Unregistered Guests, VCitizens, VResidents
Sandfly: Fast-driven smooth and glorious flesh baked tawny by unfogiving rays hiding the shadow on the sands come to snatch away those precious, so precious, mineandyoursprecious, moments of fiery-blown magnified REALITY that come when your world is still maybe bleached by drudgery and rigour yet vibrating with the background radiation which carries the name, the myth, the surge of joy that informs the medula oblongata and whispers the name through the ether, tickling those memories, tweaking instinct, promising delight, promising wonder, desire, breathless nature and perfect metaphysical symbiosis, whispering, whispering that word, that curse, that eternal myth, mystery, and legend of the electronic age... A name, it is given, Sandfly.
The bell tolled.
The sorcerer lifted his head to the glower above the scarlet dunes, to the broiling skies of neverwhere.
Sweat broke upon his top lip. He slowly cranked his head from the group of misbegotten desperate seekers.
The bell rang once more, in all their heads. A pounding, like a block of cement dropped upon a stony shore.
The Sorcerer, croaked a harsh exhalation, 'He is coming. Again. He is coming...'
Sandfly. Unbound, unhinged. Once more. And once again to come.