| National Factbook |
| Flag: |
|
| Nation Name: |
Prophecy of Hermy |
| Leader Name: |
Hermy |
| Currency: |
Hermy Mammon |
| National Animal: |
Hermy |
| History: |
Before there was nation, before there was name—there was Hermy.
The Prophecy of Hermy began not with a call, but with a silence so deep it broke the minds of those who heard it. In the age now known as The First Dimming, scattered wanderers reported the same dream: a faceless being, draped in shadow and fire, speaking no words yet pressing visions into their skulls. These visions came with seizures, symbols, and a single message carved into their waking thoughts:
“I am Hermy. Await me.”
The earliest followers—Hermystics —were mad prophets cast out from every village they came from. They burned their eyes to "see deeper," etched symbols into their skin, and wrote the first fragments of The Book of Omens in blood and ash. They were feared, hunted, but never stopped.
As the dreams spread, more fell to the pull. Hermy did not ask for faith—Hermy infected it. The Hermystics became cult leaders, and their followers formed the first hidden sanctuaries. Deep in the hollow earth and atop remote mountains, they built temples aligned with celestial bodies, said to be designed by Hermy's own mind through trance and madness.
As the prophecy grew, chaos threatened to consume it. Interpretations of Hermy’s will clashed violently. In a dark era known as The Ninefold Fracture, entire sects turned on one another. That bloodshed only ended when a child named Varnel the Hollow—who had never spoken a word—stood before the flames of a burning temple and whispered one phrase that every follower heard simultaneously in their own tongue:
“Silence. Hermy is watching.”
From that moment, a unified doctrine was born. The fractured groups merged into a single force—The Prophecy of Hermy. Varnel became the first Oracle, and Hermytown was founded at the site of his silent miracle.
Over centuries, the prophecy moved from shadows to sovereignty. What began as scattered madness became a nation of terrifying purpose. The prophecy formed its own structure: the Council of Oracles to interpret Hermy’s will, the Voices of Hermy to spread it, and the Keepers of the Oath to defend it.
While outsiders still called them a cult, within the borders of Hermytown and beyond, they knew the truth:
They were not a cult. They were the chosen. The first to hear. The last to remain.
Now, the prophecy of Hermy is simply known as The Faith. Its roots are buried in fear and fire, but its reach is vast. Every child is taught to listen for dreams, to watch the shadows, to obey the silence.
They wait still—for The Final Revelation, when Hermy will return not in dreams, but in form.
And when that day comes, all shall kneel—not in worship, but in understanding.
“You were mine before you knew.” |
| Geography |
| Continent: |
Europe |
| Land Area: |
20,921.42 sq. km |
| Terrain: |
The northern reaches of the Prophecy are dominated by the Shrouded Highlands, a jagged expanse of black cliffs and stone spires veiled in eternal fog. These treacherous peaks are home to the Hermystics, who dwell in the Caves of Listening—hollowed sanctuaries where no light penetrates, and no echo returns. Many believe the mist that rolls through these highlands is Hermy’s own breath, guiding or blinding as it sees fit. The region is considered sacred, and few enter without receiving a dream-sign first. At night, strange hymns seem to rise from the clouds, though no one knows from where.
At the heart of the nation lies Hermytown, nestled within the perfectly circular Omensplain. This basin, scorched and shaped into geometric precision, is said to be the very place where Hermy first touched the earth. Towering spires—smooth and seamless—spiral up like bone from the basin floor, built according to blueprints said to come in visions. The surrounding landscape flows unnaturally: rivers curve in sacred arcs, roads intersect in divine symmetry, and every structure in Hermytown is aligned with the constellations of the Veiled Sky. Here, the Council of Oracles rules in Hermy’s name.
To the east lies the dreaded Cradle of Silence, a vast desert of black glass, pale ash, and absolute stillness. No plants grow here. No wind howls. Sound itself seems to die within its borders. The Hermyphor, the secretive enforcers of Hermy’s will, train and dwell within this desolation, far from the eyes of the unworthy. Towering skeletons of creatures unknown protrude from the sands—massive and half-buried, as if fallen from some forgotten war in the stars. No one knows what caused the cataclysm that birthed this place. Some say it was Hermy’s first breath.
