Infobox
Property Value Founded 20 Abzuni (III Autumn) 2057 Dissolved — Ruler Jurii ad Mortum Dynasty House ad Mortum Gov. Type Occult Cryptocracy Capital Mortheim Population ~409k Dominant Race Human Language Common Religion Inscriptum Verbi Dei Tech Level 🏰 Advanced (2/5) Economy 📈 Thriving (3/5) Military 🦅 Regular (3/5) War Franor Empire Alliance —
Overview
The history of this cursed land began on the Dragon’s Shoulder—a hilly region eternally shrouded in fog, where even the sun looks like a dull stain on a dirty rag. Its founders were grim bastards from the Mott-Neses Mountains. These savages somehow mastered the seas and sailed south, but not out of a desire for adventure. They were driven like rats—united tribes of zoomorphs were crushing humans out of the northern lands like a steamroller, triggering a great and bloody “migration of nations.”
How humiliating… To call the great clan that commanded the waters by the very delta of the Delin River filthy highlanders… They knew the taste of salt and blood better than you know the taste of mother’s milk. They didn’t come down from the mountains, scribbler; they emerged from the sea abyss to drown this world.
When their longships crashed onto the shore, they brought no peace. They brought death. Local clans were butchered to the root, their settlements burned, and women and children became trophies. Grimmur “The Deadly” ascended a throne of bones. The first years of his reign were a slaughterhouse. He charged headlong, believing strength to be the only argument. But then he met the Kingdom of Amosaras. And there, his teeth were knocked out. Amosaras steel proved harder than Northern fury. Having learned a brutal lesson and washed in his own blood, Grimmur, unlike many thick-skulled barbarians, grew wiser. Realizing that a throne cannot be held by cruelty alone, he changed tactics. He became a predator of a different breed. He began to assimilate the conquered tribes, absorbing their traditions to create an army capable of destroying not just Amosaras, but any threat to his sick ambitions. The war with Amosaras lasted almost 500 years. Five centuries of a meat grinder where two kingdoms tore at each other’s throats until one collapsed dead.
From its very inception until the signing of the Avtalis Pact, Mortum was in a rabid state. They fought everyone: at sea, on land, in their own nightmares. Everyone… except the Holy Kingdom of Elania. This raised questions. Whispers suggested that Mortum was merely a watchdog on the leash of the Saints. Their culture turned into a loathsome chimera: the cruelty of Northerners, the dark mysticism of aboriginals, and the fanatical, suffocating faith of Elania. Add to this their morbid attraction to ocean depths and gloomy forests. Their view of the world changed. They stopped looking at life as a gift. They began to view it through the prism of inevitable death. And in that darkness, they saw something the rest of the world would prefer to look away from.
But the true horror lies within. It is here, within the ancient, damp-soaked walls of the Solite Castle, that a seed sprouted which in any other kingdom would have been burned out with red-hot iron along with the carrier. Here appeared the “Canonists.” Fanatics openly spitting in the face of the Sole Church, demanding a return to the “former, true foundations.” In Rede or Wenn, their heads would have adorned city pikes that same day. But in Mortum… in this abscess, they found sanctuary. The Kingdom has split. The Nobility and Elite, those pale shadows in silks, have long since renounced the light. They are mired in occultism, in witchcraft, in rituals that are terrifying to even think about. I despise them, but, Ellah is my witness, I fear them to the point of trembling knees. They are no longer quite human. And the people… the common people below continue to pray to the Sole One, not realizing that their masters have long been serving someone else. And this infection is crawling. In the northeast, in every village, you will already be met with a sullen glare—the glare of those ready to slit throats for the glory of the “True Canon.”
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