[ WP ] You are a young historian tasked with collecting life stories from the eldest members of your country : Lichs , Wizards , Warlocks , and other mythical beings .


 Many thought that Oswald Leighton was crazy when he stated his thesis for his master's degree. To put together a collection of personal stories of the elder creatures of the world. It was difficult, at first, for him to get people to take him seriously. They all agreed that there were perhaps such things as dark mages, vampires, and other mythological creatures. What bothered them was he had no way of proving how legitimate his stories were. 
 
 It started with a website. He had a youtube page which he kept current with interviews, and a blog that held copies of letters that came in. He kept a PO Box dedicated to this project, and his mother would check it from time to time so she could send any interesting items to his current location. He drove around in his car often, not being able to afford going past America. He was also careful to always make sure others knew who he was meeting and where. This was n't always safest work. 
 
 Two years passed before his work started to become popular. No one took him seriously. It was obvious that he got a lot of jokes. The more popular he became, the more jokes that came in. But he needed as much material from as many sources as he could. It had honestly become a passion of his in life, as it was an unwritten history that few humans had bothered to explore. 
 
 He found that letters were the prefered method of communication. His favorite was from a fairie from Ireland. It contained a picture of a maiden dancing with a man in the late 1800s. Supposedly, he would go on to cheat on her and she in turn would eat his heart. But they had a human son together, and she was fond of watching him grow. Even as the boy slowly stopped believing in fairies, to the point where he could no longer see his own mother. She stated that she still kept tabs on his descendents. The children were always funnest to play with. 
 
 The strangest item to come to him was a small vile of white sand. It was very fine, almost like a powder. The letter that came with it stated that it came from a man named Ole. It also stated that the powder should be sprinkled across his pillow before he went to sleep at night. Things would become clearer from there. Also, it was absolutely safe. Completely and absolutely safe. 
 
 `` Hello Mythistory lovers.'' That night, Oswald chose to make another video. `` This is going to be a lot more difficult than my other videos. There are a lot of skeptics already about what I do, and this may be the most difficult to explain.'' The vial was held up to the lens. `` I believe this to be a gift from the Sandman. Supposedly they're a good natured folk that come and give people good dreams. Dreams being the important term, as it would appear that is where I'm going to meet him.'' 
 
 He adjusted his seated place on the bed. `` Obviously this is n't going to be a great video. I'm going to record myself asleep, and hopefully I'll wake up in the morning and give you all a run down of what happened. We'll just run things in fast forward and work forward from there.'' He took the contents from the vial and spilled them on his pillow. `` Night!'' 
 
 Oswald pulled the blanket over himself and rested his head. The grains of sand mixed with his hair and made his scalp itch. It was a piercing sensation that burrowed deeper and deeper against his skin. He wanted to reach up and give it a scratch, but he found his body unable to move. That need to scratch at himself started to spread further and further. Down his neck and his back, shifting into a sensation not unlike pins and needles. 
 
 As it overtook his toes, it was replaced by the feeling of falling. His arms were suddenly able to move again. Though, all he could do was flail about. He started to scream. Scream and flail towards a white colored glowing sand that was below him. It was almost like falling towards a lit up snowbank, but it radiated with unusual warmth. 
 
 He fell against the dune, hard. Skidding against the soft particles as they wafted up into the air and hovered their like dust. It coated his clothes and body, and still had that faint itching sensation like before. Thankfully it was a little less than before. When he stopped, Oswald muttered a few curse words to himself. He flailed about some more, this time stumbling to a stand so that he might look around. 
 
 `` I would n't use such choice words here.'' A voice boomed throughout the darkened area. `` This is a place where only those innocent of heart may reside.'' 
 
 **To be continued... **
