StormborneLore

Tag: cursed wolves

  • The Houses of Caernath Part 1

    The Houses of Caernath Part 1

    The Broken Howl.

    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.

  • The tragic curse of Boldolph and Morrigan 2

    The tragic curse of Boldolph and Morrigan 2

    The mystical bond between the black and white wolves, symbolizing the intertwined fates of Boldolph and Morrigan.

    Boldolph’s people wept for him and Morrigan.

    As the cursed pair fled the stone cave. Their new forms heavy with shame and grief, they knew the truth they would yet be hunted. Death would almost be kinder than living on, watching their people unravel from the shadows.

    From the tree line, they watched.

    The enchantress Whitehair was dragged to the punishment stones. Her mouth forced open as the chieftain stepped forward.

    “Bring me my grandchildren,” he commanded.

    A line of children stood before him. The oldest, a thirteen-year-old girl, stared straight ahead as the wind lifted her dark hair.

    “Gwyn,” the chieftain said, “you are the eldest of my blood. This honour is yours. Remove her tongue and nose.”

    Without a word, the girl obeyed. She carried out the sentence without question her hand steady. Her eyes blank while Boldolph and Morrigan looked on from the trees.

    “The youngest three,” the chieftain continued, “shall be raised among us. Spared. But the oldest, Ryn…”

    A fourteen-year-old boy was dragged forward.

    “…He will be cast out.”

    “No! Please…” Ryn cried. “I was hungry she hadn’t fed me in weeks…”

    “You’re old enough to hunt,” his father barked. “Old enough to fish. Old enough to gather. You chose to steal.”

    As the blade was drawn, Morrigan gave a sharp growl.

    Boldolph stepped from the trees not attacking, but shielding the boy with his massive black form.

    “Morrigan? Boldolph?” the chieftain asked, surprised but calm. “Do you understand what is happening here?”

    Boldolph gave a single nod.

    “Do you agree with this judgment?” another tribesman called out.

    Morrigan whimpered, then moved beside Boldolph, gently nosing Ryn toward the tree line.

    “Boy,” the chieftain said, “how can we speak to the wolves?”

    “My father knows a chant, sir,” Ryn answered softly. “I’ve heard him whisper it to the earth spirits.”

    A moment later, the chant rose in the air low and trembling. The spirits stirred.

    “It is done,” the seer confirmed. “The wolves may not speak through mouths, but they will speak through minds. A bond has been made between Boldolph and the tribe’s spirit.”

    “Father,” Boldolph said in thought alone, “let the boy live. Morrigan wishes no harm.”

    “If she could poison her own people, she may have cursed him too,” someone muttered.

    But Morrigan white as snow, her eyes full of sorrow pressed her head into the chieftain’s hand.

    “He has always seemed… touched by something,” she said. “Not cursed. But not untouched either. Let him go. For me.”

    The chieftain knelt.

    “Boy,” he said, “do you understand what this means?”

    “No, sir.”

    “It means my grandfather will spare your life,” Gwyn said, stepping forward. “But you must leave, Ryn. And never return. You will walk with the cursed wolves. And you will not bear a name. Not in any tribe. You will be the boy who walks in exile. The boy of silence.”

    Ryn’s father added, “You will walk until you sleep. And when you sleep, you will not wake.”

    Tears welled in Ryn’s eyes. “Can I say goodbye to my brothers and sisters?”

    “Five minutes,” the chieftain said. “Then the exile begins. You’ll be given a spear, a stone knife. One day’s food for you. A week’s for my son and his mate.”

    The children nodded.

    The chieftain’s hand rested on Morrigan’s head, then Boldolph’s.

    “You are not forgotten,” he whispered.

    Boldolph’s mother stepped from the crowd, her eyes wet with love and regret.

    “Boldolph,” she said, “you are always welcome at our fire.”

    And with that, the wolves turned toward the deep forest and the cursed child walked beside them.

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

  • The Tragic Curse of Boldolph and Morrigan

    The Tragic Curse of Boldolph and Morrigan

    Written by emma.stormbornelore
    in Ancient Britain


    Once, I was a man.
    A cherished warrior.

    The youngest of three lords, the only surviving heir before the word chieftain had even been carved into stone.

    I was a protector, a trader,

    a traveller to far shores…
    but above all, I was a husband and a father.

    Morrigan.

    She was everything.
    Three children had blessed our home and that was enough.

    It was all her body can carry after the night she met the old crone in the woods.


    The one whose words still haunt me.
    “The howl will return to your house, but not in the way you dream.”

    I remember that day like thunder.

    I had walked the long trail from the hunt., a wolf’s pelt across my shoulders, the carved head resting like a crown.

    There was smoke above the village.
    And shouting.

    An old woman beaten, clothes torn was being dragged toward my father’s cave.

    “Wait!” I shouted.

    I stepped ahead eighteen, tall, muscle-bound, burning with promise.
    They said I would one day unite the valleys.

    “What’s the meaning of this?” I demanded.

    A freckled, tattooed man stepped ahead, fury carved into every line of his face.


    “This enchantress worked against us in the last battle,” he spat.
    “She betrayed us, Boldolph. We demand justice for our dead.”

    My jaw clenched.
    I turned to her.

    “You?” I growled.
    “You’re the reason my brothers now sleep the eternal sleep?
    The reason my mother weeps?
    The reason the blood of my people feeds the grass?”

    She said nothing.

    With a roar, I seized her
    hauled her high above the firepit, as if ready to cast her into flame.

    But then
    “NO!”

    A voice like wind cut through the rage.

    Morrigan.

    Only she reach me.
    Only she still the fire in my chest.

    “This is not you, my love,” she said.
    “Let the chieftain decide. Please…”

    And I listened. Because she was the one thing I would never fight.

    I carried the woman into the cave.

    The chieftain stood waiting.
    Red-haired, tattooed in victory and sorrow, wise beyond warriors.

    “I have heard your crimes, Whitehair,” he said, voice like stone.
    “You drugged the warriors. You let the enemy pass through us like wind through grass.
    You gave our children to fire. You made the wombs of mothers empty.”

    Still, the woman did not plead.

    “Death is too easy,” he continued.

    “You will be taken to the deepest part of the wood.
    Stripped of your name.
    Your hands will be marked so that the spirits do not recognise you.
    You will eat only what you can dig or steal. None shall speak your name, nor carve it. You will walk in silence until the earth swallows you. Or until the wolves forget your scent. So say the spirits. So says the tribe.”

    And so she was cast out not as woman, not as witch. As nothing.

    But my rage had not cooled.

    “Father, banishment is too easy for one who knows these lands,” I said.
    “Bind her. Take her children. Take her tongue, and theirs,so none curse us again.”

    And that’s when she finally spoke.

    Her voice was dry like wind over bones.
    “I curse thee, Boldolph… son of Marnak.
    And thy wife Morrigan, daughter of Ayr.
    You shall be wolves until the day you meet a boy. a giant of seven feet, who befriends all animals and dragons.
    The house of your father will fall.”

    The pain came instantly.

    My darling wife and I we transformed, howling and breaking,
    before the entire tribe.

    Thousands of years have passed since that day.
    Many cubs later, we have never seen each other in human form.

    I bear black fur as dark as night.
    a golden five-pointed star on my head,
    a red crescent moon on my chest.

    And my Morrigan…
    She is snow-white,
    with a red star between her eyes
    and a golden sun over her heart.

    If I have spared her this
    I would have.

    © StormborneLore. All rights reserved.

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    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded