Sea

Red Rock was, as its name suggests, a massive red rock, situated at a bend in the cliffs of Eastedge's eastern coast. It was a rust-colored monolith, a rotten egg on the face of the earth with white and yoke made of poverty and villainy. No vegetation grew on its barren surface; no life dared try to live upon the red stone. The only sign that anything around was alive was the plume of smoke coming out of the top of the building, which rose all the way up to the perpetual grey clouds above.

On top of the cliff next to the rock, there were a few small buildings. These were mainly huts and warehouses built of rotting wood and chipped stone, with broken or nonexistent windows and no smoke rising from their chimneys. Relics from a bygone era, they were already in the process of being reclaimed by the barren, dusty desert that surrounded the rock. A small number of cacti punched up out of the ground, struggling to stay alive in the toxic, polluted, mineral-poor soil of the desert, but besides that there was almost no life on the surface.

There was one, and only one, entrance to the city from the water: a small wooden pier that stuck out of the side of the rock and barely stayed above the waves at high tide. It was far sturdier than most of the city, for it was built upon a platform of strong, thick logs that were laid over with planks and then supported with smaller beams to ensure it could handle the stresses of wind and cargo. There was a small wooden building that stood on tall stilts over the water here, on a small offshoot of the pier: the harbormaster's office. Currently, its door was closed, and its owner and occupant could be seen drinking through the clear windows on the side.

The Eagle slowly bobbed up and down in the waves as it made its way to the harbor. The winds had been favorable for most of the voyage, indeed: it had arrived almost two hours early. At the moment, her white sails were mostly furled except for the jibs mounted from the foremast to the bowsprit and the square-shaped gaff sail on the sternmost mast, both of which provided just enough force for the ship to slowly, ponderously inch its way towards the docks like a curious turtle.

Twilight sat at the side of the stern, looking up at the massive rock. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the sheer scale of the structure; the only thing that came close back in Equestria was Canterlot, and even its magnificent white towers were at most half the size of this. She barely even noticed the shouts of the crewmen as her eyes were fixated on the top of the red monolith, watching the smoke being spewed out by the nascent industrial powerhouse.

"Remember: Don't set foot off the ship," Somerset said as he carefully worked the ship's wheel, lining her up perfectly with the side of the pier. "We'll only be here for three or four hours at the most, so don't take off." He leaned to the left to see around the mast. "Full stop!" he said as the ship began to come past the pier, moving about as fast as an exhausted snail. "Drop the anchors!"

The ship shuddered as the two massive iron pieces were hoisted over the railing, running out their chains until they hit the bottom of the fairly-deep water around the rock. The ship jolted slightly before coming to a complete stop. As soon as the ship was next to the pier, some of the crewmen leapt over the side and onto the wooden dock, carrying thick ropes with them that they placed around thick poles on the sides of the pier to keep the ship firmly held in position. It bumped against the dock slightly, but otherwise remained stable.

Somerset relinquished the helm and walked down to the main deck. "This is just a simple stop to resupply," he said as he passed in front of the crew, who were all lined up. "I do not want any of you leaving this ship, lest you be captured by the cretins and curs that dominate this bilge. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yessir!" rose from the crew in a loud chorus.

Somerset turned to the ship's marines, who already had their muskets shouldered and their bayonets socketed. "You four," he said, gesturing to a group of four on the end of the row. "Come with me. The rest of you, make sure nopony gets any ideas. I don't know if word's gotten out here what we're carrying, but I'd prefer to be safe than sorry." Somerset waited for a second, listening for a yessir, before rallying up his four musketeers.

They were standard Eastedge marines, equipped with long, silvery muskets with shining, deadly-sharp bayonets. Each wore a yellow coat and a fine cocked hat, as well as a tool belt and a pouch full of paper cartridges to be loaded into the musket. They all had a stoic expression, with grizzled faces and mouths drawn shut, and they all jogged to follow Somerset.

"Onwards!" he shouted as he pulled away, his crew in tow.