Taran'is

The Temple of the Wheel of Destiny (somewhere in central Great Britain); 178 BC

In light of the gathering forces planning to invade the Isles of what will become known as Great Britain eight of the most powerful druids of the land met. They where the high council... the priests and sorcerers of their tribes. Under the shining moon they placed three artifacts of choice upon the altar of their circular temple of stones. The land needed champions of power. And their magic would create them!

Enchantments sounded... the combined magic of the order was strong. The items would gain powers to each their own, but also share some key abilities. They would empower their chosen wielders with strenghth of muscle and link them by memory to all wielders before them. The items would search and respond to the touch of a worthy wielder. So no infidel or treacherous person would gain their power.

The double bladed battle axe called Melltbwyeill (Lightning axe) was empowered with the powers of thunder, Lightning, storm and wind. It would remake its worthy wielder into Taran'is (or Taranis), lord of Thunder! The golden bladed sickle called Domhankali (World sickle) was empowered with the powers of earth and vegetation. Making crops prosper and earth shake. It would remake its worthy wielder into Esus, lord of Earth! The brass war/hunting horn (Carnyx) called Karnongus (Horn of vigor) was empowered with the powers of protection and healing. Granding morale and inspire people. Though it would be the only artifact not sheer indestructable of the three it still remade its chosen wielder into Teutates (Toutatis), protector of the people!

Together these empowered heroes formed a sacred triad to keep the land and its people safe.

The first triad did just that... they fought off invading romans and stopped ravaging tribes of the far north alike. In time their incredible powers made them being worshipped as gods. But the enchantments had chosen well, and even through the over-the-top hero worshipping they stayed their human self. Ofcourse the guiding of the order of the Wheel with eighth spokes was always upon them during good and bad times. The wisdom of these druids was great. When time came the successors where chosen making the triad more and more like gods, seemingly immortal.

In AD 43 the invading armies from Rome started to feel the fear of the magic wielded by the druids of what they now called Britain! These heroes had to be stopped in order for the invasion to succeed. And slowly over the span of several generals all druids where systematically killed. In 55 and 54 BC Julius Caesar was killing the last of them but was unable to stop the might of Thunder, Earth and Morale! But still the web closed in on the triad of heroes.
During the invasion of Augustus in 25 BC and those of Caligula in 40 AD the three heroes became missing, and so where their weapons of power! There can be assumed that treachery and trickery was used. And the triad of heroes became legend... and legend became myth...

Treasurer's House, York; 2010 AD

Only a few metres from York Minster, this was the first house ever given to the British Trust complete with a collection – and it is not all that it first seems! It has a history spanning 2,000 years, from the Roman road in the cellar to the Edwardian servants' quarters in the attics, and thirteen period rooms in between. This houses one man's remarkable collection of antique furniture, ceramics, textiles and paintings from a 300-year period. Infamous ghost stories are another of the many quirky attributes of this property. Outside is an attractive formal sunken garden.

The time was already 23:30 on a weekday and all of York was getting ready to sleep. All aside of Michael Llewelyn who was at his office as Security Manager of the British Trust. He only joined recently... as replacement to Peter McKnowlan. The only other security manager being Dwayne Peterson who currently worked on another location in the country.

Usually his nights were slow. The buildings where secure and it was off-season too. So not many tourist incidents at all. But this time a movement alarm went off... movement in the Treasurer's House!

It took him only fifteen minutes to arrive... and slowly he walked passed the expensive furniture following the sensors. He didn't see anything that could have triggered the alarm though. Then his attention was drawn to the old cellar. And he thought about the history of ghosts that surrounded the house. He shouldn't do it but his curiousity was just too strong.

Carefully he came through the long, low passageway leading to the cellar where Roman soldiers have been known to march through. He approached the area where they where seen in the past... Under his feet some of the stone tiles felt a bit loose. He was in an alternative corridor as he went without guide. This part of the cellars wasn't visited by tourists during the tour and as such less well maintained. Suddenly a tile broke under his foot and he dropped in a hole underneath it, his body stuck.

For a few minutes he was slightly in panic. He couldn't really yell for help. That would be embarracing. If anyone even could come in or hear him. Then he noticed that the more he kicked, the more space opened where his feet where. He couldn't go up... but maybe he could get down instead..?

