Rock of Storms Lore: The Story of Oghain the Lightning-Struck

This is the tale of Oghain the Lightning-Struck, son of Lorgar Wolfsbane, son of Marik Blacksmith, son of Arikkson the Red-Maned, son of Arik the Fierce, of Clan Hamdir

Oghain the Lightning-Struck was a youth the same as others of Clan Hamdir, strong and brave in the face of danger but lacking the experience of battle that the older warriors held. Day after day he watched the menfolk venture to do battle with the Trolls while deep in his heart the fierce fire of war burned, and day after day he was left behind as unlucky. Oghain was unlucky enough to have been born bearing the ominous witch lock, and none of the menfolk would have Oghain at their shield arm for fear of the ill luck he would bring. He practiced his blows, spending his days at the forge hammering metals for the smiths of the Clan. From this he grew strong and proud, his arms growing corded with muscle and as hard as the very metals he struck daily at the forge.

Oghain grew tired of his toil, and one day spoke up to one of the clan elders, he who was known as Iomer Graybeard. As Iomer passed his forge, he threw the piece of metal he was working to the dirt and spoke fiercely to the elder. “Elder Graybeard! I am worthy of the warriors, not to spend my days hammering only unliving metal which is no threat to our people! I demand the right to prove myself!” Elder Graybeard stopped in his tracks, his rheumy grey eyes turning to the young pup who so strongly asserted himself. Like the crackle of fall leaves underfoot, the Elder’s voice touched the furious ears of the boy with a calming tone as he replied simply. “Go forth to the mountain’s peak, and should you return you may stand beside the menfolk, for you will be favored by the Storm Father himself.”

Oghain, excited at the thought, immediately thanked the Elder despite the task’s difficulty and set about gathering provisions for the trip. He would take only meager foods, for he would scavenge from the All-Mother’s bounty. He would take only his apprentice’s hammer for a weapon, for the All-Maker wielded only a hammer and it was he would guide the arm of the youth. He painted his body in ash from the fire, marking runes of respect and honor to the Storm Father to ask his protection.

When his preparations were finished, Oghain gathered his things and took up his hammer and made for the gates. Upon his approach the warriors at the gate scoffed and jeered. “Where are you going so fierce, boy?” No reply was given, and he continued his approach. “You cannot think to go into the wilds on your own! You are a boy, meant to work only the forge! Leave the battle to warriors!” No reply was given, and he continued his approach. As he came to the gates, he stood silent and fierce awaiting their opening. The guards realized his intent, and quieted…a rare silence upon their lips as the parted the heavy gates and alllowed the youth through.

He promptly began his ascent. Days of cold touched his joints with ache, and heavy rains battered his form like the blows of enemy weapons, yet still he climbed with unabated fervor. He would not be discouraged by any force of nature or man, for the heat of desire in his heart warmed his bones and shielded his frame from the blows of falling rain. Days became weeks as he trudged to the mountain’s peak, and it seemed he would never make it. As the rains let up one day, the last of his energies spent, he crawled higher inch by inch until there was no higher climb. He had made it, and rolled onto his back as his ragged voice tore through the air. “I am Oghain, of Clan Hamdir, and I have proved my worth to my people!” His voice echoed through the air, and the sky cracked with lightning as if the Storm Father responded to his words. Fear entered his eyes as the peaks were touched with lightning, but his exhausted form could not move. The lightning finally struck his body, sending shudders through his frame and agonized screams torn from his throat as it coursed through him, sending him into a black void of unconciousness.

Back at the clan hall, they began to plan his funeral. Surely no man would survive so long alone climbing the mountains? Many strong, tough warriors had perished in the same attempt! His funeral was set solemnly for six nights ahead.

Six nights would pass, and as howls of winter-touched wolves broke the air and the gates were being closed, a figure appeared on the horizon. It was covered in ash and grime, a heavy hammer dragged by the thong around its’ wrist along the ground as it stumbled forward seemingly by sheer force of will. The man’s hair was tattered and falling out in places, his skin covered in scrapes and burns. As it approached, the yells of the guards brought the attention of the Elders. “Beware! Beware! A troll approaches!”, they called out. Bows were drawn, and axes were raised…and then the voice of Elder Graybeard cut through the air. “That is no troll! It is one we once thought a boy…he has returned to us a man.” The leader of the guards turned to the Elder disbelievingly, and then turned back to the steadily approaching figure. “Hail! What is your name?” he called, thunderclaps echoing throughout the valley as if the Isle of Sky-Fire itself answered for the man approaching. Instead, the rough and shattered voice of the youth called forth.

“I am Oghain the Lightning-Struck, and I have returned from the peaks to the halls of Clan Hamdir a warrior.”