Roots in shadow, deep they wind,
Binding earth to blood and time.
Branches blaze where sun and moon
Kiss the sky in red and rune.
Leaves of gold and leaves of flame,
Each one whispers Stormborne’s name.
Wolves lie sleeping at its base,
Dragons coil through time and space.
Circle silver, circle stone,
Mark the heart the gods have sown.
Life unbroken, death denied,
Storm’s own oath, the tree provides.
By Elhewitt
Further Reading
Spoiler: Not by name but they felt the land’s power.
They didn’t call them ley lines.
They didn’t mark them with ink.
But the builders of cairns and stone paths walked in tune with something deep a rhythm etched in earth and sky.
Across prehistoric Britain, ancient people aligned their lives and deaths with natural forces that modern names can only echo.
🧭 What Are Ley Lines?
Today, ley lines are understood as invisible paths said to connect places of ancient or spiritual importance a kind of unseen network crossing the landscape.
The idea gained attention in the 1920s when Alfred Watkins, a British thinker and historian, observed that many old sites from standing stones and burial mounds to chapels and crossroads seemed to fall into long, straight lines on the map.
Though his view was practical at first, later generations embraced the mystical side. The idea of earth energy flowing beneath our feet became a key part of modern folklore, spiritual healing, and even fiction.
🔥 Did Bronze Age People Believe in Them?
They had no word for “ley lines.”
But they knew how to read the land.
Stone Circles & Sunlines
Sites like Stonehenge were built with exact alignments to solstices, star paths, and natural landmarks. These weren’t accidents they were maps carved in stone.
Sacred Roads
Ceremonial trackways like the raised Avenue near Stonehenge weren’t for trade. They were used in rituals, processions, or seasonal gatherings.
High Cairns & Burial Sites
Ancient barrows were often placed on ridges visible for miles, suggesting a belief in sightlines and spiritual pathways.
Mystic Memory
Many later myths from Celtic and Welsh traditions speak of dragon roads, fairy paths, and spirit lines echoes of older beliefs in a world shaped by invisible forces.
🌌 In StormborneLore…
House Ignis draws from the fire-veins beneath the Malvern Hills
House Umbra guards the shadows where old stones hum
House Tempestas rides the storm-lines through the Marches
House Terra roots into the deep stones of the north
House Lumen awakens where sun and soul meet
And in the centre Emberhelm, where all lines converge, and prophecy stirs the stones.
🐉 So… Did They Know?
Not in words.
But in ritual, in rhythm, and in the way their bones followed the wind, the ancient people of Britain lived by the lines long before we gave them a name.
And perhaps, deep under our modern roads and ruins…
the lines are still there, waiting.
The great hall of Emberhelm pulsed with firelight. Smoke curled upward from the long hearth, rich with the scent of charred lamb fat, root vegetables, and sweet herbs.
It was a scent that stirred memory of winter hunts. Harvest feasts, and nights when the storm howled but the fire held fast.
Taranis stood at the head of the long stone table. His arms folded behind his back, a rare softness in his eyes. To his right sat Lore, robes still dusted with ash from the spell that broke the curse. To his left, Drax toyed with his carving knife, his appetite as fierce as ever.
But it was the spaces beyond that caught the eye.
Boldolph sat with his broad, wolfish shoulders hunched, a strip of roast meat gripped in one clawed hand. Morrigan.
Once white wolf, now flame-haired woman, laughed as she stirred a pot near the hearth beside Solaris. Who sprinkled crushed nettle and wild garlic into the steaming soup.
And near the fire, two boys sat on a bench Nyx and Rayne. The latter still bore the bruises of captivity, but his shoulders had relaxed, his collar gone. Nyx offered him a chunk of honeyed root and a crude wooden spoon. The boy’s smile was slow, cautious. But it came.
Taranis raised a horn of wild berry wine.
“Tonight, no war. No judgment. No weight of kingship or curse. Tonight, we eat.”
A cheer rang through the hall.
The first course was served hearth-brewed vegetable broth, thick with barley, wild leeks, and stinging nettle. Simple, earthy. Morrigan’s touch. The nettle had been boiled thrice, mellowing its sting but keeping its iron-rich heart.
Then came the main feast braised lamb neck, rubbed with ash salt and roasted on iron spits. It fell from the bone into honeyed mash made of parsnip and turnip, flanked by fire-roasted carrots. leeks, and bruised apples wrapped in dock leaves.
A vegetarian version of roasted nuts, wild mushrooms, and legumes. Bound with barley and wild garlic was passed to those who’d taken vows of gentleness.
