hose who read from this book will inhale the s you offer prayers unto Mortis for

Mortis for the dying, you

breath of Mortis. You will be His breath in this
plane and will minister to the worthy, the believer
and the heathen, alike. His breath is yours to
inhale.
e is the end of all things. You will know you
stand before him because there is nothing more for
you in this mortal plane. No pole to replenish your
body. No pole to renew your spirit.
hese are The Words of Mortis and they will guide
you as you shine a beacon for those whose journey is
nearing its destination.
may see a struggle in their spirit to live. The health
of their spirit is tied to their struggle to cling to life.
The sick and the weak, those with little left to
hang onto in the physical realm will still cling to
their life when their spirit is strong. Fighting a
fight that seems like a losing battle, the unworthy
will take any kind of quality of life that is offered
them.
hat are they truly clinging to? What is life, if
not the journey that must be travelled to meet
Mortis?
eath comes when the struggle to cling to the flesh
gives way. The dying will come to accept the
journey that their spirit needs to take. Mortis Where imperishable shields and swords were beaten
knows that journey. So will you. From spirits tempered in his realm watched.
Look in the crystal! See how he hastens on
To the place where his path comes up to the path
here, by the window in the castle
Of a child of Arminius and Adelar.
Perched on the palisade, overlooking miles of
Oh warrior, actor indeed, playing well your part,
valley,
And Mortis, who strode within a mimic play within
My days of labour closed, sitting out life's decline,
the play,
Day by day did I look in my memory,
Often and often I saw you, as the cawing crows
As one who gazes in an enchantress' crystal globe,
winged their way to the wood,
And I saw the figures of the past,
Over my rampart at solemn sunsets,
As if in a pageant glassed by a shining dream,
There in the fading light,
Move through the incredible sphere of time.
Alone, but not, because Mortis was with me.
I saw a man arise from the soil like a fabled giant
And throw himself over a deathless destiny,
Master of great armies, head of the Empire, e are candles. If left to our own devices, sheltered
Bringing together the epic hopes of a people; from the world in a protective lantern, we will
At the same time Mortis, Lord of deathly fires, burn until there is nothing but the last semblance
of wick, spluttering in a waning drop of tallowy
slick. Better to be the candle that sits on a branch
or a post. The wind may, with a single breath
extinguish us, but, it may also knock us into the
straw and start a conflagration.
t is possible to set the World alight from within a
lantern, within a room, and the risk of being blown
out are much lower, but, the candle that sits on the
branch or post, whilst risking everything is more
likely to succeed.
ortis will wait. He has time. When travellers
are compelled to remain in this existence, to right
wrongs, complete tasks or avenge loss, Mortis is
tolerant. All will begin the journey to him at their
allotted time. Some will travel by less familiar
and more circuitous roads. They are to be revered for
this. Without their unusual journey, there would
be but one path to Mortis.
am the one who keeps mothers awake at night.
I am the one whom she lives in dread, for whom her
tears are sadly shed, I am the one for whom her tears
never dry, I am the one memory that will never die.
I am the one who lives to die forever.
I am the one who harbors the weight of all who
have suffered and died and I am watching.
I am the one who is guarded and protected by day
and by night. The one they remember in hushed
monotones, afraid I might hear. I am the one who
will never go home; the one whose bones nobody
knows.
ou will place coins on the eyes of his followers
and the Worthy who pass into his realm.
Every day, I become better. I am the one all
To not do this is a failure, in his eyes.
Teutonia knows.
This you will do, for each soul in your care.
I am the Unknown, I am the blood spilled.
Mortis is watching.
I am the suffered nightmares of the unworthy,
until death calls them home.
I am Mortis and I am watching. ou will perform rites to the dying, as they travel.
To not do this is a failure, in his eyes.
This you will do, for each soul in your care.
ou will help others to understand Mortis and the
Mortis is watching.
journey they make.
To not do this is a failure, in his eyes.
This you will do, for each soul in your care. ou will perform rites to the dead, when they

