A vibrant artwork reflecting the themes of struggle and resilience in the narrative of StormborneLore.
House of Shadow
I do not speak of heroes. I speak of those who walked in silence. Of boots torn at the sole, and breath taken with care lest the wind betray them.
I walked the road to Umbra alone, but never unmarked. Each tree knew my name, each stone held a memory, and the crows whispered what the living dared not say.
My brothers called it exile. The warlords called it treason. The wolves knew better. They call it the long return.
I did not carry banners. I carried wounds.
I did not seek the throne. I sought peace and found shadows that bled like I did.
And when the night fell thick with frost, and even the stars looked away, I did not pray for light.
A heartfelt thank you for engaging with the narrative of StormborneLore, inviting readers to support the storytelling journey.
The stone circle of Emberhelm stood silent under the pale light of morning., five cairnstones glowing faintly in their ancient places. The air shimmered with a stillness that only came before something eternal was spoken.
Taranis Stormborne, cloaked in black and silver. stepped ahead to the first cairn the one carved with roots and mountains, circled in white ochre. He turned to face the gathered warriors, wolves, and wanderers.
“Before the dragons flew,” he said, “before the wolves howled, there were five lines of fire. We knew only three. But today, we remember them all.”
He turned to Draven, who stepped ahead slowly, still favouring his side.
“Brother you bled for us. You survived what none should have. You guarded the line even when no one knew it was there.”
Taranis drew a shard of stone from the cairn itself. Then handed it to Draven, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
“By the weight of the earth and the strength of the mountain, I name you Lord of Terra.”
A cheer rose from the crowd, led by the wolves, then echoed by the dragons above. Draven bowed not to Taranis, but to the people.
Taranis turned then, slowly, toward the fifth cairn the one none had touched in generations. It bore a sunmark, and a spiral, and a cut across its base. where an old flame once split the stone.
Beside it stood Rayne, straight-backed now, though his eyes still bore the shadow of the collar. And beside him stood Tirena, a woman of stone and flame, silent and radiant. With one hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sun-marked blade.
Taranis paused before speaking not as a warlord, but as a brother.
“Rayne. We lost you once. You were chained, beaten, turned into a whisper. But you came back. And with you came fire not born of wrath, but of forgiveness.”
“Yet even flame must have form. And no one guards the flame better than the one who sees in silence.”
He turned to Tirena.
“Knight of Lumen, daughter of the dawn do you stand beside him of your own will?”
Tirena gave a single nod, her voice soft and fierce.
“I do. Not for crown. For cause.”
Taranis placed his hand on Rayne’s shoulder, and raised his other toward the sun.
“Then by the fire that remembers and the light that does not burn. I name you Rayne of Lumen, Lord of the Fifth House.”
The crowd was still for a heartbeat.
Then a pulse rolled through the cairns. A faint hum, like the deep breath of the land itself, stirred the hair of every person there.
The ley lines had awakened.
Five fires, once lost, now stood again.
Taranis looked out across the gathered faces his brothers. His people, the wolves, the dragons, the flame keepers and shadow walkers who had followed him through storm and silence.
His voice dropped low, just above a whisper, but the wind carried it to every ear.
“I know I wasn’t there for you. I’ll always regret that. Father exiled me… and maybe I would’ve run anyway. But that exile taught me many things.”
He looked to each brother in turn Lore, cloaked in dusk and silence. Drax, ever the storm, hands calloused from war. Draven, grounded like stone. And Rayne, flame rekindled beside the steel gaze of Tirena.
Taranis smiled, but it was not the smile of a warlord. It was that of a boy who had once been cast out. Now stood at the heart of everything he loved.
Just then, Draven stepped ahead again, his voice steady.
“Brother… you were exiled at eight,” he said. “We not protect you then. But we can stand with you now.”
Taranis’s gaze faltered for the briefest moment not from shame, but from the sudden weight of grace.
“And I will never walk alone again,” he answered, his voice thick with feeling.
Around them, the wind stirred the banners of each House. The cairns pulsed faintly, glowing at their roots. Overhead, the wings of dragons cast long shadows across the circle. And for the first time in generations, all five ley lines were whole.
Thank you to everyone who took the time to read yesterday’s Authors Note.
just a warning : This is NOT EDITED in anyway so there will be spelling mistakes and grammar issues., structure issues.
