A few hours after the initial attack all the pirates had been treated to some extent to prevent infection for the numerous burns that most had sustained. Obadai staggered towards his room as Tristan stood in front of the arrayed prisoners aboard their vessel. "I am Lord Tristan Winterbloom. Your fate is in my hands." He looked at the arrayed group, with the Pathfinders surrounding them, weapons drawn. The Pathfinders had almost naturally responded to Tristan stepping up to a leadership position in this time of mutual need.

Tristan continued, "I do not know what drove you to piracy, but I want to learn why you chose this path. Be honest, and I will be just and fair. Be dishonest, and I will feed you to my pet dragon."

On cue, Felicity became visible once more and had shapeshifted into a miniature version of a fire dragon. She opened her mouth and let out a roar. This earned curious looks from the Pathfinders – who had only seen Felicity in her fairy dragon form, and thus to their eyes, Tristan was sure it looked like he had just summoned a dragon whelp from nothingness. She was also the maximum size given her essence crucible, which meant that she was about the size of a dog – and struggling to maintain a perch on Tristan's shoulder.

The Vantir captain, now stripped to his skivvies like the rest of the pirates, raised his hand. "Lord Tristan…I am responsible for our state. My name is Marcus. Marcus Bitters. I was the captain of this ship."

Tristan waved Felicity off, and she flew up to the remnants of the top mast, staring down at several crew members who looked up at her with awe and fear. He descended the top deck down to be on the same level as Marcus. The man was tall – taller than Tristan was. He was gaunter, with his cheekbones visible against the pale skin. His red eyes were filled with fear, but also certainty. "Continue your tale," Tristan ordered.

Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke softly in that nasal, almost ear-grating voice. "We were contracted out from Schlarz. Carrying cargo of salted fish and meat. We got to port on Maladonia, and we had our whole haul confiscated."

Tristan looked at the Pathfinders, "Some of you were going to Maladonia, yes? What for?"

One of them, a burly middle-aged Wolfkin spoke up. "There's a civil war going on. The king had two wives – one from the Flors family, and one from the Founts. Both got pregnant on the same night thanks to some alchemy and had sons at the same time. Both claimed the throne."

"Thank you for the clarification," Tristan replied as he looked back to Marcus. "Which faction took your goods?"

"The ones with the weird stone chalice on their tabards," Marcus swiftly replied.

The Pathfinder added, "That would be the Founts."

"And then what?" Tristan asked.

The Vantir looked at his fellow crew, "We did what we did to survive. Finding merchant ships and boarding. Myself and my brother on the ship you burned to a crisp." He sighed, "We have families to feed back home on Schlarz, Lord Tristan. Surely you can see that we are but desperate men?"

Tristan tapped his foot on the planks, "I do understand your plight. But going pirate? Becoming a privateer? Why not sell a ship? You had two."

"Family heirlooms," Vantir muttered as he glanced at the still-burning wreck that was just bobbing on the surface – the remnants of the other vessel. "Our father had three boys, and he built three ships – one for each of us. My oldest brother went off to the Trimarchy to find his fortune…but I had to help them," he said this last with a gesture to the crew behind him. "Schlarz does not have much opportunity for wealth. Just whaling, fishing, and exporting ice during the cold Seasons."

Like so many others, Tristan thought, just trying to move up in the world. He cleared his throat, "Captain Yokain – what is the usual punishment for piracy?"

Yokain, who was standing on one of the boarding planks listening along with his crew, replied, "Hanging, or a quick throat slit then into the drink."

"Is that a universal punishment?" Tristan asked. "Or are lesser acts of piracy dealt with differently?"

Yokain rubbed his chin, "Well, in the Trimarchy, you can press-gang them into service – but they use rowing ships thanks to the more shallow and less tumultuous waves."

Tristan looked back to the Vantir. "I hereby press-gang you and your crew. You work for me now."

