StormborneLore

Category: Stormborne Legends

  • The Mystery of Callum Hargreaves: A Ghostly Tale

    The Mystery of Callum Hargreaves: A Ghostly Tale

    A Ghostly Encounter 2

    A round painted stone featuring a landscape with trees, grass, and a bright blue sky with a sun.
    A painted circular stone depicting a serene landscape with trees and a sun, contrasting the eerie atmosphere of the forest.

    The air was wrong.

    Callum Hargreaves opened his eyes to silence so deep it pressed against his chest. No engines in the distance. No birdsong. No radio crackle.

    Only the trees. And the damp earth beneath him.

    He sat up slowly, wincing. His body felt heavier, like the atmosphere itself had thickened. The forest wasn’t just quiet it was ancient. The trunks were massive, rough with moss and lichen, and the undergrowth twisted in ways he didn’t remember. Even the colours seemed muted. More… real. Older.

    His phone was dead. No signal. Not even a flicker of battery life.

    The feather was still in his hand.

    White. Burnt at the edge.

    He stood, breath visible in the still air. The mist clung low to the ground, like it was trying to hide something.

    The stone was gone. The path was gone.

    He turned full circle. No trails. No signs. Just forest. Endless.

    “Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Get your bearings. Pick a direction. Stay calm.”

    But as he moved ahead, he noticed something.

    There were no footprints. Not his. Not animals. No trash. No broken branches. Nothing that said people had ever been here.

    Except one thing.

    A shape in the clearing ahead barely visible in the haze.

    It was another stone.
    Taller. Deeper carved. The same symbol as before a spiral, or a horn, or… something.

    At its base, a small pile of bones. Clean. Arranged in a ring. And at the centre, an ash-blackened tooth.

    A round painted stone featuring an abstract mountain design with a spiral shape, placed on a textured dark fabric.
    A vibrant painted stone featuring a spiral design, symbolizing mystery and connection to nature.

    Callum backed up a step.

    A low growl rippled through the silence.

    His eyes snapped up.

    A wolf stood across the clearing.

    It wasn’t moving. Just watching.

    Eyes like molten gold. Fur dark and matted. Muscles tensed, but not ready to strike.

    Behind it… a second figure. Not a wolf.

    Human.

    Massive. Silent. Cloaked in furs. A silhouette against the trees.

    Callum couldn’t breathe.

    He blinked.
    And they were gone.

    Just trees again. Just mist.

    But the whispering had changed.

    Not words anymore.

    A name.

    One he didn’t know.
    One he couldn’t pronounce.

    But it curled in his head like smoke:
    Taranis.

    To be continued…

    From the Author

    I grew up visiting the Chase, walking the woods and hearing the stories. Have you experienced anything unusual in woods? The whispers among the trees?

    If you enjoyed this please read part 1

    Read more: The Mystery of Callum Hargreaves: A Ghostly Tale
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    Further Reading

    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • The Secrets of the Haunted Chase

    The Secrets of the Haunted Chase

    A Ghostly Encounter

    A round, hand-painted stone depicting a landscape with trees and a sun, resting on a dark fabric surface.
    A hand-painted circular stone depicting a serene landscape, featuring trees and a bright sun, symbolizing a connection to nature.

    They always said the Chase held secrets. Over the years rumors of ghost sightings, lost children, lights that danced just out of reach.

    But Private Callum Hargreaves had grown up nearby. He’d run through these woods with scraped knees and muddy boots, long before he wore the army’s green.

    He used to love the quiet, the peacefulness that the woods brought.

    Tonight, it felt wrong.

    The mist had rolled in fast, blanketing the forest floor. Dusk bled into night like ink in water. Callum’s breath fogged in front of him not from cold, but from the weight in the air.

    His squad had finished training hours ago, but he hadn’t gone back. He couldn’t. Not yet. His thoughts were loud again memories knocking like fists on the inside of his skull.

    “Just walk it off,” he muttered, his voice low. “Like always.” he told himself.

    He followed an old deer track or maybe just instinct into the dense pines. The kind that made their own darkness even before sunset. The ground was soft, smelling of wet leaves and something older.

    He paused.