To the west stretches the Forest of Whispering Bark, an ancient, lightless woodland where the trees grow impossibly tall and twisted. Their bark bears patterns resembling anguished faces, and at dusk, the forest hums with whispers that seem to speak directly into one’s thoughts. Believed to be the resting place of the First Heralds, the forest is both a site of pilgrimage and a place of punishment. The faithful may enter seeking visions. The condemned are sent to be judged by the forest itself.
Southward lies the Sanguine Marsh, a crimson-tinged mire that pulses with life and secrets. Fed by mineral-rich rivers and warmed by subterranean vents, the marsh gives birth to glowing fungi, sacred herbs, and strange, luminous insects—all harvested by the Hermydren, who see labor and cultivation as divine worship. The waters are ever-shifting, and those who do not know the paths are easily swallowed whole. It is said that the marsh rearranges itself based on Hermy’s moods.
Beyond the western border, piercing the clouds like daggers, are the Veilscar Peaks. These mountains are feared and worshipped as the place of Hermy’s original emergence into this world. Endless storms rage at their summit, and lightning strikes the highest peak even under clear skies. Only the most devout Oracles are permitted to ascend the ancient path to the Crown of the Veil, a flat mountaintop where time is said to blur—visions come unbidden, and some who go up never return the same. |
| Highest Peak: |
Mt. Hermylaya, 42,069 meters |
| Lowest Valley: |
Hermaya Trench, -420 meters |
| Climate: |
The climate of The Prophecy of Hermy is as unnatural and unpredictable as the god it worships. It is a land where weather is not just a force of nature—it is an extension of Hermy’s will, shifting and stirring to test the faithful and confuse the uninvited.
In the Shrouded Highlands of the north, the air is frigid, damp, and constantly choked in fog. Temperatures rarely rise above freezing, and sunlight never breaks through the thick clouds. Snow falls intermittently year-round, but never gathers too thick—it melts unnaturally fast, as if the earth beneath resists burial. Thunder rumbles often, though lightning never strikes the ground, only dances within the clouds like restless spirits.
The Omensplain, which houses Hermytown, experiences an eerie form of temperate weather—too perfect, too symmetrical. Rain falls at exact intervals. Winds spiral in unnatural patterns, guided by unseen forces. Even the sun seems to rise and set more cleanly than in surrounding regions. This climate is stable but uncanny, giving the impression that something far greater than nature is controlling every drop of rain and every beam of light.
In stark contrast, the Cradle of Silence to the east is a dead zone. The heat is oppressive by day and freezing by night. No winds blow, no clouds form. The sun hangs heavily in the sky, unmoving for hours at a time, then suddenly vanishes into shadow. It is as if weather itself avoids this place—or is being silenced. Some cult scholars claim Hermy "swallowed the sky" here during an ancient act of cleansing.
To the west, the Forest of Whispering Bark has a climate of eternal dusk. Mist lingers year-round, and rain falls softly, almost constantly, in thin, needling drizzles. Humidity is high, but the air is never hot. Light filters in rarely, casting long shadows and confusing the body’s sense of time. Trees drip even on dry days, and temperatures remain cool and unnerving, as if the forest itself rejects warmth.
In the south, the Sanguine Marsh is hot, humid, and suffocating. Mists rise from the warm waters at dawn and dusk, forming dense clouds that drift across the region like creeping spirits. Sudden, intense storms strike without warning—brief and violent, with red-tinted rain that stains cloth and leaves behind a metallic scent. Lightning is frequent, especially during ritual seasons, which many believe is a sign of Hermy’s attention.
