Tristinia turned the ship toward the palace by the seashore. It had a enormously wide staircase that acted as a docking place for seafarers. On either side of this staircase stood each a massive twin marble hewn statue of a seahawk, wings outspread, beak open and feathers frowning over its eyes in ferocity as it outstretched its claws to comers. Fighting had erupted on board. The opposing ship positioned threateningly. Enemies came aboard, crawling like insects. Clanking of metal ensued as blades crossed and sung their deadly symphony. She had made it to a place where she knew family once more. Not just someone who acted and treated. But who was bound by blood. Her comrades and herself fought bravely. The enemy threw their swords which whooshed by her as she flew through the air on rope, using movement to her advantage. Suddenly, one of the men had her champion with his blade to her throat. For a moment, her others stood still, the blood draining from their faces, but Triss took full advantage. She twisted the rope to her leg deftly notching an arrow to her bow, and let it loose. The arrow struck him through the shoulder straight into his heart.