Ornn, the Fire Below the Mountain
“I have said enough.”
- Spirit God
The Freljord
Ornn’s name was once spoken throughout the lands that would one day become known as the Freljord. It was widely held that he was the firstborn of the old demi-gods, who had shaped the land itself, and brought forth the first snows.
More than any other of his kind, Ornn was said to value privacy, solitude, and focus. Beneath a dormant volcano that bore scars from some ancient eruption, he labored day and night, forging whatever his heart desired. The results were priceless tools destined for feats of legend—the lucky few who have stumbled upon these relics note their bewilderingly high quality. Some even claim that Braum’s shield was made by Ornn thousands of years ago, and remains as sturdy as the day it was finished.
No one can be sure, however, for none can find the forge-god to ask him. Almost all the tales of Ornn’s deeds and accomplishments have been excised from history by his enemies, and the slow march of time.
The few that remain are remembered by the handful of tribes who can trace their lineage back to a single culture of blacksmiths, architects, and brewmasters. This long-lost populace was known as the Hearthblood, apprentices who journeyed from all corners of Valoran, and gathered on the slopes of Hearth-Home to follow Ornn’s example.
Despite this imitative form of worship, Ornn never considered himself their patron. He would only give them curt nods or frowns when they offered up their work, and yet the Hearthblood accepted this and were determined to hone their skills. As a result, they came to create the finest tools, design the sturdiest structures, and brew the tastiest ales the world had ever beheld. They believed Ornn secretly approved of their perseverance, and the fact that they were always looking to better themselves in their craft.
But, in one catastrophic night, all the Hearthblood had accomplished was destroyed when Ornn battled with his brother Volibear at the mountain’s peak, for reasons no mortal could comprehend. The resultant cataclysm was a storm of fire and ash and lightning so intensely violent that it was seen ten horizons away.
When the dust settled, Hearth-Home was a smoldering caldera, and the Hearthblood were reduced to scattered bones and cinders.
Though he would never admit it, Ornn was devastated. Through the Hearthblood he had glimpsed the sweeping potential of mortal life, only to see it all lost beneath the indiscriminate wrath of his immortal struggle. Wracked with guilt, he retreated to the isolation of his foundry, and buried himself in his work for an age.
Now, perhaps he senses that the world is on the cusp of a new era. Some of his siblings appear to have taken physical form once more, their cults of followers growing restless and aggressive. The Freljord itself is fractured and leaderless, and ancient horrors are lurking in the shadows, waiting for any opportunity to strike…
In the wars to come, and in their aftermath, Ornn knows that the Freljord—and the rest of Runeterra—will have need of a good blacksmith.
