Ornn
Deep beneath the volcanic heart of Hearth-Home, where rivers of molten rock roar and the air burns with creation, dwells Ornn, the spirit of forge and flame. In his vast and solitary smithy carved from the mountain's molten veins, he toils endlessly, shaping raw ores within cauldrons of fire, crafting relics unmatched in strength and beauty. While other divine beings roam the mortal lands, Volibear most of all, stirring chaos and bending fate to their whims, Ornn rises from his blazing halls. With a hammer in hand and the fury of the mountain at his command, he reminds the reckless gods of their bounds and the power that slumbers beneath the stone.
Opening
Welcome back, lore-lovers... to Liandrug. Today, we descend into the molten depths of Hearth-Home, where the god of the forge himself, Ornn, shapes not only metal, but destiny. In the land of ice and thunder, his fire still burns. So, gather close... and let the tale begin.
The Chronicle
Beneath the silent volcano known as Hearth-Home, in halls carved from molten stone, Ornn, the Freljordian demi-god of the forge, labors in solitude. His immense smithy, born from the lava caverns deep below, glows with the light of eternal fire. There, he stokes cauldrons of seething magma, purifying ores and shaping creations beyond mortal imagining. Each strike of his hammer echoes through the mountain, birthing artifacts of unmatched strength and purpose.
When the gods above descend upon the world, Volibear foremost among them, spreading chaos and testing their might upon mortals, Ornn stirs from his forge. With the wrath of the mountains and the weight of his hammer, he reminds them of their limits and restores balance through fire and fury.
Unlike his divine kin, Ornn craves neither praise nor companionship. He treasures silence, the rhythm of his craft, and the solitude of his mountain home. Day and night he toils, forging as his heart wills, his creations destined for legend. Those few who have stumbled upon his handiwork speak of tools and relics whose perfection defies time itself. Some whisper that Braum's mighty shield was once shaped by Ornn's hand, for it has never dulled nor faltered through the ages. Yet none can say for certain, for the forge-god remains hidden, lost to myth, and unreachable to those who seek him.
Long ago, before the Freljord bore its name, the word Ornn carried power across the frozen lands. His deeds were once carved into song and stone, but time and treachery erased them, leaving only whispers among a few surviving tribes. These rare descendants trace their bloodline to an ancient people, the Hearthblood. They were smiths, builders, and brewers who journeyed from every corner of the world to gather at the foot of Hearth-Home, seeking to follow the path of the great forge-god himself.
Though they revered Ornn, he never claimed them as his followers. Their prayers were met only with brief nods or silent disapproval, yet the Hearthblood never wavered. Through toil and flame, they crafted wonders that would shape history, tools that never broke, halls that never fell, and ales rich enough to warm even the coldest heart. Unseen and unspoken, Ornn felt a quiet pride for their persistence, their hunger to perfect what they touched.
But destiny forged tragedy in its flames. One night, the heavens split open as Ornn clashed with his brother Volibear atop the mountain. The reason for their fury was beyond mortal grasp, yet the world itself bore witness to their wrath. Fire and lightning raged together, tearing the sky and earth apart in a storm so fierce it could be seen across ten horizons. When dawn finally came, Hearth-Home lay in ruins, a caldera of ash and molten stone, and the Hearthblood, Ornn's silent legacy, were gone, their bones scattered like sparks in the wind.
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Though pride would never allow him to confess it, the loss of the Hearthblood tore deeply at Ornn's heart. In their mortal hands he had seen the spark of creation, the same flame that once burned within the gods themselves. But that spark was snuffed out beneath the reckless fury of immortals, leaving him to face the ruin wrought by his own kin. Burdened by guilt and sorrow, Ornn withdrew into the molten depths of his forge, letting the clang of hammer and anvil drown the echoes of loss. Ages passed in silence, his solitude unbroken, his grief buried beneath layers of stone and fire.
Yet now, a tremor stirs within him. He feels the pulse of change rippling through Runeterra. His divine siblings walk the world again, their worshippers growing bold and violent. The Freljord stands divided, its tribes restless and its future uncertain, while ancient terrors gather strength in the cold dark beyond the peaks. The air hums with the promise of upheaval.
Ornn knows what must come. Wars will rise, kingdoms will fall, and amidst the chaos, the world will once again call for the strength of a true blacksmith, the one who shapes not only metal, but destiny itself.
Relations
Now that his tale of solitude and craftsmanship is known, we turn to the rare bonds and rivalries that shaped Ornn's long existence, connections forged in fire, tempered by time, and scarred by divine pride. Though he walks alone, the echoes of his relationships with gods and mortals alike still resound across the Freljord.
Among the old myths, one tells of Anivia and the Horn Hall. When Ornn felled her favorite perching trees to build it, the frostbird sought vengeance and, by accident or fate, burned his hall to the ground. Ornn, unaware of her role, blamed only himself, believing his pride had kindled the blaze. From that day forth, he swore never to praise his own work again, a vow that carved the quiet restraint seen in him ever since.
Once, Ornn and Volibear stood as brothers-in-arms, their thunder and flame shaking the heavens in unison. But time kindled envy in Volibear's heart, for the Hearthblood's admiration belonged wholly to Ornn. Seeking to claim his brother's craft, Volibear demanded weapons for his followers, and when Ornn refused, the storm broke loose. Their battle raged for eight days and nights, shaking the mountains and ending in tragedy, the Hearthblood wiped from existence, their dreams consumed by divine fury. Neither god perished, but Ornn vanished from the world, leaving silence where his forge once roared.
Ancient songs whisper that Ornn once carved the Howling Abyss and raised the bridge that spans it, at the request of Lissandra and her sisters, Serylda and Avarosa. Whether truth or legend, none can say. What is known is that Lissandra and her Frostguard have long sought to erase the worship of the old demi-gods, Ornn among them, fearing their return and the power they might reclaim.
From the descendants of Ornn's followers came Braum's tribe, whose bond with the forge-god endures in the shape of the ram. It is said that Ornn himself forged the indestructible door that Braum wields as a shield. Yet when Braum tore it from its hinges and carried it into battle, Ornn felt only mild irritation, and a weary sort of surprise that anyone could manage such a feat.
The shaman Udyr channels the raw essence of the Freljord's spirits, and through Ornn's fiery power he manifests twin horns of molten orange across his shoulders, a living echo of the forge-god's might.
Aurora came to Ornn's home uninvited, her presence a spark of chaos in his ordered solitude. Though he found her meddlesome at first, time tempered his view. Their friendship, rare and genuine, grew strong enough that Ornn forged a wand for her, an enduring gift of fire and trust from the god who gives so little of either.
Closing Words
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