Your tread must be light and sure, as though your path were upon rice paper. It is said, a Shaolin priest can walk through walls. Looked for, he can not be seen. Listened for, he can not be heard. Touched, can not be felt. This rice paper is the test. Fragile as the wings of the dragonfly, clinging as the cocoon of the silk worm. When you can walk its length and leave no trace. You will have learned. I am Duncan Macleod, born 400 years ago in the Highlands of Scotland. I am Immortal, and I am not alone. For centuries, we have waited for the time of the Gathering when the stroke of a sword and the fall of a head will release the power of the Quickening. In the end, there can be only one. One thousand years ago, superstition and the sword ruled. It was a time of darkness. It was a world of fear. It was the age of gargoyles. Stone by day, warriors by night, we were betrayed by the humans we had sworn to protect, frozen in stone by a magic spell for a thousand years. Now, here in Manhattan, the spell is broken, and we live again! We are defenders of the night! We are Gargoyles!
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