This earned some looks of surprise from the Pathfinders, Captain Yokain, and the captured pirate crew. Tristan continued, "I am Lord Tristan Winterbloom, the ruler of the Fey Realm. And I believe in redemption." He looked back to Captain Yokain, "How many men did we lose?"

"Three," Yokain replied. "Lots of injuries, but those will mend. Three men died. Crewmates. Good lads."

Tristan looked to Marcus, "And how many did you lose?"

"Twenty on this ship, the whole crew – sixty – on the other."

"Large crews," Captain Yokain observed. "Must have been tight quarters on those ships."

"It was," Marcus replied. "But we had so many people sign up to join – we couldn't turn away people who were in need."

In that moment, Tristan felt a sense of kinship with the man. He may have attacked us unprovoked, he thought, but this Vantir and his brother were just trying to take care of their own. It's a vicious world out there…and in his position, I might have done the same. But he also felt a sense of righteous justification.

A burning ember in his chest demanded retribution for the loss of life due to an unprovoked attack. "Captain Yokain – choose three pirates here that you decide must forfeit their lives in exchange for the lives of our crew." The pirates began bickering and squabbling amongst themselves, and Marcus tried to plead with Tristan, but he held up a hand. "Captain Yokain?"

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The man looked at Tristan, then at the pirate crew in front of him. "Lord Tristan…I leave it to your discretion. We took losses, and their families will need to be taken care of – but we have funds enough for that. I'll handle the details when we return to Jewel's Point in a few Seasons. We killed more than we lost."

Tristan looked back to the Vantir captain, "Thank Captain Yokain for his mercy."

The pirates all looked over and profusely apologized for their actions, thanking Yokain for his lenience. The man kept a stern expression on his face, but Tristan saw the barest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips.

Tristan cleared his throat to get their attention once more. "You all were given a shitty lot in life. Soldiers in a civil war took your goods that would have fed and taken care of you and yours. This ship looks like it can still sail, and I assume you have timber and sailcloth enough below-decks to make repairs."

"We do," Marcus said warily as he eyed Tristan.

"Then I will demonstrate my benevolence." Tristan looked up to Felicity, "Mind opening it up?"

Felicity flew down and growled in a deep, rumbling voice, "Of course."

The storage space opened next to Tristan, and he reached inside grabbing a bag of coins, and one of the communication bangles. He handed both to the Vantir captain. "Marcus what is the name of this vessel?"

"Destiny's Prize, Lord Tristan," the man replied with a confused look as he held the two items.

"You now work for me. That is five-hundred gold coins in that bag, and the bangle is an item of artifice that will let me, or Admiral Yokain speak to you." He glanced at Yokain, "Congratulations on the promotion, admiral; you have another ship added to your merchant fleet."

Yokain chuckled, "An interesting play, but I approve of anything that can pay the widows of these crewmen."

Tristan turned back to the still-confused Marcus. "We will pull your ship to port with us. Rigger's Cove. There, I will stock you with trade goods. Everything you sell will be split – fifty percent to Admiral Yokain, forty five percent to your crew, and five percent to the widows of the crew your men killed. You will sail with us to Yustat, where I will employ an essence-weaver to accompany your vessel, at which point you can split off to trade."

Marcus' look of confusion turned to one of shock, and he looked at the crew behind them as realization slowly dawned on the group. "We accept your offer, Lord Tristan. It's more than fair."

Tristan looked at the Pathfinders, "I think we can release them to begin repairs." The Pathfinders began untying the crew, and Felicity flew up to Tristan's head – shrinking in size until she was her usual cat size, but still a fire dragon. "Admiral Yokain, you and I will take Marcus and his first mate aboard the Tideskipper's Crest to ensure all of the details are understood."

Marcus took the hint and got onto one of the planks. As Tristan followed him across and made his way towards the captain's quarters, Yokain leaned in and whispered. "That was a wise play. Not the traditional way pirates are punished."

"They were just men down on their luck and victims of circumstance. Why have more bloodshed, when instead there is room for growth? Plus, those widows will have income for the rest of their lives – dedicated income, now."

