Rothschild Territory
The port of Rothschild Viscounty had never known silence like this.
Not the peaceful quiet of dawn, nor the sleepy lull between tides, but a brittle, strained stillness that clung to the air as the three foreign vessels loomed closer, their massive silhouettes blotting out the horizon one by one. Waves broke unevenly against hulls not shaped by any craft known to Aerthysia, as the sea itself seemed to recoil from them.
Three ships emerged from the horizon like moving fortresses, blotting out the thin line where sea met sky. They're nothing like the vessels described in the common histories, nothing like the elegant Aerthysian ships illustrated in common library books with their curved hulls, pale sails, and living wood blessed by elven craft. These ships are all wrong.
