In the shadows of history, beyond the reach of mortal eyes, the Immortals have waged their secret wars, bound by the sacred code: *There can be only one*. "Eternal Duel: Untold Chronicles of the Immortals" brings to light the hitherto unseen sagas o...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The old Druid stood atop the foggy hill, her grey cloak billowing in the chill morning wind. Morrigan gazed out at the emerald patchwork of fields and forests that swept to the horizon, the sacred lands she had protected for untold centuries. A heaviness weighed on her ancient heart. The drums of war beat in the distance, carried on the breeze—the relentless march of the Roman legions.
She knew this day would come, as surely as the turn of the seasons. The arrival of the invaders from the south had long been foretold, whispered in the rustling of leaves and the murmur of forest streams. Morrigan had seen the signs and portents, written in the stars and the entrails of sacrificed beasts. A storm was coming to the shores of Britannia, and she was the last bulwark standing against the tempest.
The Druid's wrinkled hand tightened around her gnarled oak staff as she turned back toward the stone circle behind her. Thirteen monoliths thrust up from the earth, their lichen-mottled surfaces carved with swirling outlines. This was Morrigan's most hallowed space, where she communed with the gods and spirits of the land.
She stepped between the towering pillars and knelt on the dew-damp grass, driving her staff into the soft soil. Morrigan began to chant, her voice rising and falling in an ancient tongue that had not been uttered by human lips in an age. As the ritual words spilled forth, she could feel the deep magic stirring, radiating out through roots and rocks, across hills and glens.
Shapes moved in her periphery vision, stepping out from the fog-shrouded forest. They were the chieftains and war-leaders of the tribes—Iceni, Trinovantes, Catuvellauni, and a dozen more. Proud, fierce warriors, bedecked in woven cloaks and glinting torcs. Men and women with tangled hair and woad-painted skin. They gathered around the edge of the stone circle, keeping a wary distance, spears and swords gripped tight.
Morrigan rose to her feet, ancient bones creaking. She turned to face the assembled throng, the wild leaders of a wilder land.
"You all know why I have summoned you here, to the navel of the world," she began, her voice cutting through the morning stillness. "The legions of Rome march on our lands, greedy for conquest. They come to subjugate, to strip us of all we hold dear—our freedom, our ways, our gods."
A rumble of discontent rippled through the gathered chieftains. Briton had been a fractured isle for generations, the tribes warring and squabbling amongst themselves. Only a threat as grave as this could bring them together.
"On the mainland, the Gauls have already fallen before their discipline and steel. But we are not the Gauls. This is the land of mist and magic, where no mortal army will find victory easily. Not if we stand together."
Morrigan raised her staff high. The crystal bound at its top pulsed with eldritch light.
"I have walked this earth since before your fathers' fathers drew breath. I have seen the rise and fall of chiefs and kings unnumbered. Never before have I asked you for aid. But now, I beg of you, put aside your feuds. Unite, as one people, against the legions. Only together can we hope to weather the coming storm."
