Elysium's sea was unpredictable. The weather oscillated much in these parts; however, more oft than not it was calm. There were on occasion gales of wind that not even the briny clefts could withstand, and tempests that could toss about ships like dice in some sort of game of the gods. Today, however, it was tranquil. The calm waves scintillated with white diamonds of light as they basked in the sun's warmth. Seagulls and herons flew in lazy circles, fat from an overabundance of fish. One could hardly imagine a paradise more serene.

But deep below the waves... that was another world. A thousand fathoms below the waves, all was black. The darkness itself could swallow minnow and whale alike. A thousand fathoms below that, there was a gaping trench. One could descend into that black abyss for hours until he forgot which way was up and which was down, becoming yet another pale skeleton to rest at the bottom. Yes, this trench had a bottom, though few living souls ever saw it. There were vents that spewed out searing oil and vile gases from the bowels of the earth; poisons to most, but food for some. A whole ecosystem had thrived here since the world's first days, tiny microbes that metabolized the gases fed larger, carnivorous creatures, which fed even bigger creatures, and so on. One of these creatures, an albino, eyeless fish, darted into a cave with a mouthful of smaller fish. It had to bring tribute to its master; lest his ire consume all the creatures of the trench. 

At the very end of the cave there had once been a door that led to a staircase, one that descended down into the very core of Elysium. There, some great artifact had been stowed away long ago. There had also been a noble guardian that dwelled in this cave, guarding the door. None had ever tried to enter, but if they had, they would no doubt have been driven off by the great, three-eyed giant that the world's creator had left behind. 

Now, the door was sealed and hidden, and there was a twisted, depraved creature shackled to the wall by great chains and ancient magic. Balon was his name. He had been commanded to spend an eternity alone in the deeps of the sea, guarding some holy artifact that he had never even seen. For a time, Balon had done as he was told, but the solitude was maddening. The fish down here were dark, spiteful things that hated the light above and those that lived in it. In time, their malice rubbed off on the guardian. When his creator and master left, Balon realized his freedom. Abandoning his post, he climbed up the rocky walls of the trench and clambered up onto the ocean's shores, then went about reaving and murdering.

Entire villages fell before the giant, who could pound a man into the ground just as easily as he could strike him down with a bolt of magical lightning. Those men that he did not kill or devour, he enslaved. For a time, Balon was king of the land, the shore, and the ocean's blackest reaches. He had a great palace built by the sea. He taxed his subjects to the brink of starvation so that he could have a mountain of gold and jewels to call his own. Some tales would have it that he fathered half a hundred monstrous children; the first of the trolls, cyclopes, and other filth that plagued Elysium to this day.

And then the creator returned, enraged to see what had happened in his absence. Balon's great palace fell like a mere sandcastle before nature's onslaught; hurricanes and earthquakes scattered its stones across the whole continent and buried the vaults of gold beneath a thousand tons of rubble and a mile of seawater. Balon was ordered back to his post, and cursed to die if he ever set foot on dry land again. Out of spite and contempt, the giant sought to ruin what he could not have. Within the depths of his sea cave there was a great cauldron. He coerced the marine creatures to bring him all sorts of strange things from all corners of the planet, and then for nearly a decade, he stirred and mixed poisons in his great cauldron. At last, when he deemed his brew ready, he grabbed an eel and tossed it into the cauldron. The black fluid inside rotted the poor creature's flesh and blistered its skin. The writhing, still living creature splashed some of the fluid in one of the giant's three eyes, before dying. The plague nearly killed Balon, but alas, the land was not so lucky. The sickness eventually left the corrupted guardian, although the magic and the toxins lingered. That eye never saw again; and neither did any creature unfortunate enough to be caught by that blind eye's stare, as they were doomed to meet the same fate as the eel.

Balon released the vile fluid into the ocean, and exerted his command over the sea. The currents carried the plague to ports, and men began dying like flies, helpless against the magical disease. Needless to say, the creator was infuriated at this second betrayal, and cursed the treacherous guardian with every ailment he could think of before having him imprisoned at the depths of the world for the rest of time. Balon was wrought with the symptoms of his own disease; he lost sight in yet another of his three eyes, his skin turned black as coal, and his bones and muscles deteriorated to the point that it was a struggle to move; a fight to stay alive.

The fish that darted into the cave at last reached its master. The giant was still a king of the sea, even in chains. He still wore ancient bronze armor, covered in intricate runes and enchantments. At his side was a great spear and a shield; to look at them at remember what he once had hurt Balon almost as much as the curse. The giant was careful not to look at this fish, but not so much out of kindness. The creatures of the trench had been growing more and more rebellious and unruly, seeing that the tyrant wasn't as powerful as in the older days. If this fish died, Balon might very well starve to death with none of the others willing to bring food.

With an unusual amount of ease, Balon reached out with his hand to take the food from the fish's mouth. The ancient chains rattled, and as they did so, something caught Balon's eye: a little speck of rust had formed on his otherwise immaculate shackles. It took a moment to realize what this meant. And then, for the first time in centuries, the giant guffawed. His laughter was a scary thing to hear, even distorted by the water. At last! These chains were immune to rust and impossible to break; being tied to the creator, they would last until the end of time. Or the end of the creator's life, it would seem. With his body strengthening as the chains and magical force field around him weakened, it would seem that the accursed giant had outlived the righteous, arrogant fool that he hated.

Balon looked at his spear and shield. He remembered the thrill of battle, the power he had once wielded, the lands he had conquered. That gave him the strength to break free. With a thunderous sound, the giant pulled so hard that his chains were ripped out of the rock wall. Although they were still attached to his wrists, that was of little matter. Nothing could impede him, nothing would stand between the giant and the freedom that he had reminisced over for so long. The six yard tall giant snatched up his spear and shield, then stood tall. If he were not underwater, Balon would have likely fallen down. His muscles were still weak from the curse, and sitting for a few centuries meant that he almost had no balance; however, that didn't stop him. A few hours later, the bronze-clad sea giant was clambering back onto the shore. The sea was no longer harmonious, by any standards; a horrendous storm had rolled in to herald the old king's return. It felt good to walk on solid land once more.