StormborneLore

Tag: Ancient Rome

  • Whispers from the Sea

    Whispers from the Sea

    Written by
    emma.stormbornelore

    The wind off the coast carried a strange scent that morning salt, smoke, and something older.


    Drax Stormborne stood upon the cliffs of Caerwyn. His cloak drawn tight, eyes narrowed toward the southern horizon where the sea met the clouds. The gulls wheeled low, uneasy, their cries sharp against the stillness.

    Behind him, his second-in-command approached, boots crunching on frost-slick stone. “Another ship’s gone missing,” the man said quietly. “Roman, they say. A patrol near Carthage. The reports claim a storm took it.”

    Drax didn’t turn. “A storm,” he repeated, voice low. “Or something that wears its name.”

    The man hesitated. “You think it’s him?”

    For a moment, only the wind answered. Then Drax’s gloved hand closed around the hilt of his sword, fingers tracing the worn leather grip. “Taranis never drowned easy,” he murmured. “If the Empire bleeds at sea, then he’s drawing the blade.”

    He moved to the edge of the cliff, gazing down at the waves hammering the rocks below. The sea had always been Rome’s pride a wall of conquest, a promise of control. But now it whispered rebellion.

    “Send word to the northern outposts,” Drax said. “Quietly. Tell them the Black Shields move again. No banners. No noise. Just watch the tide.”

    The officer nodded and left, his footsteps fading into the mist.

    Alone, Drax drew his sword, holding it toward the sea. The steel caught the dawn light, flashing gold for a heartbeat like lightning beneath the clouds.

    “Brother,” he said softly, as the first drops of rain began to fall. “If the storm returns… then so do I.”

    The thunder answered, rolling like distant drums of war.

    The Empire called it weather.
    The Stormborne called it warning.

    © 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.

  • Empire’s Fall: The Story of Taranis Stormborne

    Empire’s Fall: The Story of Taranis Stormborne

    An intricately designed and colorful abstract pattern featuring swirling shapes and vibrant hues, with the text 'The Chronicles of Taranis' prominently displayed in bold letters.
    Artistic depiction reflecting the themes of dominance and rebellion in ‘The shadows of an Empire’ by StormborneLore.

    The chains had not grown lighter with time, only quieter. Iron had long since given way to gold, yet weight was still weight . Taranis Stormborne felt every ounce of Rome’s fear in the links that bound him.

    The ship that bore him south groaned through black waters. The guards would not meet his eyes. Some crossed themselves; others muttered old charms beneath their breath. When lightning flared over the horizon, a single flash revealed the island ahead jagged, volcanic, crowned with smoke.

    His new world. His cage.

    They called it Vulcarum Minor, a place for Rome’s unwanted gods.

    The emperor had decreed he would not die, only vanish buried in salt and silence, where storms not reach. Yet the sea itself seemed to bow as the chained gladiator stepped onto the black sand. The air shimmered with heat and the scent of sulfur; the cliffs glowed faintly with fire beneath the stone.

    There were others there broken soldiers, condemned priests, thieves who had stolen from temples. Men without names. And when they saw him, some whispered, “The Unbroken One.”

    At night, when the guards slept, he spoke to them not of rebellion, but of memory.


    Of oaths that outlast empires.
    Of the storm that lived in blood and bone.

    Soon the whispers changed shape. The condemned began to mark their shields and cuffs with a blackened handprints. A sign of allegiance in the dark. They trained by moonlight, silent and tireless, forming a circle beneath the cliffs.

    Taranis called them his Scutorum Nigrorum the Black Shields.

    Not an army, not yet.
    A brotherhood. A promise.

    As weeks became years, their network grew beyond the island. Soon ferrymen, smugglers, slaves who vanished and reappeared with gold, soldiers who served two masters. The storm’s reach was returning, invisible and patient.

    When thunder rolled across the straits of Sicily, the guards whispered it was a warning from the gods.
    But Taranis knew better.

    It was a reminder.

    That no empire lasts forever.

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    © 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.

    Further Reading

    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded