Far below the ocean where light does not shine, fallen ayrlands tumble across the deeps as they are pummeled by the currents. Inscrutable animals make their home in pitch darkness, and gargantuan leviathans hibernate for centuries. Gruesome stories warn travelers to avoid the inkspots - those dangerous regions of the ocean where volcanic rifts spew ashes into the water, and send up jetstream pillars of boiling sulfurous bubbles. Strange songs ring out across vast distances, disrupting chimepulse navigation and communication. Long spiked tentacles cast clumsily upwards, searching for an easy meal. Sometimes, when the moons shine bright, shimmering reflections can be seen below, which resemble the irises of colossal eyeballs staring up at the distant stars. What little we know has been gathered through the legends of the seafaring Mor'Rahans. Though they are masters of diving, and can hold their breath for hours at a time, even they have little to tell us about its depths. Our knowledge of the deep comes only from the inferences that we can draw based on what occasionally rises to the surface of the Saltsea. Legends suggest that on the bedrock, one might still find the ruins of civilizations from before the Scream that tore the world asunder. According to the tales, dead gahls still wander the hollowed out cities, with spears and tridents, guarding their homes and waiting for the day when the drowned will rise again.