The sky was pale and clear to the east as three hundred pirates who held rank in a field of silver sea weed. Syrup and the Wolfenboss walked past the familiar face of Awabo, who nodded to his king. "Is this all of them?" asked Syrup. She had sent the order the previous night while she was awash with determination and a lack of care for the Jamanos' decision. She was hopeful that Awabo had leaked the order into Rogueport, from where it would take minutes to leak beyond.

"As you ordered," confirmed the Wolfenboss. "Three hundred with born sons or daughters to carry on their bloodline and Lockjaw identity."

"We are with you, captain, to the death!" declared Anonster, a lean and hard bodied youthful man.

"Hold your tongue, boy!" barked the Wolfenboss. "Or I'll take you at your word." Then, Syrup pointed to the soft rabbit like face of a child near the rear of the pack.

"He's too young to have felt a woman's warmth," she said as she stood before the baby-faced warrior. Perhaps it was untrue, but unlikely.

"I have others to replace him," said the Wolfenboss as he came to stand by his captain. With that, the lieutenant looked into the eyes of the youth, named Shoot. Once, the Wolfenboss had taken the boy in as his own. It was after they had been exiled from Dinohattan by Bowser, now a long time ago. It was only the Wolfenboss' once loyal service to Bowser that kept him out of death's door. "He is brave and ready as any. No younger than I was the first time I stood in battle."

"You're a good friend, but a better lieutenant there is not," said Syrup. With that, she placed her hand on the Wolfenboss' shoulder to mark his selfless act. She knew he wanted more, but that he would never press for her to give it. At that moment, in the morning light, a group of councilmen were led out into the low water by none other than Doll Boy.

"My good captain, Kammy has spoken," said the eldest among their rank. The entire group stood before Syrup, trying to gain her full attention in vain. "The Jamanos have spoken. There must be no march." Yet, Syrup continued to view her pirates with a disciplined eye."

"The Lockjaw Code, my captain," said Doll Boy, his voice almost pleasing for the captain to join him in his course of action. He seemed distracted when it was noted that Shokora and Kat had arrived at the beach. "The Kitchen Island pirates must not go to war."

"Nor shall they," said Syrup. "You worry over nothing." Yet Doll Boy raised his eyes as he and the councilmen viewed the assembly of pirates. "I have issued no such orders. These three hundred are my personal bodyguards. Our navy will stay in Kitchen Island." Syrup looked away from the three hundred pirates and to the direction of her birthplace in the Kingdom of the Koopahari. "We'll head north."

"What do we do?" asked Doll Boy. "What can we do?"

"You'll listen Shokora and beyond her, to the messengers of the Lockjaw Queen, in my absence," said Syrup. "The true power over Kitchen Island rests with her." With that, Syrup moved toward her men to begin their long sail to the north.

"Captain!" called Shokora and Syrup stopped in her path, wheeling around and turning back to her protégé, the girl she had groomed for command over Kitchen Island the past nine years.

"Yes?" asked Syrup.

"Come back with your shield," said Shokora, walking over to Syrup. She lifted from her neck a simple golden neckless, attached was a blue gem. "Or on it." Syrup bowed slightly as Shokora passed the necklace over her head.

"Yes."

There were no tears from Shokora's eyes, nor trembling in Syrup's voice. She didn't even say goodbye. There was no room for softness, not on Kitchen Island. There was no place for weakness. Only the hard and strong could call themselves pirates. Syrup knew that she would never see Shokora again. She would never see Kitchen Island again.

Each pirate entered a small sailboat and made their way off of Kitchen Island. Their destination was a warship far to the north and on a blade of rock, a lone figure hobbled into a makeshift sailboat. His hands unsteady, he began to follow the pirates in admiration as they moved across the golden seas. The sound of twin flutes and goat hide oars against the water reverberated amongst all soldiers. In silence, they sailed over sharp rocks and water, looming steadily, weaving a small shapeless mass of men towards the north. They sailed, for their seas, for their families and for their freedoms.

On the broken sealine, more men appeared sailing, other pockets of strong pirates from islands that became inhabited after the destruction of Mekanos. They had heard Syrup's call to war and were noisy pirates greeting Syrup with their nosiy complaints. Syrup sailed her men and met with the kremlings, although none but one recognized her by sight. This particular grouping of pirates had themselves come from the Emerald Passage, a moving jungle island which they had tamed. Their home had likely sailed somewhere close to Rogueport for them to have arrived this quickly.

"Cractus," she said hesitantly, "a pleasant surprise."

Cractus was a tree trunk of a man who had served directly under Il Piantissimo during his last years. He was not the dead Lockjaw Lord's second in command or even his third, but he had grown quite close to the man before his demise. A circular shield strapped to his back, Cractus led his pirates with honour and dignity.

