Tag: Drax

Taranis and Drax: The Clash of Empires

The river carried him through the marshes like an old friend whispering secrets of home. The oar bit into the brown water, steady, unhurried. Ahead, smoke rose in thin curls Roman campfires. His brother’s camp.

Taranis smiled faintly. Drax always did love his rules and rituals.

He pulled the boat onto the bank, the mud sucking at his boots, and paused to listen. The faint clang of armor, the laughter of children. The low murmur of Latin prayers so out of place in this land of bog and stone.

Then he saw him.
Drax, standing by the fire, cloak draped in perfect folds, a soldier carved out of duty itself.

“Hello, brother,” Taranis called, his voice light but carrying weight enough to stir the air.

Drax turned, hand on his sword. Typical.

“Taranis. Show yourself.”

“Why?” he asked from the shadows. “So you can look at me and scowl like the Roman you’ve become?”

The words were easy, but his chest ached as he stepped ahead. He had dreamed of this moment through a hundred lonely nights on the island his brother alive, unbroken.

“I see you have sons,” he said softly. “And a fine uniform. Praefect now, are we? Rome’s loyal hound.”

Drax’s eyes hardened. “You acknowledge their law, then?”

“I acknowledge survival,” Taranis said. “But I bow to no empire.”

His gaze flicked toward the boys—curious, brave, full of questions. One of them smiled at him, and for a moment, the years fell away. He saw his brother laughing beside him on the cliffs above Letocetum. Before the legions came, before blood was traded for banners.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Drax said.

“I didn’t come for Rome.” He met his brother’s eyes. “I came for what’s left of us.”

The words hung between them, raw and quiet.

The youngest boy tugged at Drax’s cloak. “He doesn’t look like a villain, father.”

Taranis almost laughed. “No, lad. Villains rarely do.”

Then thunder rolled, deep and distant, like memory returning.

Drax looked to the horizon, and Taranis knew he felt it too—the pull of storm and blood.

“The storm’s coming,” one soldier muttered.

Taranis turned toward them, eyes bright with mischief and grief.
“No,” he said. “The storm’s already here.”

He stepped back into the trees, the forest closing around him.
When the boy’s voice called after him—“How did you escape the island?”—he turned once more, smiling through the rain.

“I built a boat,” he said simply. “Remember that when the world tries to cage you.”

Then he was gone.

Behind him, the Roman camp crackled in the rain, and his brother’s name lingered on the wind.

Stormborne.
Once curse, always kin.

© 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 enjoyed this story, like, share, or leave a comment. Your support keeps the storm alive and the chronicles continuing.

October 15, 2025
The Whisper of Old Magic: A Journey Through Emberhelm

A vibrant artistic depiction of a stylized object, blending intricate designs with bright colors, invoking themes of lore and magic.

The Quiet Flame

The wind that swept over Emberhelm carried no warmth, only the ghost of fire long spent. I stood where the circle had once been whole, where twelve stones still defied the weight of empire, and one lay split a wound upon the land.

The others had gone. Drax to fury, Draven to silence, Rayne to his choices, and Taranis to chains. I remained, bound not by steel but by memory. It was not courage that kept me here; it was knowing that something sacred had been broken and that it was not yet done with us.

The Romans called this valley conquered. They built their roads and forts as if they could hammer meaning from earth and stone. But meaning does not bow to empire. It whispers, it lingers, it waits. And I have learned to listen.

I knelt beside the thirteenth stone, tracing the crack with my fingers. The split hummed faintly, as though it still remembered the storm that birthed it. I could almost hear Taranis’s voice beneath the wind, a murmur of thunder too distant to strike.

“Brother,” I whispered, “if the storm is caged, does the sky mourn its silence?”

A shadow passed across the ridge perhaps a hawk, perhaps a sign. In the old days, I would have asked the druids for meaning, but now I was the only one left to ask.

Rayne’s betrayal still cut deep, though part of me understood it. He had always been the one to see the long game, the patient serpent coiled beneath the waves. I did not forgive him, but neither could I condemn him fully. Perhaps this is how the gods feel when they look upon men weary, knowing, endlessly disappointed.

Night crept over the hills. I lit no fire; the Romans watched for smoke. Instead, I watched the stars, the same constellations our ancestors had trusted when the world was still young. Somewhere beyond those lights, I felt the pulse of something waking old magic, stirring beneath stone and soil, called forth by blood and betrayal alike.

The Circle was broken, yes. But its power had not vanished; it had merely changed shape. The storm that once lived in Taranis’s heart now whispered through the bones of the earth. I could feel it gathering, quiet but sure, as if the land itself prepared to rise.