Mortis is watching. have reached their destination. To not do this is a

failure, in his eyes.
This you will do, for each soul in your care.
Mortis is watching.
 ou will issue prayers for the dying, as they
travel.
To not do this is a failure, in his eyes.
This you will do, for each soul in your care.
Mortis is watching.
ou will issue prayers for the dead, when they
have reached their destination. To not do this is a
failure, in his eyes.
This you will do, for each soul in your care.
Mortis is watching.
ou will issue prayers each day, at dusk
To not do this is a failure, in his eyes.
This you will do, for each soul in your care.
Mortis is watching.
he Book of Portents
A bird in a house is the sign of a Mortis. If a robin
flies into a room through a window, Mortis will
shortly follow.
Light candles on the night after The Eve of All
Hallows. One for each traveller should be placed in
the window of a room where a traveller has
departed. By honouring the dead, you protect the
living and none shall die there, for a year.
Cover mirrors wherewith the husk of a traveller
rests. They should be covered as they who see
themselves shall surely be the next to travel to
Mortis.
When dogs howl in the dark of night, they howl for
death before daylight.
If you dream of death it's a sign of a birth, if you
dream of birth, it is a sign of death. If you touch a
loved one who has travelled, you will dream of
them.
A white moth inside the house or trying to enter the
house means death.
One black Raven perched upon a branch or stump
shows us Mortis is watching.
When a curtain blows in the stillness of day, Mortis
has come. He sees you and all that you are.
Those who are bedevilled by flies should prepare for
their journey. The flies see further into the night
than we.
If a jackal’s slow baleful blink should catch your
eye. Pray for your friends, for one is leaving.
or the Dying
For those whose journey nears its end, you will read
to them of his Breath. You will pray for the passing
of their spirit from the confines of its bodily prison
and into His realm. You will minister to those who
anticipate loss.
The Words of Mortis serve to guide us on the journey
to his realm. Whilst mortal life seems real, what is
to come is truly real. We are but caterpillars, bound
within the limited confines of a mortal husk. The
e not afraid for Mortis is watching and he will
bridge from mortal life into his embrace is like the
see if you are weak.
caterpillar, who, bound by the drudgery of crawling
I do not die. I merely cease to breath.
amongst the detritus, shrugs off his maggoty hull to
Freed from my prison of flesh, I join Mortis.
become a butterfly within His realm.
Do not weep for me, for I am worthy.
Fear’s icy grasp snatched at me, but did not defeat
e not afraid. Mortis is watching. me
Cowardice did not consume me in its furnace of
despair.
he journey into Mortis’ touch is one that we all
Betrayal did not wrap me in its thrashing coils of
must make. What is important is not when we
dishonour.
make the journey, but what we do before. How we
Mortis is watching and I go to him in the certainty
have lived will be reflected in death. Each act of
that he has seen.
weakness, cowardice and betrayal will be as a rat
My day is not done.
gnawing at your very fibre and will scar you
My race is not run.
beyond death.

