Category: FolkLore,

  • Discover Legends: The Stormfire Saga Part 1

    Discover Legends: The Stormfire Saga Part 1

    The Return of Stormfire

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    They say the sky cracked open the morning he returned.

    A low thunder rolled across the hills, though no lightning had yet touched the earth. The mist lay thick upon Malvern Hill, curling over the stones like the breath of ancient spirits. Somewhere between the bracken and the stormclouds, a shape emerged not quite man, not quite myth.

    A painted black wolf howling at a crescent moon against a vibrant blue background.
    A fierce black wolf howls against a vibrant blue background, embodying the spirit of Taranis Stormborne’s journey in ‘The Return of Stormfire.’

    Taranis Stormborne had come home.

    He walked as one who had been reforged, each footstep heavy with memory and fire. Ten winters had passed since he’d been cast out as a cursed boy. But now he stood seven feet tall, shoulders broad as yew trunks. his eyes glinting with the steel-grey of a storm’s eye. His breath steamed in the cool dawn, yet he wore no furs. He needed none.

    To his right padded Boldolph, the black wolf, massive and scarred, his red eyes burning like coals.

    To his left prowled Morrigan, white as frost, her gaze sharp as carved bone.

    A vibrant and colorful illustration featuring a dragon surrounded by abstract patterns, leaves, and celestial elements, with a blend of bright colors depicting a magical scene.
    An eye-catching illustration of a dragon intertwined with vibrant foliage, showcasing the magical essence of StormborneLore.

    Above them circled the watchers of the sky two dragons cloaked in storm. Tairneanach, the spirit of thunder, and Pendragon, King of Flame. Their wings stirred the clouds. Their roars were hidden in the rumble overhead.

    No trumpet called. No banner flew. But the mountain knew.

    So did the tribe.

    The watchmen were first to see him — one dropped his spear, the other fled into the trees. Word spread like fire through dry grass:
    “The Stormborne has returned.”

    By the time Taranis reached the outer ridge, a ring of warriors had formed. Men he once called brothers. Men who remembered the boy and now beheld the storm.

    His father was gone. His mother, buried in silence.

    But Lore was there the eldest, proud and sorrow-worn.

    So was Drax once cruel, now haunted.

    And others less forgiving.

    They stepped ahead, hands on stone blades, fury in their eyes. The past had not been buried with the bones of the dead.

    Taranis did not speak.

    He simply knelt. Placed his hand upon the earth.

    And the clouds above them began to swirl.

    Thank you for reading.

    © 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.
    Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.

    If you enjoyed this story, like, share, or leave a comment. Your support keeps the storm alive and the chronicles continuing.

    If you would like to read more Taranis stories please see: The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

    If you would like to read more about Drax : The Chronicles of Drax

    If you would like to read more about Rayne: The tales of Rayne

    If you would like to read more about Lore: The Keeper of Cairnstones: Myths and Mysteries Revealed

  • The Rise of Taranis: Storm and Blade

    The Rise of Taranis: Storm and Blade

    Taranis Stormborne.


    A poem from the Stormborne Scrolls

    Beneath the hollow tree he bled,
    With wolves for kin and stone for bed.
    The fire was not in hearth or hand
    It roared within, a storm unmanned.

    He trained where no man dared to tread


    On roots of yew and rivers red.
    His blade was bone, his shield was will,
    His foes were silence, hunger, chill.

    Each sunrise found his form anew,
    A breath of frost, a bruise of blue.
    He carved his strength on bark and skin,
    And learned the rage that sleeps within.

    He watched the hawk, he stalked the deer.


    He danced with ghosts that others fear.
    His feet grew swift, his arms like oak,
    His breath break a hunter’s yoke.

    No tribe remained to call him son,
    No elder crowned what he’d become.
    Yet mountains bowed, and storms would still .


    For he had shaped the world by will.

    The wolves ran wide, the skies grew torn.


    And from the storm, the blade was born.
    A boy no more. No child of scorn.
    By fire and shadow…
    The warrior was born.

    Thank you for reading.

    © 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.
    Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.

    If you enjoyed this story, like, share, or leave a comment. Your support keeps the storm alive and the chronicles continuing.

    If you would like to read more Taranis stories please see: The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • StormborneLore Hits 50 Posts.