Why am I doing this?
The reason I’m saying hello in English. German, Russian, Spanish, Swedish and Welsh (I do apologise if I’ve spelt or wrote anything wrong)
The reason for it is those are the top countries in my stats for viewing my site.
THANK YOU
Thank you and USA youre number one. Thank you, and last night’s authors note had more likes than any other piece.
AI and Me
Well I’ve tried AI and still think even with all the errors. My writings probably better, than ai even though I use it to Polish my work it feels wrong.
Less human! Less capable of putting in what it takes to make the reader feel. SO after talking to my child who is a one of the biggest book nerds I’ve know. Someone who states don’t use AI they steal from other writers.
They are right but my stories are mine and double checked even triple checked not just through grammarly. But I also paste anything that I’m suspicious of direct into search engines manually check. If something worth doing it’s worth doing right !
The Plan Today
What’s on the plan today is easy 4 pieces.
This authors note
1 story – Three houses of Caernath part 7
1 poem – based on the eternal lords
1 article
1 recipe. Inspired by the bronze age
Where is my world based?
Someone asked me where are my stories / world based?
Worcestershire.
The House of Flame – Ignis.
Infact Emberhelm is based on the Malvern Hills and surrounding areas. Where I walked every weekend as a child and teen. An area stepped in history and folklore from Roman Britain to today.
Shropshire, Welsh marches and Staffordshire
The houses of Lore and Drax
Tempestas (house of storm) and Umbria (the house of shadow)
While Drax guards the marches with his armies of tempestas. Lore works his charms throughout his lands of Umbra. Taranis sits in the main house of Ignis. Soon to be joined by two others.
Again I spent hours walking not just around my village. But Cannock chase and Tettenhall woods, Walsall woods, cannock woods. I listened to historians, folklorists, read books on mythology, folklore, hauntings of the areas.
Other areas
I’ve walked Glastonbury Tor. (The hard way even ended up crawling at the top. But worth it and I proved to myself I can achieve the impossible. )
I’ve walked the long mynd (shropshire)where a village is said to have disappeared. The walks beautiful but not for those with mobility issues.
I’ve visited Wales (let’s face the truth at one point most of England was welsh). so when I include Welsh it more of a nod to ancestral heritage. My favourite place in Wales is Pembrokeshire.
Everywhere I go I’m learning not just the history but any folklore people are willing to share.
Growing up in Staffordshire gave me an opening to learn the Lore. Of not just my village but cannock chase and many other areas.
I was told “never put rough articles on your blog”. but when you don’t have funds for an editor for your articles where do you go?
Many indie writers told me once Grammarly but that’s ai isnt it? If anyone has any suggestions please let me know.
I’m learning and slowly starting to use my own raw writing on this site.
Have a good day, and to those in war torn areas or going through tough times. blessing and positive thoughts go out to you.
From the first howl on the wind to the firelit feasts of Caernath, StormborneLore now stands tall a living archive of myth, memory, and meaning.
In these past 19 days, you’ve journeyed through:
✨ Poems of Spirit and reflections from wolves, dragons, outcasts, and gods 🔥 Tales of Hardship and Hope, stories born in darkness, rising toward the light 🍖 Feasts of the Ancients, recipes inspired by the meals of warriors, crones, and storm-born kings. ⚖️ Truths of Our Time articles echoing modern struggles: disability, injustice, survival, and healing
Each post is more than just a page — it’s a voice from the halls of Emberhelm.
“When all the world forgets us, we will still sing around the fire.” Taranis Stormborne
To every reader who’s wandered these halls, thank you. To every warrior, wolf, and flamekeeper yet to come welcome home.
StormborneLore Fiction forged in myth. Truth written in fire.
Rest your weary head, sweet child, For our lord and his men stand guard. Fear not the shadows, hush your mind They hold the dark ones far behind.
Sleep now, my boy, for dawn draws near, The Day of Selection is almost here. When the High Lord walks among the brave, To choose the ones with hearts unshaved.
Rise, my child, today you train, Chosen by the Warlord through ash and rain. He sees in you a warrior’s light So heed no fear, for he brings no fright.
He is kind, though forged in fire, A stormborne soul who lifts you higher. Stand tall, young one, your time is come— To walk the path, to beat the drum.