The hall grew louder with warmth and full bellies. Solaris poured ladle after ladle of broth. Boldolph, face still savage, offered a growled blessing in the tongue of old wolf-warriors. Even Lore smiled briefly.
And then came dessert.
Forest fruit compote slow-stewed blackberries, crab apples, and hazelnuts served over a rough cake of grain and honey. It wasn’t sweet in the way of sugar, but it hummed with the wild tang of the land.
As the fire cracked lower, Taranis rose once more.
“We have reclaimed brothers,” he said. “Rayne is free. Draven will return soon. Boldolph and Morrigan have chosen forms of their own. Solaris has cast down his chains. And you my kin you have chosen your Houses.”
He turned, gesturing to three newly hung banners behind the head table.
Tempestras storm-grey with blue lightning: the House of the Storm.
Ignis flickering red and gold: the House of the Flame.
Umbra shadowed silver moon eclipsing a burnt-orange sun: the House of the Shadow.
“Caernath lives again,” Taranis said. “Not through conquest but through kinship. Through the storm we were broken. But by fire and shadow, we are reforged.”
Rayne rose, slowly, holding up a crude carving the three brothers etched into a cairnstone, side by side.
“Then let it be known,” he said, “that Stormborne is no longer just a name. It is a vow.”
Lore pressed a hand to the stone, then nodded.
“A vow… and a future.”
And beneath the storm-beaten beams of Emberhelm, the wolves howled once more not from pain or exile, but from joy.
Starter:
Wild Nettle & Leek Soup
Nettle leaves (free if foraged)
Leek or spring onion
Pearl barley
Garlic & herbs
Main:
Braised Lamb Neck or Shoulder (cheap cuts)
Honey-roasted root veg (parsnip, carrot, turnip)
Mashed turnip/potato
Vegetarian choice: wild mushroom & nut loaf
Dessert:
Berries & Graincake
Stewed blackberries/crab apples
Honey/oats cake
Optional: hazelnuts
Further Reading
The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded
Join the Adventure in Tales of Rayne’s Universe
Ancient Magic and Myth of the Stormborne
The Houses of Caernath – Act I: The Broken Howl
The Houses of Caernath – Act II: The Forgotten Blood
Solaris’s Kitchen:
A Bronze Age Tribute to the Earth
O great Mother who sleeps beneath stone.
In furrowed field and marrowed bone,
We offer you meat, we offer you flame
Remember your children. Remember our name.
Your womb is the cave,
your blood is the stream,
You whisper to Seers in fragments of dream.
Your hands shaped mountains,
your sighs formed seas,
You cradle the dead in roots and leaves.
We plough your skin,
we drink your tears,
We dance our grief, we plant our fears.
When thunder calls, we do not hide
For storm and soil walk side by side.
In every harvest,
every stone we place.
In ashes, in births, in memory’s face.
We speak your truth with drum and horn
That from the dark, all life is born.
They wove the wind into cloaks and dreams.
Spun flax with fire and softened seams.
Mothers, warriors, whisperers, seers
Their names echo across the years.
In caves they sang to unborn stars,
In fields they carved the fate of wars.
With calloused hands and iron hearts,
They held the world while it fell apart.
They bore the weight of every dawn,
Raised walls of stone when men were gone.
Healed with roots, and led with grace
Stormborne blood, in every place.
Let no tale forget their worth,
The quiet queens of ancient earth.
For behind the sword and sky and lore,
Were women holding open the door.
let their songs and tales stay eternally.
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.
(By a surviving Stormborne brother after the first great battle)
Ash in their hair, fire in their breath,
They stood as the sun wept low in the west.
Brothers and sisters with storm in their veins, Fell to the ground, where silence remains.
The drums were our hearts, the sky was our cry.
We fought not for gold, but so others might try.
Their names now lie carved in oak and in stone.
But the warmth of their hands is forever gone.
I held my blade, not proud but numb.
As the wind carried whispers of those who’d succumbed.
Each shadow a friend, each pool of red
A story cut short, a word left unsaid.
Now only three of us gather each night,
Around the fire, beneath the stars’ light.
We drink to the fallen.
We bleed in the song.
And carry their memory proud, fierce, and strong.
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.
Drax’s Region , StormborneLore
In the shadow of ancient hills and stone-crowned ridges, the Welsh Marches whisper stories long forgotten. Winds race across the Long Mynd.
Caer Caradoc looms in silent watch. Yet somewhere beneath the earth, fragments of the lives. Once lived by Bronze Age women stay buried in urns, marked in pottery, etched in the soil itself.
