The Shoebill and her crew sail out from their spot at the docks and onto open waters. With hundreds of ships all being launched at once, Oleander has his work cut out for him in avoiding crashing into any other ships.

Cassiel is the only one to really worry about his ability in steering the ship, but she learns why everybody else has such faith in him.

Like a graceful dancer, The Shoebill glides along the water masterfully evading any potential collisions.

Tabitha comes above deck to give the helmsman some praise. “This might be some of the smoothest sailin’ I’ve ever seen in this game! I’m used ta having to shout and groan about you drivin’ folk bein’ shit at your jobs, but this is nice. Can’t wait to see how ya handle her with the engine at full power,” Tabitha says, giving Oleander a few smacks on his back.

Each smack smashes him forward into the wheel.

“Tabs, what’s your Strength score?” Oleander asks her with a pained voice.

“A rank. Why?”

Oleander forgets that she’s a veteran player from how she looks and behaves, but in reality, she’s got a Strength higher than the vast majority of players. She’s stronger than the rest of the crew combined in raw, physical strength.

“Just curious,” Oleander says as he straightens his back out. He regrets not fully disabling pain.

Tabitha walks up to Fenrir near the bow of the ship. “Oi, wolf boy,” she calls out to him. “Green down there wants to know if she can come up once we’re out away from other ships.”

“Green?” Fenrir asks.

“Yeah, ya know, green-ish hair and all ‘at. Plus her name is in a pain in the arse ta say.”

“Well, I’m calling her Nell now if you want to switch over to that.”

“Nelly! Got it. Anyways, can she come up in a bit?”

“Close enough, and sure. I’ll go down there and bring her up when it’s safe.”

Tabitha heads back below deck where Nell and Bonekraka are.

“We can go ahead and start casting off the stern. Our lines shouldn’t get messed up, and we can just let them drag behind The Shoebill,” Fenrir suggests. His fellow fishers agree with his plan, picking up their rods and equipment to head for the ship’s stern.

Fenrir looks at Rod. “Ready, partner?” he asks it.

Rod pulses once.

“Wait, why I haven’t I asked this before… are you a girl?”

Two pulses.

“Are you a guy?”

One pulse.

Yeah. Fenrir should have expected that, and he knows that, but he was still hoping that a rod could potentially be a girl. “Well, partner, let’s go,” he picks up Rod and his tackle box.

The four fishers have only a single bucket of live bait to use that was provided to them by the tournament’s organizers for free. Everybody but Fenrir takes from it to bait their hooks.

“Why do you always use lures?” Corwin asks Fenrir.

“Well, you can’t really get attached to live bait, and if you do then your attachment is going to be pretty short-lived. But, when you use lures, as long as you don’t… try lifting fish that are too heavy for your line, you keep them for a long time and can bond with them. I’ve read stories of fishermen in reality before who would catch hundreds of fish over years with the same lures,” Fenrir explains.

“You like sentimental stuff,” Serra says.

“Basically, yeah. Plus, it pays off. I mean, look at Rock. Rock saved me from Cass Cass back when she was still penetrating me from behind, and now Rod here is going to grow more powerful the stronger our bond grows.”

Fenrir feels a death glare being directed at him.

He looks to his side and sees Cassiel clutching her sword’s handle.

“What if Cass Cass likes pegging?” Serra asks.

Fenrir coughs from surprise at her question. For once, Cassiel is actually grabbing onto Serra and shaking her around. “I do not like that!” Cassiel shouts.

“Sucks for you, Fenny,” Oleander chimes in from the wheel.

“I – I’m happy she’s not. I might be into some weird stuff, but uhh, I’m fine with the only thing penetrating me being a spear in my back. Preferably not even that,” Fenrir explains. “And food, and drinks. I’m fine with those things penetrating my mouth if that counts.”

“Depends on what you define as food and a drink,” Oleander teases.

“You know exactly what I mean and don’t mean,” Fenrir replies.

Everybody but Cassiel, whom is still shaking Serra, is laughing.

The Shoebill reaches a calm, quiet spot away from the hundreds of other ships outside of the city’s immediate surroundings.

Serra and Corwin managed to catch a fish each from dragging their lines behind the ship, but the others have not been as lucky.

All of their caught fish are going into large barrels half-filled with water.

“Sure do wish we still had an anchor to drop,” Oleander says loudly enough for Tabitha to hear from below the deck.

“Keep your pretty lil’ antlers focused on steerin’ the ship instead of droppin’ anchors!” Tabitha shouts up at him.

