Storm Lord Lore

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Torvald! Hear me! I am Heromund, son of Hrothmund, blood of Haelfgrim Helm-Cleaver! Sixteen raids I have led against the Southlanders, and all that I own I have bought with iron. Twenty Warriors kill at my word, and my axe is the terror of the North. Five blood feuds have been ended by my Strength, and I have been the doom of Jotens six! The Aurochmenger flee the call of my horn, and my name is known and feared by the Thanes of all the Clans! Ever have I praised your name, Father of the Northmen! Ever have I carved your mark onto all I slay in battle or duel! I bear ten scars, all got in battle, and my sword, Gramskorl, was notched on the hide of a Wyrm in its lair! Hear me, Torvald! Hear my call! Hear the calls of my ancestors in Valhalla, all brave and worthy men of Steel! Grant me your gift! Grant to me your power, won from Frykka the Queen of Winter! Smite me with your Fury, and give to me the strength of the Thunder and the wrath of the Lightning! Let me join the ranks of your Storm Lords, and fight evermore for your glory! Torvald! Hear me! It is I, Heromund, who calls you!

- The words of the great Northman Warrior Heromund atop Sturmgrammestor, shortly before his death by lightning.

We Northmen have lived the lands of the Frozen North since the First Days, since Torvald, whose sinews were wrought by the All-Father Himself, led his people to the land their Father had promised. Many were the trials that awaited us, and the foes who claimed the North for their own. Long have been our battles with the Joten, the All-Father's first children, and with the Alfar, beautiful yet cruel, and the Aurochmenger, their Ox-Headed servants. It was Torvald who roused Frykka, Queen of Winter from her rest, and the fury of her storms drove away the Alfar. And when the heartless Queen of Ice turned her fury on the Northmen, it was Torvald who subdued her atop the Sturmgrammestor, the Peak of the Storm's Fury. Torvald's mighty hammer stunned the pale goddess, and his great strength held her through all her raging, until at last her powers were broken. So the Father of Northmen wrested away the mastery of lightning and thunder, becoming the first of the Storm Lords. Frykka may still brood in her cave at the roof of the World, and sending wind and cold and ice against us, but we Northmen are strong, and long we have endured her wrath.

It was Torvald who drove away the Joten from our homelands, deafening them with thunder and smiting them with lightning. Before he left on his long quest to seek the All-Father, Torvald gave his mighty gift to Herogar, the Thane of Thanes. And so, from that day unto this, the greatest heroes of the Northmen have gone and stood atop Sturmgrammestor and waited for a storm, and called out to Torvald, asking for his gift. Torvald answers with a stroke of lightning: if the hero is brave, and strong, and if his Spirit is worthy and full of honor, he joins the Storm Lords, becoming a master of destruction. If Torvald deems him unworthy, the hero is destroyed.

Will you put your Spirit to the test? You are a warrior, a raider, a wound dealer and a foe cleaver. But who will judge your Bravery, buried like a core of iron deep within your breast? Will you go stand atop that desolate hill and call your Father's name? Are you worthy to hold the Thunder in your hammer, or to take the reigns of the Lightning? We shall see.

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