Known by no given name, the Drowning God is the patron saint of drunkards and those dying at sea. One of the Waking Men of the Early Risers was said to have died upon reaching the first known ocean, drinking in so much of the deep ocean water that he went drunk then mad, driving himself to drink more and more until he drowned himself in his solitary revelry, his body being taken by the sea.
The Waking Men to witness this moved on forswearing the water of the great ocean to be a threat and moved back inland, staying off the coast and remaining in the trees. The corpse of the first man that floated into the great green water was the first of its kind creatures of the sea had seen.
Before the eels and rays could tear it asunder, the Merish brought it down to the depths of Mer where they enshrined it as a tiding of new comings. Their predictions of the body being a sign of what was to come couldn't have been more accurate given how the creature of man spread quickly past its means across the Orb.
The bloated dead body was preserved in ancient salts of the sea and wrapped in ceremonial weeds of the ocean floors. Even still, slowly it decayed and decomposed in a way that no Merish ever would. The dead skin begin to peel from bones, and the sinews of muscles attracted small smelts and green perches to nibble. Fearing their burial treatment of the deceased land man to be improper, the Merish held council and decided to stuff the foreign remains into an underwater heatflue to appease the land man and avoid the wrath of their then non-existent godfolk. They did so, believing that was that, hoping to have seen the last strange body of men from the surface.
A day after a fortnight later, in the black of night when most already rid their minds of image of man, there came a strange light through the water seen in the distance from the mouth of a cavern. Closer crept the red-on-orange blur of a shimmering, burning form until there appeared a skeletal visage of a flaming creature, the same in looks as the one the Merish had tossed into the heatflue fifteen days before but now possessed and making a terrible noise. It came to them with a voice piercing the density of water, launching a sound with its mouth that caused strange vibrations and the Merish gathered to see. The returned land man stirred them to feverish dance with his cackling laugh and eeire tones, a whirl and cacophony that prompted their bodies to move without command.
The Merish are primarily visual communicators. This aural and vibration form of language was beyond them but succeeded in effect.
For reasons they never knew, all the Merish of the parish danced an unknown dance and let their voices fly into the green water. They knew not how to breathe, and found themselves choking in ecstasy. By morning, they were all drowned of their own pleasure, showing even creatures of the deep green able to be victims of their own environment.
From then, the Drowned God would lead many to the revelry of the dead from its potations and from the deep green ocean and many more would fall to lack of breath, in man kinds of waters, as prayer in pleasure or a plea in death.