A long time ago in the village of Gigascombe there lived a giant whom no-one had seen for ten years. His house was perched on a foothill overlooking the village, surrounded by fields and woodland. A towering wall of stone blocked the house from view so that only the highest windows and the roof could be seen. It was from these windows that the villagers sometimes glimpsed a hulking black shadow; the only evidence Gecko Moria lived at all.
Withered tree branches clutched the wall. The vast garden from whence they sprung was buried in shadow and ravaged by many harsh winters. Stories of its former state brought sad smiles to the faces of the villagers who remembered it.
The giant's garden had been their playground; a hazy, lantern-strewn wonderland of secrets, tricks and hidey-holes. It was best appreciated in the evening, when everything was still and the giant's shining white flowers were in bloom.
Moria was seldom home. He had, since his youth, answered the call to adventure - often departing on long journeys with a group of friends. In the meantime, he allowed the village children free reign of his garden, under the supervision of his servants. When the giant returned and saw them at play, he seemed pleased.
The last time Moria returned home was the last the children would ever see of the garden. Hearing the familiar thuds of the giant's footfalls, the children turned to see a monster with mad, bulging eyes, half smothered in bloodied gauze. Drawing a haggard breath, the giant barked: "Leave."
Some children ran immediately, while others quivered under his hateful gaze. Moria lunged and they fled screaming. As they ran they could hear the giant shouting: "Out! Out, you brats! Never come back!".
By the next morning, the giant's servants had left their master's house. Some had fled the previous night, terrified by Moria's rage. Those that stayed were dismissed.
Shaken villagers approached the giant's house to demand an explanation. They saw black imp-like figures with hollow eyes busy at work, steadily constructing a wall of stone around the giant's garden. When some of the braver villagers tried to pass through, they attacked.
From then on, the people of Gigascombe avoided the house altogether. They even made a new road out of the village to give it as wide a berth as possible. The giant's nearest neighbours were so terrified of becoming a target for his minions that they abandoned their home and lived with friends until a new house was built for them further away.
Fellow giants came to visit Moria, but the few who managed to bypass his traps and minions were rejected by their maker. The villagers trembled as thunderous crashes shook the earth, howls echoing across the valley. After hours of fighting, Moria's foes were beaten. The giants left and never returned.
The neglected garden became home to Moria's shadow minions. They crawled about in the foliage and along the top of the wall, looking for intruders. Moria had accrued many treasures over years of travelling, and with wealth there came thieves willing to steal it. Those who attempted to do so were dragged screaming into the giant's lair.
The first night the villagers were sure Moria had killed the thieves, but early the next morning they were awoken by loud shouts. Peering out of their homes, they saw four men running through their village. Their clothes hung off them like rags and they bled from many wounds.
Dawn was beginning to break. A village elder opened his bedroom window and peered out at the men.
He looked at the ground beneath their feet and paled.
"Stop!" he screamed. "The sun – get out of the sun!"
It was too late. As the morning light hit their bodies, the men turned to dust and were swept away on the wind.
The next day the shadows of the dead thieves could be seen walking atop the giant's wall, keeping watch for their master.
This grim event did not stop further attempts by bandits, pirates and even giants in the years to come, but the result was always the same.
The village children grew up in the shadow of the selfish giant's wall. Scarcely a day went by when they did not catch a glimpse of the towering barrier that had ended their carefree lives. Shadowy ghouls, doomed thieves and blood-chilling screams cursed their nights.
As the years went by, the villagers began to recognise one particular scream. It rent the air on many a night, and set itself apart from the cries of unlucky ne'er-do-wells. Some said it was the ghost of a notorious pirate whose shadow Moria had stolen. Some said it was Moria himself, tormented by the ghosts of those he had killed.
No-one knew. No-one dared to find out.