    StormborneLore Hits 50 Posts.

    Join the Celebration!

    We’ve Hit 50 Posts!
    Thank You for Walking the Path of StormborneLore

    A celebratory graphic featuring a dragon and a wolf facing each other, with the text 'We've Hit 50 Posts!' and 'StormborneLore' prominently displayed.
    Celebrating 50 posts with a fierce dragon and wolf, representing the adventurous spirit of StormborneLore.

    Today, StormborneLore quietly crossed a threshold: 50 published posts.

    Fifty stories, poems, recipes, and fragments of forgotten myth all stitched together by firelight, exile, and a will to survive.

    Each one shaped by history, hunger, and hope.

    To those who’ve walked with Taranis, wept with Morrigan, watched the storm, or tasted the wild thank you.
    You are part of this.

    If you’ve ever felt like the thirteenth son, the outcast, the cursed or misunderstood these stories are for you.

    💬 Join the Fire
    Have a favourite post? A character or creature you connect with?
    Comment below, or explore the archives:

    📜 Read the Latest Story

    🐉 Meet the Dragons

    🍲 Cook from the Stone Age

    🐺 Walk with the Wolves

    Here’s to the next 50 and to the storm that never forgets its name.


    © Written and created by Emma for StormborneLore. Not for reproduction. All rights reserved.

  • Nettle & Hazelnut Soup.

    Nettle & Hazelnut Soup.

    A StormborneLore Recipe.


    Served after illness, childbirth, or exhaustion when the spirit needed warmth.

    A bowl of vibrant green soup garnished with fresh herbs and whole hazelnuts, presented on a textured surface.
    A nourishing bowl of nettle and hazelnut soup, symbolizing healing and warmth.
    Text on a deep red background that reads 'Historical Context' in large, prominent font.


    Nettles have been used since the Stone Age for medicine and food. High in iron and vitamins, they were one of the first wild greens to appear after winter. Hazelnuts, foraged in autumn and stored carefully, added fat and flavour. Together, they formed a healing brew simple, sacred, and powerful.

    This soup was often made by elders or midwives and shared with the tribe’s wounded or recovering members. In StormborneLore, it’s the first meal given to a tribe member returning from exile.

    Hazelnuts nestled among fresh green leaves, showcasing the natural ingredients for a nourishing soup.
    A close-up of crushed hazelnuts surrounded by fresh nettle leaves, essential ingredients for a traditional healing soup.

    🧾 Ingredients (Modern Adaptation)
    Ingredient Qty Est. Cost (UK)
    Fresh nettle leaves (or spinach) 100g £0.00–£1.00 (free if foraged)
    Hazelnuts (crushed or ground) 50g £0.50–£1.00
    Onion (or wild leek) ½ small £0.10
    Water or light stock 500ml ~£0.10
    Salt (optional) to taste <£0.05
    Oil or fat (optional) 1 tsp £0.05

    Estimated total cost: £0.80 – £2.30
    (Serves 2 — approx. £0.40–£1.15 per bowl)

    A bowl containing fresh green coriander leaves, hazelnuts, and sliced onion on a light background.
    Fresh ingredients for a healing nettle soup, including hazelnuts, onion, and green herbs.

    Text on a black background reading 'METHOD (STONE AGE + MODERN)' in golden letters.

    Boil water with foraged nettles, leeks, and crushed hazelnuts in a clay pot over fire.

    Stir with a carved stick until it thickens.

    Serve hot with flatbread or root mash.

    Modern method:

    Wash nettles (use gloves!) or spinach.

    Sauté onion in oil until soft.

    Add water/stock, nettles, and crushed hazelnuts.

    Simmer 10–15 minutes. Blend for smoothness or serve rustic.

    Season lightly. Optional: add oat milk or cream for richness.

    Illustration featuring various vegetables and herbs, labeled 'HEALTH BENEFITS', with a dark green background and a decorative border.


    Nettles: Iron-rich, anti-inflammatory, supports immunity

    Hazelnuts: Healthy fats and protein

    Onion/leek: Supports digestion and circulation

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    Nettles → spinach, kale, or wild garlic

    Hazelnuts → almonds or sunflower seeds

    Optional: add a dash of nutmeg or thyme

    📖 Suggested Story Pairing
    Serve with:
    “The Fire Within the Child” moments of recovery and resilience.