Slowly he began to drop down. He fell for about two meters and hit some soft sand on the floor. Looking up there came a soft light from the cellar ceiling through the hole. When his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw that he was in a small cave. On the far side was a roman banner against the wall... almost destroyed by time. To his left he noticed a wooden door. Hoping to get out he walked towards it and started to pull the lock hoping it was a way out, maybe through another cellar. His first pull took the lock apart though, the wood and metal just too old. Behind it was sand, dirt and stones filling up what seemed to once had been a corridor to the door.

He couldn't just go and dig his way out with his bare hands... he needed some sort of tool. Looking around a bit more carefully he noticed half-rusted Roman swords and on a small pedistal one big strongbox! Curious he tried to open it. It could hold gold, treasury or simply tools that he could use to get out of this place.

Instead in it there was a huge double-bladed battle axe... adorned with runes on a black surface. It wasn't Roman in nature at all. But what was more mysterious... it looked like it was forged yesterday?! Unlike the box itself which once was locked but now opened easily as the locks itself where partly rusted away. On the lid of the box was written Eboracum. A name Michael remembered was the latin for the fortress that would became York.

He picked it up and felt the weight of the axe for a second. Then walked to the door and started to use it to chip away the dirt. This went remarkly well and easier. It even seemed to Michael to get easier the longer he was doing it. Something he found strange as he should get tired from something physical like this. Eventually he hit air and came up at the base of a tree about five meters outside of the house. He quickly covered the hole and went home a bit dazed from the experience.

That night he was in a deep sleep, the axe on the table in his room. In his dream he saw scenes of an huge celtic warrior wielding the axe against a legion of roman soldiers. Though he fought fiercly and for some reason even the wind and lightning was fighting on the side of the warrior he was about to loose... the overwhealming assault was just too much. And then he was stabbed through his chest!

Shocked Michael woke up... grabbing his own chest as if the sword was still sticking through it. It was already morning and he was glad it was his day off. Walking to the bathroom he noticed something even weirder then his dream had been. He had grown a good amound of muscles overnight! For a second he stood infront of the mirror in unbeleave. Maybe he was still dreaming?

Realising he was really awake he grabbed the axe from the table. It was now even lighter then last night! He looked at the runes again and realised he understood them! They translated to 'I am Melltbwyeill wield by Taran'is, Lord of Thunder'.

Interlude: The Temple of the Wheel of Destiny (somewhere in central Great Britain)

The wood was thick and closed... one small part of the once great forests that covered Breatainn Mhòr. Eigth weathered standing stones in a circle could be find. In such a remote place that not many people ever saw them. Moss and plants covered part of them. The wind moved the trees and softly a ghostly voice was heard... 'Melltbwyeill has been found, after al these ages!' A different voice rose up replying... 'Yes... and with it Taran'is will live again.'. 'But will the new wielder be up to the task?', a third voice replied.

A ghostly figure rose up at the first standing stone, and then one at the second... and third. Until one was at every stone in the circle. The first one took the word... 'We who where and still are the keepers of Destiny of these lands have kept ourselves bound to the temple of the Wheel until the time would come and our legacy would resurface again. But now that it does we are weak, our magic barely a glimpse of what it once was.'

The transparant eyes of the druid who spoke looked around the circle. 'Still... with each spoke accounted for we are able to guide the succeedor to the power of Taran'is. Albeit from afar!' One of the older looking druids raised his right hand... the other stroke his grey beard. Apparantly being a ghostly fragment of his concious didn't had any effect on his old reflexes. 'We will only be able to tell him of his legacy and show him some rudimentary control of the powers we bestowed upon Melltbwyeill.' Another young druid shook his head in agreement, a short black beard and determined eyes... 'Yes, we are low on power, not able to influence the physical world much and we are out of touch with the current time.'

There was a moment of silence in the order.... then the first one looked up. 'Then we will have to trust part of his guidance to another. At this moment the Lady is guiding new beings of power loyal to this land in a world far to the west, across the great sea.' The others nodded in agreement... and as one they spoke... 'Thus mote it be!'

Birmingham (BHX) Airport; 2011 AD

Michael looked out of the window of his airplane. He was dressed in a casual green shirt he bought for the occasion. It had an elaborated celtic knot on it. After the events around him and this magic axe that he found. The axe was in his suitcase in the baggage though. It was impossible to carry it in his hand baggage. '...flying from Birmingham to Providence, Rhode Island...', the captain said. They where right on schedule... He saw the clouds passing them and thought back on the past months.

