Thunder rumbles in the distance as thick black storm clouds start to roll in.

The men on the massive building site, high on a river cliff above the sand in Normandy,

rushed to cover up their work.

Tools clatter as they're thrown down, sheets flap as they're pulled over half-built stone

walls.

Four men yell and labor as grumble as they hurry to protect mortar from being ruined

by a heavy shower.

There's an urgency to the builders' movements.

King Richard the Lionheart, ruler of the Plantagenet Empire, is on site, checking on their

progress.

He's here almost every week at the moment, always pushing them to work faster and harder.

But even the Lionheart can't turn away a thunderstorm.

The sky is rumble again, and now the first fat drops of rain start falling.

They splatter and hiss as they land on stone heated by the late spring sun.

Then as the clouds blow closer, the irregular pitter-patter becomes the hard drum of a full

on downpour.

The rain roars as it falls in sheets.

But above the roar, there's another sound.

Howes of surprise and terror, yells of disgust.

Because this isn't normal rain.

It's red, bright red.

This unholy torrent flashes out of the roiling sky.

...