Seething and churning with a calamitous fury, the ruins of Old Ildir and her capital of Ildrys are all that remain of the once glorious imperial heartland. It was here so many centuries ago that Balcorion rent the Heavens in twain, beginning the cataclysm that forever changed the course of Runera’s history. Old Ildir, Ildirys, and her surroundings are no longer recognizable after having been swallowed by the land and sea, thrust into a raging maelstrom known as the Maw, an all-consuming calamity of scorched rubble, shattered earth, and the bones of the long-lost. The ever-churning Maw is blanketed by a dense silvery mist, which is said to “drink the souls” of those who dare to tread within it. Neither the mages of the Conclave nor the logicians of [[Sython]] have found magical or rational explanation for its soul-stealing properties, but both have agreed that it is incredibly perilous, and should be avoided at all costs. Few accounts exist of what lies within the maelstrom, let alone its centre, for every ship that has passed through it has either never been seen again or has washed ashore as splintered driftwood many moons later. Many drunkards, [[Sannish|sannish]]-fiends, and other charlatans claim to have borne witness to the Maw’s secrets: a pearl-palace inhabited by alluring mermaids, the Bones of the [[Alor|Allfather]] himself lying in eternal rest, the secret underwater fortress of the survived Black Prince. Yet those who have truly seen what lies beyond the mists are more reticent to loudly discuss their findings around grease-stained tavern tables. In all the historical records the author has researched to illuminate the truth of the mist, the maelstrom, and what hides within, only one has proven of moderate credibility: that of Cécile de Avrais, the lone survivor of the Maywater, a tradeship bound for [[Ryblos]], which was set off course by a fierce storm. Her account is herein reinstated verbatim: > [!quote] <br>The Lost Lands of Runera <br>*Chapter 7: Old Ildir and the Account of Cécile de Avrais* <br>Eirenaios of [[Sython]] *No, no! I will not speak! I will not speak of It! When I do- when I, It hears me, It hears me and It comes to visit. Visit like It did before, in the waters, wrapping Its fingers, warm and wet, around me, around my legs, my thighs, my ears, my eyes. I feel It now, always now. Warm, wet, gentle. It likes best to whisper at night, at night when none can hear me scream.* It is certainly worth noting that, despite being a lady of letters, Cécile’s account was scribed on her behalf by the author Eirenaios, for upon her rescue from the shipwreck, Cécile clawed her own eyes from their sockets so that she might “never see It again.”