“I’m going to go grab Nell and let her know she can come hang out with us up here,” Fenrir tells the other three fishers before heading below deck. A minute later and he returns with Nell.

“I shall stand back and cheer for you all!” Nell declares.

Serra gives her a thumbs-up and returns her attention to her fishing rod. She’s got another bite.

Fenrir is starting to get jealous of her luck.

“Alright, Rod, let’s show them how it’s done,” Fenrir tells his partner of a fishing rod before casting his line out.

An hour passes by.

Serra has caught five fish.

Corwin has caught three.

Cassiel has caught two.

Fenrir has caught one and a half. The half is from when a larger fish decided to take a bite out of the fish on his line right before pulling it out of the water, thus leaving him with only the front half of the fish.

Needless to say, Fenrir feels his ego getting deflated with every single fish that everybody else catches.

“It’s the big hairy guys,” Serra says, pointing to a ship coming closer to theirs.

Oleander instinctively turns his head to where these supposed large and hairy men are. Corwin does the same.

Fenrir thought one of them would get jealous if the other was so excitedly looking in the direction of large, hairy men, but them having a shared interest in such men explains quite a lot.

“If it ain’t the wolf captain!” Jax shouts from aboard The Weeping Tit.

Fenrir also spots Jin aboard the ship in addition to five other large, hairy, and barely clothed men.

None of them look younger than thirty.

Fenrir wants to shout back with an “if it ain’t the,” but he has no idea what to call Jax other than his name. He could try calling him the half-naked, old man captain, but he doesn’t know if that would go over too well.

Instead of shouting back, Fenrir just waves.

Another ship comes up from behind The Weeping Tit. It looks similar to The Shoebill both in style and size, but its hull is made out of a wood that looks familiar yet subtly different. Tabitha comes up from below deck just in time to catch a peek at it and whisper to Fenrir.

“Oi, that girl there is made out of steel oak,” Tabitha whispers.

“Steel oak? You mean that tree that’s supposed to be really rare and as hard as steel, and they’ve got a ship made out of it?” Fenrir asks.

Tabitha nods and eyes the ship suspiciously. “I’ve heard rumors about its crew. Buncha’ young’uns with grand ambitions and hungry eyes. They just care about power and fame. Be careful of ‘em.”

The Weeping Tit pulls up close to The Shoebill with the newest ship close by.

“Wolf! I reckon you’d like these kids. They’re a bunch of green faces just like you lot!” Jax shouts over to Fenrir. "Been showin' them the ropes lately! Great time to meet up!"

The man who Fenrir assumes is the other crew’s captain steps up to the side of his ship and waves over to Fenrir.

Fenrir can already tell that this new guy is somebody that he wouldn’t normally get along with. He’s the sort of guy who has a pretty face, a tall and thin figure, and blonde hair that reaches down and almost obstructs his eyes that Fenrir can see a familiar look in.

Fenrir doesn’t get along with guys like this because they’re just like himself when it comes to how ambitious and manipulative they can be, but don’t know how to nor when to turn all of that off to just relax and be normal.

He looks between the other ship’s captain and Corwin. They look similar, but Corwin has more of a modest and kind type whereas this new guy looks like the kind of guy who wants to try and steal everybody’s girls.

Fortunately, when he looks at Serra and Cassiel, they look just as uneasy as he feels when they look at the newest captain.

Even Nell looks uncomfortable.

“Hey! I’ve heard that we’re the two newest crews in the tournament!” the blonde captain shouts. “My name is Alexander! Captain Alexander de Caulier! Our crew is The Noble Tigers, and our beautiful vessel here is The Steel Tiger.”

Yeah, this guy is definitely annoying. Fenrir can recognize that exact tone of voice and dump of expositional knowledge. Alexander is the type of man who wants his name and group known, and he has full confidence in his pride.

Fenrir is surprised that Jax and them are comfortable with Alexander. He would’ve thought that older and more experienced players would be able to pick up on the true personality of somebody like Alexander, but perhaps not.

“He seems friendly enough!” Corwin says.

Oleander pokes Corwin in the back. “He’s not,” Oleander says.

“How so?”

“Trust me. We’ve got experience with people like him.”

“But how can you judge what a man is like from first sight?”

“I got you right, didn’t I?” Oleander teases, running a finger up Corwin’s back from its base to his neck.

That sufficiently proves his point to Corwin.

“Fen,” Serra says, “I don’t like him.”

“Just play nice for now,” Fenrir says.