A man of honour a man who cares A man who shared the darkness yet brought the light.
His tables long but round
with a star of five points So his warriors can all hear his point From near and far.
While the dragons fly over head The wolf-man warrior by his side tall, protective like a father figure Our leader raised by cursed wolves but with his grace freed his friends No slaves exist in Caernath he made it so
The high war lord of Caernath rules equal with charm and grace. but fury like the darkest of storms His group of 12 warriors, seers, healer. around the table making laws, deciding wars and peace.
Come one, come all,
to hear the tales of. The High Warlord of Caernath. A giant in spirit, a friend in kin, Whose heart burns brighter than the wrath of wind.
He lets no soul go hungry nor cold. For in his eyes, all people hold The spark of flame, the worth of kin. No exile too lost, no outcast too thin.
The fire burns bright at Emberhelm’s gate, For weary travellers and those burdened by fate. Hungry, tired, or wounded deep, He offers food, a place to sleep.
So if you wander, far or near, Know this truth and hold it dear. The High Warlord of Caernath stands, With open heart and open hands.
The scent of blood still hung on the morning mist. Mingling with the smoke from the still-burning ridge beyond Emberhelm’s eastern watch.
The gates had only just been sealed behind the last returning scouts. The courtyard was filled with low murmurs and the clang of steel being resharpened.
Taranis Stormborne stood alone beneath the stone arch, his shoulders squared but his body streaked in ash and dried blood. The battle had ended. Victory had been claimed.
And yet, the courtyard was quiet. Too quiet.
Then came the growl.
It rumbled low at first, barely more than a whisper on the wind. Before shaping itself into something unmistakable the warning bark of a wolf that knew disappointment far more intimately than fear.
Boldolph emerged from the shadow of the stables, his half-wolf form towering, claws still sheathed in crusted gore. His red eyes burned with something deeper than rage. Not fury. Not even grief.
Taranis didn’t flinch. He met the wolf-man’s gaze with that same infuriating storm-steeled calm. “I had to act.”
“You had to die?” Boldolph’s snarl cut through the air. “That’s what you wanted? To fall alone so the bards sing about it later?”
“I had to protect them,” Taranis snapped. “The Black Claw”
“Were expecting you.” Boldolph’s voice was thunder now, claws clenched at his sides. “They wanted you to come alone. You gave them exactly what they needed — the head of the storm without the wind behind him.”
Taranis looked away. The silence between them thickened.
Boldolph stepped closer. “You are the High Warlord now. You bear the storm in your veins and ride the dragon in the sky. But to me, you’re still that cub who couldn’t see the trap until he stepped into it.”
Taranis said nothing. He couldn’t. Not when he knew Boldolph was right.
Taranis moved to speak, but Boldolph raised a clawed hand.
“No,” the wolf-man growled. “You don’t get to explain it away with honor or duty or some poetic rot about sacrifice. You’ve earned your scars, Taranis but so have we. And we didn’t survive hell just to watch you walk back into it alone.”
The warlord took a breath. His face, still smeared with ash and dried ichor, softened. “I thought”
“That’s the problem,” Boldolph snapped, “you thought. You didn’t ask. Not me, not Lore, not Drax, not Solaris. You didn’t trust any of us to stand beside you.”
Taranis’s jaw clenched. “I trust you all with my life.”
“Then why won’t you trust us with your death?”
The words struck like a hammer.
Taranis staggered a step back not from force, but from the weight of truth. Boldolph’s eyes didn’t waver.
He looked less like a beast and more like a grieving elder. Wearied by a child who couldn’t yet see his own worth beyond the blade.
“You think being the High Warlord means dying on your feet,” Boldolph said, voice roughening. “But what it really means is living long enough to carry others. That’s what the storm is for. Not just to burn. To shield.”
The fire pits crackled in the stillness. From the northern walkway, Lore stood quietly, arms folded, having heard the last of it. He said nothing only nodded to Boldolph, and then vanished back into the shadows.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Boldolph continued, softer now. “You have brothers again. You have warriors, wolves, dragons. And you have people who’d bleed for you, not because you command them but because they love you.”
Taranis sat slowly on the stone steps beside the training pit. For once, the weight of his own armor seemed too much to bear. “I’ve spent so long fighting to survive,” he said, staring at the sky. “It’s hard to let go of that.”
“I know,” Boldolph murmured. “But surviving isn’t living. And we didn’t break our curses just to watch you chain yourself to a ghost.”
The wolf-man crouched beside him, joints creaking.
“I made a vow to your father when you were exiled. I swore to watch over you even when you didn’t know I was near. I failed once. I won’t again.”
Taranis turned to him. “You were there… even then?”
Boldolph nodded. “Always.”
They sat in silence, the roar of the battlefield replaced by the quiet whistle of wind between towers. In the distance, children’s laughter echoed from the lower courtyard. where Morrigan was teaching younglings to bind wounds with willow bark and song.
Boldolph sighed. “You need to speak to them. To all of them. Tell them what you’re fighting for. What we’re building.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then let your silence be honest. But show them, Taranis. Not the warlord the man. The brother. The one who came back from the brink and built something no storm can wash away.”
Taranis stood slowly, shoulders still tense, but eyes clearer.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve been leading from the front but I’ve been doing it like I’m still alone. Like that eight-year-old boy who was cast out into the wilds.”
Boldolph rose beside him, towering and fierce. “Then stop being that boy. And become the storm the world remembers.”
Taranis gave a faint smile. “You’re more of a father than ours ever was.”
“I know,” Boldolph grunted. “You lot are exhausting.”
“No I’m not hearing excuses young brother. You know boldolph asked morigan if he eat either you or your dragons ” Drax smirked
“that…that is definitely something Boldolph would say. I trust my mother wolf said no” Tanaris grinned. AS he folded his arms with a grin as morigan gave him a cautionary look.
A colorful, abstract painting featuring layered triangular patterns with a predominantly black center, symbolizing the hidden aspects of the House of the Shadow.
In the hush before the hunt, in the footfall that leaves no mark, we walk.
The moon has a twin, silver-veiled and silent it hides behind us.
We are not nameless, only forgotten on purpose.
You will not see us coming. You will not hear our blades. But when danger slips through cracks, we are the cracks.
Call us spies, ghosts, watchers but never enemies.
We are the House of the Shadow. And we see what others won’t.
Abstract artwork featuring concentric triangular patterns in vibrant colors, symbolizing layers of shadow and mystery.
The screams echoed off the stone walls of Emberhelm like the wind of old gods mourning. They weren’t screams of pain, but of release centuries of silence and curse unraveling into the night.
Morrigan collapsed first, the white fur shedding in great clouds that shimmered like frost. Her limbs twisted, reshaped. Bones cracked. Light laced through her as though fire ran in her veins.
When it was over, she knelt there, naked and human once more. Tall, slim, freckled, her long red hair cascading down her shoulders like the sun had kissed her into being.
Lore, standing nearby with his hands still outstretched from the spell, stumbled back, exhausted. His voice trembled.
“It is done.”
Boldolph did not scream.
He roared.
A roar that turned the blood of every warrior in Emberhelm cold. His black fur thickened, but did not fall away. His body bulged with new strength arms growing longer, spine broadening, but the wolf did not vanish. Instead, the man stepped ahead from the beast, and what remained was both.
A wolf-man. A warrior unlike any other.
Lore turned to his brothers. “Boldolph chose this. A warrior’s form. His path remains in the hunt, not the hearth.”
Taranis watched, silent, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Morrigan, now fully clothed in a borrowed shawl, stepped across the courtyard to a waiting man her husband. They embraced without fear.
“She’s still loved,” Taranis muttered, half to himself.
Lore heard him anyway. “And no one fears them now. Not like they did you.”
Taranis smirked, eyes glinting. “If she wasn’t married, I’d have made her mine.”
“Careful,” Drax chuckled from behind, sharpening his axe on the stone steps. “You’re a warlord, not a poet.”
Taranis turned, expression softer now. “He screamed, you know. Our father. The night I was exiled.”
Lore nodded. “He didn’t know what to do. But he regretted not letting you stay. Mother wept for months. Still wore your wolf bone pendant long after we buried it in the cairn.”
“Did they know I was alive?”
“They did.” Lore crouched, drawing a symbol in the dirt. “Boldolph kept them informed. Something about the tribe’s elder being the only one who can hear his thoughts. Said our ancestor lived in you.”