In that silence, I spoke the old words not prayer, not spell, but remembrance. A promise carved into breath:

“When the storm returns, it will not ask who was loyal. It will ask who remains.”

The air stilled. Even the night seemed to listen.

And somewhere, far to the west, thunder answered.

October 6, 2025
Unraveling Secrets: Rayne’s Silent Journey

The Weight of Silence

The morning broke pale and cold, a thin mist rolling across the fields like a ghost that had forgotten its name. My horse shifted beneath me, uneasy. The world felt quieter than it should have been not the quiet of peace, but the kind born from expectation. Something waited ahead.

I had traveled for weeks now, keeping to forgotten roads, trading false names and favours for shelter. Rome’s messengers had ceased for a time, and that silence was heavier than any command. I began to wonder if I had been released… or abandoned.

At night, when the campfire dwindled, I caught myself tracing the symbol of the Ring into the dirt a circle broken clean through. No matter how many times I erased it, my hand drew it again. Habit or guilt, I couldn’t tell. Perhaps both.

Rumours reached me in fragments: a rebellion rising in the north, whispers that Drax had taken to leading the scattered tribes, and that Lore had vanished into the mists of the west, chasing prophecies no man could name. Draven was silent. And Taranis…
Taranis had become a legend again.

They said he had escaped Rome’s chains, that his eyes burned brighter than ever, that lightning followed where he walked. I did not believe all of it but I wanted to. The world is easier to bear when its ghosts refuse to stay buried.

One night, beneath a blood-red moon, I reached the edge of the marshlands near Ravenmere. The air there was heavy, each breath tasting of iron and old secrets. The ruins of an outpost stood crooked against the skyline Roman stones built upon older foundations. It felt… familiar.

Inside, beneath moss and dust, I found carvings of the Circle faint, half-effaced by time. Words I had spoken in another life echoed in my memory: “We are the Ring. Bound by oath, unbroken by fear.”

I knelt, running my hand over the stone, feeling the groove of each line.
“I broke it,” I whispered. “But perhaps it was already breaking.”

Something stirred in the shadows not human, not beast, but presence. A warmth against the air, like breath drawn from memory itself. For the first time since Emberhelm, I felt the Ring respond.

A whisper, faint but unmistakable, rippled through the ruin.
“The Circle is never broken, only divided. The storm remembers.”

I rose slowly, the hairs on my arms prickling. Whatever force had once bound us had not died it waited, fragmented, patient. And now, it was calling.

When I rode from Ravenmere at dawn, I carried no banner, no ally, no command. Only purpose.

The Ring was broken but not gone.
And if Taranis still lived, if the others still walked their paths… then the storm was far from finished.

The time for silence was ending.

October 5, 2025
The Houses of Caernath Part 3

The Feast of Blood and Bond.

A colorful illustration of a bird soaring above a vibrant landscape, surrounded by a decorative border.

A striking illustration of a red wolf howling, symbolizing strength and kinship in the narrative of Emberhelm.

A howling wolf painted against a vibrant blue background, embodying themes of kinship and wilderness.

A striking artwork of a wolf howling at the moon, set against a vibrant purple background, symbolizing strength and spirit in the context of kinship.

A vibrant illustration depicting a dragon surrounded by nature, showcasing the essence of storytelling and fantasy.

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.

Feast Notes (Modern Budget Version approx. £10 total):

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

The Chronicles of Drax

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:

Rustic Bronze Age Lamb Recipe: A Diabetic-Friendly Delight

July 8, 2025
Whimsical Dragon Adventures: A Bronze-Age Tale

A vibrant illustration of a dragon, embodying the whimsical spirit of the story ‘A Ballad of Bronze-Age Bouncing’.

(A Ballad of Bronze-Age Bouncing)

The dragon smirked and gave a wink,
Then launched him skyward in a blink.
A loop-de-loop, a spiral twirl
Drax flailed like a dizzy girl.

“I’ve got this!” he cried, “I’m born to fly!”
Pendragon laughed and rolled the sky.
Down he tumbled, flapping fast
Till Tairneanach caught him at last.

Oh mighty Drax, with sword so wide,
Declared, “It’s time for me to ride!”
He climbed Pendragon’s scaly back,
And shouted loud, “Let’s hit the track!”

The dragons chuckled, playing catch,
With Drax the ball in every match.
He swore and shouted, “Put me down!”
While Taranis watched with half a frown.

“Next time,” said Lore with knowing grin,
“Just stick to marching less of a spin.”
But Drax just grinned and gave a cheer,
“Best flight I’ve had all flaming year!

A colorful thank you note encouraging readers to engage with the content.

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

July 3, 2025
The Healing Flame

Taranis stood before Drax, his bare feet silent on the cold earth. A soft golden light shimmered around his small hand as he reached up and gently placed it on Drax’s forehead. His voice was quiet, yet steady words none had taught him falling like raindrops from his lips.

