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A heavy fog, thick and cold, surrounded their ships and obscured the surrounding waters that lapped calmly at their hulls lending to the atmosphere an eerie quality that was only intensified by the deafening quiet that rang out around them. Five ships, two hundred and fifty seasoned warriors, a small army from the most well respected tribe in the isles. They radiated confidence in every word, every action, and yet a feeling of dread seemed to reach into every soul present. The feeling was often called 'the coming storm' a sixth sense, a warning of ill fortune to come. And yet they sailed forward, the orders of a commander eager to make his name, throwing caution to the wind. And what a storm it would be.