    There at the base of a gnarled tree was a stone. Half buried, bone coloured. Not shaped by nature. Carved. Faint, but deliberate.

    Callum crouched. A breeze touched his neck, oddly warm.

    “Someone put this here.”

    A round painted stone with abstract designs in purple and yellow on a gray background, encircled by a green rim, resting on a dark fabric surface.
    A mysterious token featuring a swirl design, symbolizing the secrets of the woods.

    He brushed aside the moss. A symbol. A swirl or a horn. Beside it a feather. White. Slightly scorched at the edge. When he reached out to touch it.

    The air twisted.

    Like the world held its breath.

    He blinked. Once.
    The trees around him… changed.

    Taller. Closer. Ancient.

    No wrappers underfoot. No footprints. No signal bars. The forest felt closer, like it was listening.

    Then came the whisper.

    Not from behind him.
    Not from the side.

    From below.

    “He’s returned…”

    The voice wasn’t human but it wasn’t wind either. It filled his ears like rising water. Callum staggered back, instinct flaring.

    The stone was gone.
    The trail behind him, vanished.
    Even the smell was different no exhaust, no cordite, just wood smoke and something sharp: iron? sweat? blood?

    “No. No, no what is this?”

    He turned toward where the training grounds should’ve been.

    Nothing.

    Just trees.
    And silence.
    And the whispering louder now. Familiar. Calling him by name without speaking it.

    And then… a howl.

    Low. Echoing.

    Not quite wolf. Not quite human.

    Callum’s breath caught. He gripped the feather tight in his palm.

    To be continued…

    © written and created by ELHewitt

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  • Taranis and the Thief.

    Taranis and the Thief.

    A Story of Kindness.

    The fire crackled low, licking the belly of a fresh kill. A young deer brought down by patience and precision. Its scent mingled with pine resin, wood smoke, and the dry musk of wolf-fur.

    Taranis sat cross-legged near the embers, his gray eyes fixed on nothing.

    He had not spoken aloud in days. The wolves Boldolph, silent and alert. Morrigan, fierce-eyed and restless watched him as they always did, as if tethered not by duty, but by knowing.

    He tore the meat with his fingers, chewing slowly, not tasting. Hunger had long become a ghost he ignored, like the grief that gnawed behind his ribs.

    Then came the rustle. Too light for bear. Too soft for storm.

    He didn’t move. But the wolves did.

    A man emerged from the trees, thin, mud-streaked, crouching low not with confidence, but desperation. He made for the meat as if pulled by instinct stronger than fear. But the moment his hand reached toward the platter of bark and stone…

    A low growl stopped him.

    Morrigan’s teeth shone like bone in firelight. Boldolph blocked his retreat. And Taranis finally looked up.

    Their eyes met. One pair hollowed by loss, the other by starvation.

    “I thought you would kill me,” the stranger whispered.

    “I have,” Taranis replied, “for less.”

    He stood slowly, towering over the man a figure carved by exile, his face painted with ash and time. But there was no rage in him now. Only silence. And a slow understanding.

    He broke the meat in half. Handed the larger piece to the thief.

    The man hesitated, then took it with shaking hands.

    “What’s your name?” Taranis asked.

    The man blinked. “Rhonan.”

    “No longer a thief,” Taranis said, sitting again. “Tonight, you eat with me. Tomorrow, you hunt beside me. And if you run…” He glanced to Morrigan. “You’ll not outrun the black one.”

    Rhonan gave a breath that was a laugh, or a sob.

    And for the first time in many moons, Taranis chewed his meat and tasted it.

    From the author:

    This story bridges two truths: that hunger drives desperation, and that mercy can be stronger than fear.
    Taranis’s decision not to punish the man reflects a deeper shift. one from raw survival to the beginnings of community, yet small.

    If you’ve ever chosen kindness when the world expected cruelty this story is for you.

    © written and created by ELHewitt

    Further Reading

    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • Nature and Memory: A Reflection in Poetry

    Nature and Memory: A Reflection in Poetry

    A Poem by Taranis Stormborne

    Four painted stones displayed on a black surface, each featuring different colorful designs.
    Colorfully painted stones representing various landscapes, reflecting themes of nature and memory.


