StormborneLore

Tag: Tribal lore

  • The Healing Flame

    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
  • 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 Bone Wolf: A Night of Survival

    Taranis and the Bone Wolf: A Night of Survival

    Symbols of protection and exile, reflecting Taranis’s journey into the mysterious woods.

    The trees no longer knew his name.

    Taranis sat beneath the twisted yew roots where the earth sloped sharply into shadow. His hands, still small though scarred, trembled not from cold, but from the silence. He had not spoken since sunrise not when his father handed him the satchel, not when the last brother refused to meet his eye, not even when his mother whispered

    “Run.” Her voice had broken, but not for him for the children who had not survived the sickness.

    For the village, he was now a curse. A child touched by strange spirits. One who brought death and unnatural things. One who raised a bird from stillness, and soon after, watched the village rot from within.

    So he ran until his breath failed, deeper into the old woods. The Wending Hollow.

    He knew the stories: spirits with antlers, beasts with no eyes, witches who wore the skins of deer. He knew, too, that children were not meant to survive here. But he wasn’t a child anymore.

    He was eight. Alone. Exiled.

    And hungry.

    By dusk, Taranis had found a shallow stream and a fallen log riddled with mushrooms. He sniffed each cap like his uncle had taught him. Then he took only the pale gilled ones that didn’t smell of metal or death.

    He dug roots near the waterline — bulbous, bitter, but full of strength. Nettle leaves, stripped with care and boiled in his small clay pot over a weak ember-fire. Then made a tea that smoked green into the mist. It tasted sharp, like the sting of his mother’s goodbye.

    His first exile meal was crude:
    🌿 A bitter root mash warmed on a flat stone.
    🌰 Wild hazelnuts cracked with care.
    🍵 A handful of mushrooms, seared by flame.
    🌿 Nettle tea, sipped from his cupped palms.

    It filled his belly but not the hollow in his chest.

    The howl came just after nightfall.

    Low. Wide. As if dragged from the pit of a creature that had forgotten how to live.

    Taranis froze. The fire dimmed, not from wind, but from presence.

    Another howl. Closer.
    Then bones not breaking, but rattling.
    Like antlers knocking together.
    Like something with no voice calling for company.

    He rose slowly. The wind twisted his fire out.

    From the trees stepped a figure that wasn’t quite wolf.

    It was tall as a stag, gaunt as famine. Its limbs stretched too long and wrapped in skin the color of ash. Bone jutted from its snout and spine. Its eyes were hollow. And it carried no scent only silence.

    The Bone Wolf.

    Taranis stood firm, chest rising and falling. He did not cry. He did not scream. Something inside him, something older than fear, whispered:

    Face it. Or be followed forever.

    He reached for a stick and held it like a spear. The creature stepped closer… then paused.

    Its skull tilted. It sniffed the steam of his cooked meal, then… turned.

    It vanished into the dark, leaving no prints. Only breath warm, inhuman on the back of his neck.

    He did not sleep that night.

    But when the dawn came, the trees whispered again. Not in welcome, but in recognition.

    The boy had survived Night One.

    And the Bone Wolf had spared him.

    Thank you for reading.

    © written by ELHewitt

    Further Reading

    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded