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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Grey clouds hung over the small trading village of Gemport, two miles east of Shakeston.

Away to the south, the blood red maelstrom still overhung the dark trees of the mire with an eerie glow. Even a year after it had swirled and condensed into life, it had not abated.

To the north, the Trollkyrka seemed forsaken and grim. The high dark peak of the mountain upon which it stood peircing the pale clouds above in an unpleasently knife-like fashion.

.............................................................................................................

Elissandre opened her eyes and, for maybe the hundreth time, wondered where she was.

Memory hit her like a rock between the eyes.

She was in the Shakeston Kyrka.

In a cell.

Why?

Something about the Scraw Man, wasnt it?

But surely he was dead?

*not dead...*

Memory throws a second stone,

Elissandre screams, succuming to madness once again.

The Jotunn scribe sitting outside the cell door takes note. These little bursts of sanity are becoming more frequent...

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Jotunn wakes in the darkness of Trollkyrka.

Why is everything ruined?

Why are there dead Jotunn everywhere?

Sprawled across the altar and illuminated by the beam of sunlight let in through a hole in the bellfry tower high above, Jotunn finds the massive body of Jaette.

Looking up, with tears in his eyes, Jotunn takes in the wall behind the altar.

Splattered across the stone, in the blood of what must have been the whole Kyrka, was a giant image of a bird.

And one word;

YOU.

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A smoke ring is blown in the shadows of the mire.

"Oh how I does love mine peace and quiet..."

It was night in the village of Shakeston, a gas lamp outside Theodore's bakery illuminated the street dimly, not a sound was to be heard in the mid-summer air.

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High in the black clouds, an even darker shape soared on mighty wings.

Its huge dark eyes cast across the land, searching...

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A crashing roll of thunder woke Theodore from his sleep, rubbing his eyes he pulled himslef out of bed and crossed to the window as the rain started to hammer on the glass like angry fists...

There was a figure outside. Leaning against the street lamp.

he seemed oblivious to the furiously driving rain, in fact Theodore swore he could see the glint of a broad grin on the figures face.

He was dressed in a black suit, with a tall black top hat and cane.

He looked about seven feet tall.

Theodore leapt back into bed and pulled the covers up over his head.

You didnt mess around with strange things in the streets of Shakeston anymore.

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The Jotunn scribe observing Elissandre was feeling nervous, he didnt know what to do.

She was just hanging there, suspended in the air, her eyes the colour of mire silt and ash, and a thin keening cry emmanating from her dry lips.

He made one last effort to retain his composure, failed and ran.

in the sky above the Shakeston Kyrka, eyes watched with interest....

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In the mire, the rusty radio blares;

"So good to see you once again

I thought that you were hiding from me.

And you thought that I had run away.

Chasing a trail of smoke and reason."

Gotcha.

"Prying open my third eye"

I'm gonna enjoy this.....

Dawn broke with an unnatural chill hanging in the air.

Moving north from the mire came mists heavy and grey. Long afterwards, people of Shakeston swore they heard voices in those mists, quiet voices, promising that in death was life.

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Up above Shakeston a cloud scrried away from the sun for an instant, revealing massive black wings framed against the harsh dawn light.

People screamed as the appirition soared lazily high above the town, collecting their possesions and families they clung together in cellars and prayed the Kyrka would save them.

Infact Legba had no interest in the village far below.

His huge dark eyes were instead fixed on the Shakeston Kyrka.

He was waiting.

.............................................................................................................

Elissandre couldnt for the life of her understand what was going on.

Her last memory was of losing consciousness after a severe migrane. She now seemed to be in a swamp.

Dark murky water pooled around her knees and soaked through to her skin. The air felt close and unpleasent and thick interlaced branches high above blocked out the sky.

In the undergrowth to her left came a burst of quickly stifled laughter...

...*not dead, remember?*...

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The garden needs a-weeding so it does.

hmmm

I'm being in need of more helpers.

I wonder if that Jotunn ay dredged all them months ago is still around...

I takes me largest sack off the hook by the door and sets off into my kingdom

Things is looking up for me anyway.

Except I still owe mine father & co about 50 souls...

Ah well, Legba will be a-sorting that fer me pretty soon so he shall.

I lights up mine favorite pipe as I walk, humming to mineself...

Yes, things is definately looking up for mine kingdom...

The Kingdom of Soloman.

...........................................................................................................

Jotun finished screaming.

He had no vocal cords left with which to scream anyway.

Ever since he had died.

All that time ago.

And yesterday.

Tears still leaking from his ruptured ducts he wandered throughout the Trollkyrka, attempting to clean the blood from the walls where he could and arranging the dead neatly ready for burial.

Returning to the great hall he stopped dead.

The massive front doors, metres of iron and stone, lay ajar.

Standing in the dawn light was a tall figure, he wore a black suit and a tall black hat shaded his features from view.

All that could be seen was the broad grin plastered across the figures face.

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