Those where strange indeed! Slowly his memories went back...

It took his body a week before it stopped growing muscles... and every night he had the same nightmares. About celtic warriors using the axe he found. It wasnot always the same person though, although all where dressed in the same green colors. A few times he thought about getting rid of the axe too, but something stopped him everytime. He felt great and strong! And he was curious where this would end.

Contemplating that thought he was holding the axe Melltbwyeill in his hand. He ofcourse did some internet research on Taran'is. According to those pages it was a celtic god of thunder. But records where few and almost no images had survived. Then suddenly a spirit-like druid rose up from the axe in front of him! 'Michael Llewelyn...', it spoke. Michael dropped the axe and was looking in unbelieve before stumbling... 'Who and what are you!? What is happening to me?'

The druid gave a soft sigh and started to explain. From the moment the artifacts where created and from the legacy that came with the power. Michael had a hard time to absorb it all. 'So I am destined to be some sort of British superhero!? You are kiddin' right mate?', he uttered. The druid nodded softly... 'Back in those days we knew who would inherit Melltbwyeill at a much earlier age. And would prepare the new wielder better. Now we cannot... and we do not know this world and age. But still... you are a warrior of this country. Speak its name! Say the words 'Breatainn Mhòr'!'

Micheal grabbed the axe and held it up above his head. 'For Great Britain... for Breatainn Mhòr!', he threw a quick look at the druid appearance as if asking if he did that right when suddenly a huge lightning bolt crashed through his window hitting him! When the bright light was gone he was dressed in a green outfit, his skin painted with celtic blue and his hair a wild effect probably from the electricity! His room was partly burned though, and his window shattered... He looked at himself and then to his room... 'Remember not doing that inside anymore.', was his slightly shocked response.

Under the druids guidance he learned how to control these new powers. How to make the lightning protect him, and how to control wind and storm enabling him to fly! He even stopped a robbery or two in the process.

Eventually it looked like the druids where done teaching him more... or where unable to do more then that. He was instructed to travel to the United States... to find a group in Rhode Island. Not that the druids where able to tell him that fairly easily. And that was possible one of the reasons why he needed new guidance. So Michael Llewelyn was in need of a sabbatical year and on his way to the US of A itself!

And now he was here... in this plane and bound to land in only one hour. It could become a great adventure! He was bound for the new worlds city with the biggest gathering of heroes anywhere on this planet! He was bound for Paragon City!

Forged by an unknown Celtic smyth in 178 BC (very likely under Druid supervision and enchantments) the axe Melltbwyeill (a name that means 'Lightning axe') was empowered with control over the weather. Mainly lightning and storm... powers that are chaotic in nature and easiest to summon, but also wind and snow and thunder. The magic to create this effect is a joint forces of the most powerfull druids/sorcerers of that age who where gathered under teh name 'The Wheel of Destiny'. The imbedded storm powers made the metal almost indestructable. But these storm powers and invulnerability of the item where those that where inside the artifact.

The main enchantment crosses over from the item to the chosen wielder. As the inscribed runes say... 'I am Melltbwyeill wield by Taran'is, Lord of Thunder' the chosen one would be transformed into Taran'is. That means the right person will be chosen by the item first. The enchantment makes sure the item doesn't empower any person the ancient gods (and most likely the view of the druids) seem unworthy. The axe will be a rather heavy yet still indestructable item only.

If the wielder has been chosen worthy the enchantment will then reshape the phyical being. Over the course of several days to weeks the muscle and bone structure of the new Taran'is will be enhanced to superhuman levels. Top levels make it possible to lift around 400lbs to 600lbs. This top level is determined by the size and shape of the new user before the enhancement starts. In truth it is like an upgrade to the physical being. Aside of this the lightning of the axe can heal the wielder at an incredible rate and block most outside damage.

There is a seemingly link of the axe to its creators. Making the axe a communication device between its wielder and the druids of the Wheel of Destiny. It is unsure how far this communication will stretch though.

After having several wielders the last one was cornered alone by the ninth legion of roman soldiers still stationed in Eboracum, what would later be named 'York'. The legion suffered great losses at the hands of the Taran'is at that time but they where able to kill him and take the axe. None where worthy as all where deemed enemies to the land. So the axe was hidden away under a stronghold close to the fortress. A cave with only one access which was filled up to hide it away.

None at the moment!