“The dragon and the wolves told me,” he said, eyes glowing faintly with an ancient knowing.

Lore stepped forward, startled. “The dragons? You mean a tribe, little one?”

But Taranis did not answer. Instead, Drax stirred, groaning as colour returned to his face. His eyes fluttered open lucid for the first time in moons and the golden glow around Taranis vanished. The boy collapsed into Lore’s arms, suddenly limp but breathing.

Lore caught him, heart pounding. He looked back at Drax, who now sat up slowly, blinking into the firelight.

“What were they doing to you, Drax?” Lore asked, still holding his youngest brother close.

Drax’s voice was hoarse, but calm. “Cleansing the darkness. They say I must walk the coals soon burn the madness away.”

Lore frowned, tightening his grip on the child. “Well… this little stormborn saved your life. Whatever you believe, that’s truth.”

Just then, Conan their father, the chief appeared in the doorway, drawn by the strange stillness and the fading light.

Taranis stirred, his head against Lore’s chest. “My fault, Father,” he murmured in a drowsy voice. “He was hurting… so I fixed it.”

Father stepped ahead slowly, kneeling before them. His eyes flicking from the barely conscious Drax to the sleeping child in Lore’s arms. His voice was heavy.

“He’s only one year old… and he’s healing the broken?”

Lore nodded. “He called it the gift of wolves and dragons.”

Conan exhaled, rubbing his weathered jaw. “Then we’d best prepare. Whatever storms are coming, they’ll start with him.”

“You calling the council father?” Drax asked “I will be punished he’s just a child “

“You have many matters to deal with Drax. little Taranis actions his disobedience to rules not to come here and what ever he did to you will be dealt with in due course a water cleansing, more gathering to keep him from wandering “

“How do you feel brother?’ Lore asked

“Clear minded, like what ever was heavy in me is gone. I feel love for the little one shame for wanting him dead. I’m not expecting you to trust me”

“Trust is earned, ” father said and looked to two men ran. “let him out but no contact with the others no binds this time. I see his food is low let him gather but watch.”

The men nodded no one other
a selected group of tribal elders. Had been permitted to talk to my brother for months. Now the discipline was slowly lifting. The men moved their heads indicating for him to move out still not a word broke.

“Now ostracism starts he outside being watched and we can see him but he can’t interact with us?” Nyx asked

“Yes if he talks to us or the tribe he will receive harsher punishment. One of which was decided to remove his tongue As I’m not killing my own kin. He either follows the council and gets well or he will remain how he is until he dies” father said with a heavy heart “this is the first time I’ve seen him in months and your mothers not seeing him like that a once big strong man now skin and bones this isn’t just punishment for him but for us “

I never thought of it like that the cheif and his wife punished for their sons actions. A powerful man within our tribe powerless to protect his son against the elder councils decisions. After a while we carried the little one out and to home. The largest hut of them placing him on his bed.

That night a meeting was called the elders had demanded with my father. But little Tanaris was still sleeping crying in his sleep and burning up.

I walked to the edge of our camp “BOLDOLPH WHERE ARE YOU” Lore shouted seeing a giant of a wolf beautiful black like the nights sky with a gold five pointed star and red fiery moon on his chest and red fiery eyes

Boldolph strode over putting his head in mine nudging it

“You’re upset young one” Boldolph said his mind connection with mine

“I am my friend, your the tribes sacred ally. Your wiser than you know but did you tell my brother Taranis how to heal?” Lore asked the wolf

“I did ” a small grey wolf lowered his front half as if bowing to Boldolph. “I’m sorry sire, I heard the bright one crying and sought to help him. He missed Drax “

“He hardly knows Drax, father forbade any meeting between them unless Drax was bound and flanked by men. You had no right to interfere silver ” Lore replied

“He ran straight in to the condemned mans hut. Pure disobedience when I called him to stop. Drax could have killed him but my brother used the chant Drax said its like a heavy weight was lifted. Now Taranis is sick with fever .

“Your father?” Boldolph asked glancing angry ar the white wolf

“The tribal elders have called council I’m worried this weakens fathers position. If they lose trust in father, if they consider my baby brother ” Lores voice dropped as he looked to the earth

Boldolph launched at silver growling and teeth bared ready to rip the older wolf apart but a pure white wolf red five pointed star and gold sun on her chest

“STOP THIS ” she snapped at the other wolves parted

“Morrigan it’s an honor to see you again “Conan said kneeling to her level “Boldolph let’s wait for council if my family and I find ourselves displaced then kill silver by all means if it makes you happy”

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

June 29, 2025