Mortivax

Mortivax, the Blue-Fingered Shepherd of Souls, is the god of death—not as punishment, but as passage. He is the gentle hand that untethers the soul, the guide through final silence, and the quiet mercy in an unquiet world. Where others fear endings, Mortivax honors them.

He appears as a robed figure with pale skin and deep blue fingers, forever stained by his sacred duty: reaching into the River of Lunados, where mortal souls drift upon death. Each soul he lifts from the current is carried with reverence—returned if stolen too soon, or guided onward if their time has truly come.

His realm, also named Lunados, is a fog-swept afterworld threaded by that spectral river. Silver reeds sing as souls pass, and bridges of bone and starlight connect ever-shifting isles of memory. Mortivax walks its shores endlessly, accompanied only by silent ravens and the weight of his calling.

He is lawful good, not because he is rigid, but because he is fair. Mortivax does not revel in death—he respects it, believing that each soul deserves its rightful conclusion, neither rushed nor delayed. He abhors undeath, soul-binding, and resurrection for selfish gain, though he will allow a return when fate is thwarted or a life’s meaning unfinished.

This position places him in quiet philosophical tension with Sila, the Veiled Keeper of Fates. Where Sila enforces destiny’s design without hesitation, Mortivax often questions whether the path is just—or if mercy must sometimes soften the weave. The two rarely speak, yet their roles interlock: one ensures the design is followed; the other ensures it is not cruel.

Mortivax has no grand temples. His worshipers include grief counselors, deathbed caretakers, healers, and those who speak for the voiceless dead. Shrines to him are often built along riverbanks, bridges, or crossroads—places where passage is literal and symbolic. His clerics wear deep blue gloves or leave their fingertips dyed in pigment to honor his sacred touch.

Miracles of Mortivax are subtle and poignant: a soul guided safely past a banshee’s call, a dying soldier spared just long enough to say farewell, or an anguished spirit calmed without binding. In rare cases, he has been known to return the dead—but always with reason, and never without cost.

Some believe Mortivax was once mortal himself—a healer who drowned trying to save a plague-ridden village. In death, he refused to pass on, remaining by the river until every soul had found peace. The gods, moved by his resolve, gave him dominion over death itself. Whether true or not, his silence on the matter has only deepened the reverence.