Celtic Heroes

The obsidian throne cried out…

As his nails scratched deep into the arm rest of his stone throne, Donn, the lord of the undead, looked out across the sea of tortured souls. Each trapped for an eternity in his hellish realm of Yoch-Darach. All desperately seeking to appease their master, do his bidding, for the opportunity to climb from the dark soulless pit and cast their eyes on the world once more, even if it was only for a brief time.

Donn’s putrescent breath lingered on the air as he spoke, making those close before him revile and turn away to avoid the stench.

“The boundaries between the worlds are weakest now, the time where we can cross over and hunt the living. Feed upon their souls, steal away their hope and destroy the symbols of their reign”

“I need generals to carry my banner into this battle. Ones that will withstand the test of time and marshal my forces on our conquests. Who of your pathetic souls will take this responsibility?”

The sea of souls wavered, each knowing that those who failed in their master’s business would be tortured for an eternity, when behind them they heard the sound of a bony hooves click against the cold stone floor and between them a headless horseman barged through the throng, his hand held high in acceptance.

Donn licked his lips with anticipation and laughed, looking at the rider.

“Ah, Osan Marach, I accept. To use one who has fallen so far from grace has a beautiful symmetry.”

They spurred their horses on…

The ancient stones surrounding their age-old lodge had not only revealed the danger, the massive pillars had actually shifted in their positions, predicting a cataclysm of epic proportions. A new assault from Donn and his realm of tormented souls, Yoch-Darach.

Eodan walked into the ancient council chamber to be greeted by a wall of sound, quickly dulled by his appearance as they attentively awaited their leader’s word. The hall, packed to the rafters with the Riders of Epona, some having spurred their horses throughout the night to reach their sanctuary, leaving the air was thick with the smell of riding leather and sweat.

“My fellows!” Eodan did not wait for the last voice to silence before he started, the urgency in his voice clear to all, beckoning the silence of attention.

“My fellows. The nightmare is upon us. The evil we most feared, the taint on out fellowship of Riders, has come to pass.”

A nervous whisper rumbled through the room. A sense of disbelief.

“Osan Marach has risen from Yoch-Darach. Our past leader, tainted by his indiscretions, now rides against us in the lands of Dal Riata.”

“Who rides with me? We leave for Dal Riata now!”