    This is a soup of healing, strength, and memory. One bowl could mark the difference between fading and fighting. One fire-lit meal could carry the spirit through another night.

    © StormborneLore. Recipe written by Emma for StormborneLore. Not for reproduction. All rights reserved.

    A heartfelt thank you from StormborneLore, inviting readers to connect and support the storytelling journey.

    All ingredients are available on Amazon or at Wholefood suppliers or foraging.

    More Recipes at ;

    Solaris’s Kitchen

  • The Storm Dragon and Flame Father: Tales of Taranis

    The Storm Dragon and Flame Father: Tales of Taranis


    Tairneanach and Pendragon Spirits of Storm, Fire, and Fate

    The Storm That Watches


    They say a great wyrm once roamed Biddulph Moor. A beast of smoke and sky, hunted by men with spears of bronze and fear in their bellies. But no man killed it.

    The creature rose into the thunderclouds and vanished, taking the storm with it.

    The next day, nothing grew on the moor but blackened heather.

    That wyrm became Tairneanach, the Storm Dragon not a creature of fire, but of prophecy. His breath is wind. His scales shimmer like wet slate. He is the first when a child is born under an omen sky. The last to vanish when a soul is cast out unjustly.

    “He is not tamed. Not ridden. He chooses.”
    Whispered in the dreams of outcasts and seers.

    He spoke once to Taranis, though none saw him but the moon. And ever since, storms gather when the boy is near.

    Pendragon the King of the First Flame.


    Before the first stone stood upright, before wolves wore names, there was Pendragon the Flame Father.
    He does not fly in the sky, but in the bloodline of heroes.

    His heart is fire, but his wisdom is older than heat. Some say he shaped the bones of the land. Others say he waits beneath the earth, dreaming.

    He is the King of Dragons, but he does not rule — he remembers.

    Pendragon comes not in rage, but in reckoning. When a soul is weighed against fate itself, he is the one who tips the scale. He appeared in the old hills beyond Cannock. Curled in flame and sorrow when the first chieftain died protecting a starving tribe. That fire still burns in the soil.

    The Blood Oath of the Stormborne
    It is said the Stormborne line carries both marks:

    The Eye of Tairneanach

    vision, fury, and unnatural storms

    The Flame of Pendragon

    mercy, fire, and legacy

    Taranis bears both.
    He is not just watched by dragons he is of them.


    Tairneanach: Name derived from Irish/Scottish Gaelic tairneanach meaning “thunder.”

    Pendragon: Traditional Welsh/British title, here re-imagined as the Flame Father, not a king by rule but by spirit.

    This lore blends:

    The Biddulph Dragon (real Staffordshire tale)

    Knucker folklore & storm-serpent myths

    Cannock Chase legends & draconic omens

    © StormborneLore. Written by Emma for StormborneLore. Not for reproduction. All rights reserved.

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    Follow Taranis stories at The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded


  • Taranis Stormborne: A Poem of Exile and Resilience

    Taranis Stormborne: A Poem of Exile and Resilience

    A Poem of Exile and Identity.

    A Poem by Taranis Stormborne

    I was the name they would not say,
    The thirteenth son they gave away.
    Born too late, with skies in veins,
    A storm that whispered through their shame.

    They blessed the first, they praised the strong,
    Each brother’s place in tribal song.
    But I a hush, a trembling glance,
    A question wrapped in circumstance.

    I healed the bird. They saw a curse.
    They watched me rise, then feared me worse.


    A child of feather, flame, and thread
    A boy who woke what should be dead.

    I bore no crown, but bore the cost.
    Of every death, of every loss.
    Too small for war, too young for blame,
    Yet still I walked through fire and name.

    Exiled not for deed, but fear.
    No grave was mine, no cradle near.
    Yet wolves have eyes where men have blind,
    And storms remember those they find.

    So let the bards forget my face.
    Let time erase the tribal place.
    For fire burns but does not beg
    And storms are born on broken legs.

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    Cover of ‘The Chronicles of Taranis’ featuring intricate patterns and vibrant colors.

    Thank you for reading.© 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.