Though no names were written, no songs preserved their deeds in ink. These women shaped the land and its legacy just as surely as their male counterparts.
In this post, we explore what archaeology reveals about their roles. struggles, and power during a time of shifting tribes, emerging hillforts, and mythic memory.
The Female Thread, settlements and Society.
Sites like Llanilar, Moel y Gaer, and the Breiddin Hillfort give us glimpses of structured settlements roundhouses. Aswell as storage pits, and hearths.
While many daily activities stay unrecorded, it’s women who managed food preparation, textile production, tool-making, and child-rearing. Their hands shaped the rhythm of Bronze Age life.
At Allt Y Crib and nearby burial cairns. The remains of women have been discovered alongside grave goods beads, pottery, bronze tools.
These finds suggest women were not merely laborers. But held positions of respect, spiritual or familial leaders whose deaths warranted ritual care.
Decorated pots, many found in ritual pits and barrows, often bear feminine associations. Women have been central to their crafting, shaping not only vessels, but cultural identity through art, trade, and tradition.
Mysterious sites like Cerrig Duon and Y Garn Goch offer insight into ceremonial life. While we can’t say definitively that women led rituals. Their burial proximity and symbolic items hint at possible priestess roles guardians of knowledge, seasons, and ancestral memory.
The Grinding stones, charred grains, and animal remains suggest women were active in agriculture, foraging, and preservation. They ensured continuity passing down wisdom in planting cycles, herbal lore, and the ways of fire and feast.
Though no written records survive from the Bronze Age, the archaeology of the Welsh Marches speaks in its own language. Women’s influence is woven into every excavated hearth, every grave good, every pottery shard.
They were not background figures they were central to survival, culture, and possibly leadership.
Whether as midwives, weavers, warriors, or spiritual guides. The women of the Welsh Marches helped forge the legacy of the land Drax now calls home in StormborneLore.
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.
The hillfort rose like a scar upon the earth raw, unfinished, powerful in its promise.
Stones clattered as men worked shoulder to shoulder. Logs were rolled into place, lashed with thick rope and secured by wedges of bone and bronze. Children ran between the scaffolds, delivering water or watching with wide eyes as their future took shape.
It was a day like no other.
The sun hung low over the horizon, casting a golden sheen across the half-built wall. Birds circled above, uneasy. The animals in the nearby woods had gone silent.
Sir Gael, the oldest warrior among the fort’s guardians, paused to wipe sweat from his brow. His grey-streaked beard was heavy with dust. He glanced upward, his hand stilled mid-motion.
“Commander Drax,” he said, his voice strangely calm. “Look.”
Drax turned his shoulders broad, his eyes as sharp as the spear he carried.
Above them, the sky split.
A roar echoed across the valley not of wind, nor beast, but something far older. The builders dropped their tools. The children froze. Heads tilted toward the heavens.
The clouds churned as if afraid. And from them, something vast and terrible descended.
A dragon.
Wings wide as the river’s span. Scales that shimmered with green, gold, and a glint of crimson. Pendragon, King of the Sky. A creature from legend — spoken of in firelit whispers and dream-songs passed down by the Flamekeepers.
And on his back rode a man.
Tall. Armoured in blackened bronze. A red cloak fluttered behind him like a banner of blood and flame. His grey eyes gleamed with the fury of storms.
Taranis Stormborne.
The exiled boy. The returning myth. The High Warlord.
Sir Gael dropped to one knee. The others followed not out of fear, but reverence.
“Is it truly him?” someone whispered.
A small girl tugged at her father’s tunic. “Daddy… is he the one the Seer spoke of?”
Her father a scarred builder named Halvor looked to Drax for guidance.
Drax did not speak at first.
He simply nodded.
“It’s possible, young one.”
The dragon roared again. Pendragon spiralled downward, his wings churning the air so fiercely that dust clouds rose from the hilltop. Yet the High Warlord stood unshaken upon his back, one hand on the saddlehorn, the other raised in greeting.
He did not fall.
Not once.
He rode the wind like it was his birthright.
When Pendragon finally landed upon the high ridge, silence followed. Even the wind dared not move.
Taranis slid down with the ease of a seasoned warrior. His boots hit the ground with a thud like thunder. Behind him, the dragon crouched, its golden eyes watching all with quiet fire.
Drax stepped forward.
“Taranis,” he said, voice cracking. “You’ve returned.”
Taranis nodded. “And you’ve begun.”
