Brân

'Br n sat alone, alone on the hills where he had sat forever. The island was his, his alone. People came and went. He remained.'

Now death herself had come for him.

'The dead from many centuries of plague and pestilence had risen, malice swept the field. The dead streamed over the dead, the pestilent horde started to swarm'

The tale of Briton's darkest legend and of its mightiest king, a cauldron of power and magical swords Are they enough?