On the horizon, a sail appears. Three more sails appear, and then more and more. A village of ships emerge from the horizon, small canoes to massive trimarans, with all sorts in between. The ships are mainly trimarans and catamarans, with the larger ships having houses and buildings on them. The noises of village life rings out around the boats, people talking, babies crying, hands at work, spear fishing, construction, and sails billowing in the wind. Fisherman bring in baskets of fish to the market boat. Weavers sit making baskets and sails. The single smith works, banging out nails and spearheads.
As the ships grow nearer to the coast, the peasants ashore catch glimpses of the people aboard the boats. The strange people have navy skin, molted with a dark, watery blue. As the people walk, they seem to blink, sort of teleporting short distances, making crossing between boats easier. The wind seems to blow stronger around their boats, propelling the vessels faster. Those watching from the shore have never seen this strange race of seafarers before. They may have heard ancient tales from when they last sailed near the land, but to most they are a mystery.