he Rite of the Corpse
The ferryman must have his due, without this,
none will travel to his realm. Place coins on the
eyes of the traveller. These shall symbolise the
ferryman’s due and will grant the traveller safe
passage to His realm. If a traveller’s eyes are left
open, they will find someone to take with them.
ray that the ferryman takes his due and
completes his obligation to the traveller.
ash the hands of the traveller. This shall
symbolise that they come to Mortis without ill
intent. That the traveller’s hands are clean of acts
within this life shows their innocence in the next.
This act will cleanse the spirit and deliver
innocence unto the traveller.
ray that the traveller’s hands are unsoiled and
that this shall grant their spirit unsoiled, so that
they arrive in his realm reborn.
peak of the traveller. Tell what you know.
Speak well, for this will be repaid one day. Let
others speak of the traveller. Tell them to speak
well, for they also shall have this repaid. Touch the
traveller. Without this, dreams of them will be
denied to you.
e do this, not for Mortis, but so that we know the
traveller, know their deeds. Thus, we remember
them and recount their deeds. It is in the acts of I have memories
others that we see what destiny is ours. This, we do This is a time of memories
for Mortis. Of warm sands on a Summer’s day
Of duty done
Of friends gone
he corpse is a corpse. It is a husk. They are gone. It
Of friends I leave behind
is nought but a fleshy chariot of fat, blood and
Of deeds accomplished
bone. Mortis cares not for its cold, lifeless stare and
I am not the wheezing wretch you see here,
it’s stiffening pallid limbs, other than as a sign. A
I am what I have done, not what I am become
sign that says ‘I have left this place and am with
And so my journey starts.
Mortis’.
Have the coins to hand
One last debt to be paid
Mortis waits
rayer for the Dying – My Journey Begins He is more patient than I.
Speak well of me and, should you wish to see me
I have no tears as I was, back then, touch me as I leave.
This is no time for tears

rayer for the Dying – Remember me
Remember me whole, not in parts
Remember my virtue
Remember my valour
But, also, remember my weakness
Remember my failings, too
When you remember me whole
You honour Mortis
And set example better than any eulogy
That extols only the valorous and virtuous.
rayer for the dead. - For the Journey
Take these coins, two cold moons on a dark night
They pay the travellers fare to His sight
They illuminate each icy slap on obsidian wave
By their glister does the ferryman see
By their lustre does the ferryman do.
Have no fear. Mortis is Watching.
rayer for the dead. - For the journey’s end
The smuts and spoil of this world.
Have no place in His realm.
The water is cold, but so are you
The water is cold, so are my hands
In this we are equal and thus you still live
Or is it that I become dead?
I wipe from you the blood and grime of life
The water is cold, so is the river
In this you, traveller, are one with the river,
As you journey to His Realm.
Have no regret. Mortis is Watching.
rayer for the dead. - For those who must
remember
Time’s wind erodes
We protect time’s scour by our words, Written and
spoken
They are the armour that deflects its blows
The shade that deflects its bleaching
The ramparts that repel its marauding
When we remember, when we retell
We grant a rebirth of deeds and heroes
And in doing so rekindle the same within ourselves.
rayer for The Dead – I see you, again
Thy spirit shall find itself alone
Amid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness—for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee—and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
The night, though clear, shall frown
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones,
With light like Hope to mortals given
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee forever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions never to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more—like dew-drop from the grass.
The breeze—the breath of Mortis—is still
And the mist upon the hill,
Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token
How it hangs upon the trees.
Be worthy of his breath.
rayer for the Dead. – Leave Mortal Flesh Behind
Let us go hence: the night is now at hand;
The day is overworn, the birds all flown;
And we have reaped the crops the Gods have sown;
Despair; deep darkness over the land,
Broods like an owl; we cannot understand
Laughter or tears, for we have only known
Surpassing vanity: vain things alone
Have driven our perverse and aimless path.
Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold,
To Mortis’ Lands, where just men
Find the end of labour, and be of his realm.
rayer for the Dead. – In the Sight of Mortis
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness - for then
the spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee - and Mortis’ will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
Mortis sees you in life. Is the end of that bliss without breath
Mortis sees you in death. The warm encompassing dark of the first life
That life inside.

he Song of Engelbrecht
Have I a brother? The ferryman from motherly
comfort
I wait for him. I know he will come
A babe garbed in black, the conduit from unborn to
All will come this way
newborn?
All will make this crossing
It does not matter, for it is not for him I wait.
So I stand with one hand on the tiller
The stream of travellers, eyes bright with copper
And I wait
and silver
Seems without end, but, I know it must
I look at the sky and through pre-crepescular dark
Then he will come
I ask is this dusk, the last seconds of day
When the river is dammed with the coins of all
As it creeps into night
Two banks lapping against a glistering, sparkling
Or is this the pre-dawn’s breath of a new day’s
path
light?
My boat beached upon the coins of a billion spirits
The first inhalation from the mother’s womb
I am Engelbrecht, so I row, for rowing is my destiny Do I carry passengers to death or to life anew?
By rowing I serve Mortis This is my question and my prayer
What I do is unimportant to Mortis And one day, Mortis will answer
Why I do it matters more than all