Yokain nodded, "And let me guess – the fifty percent I get from them also gets halved again between you and I?"

Tristan smiled, "We'll hash out the details inside."

The next few hours were a bustle of activity. Tristan and Yokain talked about the future command structure. Tristan would be at the top, of course, as the financier and provider of trade goods. Yokain and his first mate would be second in command of the burgeoning trade fleet, and then any new captains added underneath his command would oversee their vessel alone. Every year, on the sixteenth through twentieth of Shine Season, all vessels would report to Jewel's Point. There, they would give their split of the coins earned.

Additionally, Tristan planned to hire essence-weavers once they arrived at Yustat – one minimum per ship of the fleet, to allow use of the communication bangles so that they could coordinate if they were within range. After resting up, Obadai joined them and confirmed the effective range was half of the Mortal Realm's breadth. In his words, "It could reach from Dorcel across to the far side of Klaktol, or from Klaktol to Gvand."

"How many ships you plan on adding?" Yokain asked.

"We'll see who else is out of work from Maladonia thanks to this civil war," Tristan replied. "We drop off the Pathfinders that have work there, I'll go to the Fey Realm and make sure we have plenty of trade goods, and then we can set out the following morning on the tide." He glanced at Marcus, "Though you may need more time in port to repair, depending on how bad the damage is."

Marcus shrugged, "We'll get it seen to. You've given us more than enough funds."

The day passed swiftly as plans were finalized and contracts were written up by the newly minted admiral. Contracts that would keep honest men all the more honest, and Tristan had a feeling that these men would stay true to it if they kept making profit. Coin drove a lot of the world, after all, and greed was a common motivator amongst the masses.

As he left the cabin and headed back on deck, he heard the whispers. People called him, "The dragon of the sea," which made him smile with delight as he quite liked the sound of it. Something about the phrase just tickled his fancy, and he chuckled as he ascended to the aftcastle, joining Felicity who was sitting on a rail in her fairy dragon form, invisible to all except for Tristan and Shandra, who was there with her.

Shandra glanced at Tristan, "Someone is going to take advantage of your kindness one of these days," she said in a foreboding way.

Tristan leaned against the railing on his forearms, "When that happens, I'll deal with it." He looked over to Felicity and gave her a head-scratch between the antlers and her ears, "Good job with the firebombing earlier. It helped."

She waved him off but was beaming with delight. "We took out two ships! I mean, they didn't stand a chance with me around, but still! Two on one! And a way bigger crew!"

Tristan chuckled and Shandra let out a little bit of air as well as she tried to stifle a laugh. But then the somber reality asserted itself, and Tristan stared out towards the now-darkening skies. I killed people, he thought. Sure, people that attacked me. Attacked the crew I hired. But they were just desperate and trying to survive. He glanced sideways at Shandra and kept thinking, maybe people will take advantage of my kindness. But I'd rather that than not be kind at all.

He was reminded of a time that his mother and him were in one of the markets. She loved being around the vegetable and fruit vendors, and despite the looks of disgust sent her way, she brought Tristan there nonetheless and would often spend some of her allowance from Fawkes to buy food for the street urchins. "Remember, Tristan," she would say after handing a melon to a pair of children, "It costs you nothing to be kind. And we should use our blessings to shower others who do not have our blessings."

His grandfather was present, and he nodded, crouching down next to the then-eight-year-old Tristan. "Your mother is right. But, don't be kind to your own detriment." He ruffled Tristan's hair, and then went to go purchase an entire cart's worth of vegetables. The trio then went to Argont's Resolve – the large wall surrounding Bhant's Holdfast – and Tristan recalled quite vividly joining with some of the other nobles from Highreach, the district where they lived, in feeding the poor and downtrodden. "Charity work," his grandfather had said, "Builds good moral fiber. Plus, it does a heck of a lot for your public image."

In the present, Tristan looked at Shandra, who regarded him with a sidelong and quizzical expression. "What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"It costs me nothing to be kind," Tristan softly replied, echoing his mother's words.

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