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...
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A chill wind howled through the misty highlands, carrying with it whispers of an eternal struggle as old as the weathered stones that dotted the landscape. Atop a grassy knoll, a solitary figure stood silhouetted against the pale moon. Eilidh of the Glen, the Flame of the North, scanned the shadowy vales below, her forest-green eyes alert for any sign of danger.
Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her claymore, the legendary blade that had tasted the blood of a thousand foes. For centuries, Eilidh had roamed these lands as an immortal guardian, sworn to protect the innocent from the ravages of war and the depravities of the wicked. Her fiery red hair and indomitable courage had become the stuff of folk tales, a beacon of hope in an age of strife.
But on this night, an ancient evil stirred in the depths of the glens. Morrigan the Veiled, the pitiless queen of Clan Uisdean, had emerged from her mountain stronghold with a fell purpose. The intricate blue whorls that adorned her ghostly visage pulsed with eldritch power as she urged her savage warriors forth to spread terror and conquest.
Eilidh's brow furrowed as she caught the distant din of war drums and inhuman battle cries rising from the valley floor. She knew all too well the cruelty Morrigan was capable of. The Shadow Queen's heart had long ago turned to blackest ice, the humanity leeched away by innumerable cycles of bloodshed and betrayal. She would not stop until the whole of Scotland lay broken beneath her iron heel.
With a sigh, Eilidh turned to the makeshift camp where her loyal band had bivouacked for the night. Weary faces looked up at her expectantly from around a meager fire.
"I'm afraid our respite is at an end, my friends," she said gravely. "Morrigan's horde is on the move. We must away, to warn the clans and rally what resistance we can."
Tormod, her most grizzled companion, a hedge knight of advancing years, groaned as he dragged himself to his feet. "Are ye sure there's no reasoning with that she-devil, lass? Surely even an immortal must grow tired o' spilling blood after a few centuries."
Eilidh shook her head grimly. "You know as well as I, there is no parley to be had with the Veiled One. She will not stop until one of us lies dead for good. It is a dance she and I have done since Rome was young."
Murmurs of unease rippled through the assembled warriors. They knew their cause was righteous, but the prospect of facing an unkillable foe chilled even the bravest heart.
Young Scáthach, an apprentice Eilidh had taken under her wing, piped up anxiously. "But if she cannae be killed, how are we meant to stop her?"
Eilidh laid a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. "Fret not, little one. Morrigan's power waxes with every victory, but it is not inexhaustible. If we can rally enough clans to our banner, we may yet humble her ambitions and send her slinking back to the shadows."
She drew her claymore and raised it high, the burnished steel glinting in the firelight. "Now come, all of you! We have oaths to fulfil and a land to save!"
