Spoken by Taranis, Lord of Emberhelm
A figure stood beside the fire broad as a bear, tall as a standing stone. His Grey eyes, storm-lit, scanned the dusk beyond the ridge.
He saw you. He knew you.
And he nodded.
“Wanderer,” he said, voice like gravel and thunder,
“you’ve found your way to Emberhelm.”
The flames danced at his back as he opened his arms, the wolf skin cloak billowing wide.
“Come, warm yourself by the fire. The storm’s passed for now.”
Behind him stood five others, silent as legends, bright as blades:
Lore, the shadow’s tongue, keeper of forgotten truths, Lord of Umbra.
Drax, the flame-bearer, the elder brother, Lord of the Hearth lands.
Rayne, swift-footed, soul-torn, the rider of the river paths.
Draven, stone-born and unbroken, sentinel of the western wilds.
And I,” he said, placing a hand to his chest,
“I am Taranis. Exile, war born, Stormborne. Your host.”
He stepped aside, gesturing to the stone benches and hanging cauldrons.
“Sit. Eat if you’ve hunger. Speak if you’ve truth. Or say nothing at all. The fire does not judge. Here, you are among kin.”
Thank you for joining me.
StormborneLore 