He looked past his brother to the rising fort, half-finished but brimming with hope.
“Stone and sweat,” he said. “It’s a good beginning.”
Lore emerged next from the shadows, staff in hand. “The prophecy breathes,” he said.
“It was written: When sky and fire meet the hill. The son shall return to shape the land with storm and blood.”
A murmur passed through the gathering crowd.
Taranis took a slow breath, then turned to the workers.
“I am no king,” he said, voice deep and sure. “I do not bring crowns or glory. I bring a future. A place for the broken and the brave. A shield for our young. A fire for our old.”
He lifted his sword.
“This land this fort will stand not just for the Stormborne. It will stand for all who remember. For those cast out. For those who bled. We rise not to conquer, but to endure.”
Cheers broke across the hilltop.
Some wept. Others simply stared, mouths open, unsure if they stood in a dream or waking world.
The children gathered near the dragon’s feet, staring up in awe. Pendragon blinked slowly and lowered his head so they touch his scaled snout.
The girl from before her name was Marla reached out, fingers trembling.
“He’s warm,” she whispered.
Sir Gael stood beside Drax, smiling through his years.
“I thought the stories were just that,” he said. “Stories.”
“Some stories,” Lore said, “are simply waiting for the right time.”
That night, fires were lit along the hilltop. The beginnings of the wall gleamed in the torchlight, casting long shadows over the land. Meat was roasted. Bread was broken.
At the centre sat the brothers Stormborne Taranis, Drax, and Lore their heads bent together, planning the days to come.
Boldolph and Morrigan, the sacred wolves, lay on either side of the war table. Watchful. Silent.
Above them, high in the sky, Pendragon remained perched. His wings wrapped around the star-streaked air like a guardian angel of old. Next to the dragon was a black dragon
“They fought with us and now they returned “
“I’m staying as long as needed ” taranis knelt to the children “this beast us pendragon and that ones Tiarneach “
The hillfort was far from finished.
But something greater had begun.
Hope.
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 : lThe 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 wind still smelled of blood and ash.
Taranis stood on the ridge, his cloak torn by the storm, his hair streaked with soot. Below, the valley rippled with new life: tents being stitched, stones lifted, timber lashed. The war was over but the next battle had begun.
“We build not just for defence,” Lore said, tracing runes into the soil, “but for memory.”
The three surviving brothers had gathered their remnants warriors, widows, strays, and seers. They chose high ground, surrounded by forest and stone.
Drax named it Emberhelm, for the fire that had not died. It would become the first Stormborne stronghold.
Taranis trained them in the mornings sword drills, spear throws, endurance across misty hills. Drax oversaw the walls, carving old sigils into oak gates. Lore built the central hearth and lit it from the embers of their victory fire.
That night, the people gathered.
Flames danced. A feast was laid. Meat sizzled on firestones. Barley bread warmed the hands of children.
At the centre of it all stood Taranis, not as an outcast or storm-child. But as High Warlord of the Stormborne.
The First Meal of Emberhelm was a warm, smoky, filling. A tribute to survival.
Ingredients (Modern Costed)
500g pearl barley – £1.20
2 tbsp honey – £0.40
1 tsp salt – £0.05
Handful wild herbs (or 1 tsp thyme/rosemary) – £0.15
500g root veg (turnip/parsnip/sweet potato) – £1.00
Optional: Lamb neck or mutton (slow cooked) – £3.00–£4.00
Water or veg stock cube – £0.10
Flatbread (optional, if not using barley cakes) – £0.80
Total Cost (vegetarian): ~£3.70
With meat: ~£7.50
Feeds 3–4 people
🛠️ Method (Modern Cooking Adaptation)
Boil the barley in salted water for 25–30 minutes until soft but chewy.
Roast root veg (cubed) in oil and herbs at 200°C for 30 mins.
Optional: Slow cook lamb/mutton with water, herbs, salt for 2–3 hours.
Drain the barley and mix with honey and herbs while warm.
Serve the roasted veg with barley, or spoon over the meat like a grainy stew.
🧙♀️ Historical & Symbolic Notes
Barley was a staple across the Bronze Age valued for energy and storage.
Meat was a rare honour. Only eaten during celebrations or major rites.
Honey and herbs symbolised blessing and protection.
Emberhold’s feast marks a cultural shift from wandering to rooting just as the Bronze Age introduced tools, fortresses, and long-term clan identity
© StormborneLore. Written by Emma for StormborneLore. Not for reproduction. All rights reserved.
.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
If you want more Recipes visit : Solaris Kitchen
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