[M4F] It's Spring Break, Witches!

Groaning lowly and rolling to the side of the bed, I checked the clock. It was the third straight night of being awoken from my much needed slumber at some unholy hour of the night...or morning. Time didn't much matter to me but as a being of eldritch power I valued my sleep.

Well, not sleep since I didn't really need any. But why can't an ancient agent of chaos have some quiet time?

I guess I should explain. Back in the times before time (see, I told you time didn't matter much) I was a god, or close to it. When the realms of man and fae were mixed I commanded a dread army that waged war against the forces of order. And here on this very beach, I was ready to claim victory the final battle and crown myself lord of this pathetic realm.

I didn't count on the other side to rally, and I definitely did not see the betrayal of my kind. I guess that they didn't take kindly to me lording over them with tales of conquest, especially since it was on their backs that I built my reputation. Ungrateful devils.

Where was I? Oh yes. So defeated, I welcomed the end. I was ready for the sword to come down on my neck but instead I was sentenced to a fate worse than death. I was confined here, to this plot of land, for an eternity. I would retain a modicum of my magick - a far cry from what I had at my disposal - but I would be barred from returning to my home.

I would have preferred a swift death to this empty existence.

Or rather I did until people arrived. Apparently humans enjoyed living on the shoreline where one bad storm would ruin everything they built. Initially I used my magick to bring tempests and give me the peace of solitude. But humanity was persistent and eventually I gave up. I became something of a local legend - the Demon of the Shore. When the 20th century hit they even put a pastiche of my face on a t-shirt for tourists. It was endearing.

Until Spring Break. That damned hedonistic ritual ruined my peace. Every year for a month revelers would descend on the town and disrupt the quiet I had cultivated. And it did not matter how many wards I threw up - the sound would always wake me from my sweet oblivion.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Once the internet became accessible people started researching my legend. The Demon of the Shore became a subject of occult interest and some enterprising mystics started to piece together my history. And not the tale crafted over years by drunks in bars and dalliances left satisfied.

My real history.

That's when everything got weird. Now on top of the normal drunken populace, I was subject to witches of all sort coming to my prison in an attempt to draw in my power.

I want them here. I want the empowered to free me from my shackles and let me return home. To supplicate themselves and become my new cult.

But did they have to be so loud about it?

Sun, sand, and summoning beings of eldritch power. Looking for a modern fantasy play that's a bit more light in tone. As always, all prompts are open.