing over in recollection of the events. Trianon slipped an arm under her knees and stood up with her snugly in his arms. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nieve nodded.

“To the city?”

Nieve nodded again, chewing her lower lip. Trianon nodded back, and left the accursed place behind them… where it belonged.

(( This next part was written by the player of Nieve ))

Bring me a Dream...

Nieve stirred from her slumber, opening her eyes to see a clear blue sky above her, without a single cloud to mar the view. It was an odd sight; she didn't remember falling asleep outside.

Pushing herself to her feet, a troubled frown crept on to her face. The landscape was bleak, to say the least; she was standing upon what seemed to be a thick layer of ice that stretched for miles in every direction, eventually reaching the base of a series of mountains, whose peaks were so high they were lost in the clouds. Nieve stopped in her tracks for a moment, casting a glance back up to the sky above her. Sure enough, what had been crystal clear a few moments ago was now an angry, broiling mass of thick black clouds.

With nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, she began to move toward the mountain ranges, the wind picking up as she walked. Its was achingly cold, and she rubbed her hands against her arms in an attempt to retain some of their heat. She could barely feel her face anymore and her sensation in her feet had passed beyond numb into freezing pain. How had she got here? Where was here?

Thunder suddenly cracked through the turbulent clouds over her, startling Nieve into pausing for a few seconds as rain began to drift down from the sky. No... Not rain. Nieve held out her hand, catching some of the falling black flakes, wincing as one hit and stung the wound that ran the width of her palm. It was ash. Charred black flakes drifting down from the heavens. Looking up once again, she could see that the clouds were glowing like coals, as though the sky behind them was burning.

Another crack resonated through the air, but this time it hadn't come from above, but instead the ice behind her. Almost lacking the courage, she turned to look, and saw a long, shallow split developing in the ice. Much like the clouds above her, the ice was backlit with fire, a raging inferno burning below her feet with only frozen water separating her from it. The rift cracked again, widening and deepening, flames licking up along the edges of icy chasm.

Nieve turned away from the crack and ran, hurtling toward the far-off mountain range as fast as she could manage. All around her, she could see the fire underneath the ice, spidery lines forming across the surface as its integrity was breached. With every passing moment, the lines grew in size, splitting open until she was surrounded on all sides by walls of flame.

Yet the fire was silent - there was no roaring as it burned, though there was no denying the heat. Even the thunder seemed to have stilled. The only sound was her ragged breaths and the eerie melody playing across the winds; like a child's music box, but distorted, corrupted... Somehow just wrong. Turning, she tried to find out where it came from, searching the flames for some hint, but there was nothing.

Then out of the fire stepped a figure; tall, slender, wreathed in the flames that had borne it, skin as pale and eyes as cold as the ice under their feet. The figure spoke, whisper-soft, but she couldn't hear what was being said, nor had she the desire to. She tried to back away as the Sandman advanced, but the heat at her back stopped her from progressing any further. She was trapped, and could only watch in horror as it approached, pulling the mask down from its face, whispering all the while.

A cold hand reached out, closing around her throat and pinning her place, chilling her neck so much it was hard to breath. Unable to move, she could do nothing as a frozen kiss was pressed to her lips, the cold travelling down her throat to her heart while the rest of her burned, trapped between the Sandman's fiery raiment and the wall of fire at her back.

This had to be a dream. A fairytale nightmare of fire and ice. It had to be.

Why wasn't she waking up?