Tag: wolf-man warrior

  • The  Houses of Caernath Part 3

    The Houses of Caernath Part 3

    The Feast of Blood and Bond.


    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

  • Boldolph the Wolf-Man

    Boldolph the Wolf-Man

    The mists rolled thick across the highland of Staffordshire, curling like ghost fingers over rock and root. Beneath their shifting veil stood a figure that did not belong to the world of men not entirely. He was massive, broad-shouldered, with the raw frame of a warrior and the head of a beast. His fur was obsidian black, streaked with silver scars and ash.

    Red eyes burned beneath his brow. His breath came out in steam as if the forge fire lived in his lungs.

    Boldolph.

    The wolf-man. The cursed one. The guardian of the Stormborne line.

    That morning, he had awoken not as man, nor wholly beast, but as something sacred. Taranis had spoken only two words to him before the sunrise: “It begins.”

    And now he stood at the edge of Rykar’s Field, muscles tensed, waiting for the signal.

    Bronze glinted on the hilltop warriors from the Black Clawclan had gathered in force, armed with spears and teeth alike. Raiders, born of bloodlust, who left villages razed and children buried beneath burnt thatch.

    A low growl rumbled in Boldolph’s throat.

    Today, they would be stopped.

    Below him, the Stormborne forces gathered. Taranis on the ridge with Pendragon and Tairneanach perched behind him.

    , Lore chanting beside a fire that would not die. Drax tightening his bracers, muttering curses and prayers as one. Among the warriors stood farmers, hunters, fire-callers, bone-weavers all who had chosen to rise.

    But none were like Boldolph.

    He crouched low, the carved bronze blade strapped to his back. humming faintly forged by Drax, blessed by Lore, named Ashsplitter. His claws, though not natural, were tipped in obsidian. His howls call Morrigan from the far trees and silence men’s hearts.

    And when the horn blew, he moved like a shadow torn free of the dark.

    He crashed into the enemy line like a storm of fang and bronze. The first man he struck did not even scream just fell, bones splintered beneath the weight of the blow. Boldolph spun, slashed, roared, tore. Blood hit the grass like spilled wine.

    The Black Clawclan were fierce but they were not ready.

    “By the ancestors!” one shouted, staring in horror. “A beast walks!”

    A spear was hurled. Boldolph caught it midair, snapped the shaft, and flung it back. It pierced armor and flesh. The man fell.

    He was not alone.

    From the trees came Morrigan white and wraithlike, her eyes alight with moonfire. Together, they circled the enemy, not as humans, not as animals but as something other. Something older.

    Across the field, Taranis raised his sword high.

    “For every child taken,” he shouted, “for every flame snuffed out WE RISE!”

    The Stormborne charged. Bronze clashed with bronze. Flesh tore. Voices sang the old war cries.

    Boldolph didn’t hear them. He was lost to instinct now the heartbeat of the land pounding in his ears. His claws met bone. His teeth found leather and neck. He leapt and rolled and dove through fire.

    A warrior came at him with twin blades, marked in red clay and hate. Boldolph let him come. At the last second, he dropped low, sprang upward, and slammed both fists into the man’s chest. The impact shattered ribs and silence.

    Then came the Champion.

    Tall, scarred, wrapped in tattoos of wolf skulls. He grinned as he strode ahead, axe glinting.

    “You’re no god,” the Champion sneered. “Just a cursed mutt.”

    Boldolph stood, blood dripping from his chin.

    “I am neither,” he growled, “but you will kneel before this mutt.”

    They clashed.

    Steel to fang. Roar to warcry. The battle stilled around them as the two titans fought. Blades rang. Earth shook. Bones cracked.

    At last, Boldolph caught the Champion’s axe arm, twisted and snapped it. With a howl, he drove the dagger into the man’s chest.

    Silence.

    Then the howl.

    Long. Ancient. Reverberating through stone, marrow, memory.

    After the battle, the field was quiet.

    The dead lay in solemn rows, the fires lit to honor their spirits. Taranis stood at the center, cloak torn, eyes fierce. Lore marked the ground with runes of ash. Drax drank in silence.

    And Boldolph… sat alone beneath a tree.

    His fur was streaked with blood. His eyes no longer burned they watched the stars. Morrigan lay beside him, her white coat stained with battle.

    A small child approached. Her face was smudged with soot. Her eyes, wide with awe.

    “Are you a monster?” she asked.

    Boldolph tilted his head.

    “No,” he said softly. “I am what protects you from monsters.”

    She sat beside him.

    In that moment with the fire crackling, and the dead honored. the Stormborne still alive Boldolph, the cursed wolf-man, found peace.

    For just a while.

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

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