We, Disciples of Air and Sky,
We, craven things not worthy,
We, who guard his lair, his tomb,
We, who call the Thunder unearthly.

Osiric, gift of the masters above,
Osiric, great and terrible and father of storms,
Osiric, how can we serve your design?
Osiric, how can we be worthy of your love?

Deep, beneath the Canyon of Gales,
Distant, but near to the Callers of Thunder,
Far, but close as the heart of the storm,
Here, a new god, a Thunder God, to share Osiric's glory.

Osiric, how can we serve your design?
Osiric, we offer our own.