"This morning's full of surprises, Syrup," hissed Cractus, his voice full of an unnatural duplicitous nature. Not because he doubted the integrity of the pirates of Kitchen Island, but because he knew Syrup on sight despite never having met her before.

"We have been tricked," muttered one of his pirates. "There can't be more than a few hundred of them… this is a surprise…"

"Silence!" said Cractus, raising his hand. Instantly, Syrup got the impression that this man led his men better than Il Piantissimo ever did. His men quickly settled, listening intently for the words that were to come. "We were told the pirates of Kitchen Isalnd was on the warpath! We were eager to join forces with the fabled Captain Syrup."

"If it is blood you seek," said Syrup, her voice hesitant. "you are welcome to join us." At that, Cractus scanned the pirates, counting quickly the rows of men, unmoving under the weight of their armour as if carved from the mountain itself.

"But, you bring only this handful against Tatanga? I see I was wrong to expect Kitchen Island's commitment to at least match our own!" remarked Cractus.

"Doesn't it?" asked Syrup, a roguish grin appearing over her face. She glanced to the Emerald Passage pirates and looked to a man in a sailboat. "You there. What is your profession?"

"I am a potter, captain," he meekly answered and so Syrup pointed to another.

"And you, rogue. What is your profession?" she asked. Syrup smiled at how well she found herself able to match the speech and mannerisms of these pirate people. Once, she felt woefully inadequate to lead these kinds of people, doing it only out of necessity. Now, though, once she was in their presence, she spoke just as they did.

"A sculptor, captain," came his answer. Cractus himself may have been a ferocious pirate under Il Piantissimo and these men may have served him quite loyally on the seas. Yet Piantissimo was like Cractus, a pirate by tradition, less by necessity and so were their men. Syrup pointed in the crowd again. These men may have been tremendous warriors, amazing fighters and truly ferocious pirates, but this was not their life. It was their tradition.

"And you?"

"A blacksmith."

"You?"

"A baker."

Syrup stood up and, in her sailboat, turned to her three hundred pirates. "What is your profession?" she asked her men. From the silent mass of pirate muscle, three hundred guns were raised to the sky and a collective battle cry exited each. Thunder and fire spit forth from their bellies with a tremendous war cry. "You see? I brought more pirates than you did."

That night, the Kitchen Island pirates managed to make it to their warship and many but Syrup slept on the outside in their sailboat. Syrup herself found that maybe it was paranoia, but she herself could never sleep in a sailboat such as that. She had seen far too much in her short life to make her want to do that and the last nine years had affirmed her paranoia. She'd seen how the WarioWare stores had rooted themselves in the Kingdom of the Koopahari, the Toadstool Kingdom and the Muda Kingdom. Slowly, each store had assembled the corruption within each nation and either by bribery or lobbyism, siphoned strength to the man called Tatanga, leaving only weakness behind. It seemed quite clear to all that of the three nations, Tatanga planned on conquering the Koopahari first. Syrup knew it, if Dinohattan fell, so would Kitchen Island and if Kitchen Island fell, then so would Dinohattan. She had to take the initiative, for it was clear the rich were ignoring the Queen of the Koopahari in her own domain. The Mekanos Rebellion against the X-Naut Trading Company had only played into Tatanga's plans. Yet in the ruined fortress of Mekanos, it was not the X-Nauts or their leaders, the nobles of the Muda Kingdom, whom Syurp had heared now ruled that land.

The Wolfenboss climbed up to the warship and quickly found Syrup staring to the far north, where those who go tlost never returned. She watched as dying sparks jumped out of the torches at the edge of each sailboat from their flames before vanishing. "No sleep tonight?" asked the Wolfenboss, his voice as gentle as it always was when he was with her.

"Not for the captain," she answered, studying the fire. In another world, perhaps she would have reciprocated his feelings, but that was not her destiny.

"Too restless…," sighed the Wolfenboss when he looked at those under his command, "eager as a youth… eager as a beardless wetnosed cadet for battle." Syrup looked toward her pirates and then back to the Wolfenboss. They shared a moment and a nod, a moment shared and understood only to those who gave themselves fully to one thing their whole lives. For Syrup, that was freedom. For Wolfenboss, that was treasure, for it would never be her.

"All my thirty-four years have been a straight road to this one gleaming moment in destiny," Syrup told him, quieting her voice. "This one radiant clash of bullet and sword and bone and flesh and blood." So, she returned to the fire, watching it dance. The captain closed her eyes for a moment. Just a dream of sleep would be enough.