Lastly, the Veilscar Peaks in the far west endure the harshest climate in the entire nation. Blizzards and electric storms rage throughout the year. Temperatures plummet far below freezing, and the wind screams like a living thing. Snowfall is heavy, but oddly melts in geometric shapes near sacred paths—as though Hermy’s presence refuses to be buried. The storms seem aware, ceasing entirely for moments when rituals are performed, only to resume with renewed fury. |
| People & Society |
| Population: |
1,367,882 people |
| Demonym: |
Hermayan |
| Demonym Plural: |
Hermayans |
| Ethnic Groups: |
Hermyites - 63.2%
Hermystics - 15.4%
Hermyons - 21.4% |
| Languages: |
Hermytic - 65.4%
Hermynian - 27.6%
Hermykan - 7.0% |
| Religions: |
Hermayan Prophecy - 89.8%
Hermyayan Inner Circle - 10.1%
Hermy - 0.1% |
| Health |
| Life Expectancy: |
69 years |
| Obesity: |
1.3% |
| Alcohol Users: |
97.5% |
| Tobacco Users: |
2.1% |
| Cannabis Users: |
4.3% |
| Hard Drug Users: |
89.3% |
| Economy |
| Description: |
“Mammon Rises” — A Tale of the Booming Faith
In the 9th Year of the Third Silence, the soil of Hermytown cracked.
The Omensplain trembled not from war, nor wrath, but commerce. Beneath the sacred streets of the capital, where countless Oracles had bled and burned to receive Hermy’s visions, a new revelation was unearthed—a gleaming metal vein, black as night and hot to the touch, etched with natural symbols resembling Hermy’s sacred spiral.
The Oracles named it Mammon, after the Dream of Wealth that once drove a thousand heretics to madness. Unlike gold or silver, Mammon was living coin—each chunk whispered when held, offering thoughts of success, dominance, and prophetic clarity. Forged in secret chambers beneath the Temple Vault, Mammon was minted into hexagonal tokens, stamped with the Eye of Hermy and a hollow ring in the center that pulsed faintly under moonlight.
At first, it was used only by the faithful—to tithe, to trade relics, to purchase indulgences from the Keepers of the Oath. But soon the tokens began to leak, carried by wandering missionaries and black-market cults across foreign borders. Outsiders became addicted to their shimmer. Mammon was not just currency—it was influence.
By the end of that year, the cult’s economy had transformed.
The Divine Market
The Night Bazaar of Hermytown, once a quiet ritual grounds, now thrummed with life. Pilgrims bartered dreams for Mammon. Merchants from beyond the border paid in foreign coin just to touch a single token. Black-glass incense, bio-luminescent mushrooms from the Sanguine Marsh, and flesh-bound books written in Hermytic were sold like spices and silk.
Foreign kings sent envoys in disguise to obtain Mammon, hoping to gain Hermy's favor—or his silence. Economists called it a “miracle.” The Oracles called it “The Fifth Wealth.”
Sectors Reborn
In the Shrouded Highlands, miners and monks now worked side by side, extracting Mammon under strict divine quotas. In the Cradle of Silence, massive vaults were built into the ash dunes, where coins were stored and blessed in rituals of binding and flame. The Hermydren developed Mammon-rooted agriculture, using coin-infused fertilizer to grow crops with strange, prophetic effects.
Even the Whispering Forest bloomed with black blossoms near traders’ paths, responding to the coin’s dark pulse. Roads expanded. Ports opened. And still, Hermy said nothing.
The Cost of Riches
But as Mammon flowed, so too did madness.
Some who held the coin too long reported visions they were not ready for. Their dreams became loud, their tongues heavy with prophecy, their eyes blackened with spiral pupils. Mammon whispered too often. It showed too much. It wanted to be spent—not hoarded.
A merchant named Tareth the Gilded was found wandering the Temple steps, babbling riddles in Hermykan, his body covered in self-inflicted carvings of financial charts. He claimed Mammon had shown him “The Price of the Final Revelation.” He died laughing, Mammon melted into his skin.
Still, the economy soared.
Present Day
Now, The Prophecy of Hermy stands richer than ever before—not just in coin, but in control. Nations trade with them, but fear their wealth. Mammon is both gift and curse—a tool of divine temptation.
The cult calls it sacred. The world calls it sorcery.
And in the deepest vault beneath Hermytown, where Mammon first stirred, a single message pulses in the stone, in a voice that speaks only when unspoken:
“He who owns Mammon does not possess it. Mammon possesses him.” |
| Average Yearly Income: |
$135.33 |
| Gross Domestic Product (GDP): |
$1,347,469,357.00 |
| GDP per Capita: |
$985.08 |
| Gross National Income (GNI): |
$553,964,880.00 |
| Industries: |
“Lead is the Voice” — The Rise of the Prophecy’s Gray Gold
In the lands of men, lead is poison. In the lands of Hermy, lead is sacred.
Long before Mammon was unearthed, before the markets bled and bloomed, there was a whisper in the ore. Beneath the Veilscar Peaks, miners discovered veins of unusual lead, veins that vibrated faintly when touched, and bled dull gray liquid when cracked open. It was dense, cold, and unnervingly quiet—utterly silent, even when struck. The Oracles took this as a sign.
“Silence is Hermy’s truest voice,” they declared. And thus, the cult’s obsession with lead began.
What once was discarded metal for bullets and pipes became the backbone of prophecy. Lead was not just useful—it was holy.
Industry in Devotion
Entire mountain towns were formed around the mining of lead—Churnveil, Whisper's Edge, and The Stillpit—each dedicated to extracting, smelting, and blessing the ore. The cult established the Gray Conclave, a council of metalwright-priests who oversaw the industry with both economic precision and theological reverence.
Smelters became temples. Forges sang with chants, not hammers. Workers wore masks of lead to protect their minds from the "raw echoes" of the unshaped metal, believed to whisper fractured fragments of future truths.
The Uses of Sacred Lead
Lead found its way into every part of Prophecy life. It was poured into the foundations of temples, used in ritual bullets fired during executions, and molded into blank masks worn by the Hermyphor, so that they might become silent avatars of divine will.
Scrolls of rolled lead foil were used to record forbidden prophecies—words so dangerous, even ink was considered too loud. Weapons were tipped in it. Coins (before Mammon) were forged from it. Even children’s toys were cast in miniature lead figures of Hermy, to “train their minds in silence.”
And when foreign traders visited and recoiled at the use of such heavy, cursed metal, the Oracles smiled and sold them “Blessed Hermy-lead” at ten times the market rate. It became a rare commodity outside the borders—feared, banned, and desired all the same.
Economic Boom
As Mammon spread, so too did demand for Hermy's lead. Foreign governments secretly ordered shipments of “blessed lead bricks” to line bunkers, claiming the metal blocked dreams and hallucinations brought on by cult influence. This only increased its mystique—and value.
In the Prophecy, lead was no longer just holy—it was profitable.
The Gray Conclave established foreign contracts under fake names, selling lead-infused tools, sculptures, and artifacts as “spiritual dampeners” and “mindsteel.” New refineries were built. Trains made of lead began running through the Omensplain, creaking slowly, moving so heavily they seemed to press the land deeper into the earth.
Entire families now lived in Leadhold Communes, working their lives away in silent reverence, growing pale and sick—but wealthy beyond measure.
The Cost of the Gray Gold
But lead always takes its toll. Workers lost their hair, their memories, and eventually their tongues—not from illness, but from ritual, as silence was valued more than health. The Conclave spun tales of those “blessed to lose words,” saying they were being drawn closer to Hermy’s true nature.
In secret, Oracles have begun to use lead not just to shape the world—but to contain it. There are rumors of entire cities buried under lead domes, holding back horrors not meant to be seen until The Final Revelation.
Still, the industry grows.
Still, the forges burn.
And above the Great Refinery of Stillpit, etched in molten letters on a plaque of blessed lead, is the creed of the new industrial age:
“He spoke in silence. We answered with gray.” |
| Military |
| History: |
“The Silent March” — The Military of the Prophecy of Hermy
In the Prophecy of Hermy, war is not just fought with weapons—it is fought with silence. The military is the shield and sword of the divine, a force shaped by Hermy’s whispers and carried out by his chosen, the Hermyphor. Under the watchful eye of the Oracles, every soldier is bound not only to the law of the land but to the sacred will of Hermy, who speaks through every step they take and every breath they draw.
The Hermyphor: Divine Enforcers
At the forefront of the Prophecy’s military might stands the Hermyphor, an elite group of soldiers who wear lead masks to muffle their voices and protect their minds from the overwhelming force of Hermy’s whispers. Their faces are hidden, their emotions buried beneath layers of lead and ritual.
The Hermyphor are silent warriors, trained in the art of both physical combat and metaphysical warfare. They strike swiftly and without warning, as their presence alone is considered enough to invoke fear and obedience. Each soldier is handpicked from the faithful and undergoes grueling trials to prove their worthiness, including the Trial of Silence, where they must survive alone in the Cradle of Silence for seven days without speaking or moving. Those who return from this trial unbroken are deemed worthy of carrying the Whispering Blade—a sacred weapon forged from the black lead of the Veilscar Peaks.
These warriors are not just soldiers; they are disciples, wielding their power with divine purpose. Their battle tactics are as enigmatic as the whispers they follow. Infiltration, sabotage, and psychological warfare are their preferred methods of conquest, using silence and secrecy as their sharpest weapons. Divine rituals precede every battle, ensuring that the Hermyphor’s actions align with the will of their god.
The Silent Army: The Legion of the Voiceless
Beneath the Hermyphor, the Legion of the Voiceless makes up the majority of the Prophecy’s military force. These soldiers are not born of noble blood, but of devotion. Recruited from the Hermystics, Hermyons, and the Hermyphor’s silent offspring, they are taught from a young age to fight not for glory, but for sacrifice. The Legion’s motto is simple: “Speak not; act only.”
The Voiceless are clad in dark, heavy armor made from lead and glowing stone that hums faintly as they march. Their weapons are ritually imbued with lead, enchanted to render even the most defiant enemy mute upon contact. Lead-tipped spears, silent crossbows, and longswords—all blessed by the Oracles—form the backbone of their arsenal. When they strike, it is as though the earth itself trembles in submission to Hermy’s will.
The Voiceless are often deployed as foot soldiers, sent to occupy territory, defend sacred sites, and cleanse the land of heretics or foreign invaders. Their ranks are vast and their presence is suffocating, moving in perfect synchronization as if part of a single, divine organism. The chanting march of the Voiceless is a sound that haunts the minds of those who hear it, even if they never truly hear it at all.
The Sacred Skystrike: The Winged Heralds
Above the battlefield, the Winged Heralds rule the skies—an aerial force of warriors who ride sacred, black-winged beasts bred from the dark magic of the Prophecy’s most secretive cults. These creatures, known only as the Black Harbingers, are considered living emissaries of Hermy, descending upon the battlefield like the hand of fate.
The Winged Heralds are not merely aerial combatants; they are the eyes of Hermy. They survey the land from above, tracking the movements of enemies and allies alike. When they strike, they do so with terrifying precision, dropping leaden bombs—cursed munitions that drain the voice and will of any who are caught within their blast radius, leaving them either incapacitated or forced to obey the commands of the Hermyphor.
Their weapons include lead-tipped spears and magnetic projectiles, capable of disabling even the most sophisticated enemy machines, and they fight not just with brute force, but with the divine mandate to reshape the world according to Hermy’s prophecy.
The Dark Diviners: Weaponizing the Prophecy
Behind the front lines, a cadre of Dark Diviners oversees the more arcane elements of the military. These scholars and necromancers use their knowledge of the Veilscar Peaks and the Caves of Listening to harness the power of Hermy in the form of cursed relics and prophetic rituals. Before every battle, they consult the sacred texts written in lead, using the spirit-bound manuscripts to divine the most advantageous moments for action.
The Diviners also employ visionary soldiers—those who have endured the Trial of Silence and returned to the land with heightened senses, able to foresee the flow of battle. These individuals are considered living Oracles of War, capable of guiding the military through dreams and omens. Their whispered predictions are regarded as infallible, as they are believed to be the direct voice of Hermy speaking through their minds.
The Silent Conquest
The Prophecy of Hermy’s military doctrine is not one of brutality alone, but of dominance through divine fate. Every victory is not just a military achievement—it is a sacred fulfillment of the will of Hermy. The march of the Voiceless, the silent strike of the Hermyphor, and the darkened skies filled with the Winged Heralds are not only about war—they are acts of worship. Every battle fought is a step closer to the Final Revelation.
As the military power of the Prophecy continues to grow, its influence spreads beyond borders, its soldiers marching ever onward—silent, unstoppable, and omnipresent. |
| Soldiers: |
195,000 |
| Tanks: |
0 |
| Aircraft: |
975 |
| Ships: |
6 |
| Missiles: |
0 |
| Nuclear Weapons: |
0 |
| Last Updated: 04/05/2025 06:42 pm |
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