"The Witchwood Fleet still sleeps in the caves of Broken Bow Isle. Is it time for them to set sail again and take back what was always ours?"
Baron Stackpole's words provoked a fresh wave of mutters and whispers, particularly among the common folk in the Great Hall.
The Witchwood Fleet was a legend, one deliberately lost to time. Those ships had been built for a war that seemed like it would never come, at the end of an era. None had ever sailed to war or belched fire upon the sea. Instead, they lay in wait in the caves of Broken Bow Isle, surrounded by shipwrecks and the ghosts of years gone by.
Among the people of Blackwell, there were legends of a 'Ghost Fleet' or of Phylip's Lost Fleet. From time to time, treasure seekers ventured out among the isles, searching for signs of the mysterious fleet. In the markets, every now and then, you could even find men selling maps that claimed to show the way to Phylip's hidden treasures and the final resting place of the Black Tide.