    They carved the stone while I still breathed,

    The blood not dried on mother’s brow.
    My name was spoken not with love,
    But like a curse the tribe would disavow.

    The fire crackled but not for me,
    No meat passed down by elder’s hand.
    I watched the smoke rise like a ghost
    Above a world I’d never understand.

    Their eyes were flint.

    Their backs like stone.
    My brothers looked, then looked away.
    I was not child. I was not kin.
    I was the price they chose to pay.

    I walked into the weeping trees,
    Each branch a wound I could not see.
    The ground did not resist my weight.
    The wilds at last remembered me.

    A boy of eight. A heart struck down.
    But storms remember where they’re born.


    The silence wrapped around my bones.
    And made me something more than scorn.

    They taught me I was less than breath,
    But wind and wolf still knew my name.
    The rain did not deny my steps.
    The storm would never speak of shame.


    Have you ever felt cast out not in body, but in soul?
    Share your thoughts. The fire still burns, and there’s room beside it.

    Thank you for walking this path through exile and memory with us.

    © written and created by ELHewitt

  • Taranis and the Wolves: A Tale of Mysticism

    Taranis and the Wolves: A Tale of Mysticism

    Tale of Storms and Shadows

    A stylized tree with multicolored leaves, depicted against a dark background with a yellow moon. The trunk is textured and twisted, and the artwork features vibrant hues like purple, red, and white.
    A vibrant, stylized tree under a dark sky, adorned with colorful leaves and a glowing moon, symbolizing the intertwining of nature and mysticism.

    Taranis had wandered for three days since his exile. Taranis wore no furs now., just the old stag-hide wrap and the necklace his mother had pressed into his palm with shaking fingers.

    He ate roots and river water,. Asheand slept like a fox with one ear open and his back to a tree.

    That night, a full moon watched the world from behind broken cloud. The forest lit with silver veins. Taranis crouched low near a hollow oak, flint blade across his lap. He had not lit a fire. Fire betrayed you. Fire drew eyes.

    But still eyes found him.

    Two pairs.

    One black, one white.

    Both wolves. Both silent. Both watching from the mist beyond the briar.

    He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

    The white one larger, its coat matted with burrs stepped ahead. A long scar dragged across its eye, but the eye still burned red. Not the red of rage, but of knowing. Of memory.

    The smaller wolf circled left. Her coat was black as smoke and moved like shadow even under moonlight.

    Still, Taranis did not move. This was not a hunt. Not a threat. This was a test.

    When the white wolf sat, the black one joined him.

    They stared.

    And then they spoke.

    Not aloud not in the way people do but in the marrow of his bones. In the beat of his pulse. In the dreams he hadn’t yet had.

    “You carry the storm. Not all storms destroy.”

    He blinked. He gripped the flint tighter.

    “We are not what we seem. Nor are you.”

    A stylized painting of a black wolf howling against a backdrop of a crescent moon and vibrant blue sky, with hints of purple and pink. The wolf features a decorative symbol around its neck.
    A striking depiction of a black wolf howling at the moon, surrounded by vibrant blues and purples, evoking a sense of mystery and wilderness.

    Then, the black wolf Boldolph moved first. He stepped to the base of the hollow tree and pawed at the ground. When he pulled back, there was something in the soil. A ring of old stones. A feather. A scrap of iron, ancient before iron had names.

    The white wolf Morrigan touched it with her snout.

    And in a moment that split the world like thunder, they changed.

    Two wolves became two people. Not naked, not fully human, but forms caught between part smoke, part bone, part memory. She bore a crow’s wing in her braid. He had a jaw shaped not by age, but by sorrow.

    Taranis did not flinch. The storm inside him had seen worse. Had survived worse.

    Morrigan reached ahead and laid the feather at his feet.

    “Blood forgets. But stone remembers. You are carved already.”

    Boldolph raised his hand, three fingers missing. Still, he gestured not in threat, but in oath.

    “This forest sees you. You are not alone.”

    And just like that, they were wolves again.

    Gone into the mist.

    Only the feather remained.

    And the storm inside Taranis? It no longer howled alone.

    © written and created by ElHewitt

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    Futher Reading

    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded
    Taranis Stormborne: The Ultimate Guide to the Storm