he Song of Odile
But what, I ponder, if it is predawn
I am the spear of his virtue
Does this mean that I am the ferryman of new life?
I am the lance that pierces the heart of the
Not of its last flickering light
unknowing
Then Mortis is not God of Death
Whether in the blood and anguish of battle
But the God of Life in another realm
Or the serenity of the temple’s bosom
Then I bring the joy of birth
So it will be. I will always be the spear of his
With every crossing
virtue, in this life and the next.
Not the sadness of death
I ask nothing from my service: no second skin nor
chance to walk the grassy fields in half-life,
When the last spirit has crossed and the river
straddling different realms, devoid of that which
dammed,
makes us alive, yet missing that which makes us
He will come and then I will know
dead.
Mortis is watching, but, I do not serve him because will, grant them safe passage and I will tend to the
he sees, dead and by his will, grant them safe passage.
I serve him because this is the path I have chosen.
Mortis is the blessing that means we need not fear
he Song of Segelinde
stumbling around in the dark of death,
The smell of blood and bile and death filled my
For by his blessing, our way is clear.
nostrils,
Those who come to Mortis as his own have the
The stench, I greeted it like an old friend on the
certainty that he will be there and the way will be
field,
clear.
‘Hello old friend, we meet again’,
To know is to have all fears taken away, all
Reminding me of my duty and that battlefields are
uncertainties banished and all thoughts of loss, of
not all about killing, but dying, too.
reminiscences burned in the pyre of our death, to be
removed.
A dying friend or a dying enemy matters not to
And so I shall be his spear, his lance,
Mortis,
I will live my life so long as it endures, to take the
That we do our duty to them is what matters to
word of Mortis to all and by his will, grant them
Mortis.
safe passage. I will tend to the dying and, by his
Following the wrong King onto the wrong duty. Mortis is watching and he has seen my
battlefield, on the wrong day, devotion.
Is no reason to cast his spirit, like an Autumn leaf,
into the wind
he Song of Waldemar
I look around. It is a cold morning and the opened
Battlefields are pensive places
bellies of a thousand men billow steam like a host of
Thoughts of dying, thoughts of not dying, thoughts
kettles on a campfire. The haze of steaming blood
of duty.
and guts is a foul fog, fit for a foul day.
Of honour, of valour and of cowardice.
Amongst the cooling embers of life, I wander the
I do not think of these things
field, closing eyes and placing coins and saying the
For these things are but chattels and baubles
words, for friend and foe alike, all united in death,
Their pallid glister attracting the gaze of the weak
all united in their travels.
of spirit.
There is only one thought for the battlefield;
For those who would not die today, but would, in
destiny
the days or weeks to come, I speed them on their
If I am destined to die, I shall be in the embrace of
way, with his blessing.
Mortis
I am bloody and I am tired and I have done my
If I am destined to live, I shall continue to be his My eyes blaze like the inferno at the beginning of
standard bearer time
They see destiny in my eyes; an inferno of violence, It is my destiny calling me;
to be unleashed. And it is saying it is time to die, time to die, time to
My eyes tell them ‘there is no quarter, there is no die.
mercy, there is only death and dying; you should Mortis is Watching
run, now’.
My eyes tell them ‘I am of Mortis and I cannot lose’.
My eyes tell them ‘I have not come here to fight, to
kill, to win; I have come here because it is my
destiny and it is you who stand before me. For this
reason alone, you should run, now’.
My eyes tell them ‘I am The Dead and I am come.
You should run, now’.
My eyes tell them ‘When you fall, you will be
dead.
When I fall, I will fulfil my destiny.