The plains of Jotunheim were cold and dark. The cold sun shone not. The clouds were dark and heavy. A bitter chill rang through Jotunheim as a child was born to Laufey-King. No joy was found that day. Whispers of a runt and of feiknstafir rang through the courts and common peoples. The belief in their leader dwindled. The people knew that the child was different. The child was change. They just did not know if it was for good.
So the Laufey-King and his consort had given their runt child to the temple. With cold hearts and frozen minds the people watched. The people watched as a miracle happened on the wasteland that was their home.
They watched the Casket of Ancient Winters drew the Spirit of her place around the child. They had seen the shadows of the temple wrap around the tiny figure like a father to protect his child from the harsh world. The dark and cold embraced like lovers and surrounded the child as if it was their own. The spirits caressed the child with the cold, dark and protective essence.
The people of Jotunheim saw the Temple rebuild with the power coming of the child greater than before. They saw a fleeting glance of the child in the black ice chrysalis. The wind, calm and gentle reflected the child. 'Loptr.' It was not just simply a name.
It was heita. It was líf.
It was hope.
First time I've ever written a prolouge. I'm going to be straight with you guys. I most likely will not update very soon like all those many other amazing people. If you do keep waiting for me, I'm going to thank you for that cause I will come back. I just don't know when.