[b]Guided by the Sailing Master's deft maneuvering, the [i]Aleph Null[/i] descends from its hidden vantage point toward its target, like an eagle swooping in on an unsuspecting trout.  Enveloped by the rays of the lowering sun behind her, the [i]Aleph Null[/i] remains undetected until the final moments that it pulls alongside the heavy freighter [i]Bdylegmia[/i].

Balder Goldenwood, Marko Latvanen, Lasrach Flame-Forge and their small crew are able to leap from the [i]Aleph Null[/i] while still inbound, sliding down the freighter's upraised debarkation ramp at the rear of its hold, landing in the small loading bay.  Of the half dozen or so men milling about or working on the smaller vessels aboard, none seem capable or prepared to put up any defense, shocked into inaction.  When advanced upon, some may join together to mount a defense, while others will attempt to flee either to safety or to raise the alarm.

A moment later the hull shudders with the impact of the two ships locking together, the [i]Aleph Null[/i]'s hooked boarding planks swinging down to lock with the rails of the freighter's exposed main deck, as the boarding party rushes forward, led by Alexander van Williams and Wilton Grady.  Despite their ship's stealthy approach the boarding party is met with immediate resistance - the [i]Bdylegmia[/i]'s larger crew apparently keeping armed men topside, ready to engage.[/b]

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Catching a downward-swinging cutlass with his twin trench knives, Grady booted the defender's knee before slugging the dropped sailor with a right hook with the knife's brass knuckle guard.  A brittle crunch met his ears - the lad's jaw.  He ducked and quickly swiveled his head left and right as he sought out his first mate, leading the men.  As expected, once it cleared its way onto the main deck the boarding party was falling back on itself, pushed in by the defending sailors.  [i]Too well...[/i] he thought, realizing that the freighter held a stauncher crew than expected.  "Push up!" Grady bellowed, before jumping back and sucking his gut in to dodge a sword stroke, barely avoiding being gutted like a fish.  The next thrust he turned away with his right blade, spinning and slashing back with his left - his vision turning red with a spray of arterial blood from the man's ruined throat.

Slowly, with exhortations from van Williams and Grady, the boarding party pushed its way forward once more, pressing the defending crew back, bare feet and boots trampling over fallen bodies - any injured who could be helped back to the [i]Aleph Null[/i] would be sent for the doctor, or at the very least dragged back to the boarding planks; some groaning, cursing or crying and some slumped in silence.  Grady turned back to examine the fighting, using his right forearm to wipe the blood from his eyes only to see his gray trencher's coat was stained an even deeper shade.  He saw a slash in the fabric and his tunic beneath but couldn't see the extent of the injury, nor remembered taking one.  Still, in the heat of the battle he was more aware of the blood ringing in his ears and thundering in his veins than dripping from his finger tips, so he stuck his blades back in their straps before drawing his firearms.

Strutted in the middle of the[i]Bdylegmia[/i]'s wide deck there was a ladder recess, an alcove from which more sailors were scrambling from belowdecks to join the fight.  Best to bottleneck them there instead of giving them room to maneuver... Grady leveled his two pepperbox pistols, discharging the firearms with a rapid succession of ferrum bolts that crackled through the air with a flare of red and a hiss like barrel-quenched steel.  Grady had received his fair share of ferrum bolts in the Sorrowars and in the skies of Oceanica - it was something between being stabbed with a small sharp knife, stung by a Bokmakiri firebat, branded with a poker and kicked by a mule, all rolled into one.  Enough shots would kill you, but even the one shot he gave each man would be enough to put them on the deck for the rest of the fight...

Except for one man, wearing a tight jester's coat of motley garish colors, who kept walking forward after taking two bolts to the chest.  Confused, Grady held down the triggers of both pistols, charging the rest of each ferrum core into single heavy shots that could punch holes through plate armor.  He released both cores with a heavy kick of recoil and a flash like bottled thunder and lightning.  When the motley man kept walking, unfazed, a slow realization of horror dawned on Grady.

"[b]FIREATER![/b]" he bellowed over the din of battle, holstering his guns and diving to one side as a swath of fire washed over where he'd just stood.  The freighter had a fucking [i]pyurgist [/i]aboard...

"Cover!  Cover!" he shouted, but his shouts were met with screams from his crew as jets of fire began lashing over them.  The men broke, scrambling in all directions to get away from those terrible flames.  Grady watched as dumb, brave Kimbull charged the pyurgist with hawk-axe swinging above his head, only to be caught in a fire whirl as the urgist snapped his fingers.  With the men scrambling in any which direction, the pyurgist turned his attention to the [i]Aleph Null[/i] and its exposed ventus sails.

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