    If you enjoyed this story, like, share, or leave a comment. Your support keeps the storm alive and the chronicles continuing.

    If you would like to read more Taranis stories please see: The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • The Birth of the Ashborn

    The Birth of the Ashborn

    A poem from the whispers of the forest after Taranis saves the she-wolf and her pups.

    They say the storm once walked alone,
    Through fire’s breath and forests blown.
    A child of exile, ash, and flame,
    Who bore no crown, yet earned his name.

    He found her there the mother torn,
    Her belly bruised, her breath still warm.
    The hunters laughed. The kindling caught.
    But mercy moved where rage was taught.

    The wolves rose first with fang and howl.
    Then he, with eyes that shook the boughs.
    Through smoke he tore the yew’s black roots,
    And bore her forth with bloodied boots.

    The fire danced. The forest burned.
    But in the blaze, a legend turned.
    Three pups were born from soot and sky,
    And none who watched tell you why.

    One bore lightning on its spine,
    One with eyes of gold, divine.
    And one was pale as ghostly thread
    The fire not fled, but burned instead.

    Now whisperers call him Storm fire still,
    The boy who chose not rage but will.
    Who fed the flame and spared the beast,
    And from that night, the howls increased.

    Thank you for reading.© 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.

    If you enjoyed this story, like, share, or leave a comment. Your support keeps the storm alive and the chronicles continuing.

    If you would like to read more Taranis stories please see: The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • Whispers of the Forest: A Tale of Silence

    Whispers of the Forest: A Tale of Silence

    We saw him first when the moon stood still,
    A shadow-thing, a shiver, a will.
    No fur for warmth, no tribe for name,
    Just eyes of storm and bones of flame.

    He crouched beneath the hollow tree,
    Where roots like fingers held memory.
    A blade of flint. A soul unmade.
    Too young for fate. Too old to fade.

    We did not howl. We did not stir.
    We watched, as watchers always were.
    I bore my scar. He bore his own.
    Boldolph’s growl was soft as stone.

    The forest paused to hear his breath.
    A child-shaped echo of life and death.
    No fear in him. No plea. No prayer.
    Only silence carved from despair.

    He did not run. He did not speak.
    The pact was formed without the weak.
    A feather laid. A vow not sworn.
    Yet something old was newly born.

    The trees remember. The stones still hum.
    The storm has teeth. The wild has come.
    And though we walk on paw and air,
    We saw the boy. And we were there.

    Thank you for reading.

    © 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.
    Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.

    If you enjoyed this story, like, share, or leave a comment. Your support keeps the storm alive and the chronicles continuing.

    If you would like to read more Taranis stories please see: The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • Boldolph’s Oath

    Boldolph’s Oath

    I once wore skin like warriors do,
    A man of blade, of blood, of pride.
    But pride turned sour, and wrath I knew,
    Till wolf became the shape I hide.

    My Morrigan, lost in fur and bone,
    Her eyes still see the stars I swore.
    We haunt the edge, we roam alone,
    Two cursed hearts that hunt no more.

    But when the babe was cast to pine,
    Alone beneath the howling wind,
    I made an oath this soul is mine.
    I’ll guard him where no love has been.

    Let fire fall, let time undo,
    Let gods forget the names they gave.
    So long as breath remains in you,
    I am the shadow that will not cave.

  • The Cursed Child: A Tale of Light and Storms

    The Cursed Child: A Tale of Light and Storms

    Born not in shadow,

    but storm-split light.
    With wolves at his side.

    and fire for breath,
    He walks between day and the deepening night,
    A child of healing, a whisper of death.

    They called him cursed, they called him flame,
    Yet none could deny the spark in his palm.
    He bore no weapon, he sought no fame
    But the winds bent low to kiss his calm.

    When Drax lay broken, minds turned black,
    Taranis reached, and thunder wept.
    The fever fled, the soul came back
    And the child collapsed, as the forest slept.

    Now they watch him with fearful eyes,
    This babe who speaks in ancient tongue.


    Yet storms do not ask if the fire should rise…
    They rise because the world’s begun.

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    Thank you for reading.© 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.

    If you enjoyed this story, like, share, or leave a comment. Your support keeps the storm alive and the chronicles continuing.

    Also if you would like to read more Taranis tales please see.

    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded