Deep in the trenches where the ancient currents flow, Beyond the sight of mortals where the heavy waters grow, The Oceanlord awakens in his realm of liquid night, Ruling over shadows far removed from solar light. He walked into young Norrath in the ancient Age of Scale, To craft the swimming legions and to trim the ocean sail, A pact of primal balance with Serilis and Tunare made, To keep the dragon's hunger in the eternal shade. He fashioned intelligent Kedge within the azure brine, A proud and noble species bound unto his grand design, They praised his name in temples carved of coral and of shell, In sunless liquid kingdoms where the faithful loved to dwell. When foolish pride of mortals brought defiance to the deep, And anger stirred the sovereign of the water's heavy sleep, He conjured up a whirlpool of such terrifying might, To drag Katta Castrum down into the endless night. A jagged shield and dagger are the weapons that he bears, A merman crowned with fin-crest as the rolling tempest stares, He despises foul disease, though Bertoxxulous remains As the ancient, sickness-weilding foe who rots his watery domains. The sailors on the surface give a prayer to the tide, Respecting all the power where the Leviathans hide, For life began in darkness in the murmuring abyss, And all who mock the ocean shall receive a drowning kiss. Though lesser gods have wandered back to walk upon the ground, The hidden realm of Prexus keeps its silent, mystic bound, A phantom of the liquid deep, he watches from afar, A silent master guiding every seafarer and star. So heed the rising waters when the midnight tempest blows, And respect the nameless pressure where the silent undertow goes, For Prexus claims the oceans as his everlasting throne, And the secrets of the deep abyss belong to him alone.