Taranis gave a dry laugh. “Our ancestor, eh? Boldolph told me that too. Great-grandfather five times back, wasn’t it?”
Drax’s voice cut in. “Father called to Boldolph when you were exiled. Said the storm had swallowed you whole. What happened out there?”
Taranis exhaled, jaw tight.
“Adventure. Hunger. Despair. I was nearly dead when Solaris’s father found me, just beyond Blackclaw territory. They took me in. His father made me a slave, heavy work for little return. I treated his son in exchange for scraps. But Solaris he remembered me. He saw more than a starving boy.”
Lore rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“You survived.”
“I endured,” Taranis corrected.
He stepped ahead and raised his voice so all gathered hear.
“Boldolph. Morrigan. Solaris. You are free now. The chains of old curses, of blood debts, and oaths not chosen gone. But I ask you this…”
He paused, turning slowly.
“Will you stay?”
The fire pits roared to life, casting flickering gold over the three freed souls. Solaris stood tall, still bearing the ash-mark of Flamekeeper. Morrigan leaned into her husband’s side, eyes scanning the faces around her. Boldolph’s red eyes flared, unreadable.
Taranis continued, “There are three houses in Caernath now. The House of the Storm — for warriors and defenders. The House of the Flame for healers, lorekeepers, and seers. And the House of the Shadow for scouts, spies, and those who walk the forgotten paths. Each of you has earned a place, should you wish it.”
He looked to them, one by one.
“If you leave, so be it. With my blessing. With food. With horses so the fair lady no longer walks barefoot through bramble. know this: your path and mine will cross again. Whether as friend or foe… that remains to
A few chuckled.
“But if you stay…” he added, softer now. “then the food is yours to share, we shall ride and fight together as brothers and sisters.”
Lore stood beside him, arms folded. “Three houses. Three choices.”
Drax, ever the blunt one, added, “But don’t take too long to decide. Winter’s hunting season comes fast.”
Silence.
Then Solaris stepped ahead.
“I will stay.”
His voice was calm, like embers beneath ash.
“But not as a servant. As a Flamekeeper. As a free man.”
Taranis nodded once. “Then take your place in the House of the Ignis”
Boldolph came next, stepping ahead with thunder in his stride. His beast-form loomed, but he knelt low before Taranis.
“I stay,” he growled. “But not as man. Not as beast. As both. I fight with you. For Stormborne.”
Taranis placed a hand on the wolf-man’s brow. “House of the Tempestas then.”
Morrigan stepped ahead last. The crowd held their breath.
“I have known healing. And fury. And grief. But I choose to give life now, not chase vengeance. I will stay… as a healer.”
Lore smiled.
“House of Umbra welcomes you.”
The wind picked up. Overhead, Pendragon flew a wide arc above the fort, and the sky shivered with promise.
Taranis raised his voice once more.
“The Houses are chosen. The bonds are made. The future begins now forged in flame, bound by oath, tempered by storm.”
And far below, in the silent stones of Emberhelm, the echoes of curses past gave way to something new.
A howl not of sorrow.
But of belonging as a mysterious stranger approached.
“I know to well how brothers can turn on each other ” a voice behind them said one they vafukey recognised
Drax arched a brow “rayne? Little brother is that you? We thought you lost?”
Rayne Nodded a thick iron coller around his neck with black claw marking in
“Who did this ” Tanaris whistles for Pendragon as his brother collapsed through torture and starvation
“Black Claw they still have Draven”
“I going to wipe that clan out ” Tanaris said
“NO YOUNG ONE NOT ALONE” boldolph said
“Morrigan he’s doing it again can I eat him or Pendragon” Boldolph said seeing the young one Tanaris flying towards enemy land as if to rescue another brother
Morrigan looked over “he will return now Rayne”. she ordered as Solaris prepared food and she gathered healing herbs.
post script
Which House Do You Belong To? In the lands of Caernath, every soul has a path.
Do you crave thunder and battle like Boldolph? You belong to House Tempestras the warriors.
Do you heal with fire and memory like Solaris and Morrigan? House Ignis calls you the keepers of lore and flame.
Do you move in shadow, unseen yet ever watchful? Then step into House Umbra where secrets become power.
🧭 Tell us in the comments: Which house would you choose and why? Feel free to share this post and invite others to find their stormbound path.
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