There once was a land of legend, of lore. A land filled with magic and hope. Though the Celtic tribes warred with each other, all of that came to an end with the arrival of Rome to their shores.
The mighty kingdom of Rome, intent on ruling the world, slowly worked their way across Britain. Until they reached the highlands and encountered a foe like none other. Despite their victories, nothing the Celts did could make Rome leave their precious land.
With no other recourse, the Celts turned to their trusted advisers and allies, the Druids.
Respected and revered, the Druids were like any society. Their magic came in the purest form from the earth, but there were ones who wanted more – more power, more control...more of everything.
Inevitably, the Druids split into two sects. The mie stayed true to their magic and continued to heal the sick and offer their knowledge to tribal leaders. The drough, however, chose human sacrifices and black magic to grow their power.
It was the drough who had the answers for the Celts.
The mie cautioned the clan leaders against using black magic, but the Celts knew their hold against the Romans was waning. So they allowed their greatest warriors to step forward and the drough to cast their spells and call up the gods long buried in Hell - gods that once ruled the earth with brutal tactics and violent ends.
But they were the only ones who could defeat Rome.
The gods, freed at last, eagerly answered the Druids call and bound themselves into each tribe’s fiercest warrior. Those warriors, with the aide of the gods inside them, attacked every Roman they encountered. Battle after battle ensued, until, finally, Rome abandoned Britain.
Yet the gods were still thirsty for blood, still hungry for battle. With the Romans gone, the warriors turned on each other...and anyone that got in their way. The rivers and land ran red with the blood of the Celts as death permeated the air.
The drough finding their magic useless joined forces with the mie. Yet, nothing the two sects did could put the gods back in their prison in Hell. The gods refused to relinquish their hold on the warriors, growing stronger with each heartbeat, each kill, until the warrior was no longer the man he had once been.
A gathering of Druids was called. It was unlike anything that had occurred since before the split. Magic pulsed over the land as they put aside their differences and struggled to find a way to help the Celts. But no amount of magic they called up freed the warriors.
Unable to send the gods back, the Druids combined magic and black magic to create a spell that bound the gods, in effect freezing them inside their hosts. The warriors returned to the men they once were and resumed their lives having no memory of the atrocities they had committed.
Yet, inside each warrior, the gods waited. With every generation the gods moved from warrior to warrior, passed down and forever a part of the family’s bloodline.
And so the Warriors were born.
The Druids, knowing what they had created, knowing what would happen in the future, stayed near the Warriors. Forever keeping watch. Even when their faith, the very thing they were, caused them to hide for fear of being killed, they had no choice but to watch. All of mankind was at risk.
The true story of Rome’s departing of Britain was forgotten. It passed into legend and myth amongst the Celts with each retelling of the story. Only the Druids knew the truth.
Then one drough found a hidden scroll. More power hungry than any drough before her, Deirdre set out to unbind the gods and control them. Thereby giving her the army she needed to rule the world and become a goddess before whom all men would tremble.
The scroll, however, only listed one tribe – the MacLeods.
Deirdre turned her eye to the MacLeod clan. There, she would begin....