Mount Victory
Mount Victory

Mount Victory

Mount Victory

Realm of Andraste

Location: Outlands / Tir na Og

Mount Victory, the domain of Andraste, the fierce Celtic goddess of battle triumphs, is a sight not for the faint of heart, berk. It’s where victories are as sharp as a newly forged blade and defeats as bitter as the coldest winter night.

Imagine a mountain with its peak lost in a swirl of otherworldly mists and shimmering auroras. The slopes are steep, treacherous, carved with the stories and detritus of countless battles. Every crag and crevice holds a tale of war and valour, echoing the deeds of heroes from Celtic lore and beyond. 

The mountain itself seems alive, pulsating with the energy of a thousand battles. The stones are hewn from the very essence of determination and conquest, with veins of gold that glow like the embers of a warrior’s spirit. The paths up the mountain are guarded by spectral warriors, echoes of the mightiest Celtic heroes, like battle-furious Cú Chulainn, and the Morrígan, the phantom queen, casting her ominous shadows over the landscape. But these are just ghosts, cutter, echoes of the real thing, played out over and over as illusionary armies clash and relive old victories again and again. Unlike the ferocity and bloodthirstiness of the Morrigan’s Bloody Field, where real pain and anguish are the goal, Andraste isn’t one to revel in carnage and destruction. No, she seeks to relive the excitement of the nervous energy before war, the intellectual challenge of strategising, and the thrill of victory.

Skies above Mount Victory are a battlefield themselves, with clouds clashing like opposing armies, thunder roaring like the cries of warriors, and lightning flashing like the strike of a war god’s hammer. But there’s beauty too, in a fierce, raw sort of way. The flora and fauna of Mount Victory are as resilient as the goddess herself. Trees twisted into shapes resembling warriors in mid-battle, their branches like swords raised to the sky. Streams run red like the blood of fallen heroes, yet are clear and pure, a reminder of the honour in battle.

In this surreal realm, time flows differently. Moments of glorious triumph linger forever, while the agony of defeat fades like mist under the morning sun. Here, the spirits of warriors find their final rest or eternal glory, watched over by Andraste, her eyes as sharp as the eagle, her will as unyielding as the mountain itself. Every stone here can tell a story of war, every gust of wind carries the echo of ancient war cries, and every sunset bleeds like the end of an epic saga. It’s a place where only the bravest souls dare tread, and the most glorious tales are born.

Source:Jon Winter-Holt,

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