[h1]Flames Extinguished[/h1]

It was a fierce ambush; none of the pirates aboard the [i]Ironmaw[/i] had ever witnessed a single ship, let alone three, appear from nothing.

The first jumpers wasted no time dropping mispositioned outlaws like startled children, but the pirates were quick to counter-engage. They were crafty, underhanded fighters, and knew the ins and outs of traditional military technique. So too were they underestimated, but even moreso to their benefit was the experience gap between themselves and the bulk of these soldiers. In single combat, any one of these lifelong pirates, some while tipsy, outmatched these grunts, and proved as much in the first half of this skirmish. Outlaw blades gutted the first soldiers aboard following their ambush. Halifax too broke into action without hesitation; his blazing red gate swept over the first wave of inbound soldiers, spewing great swathes of fire. The sides broke even, and soon soldier casualties outnumbered those of the pirates.

Unbeknownst to Tobias, the other of the two mageborn among the Blazing Irons had ripped three gates into existence: one per ship. From the wheelhouse, Rathas could barely fit them all into her line of sight, straining to maintain her angle through the window as she channeled in three separate locations. Given that the soldiers had no clue from where the gates came from or what they were capable of, a few broke formation and tried to flee through the crowd. The chaos stifled the flow of soldiers to the [i]Ironmaw,[/i] and it was a matter of time before the issue escalated. Violently. Despite this, a great many already made the jump, and their advantage in numbers pushed the skirmish to Rathas' peripheral. The conflict was mottled; smudges moved, and stopped, and howled...

A crack of the whip. The gates.

Streams of blazing red--she couldn't see them, but could well sense them--spiralled towards each. The hairs on her arms stood straight as a sweaty palm snatched a wall-bound pipe for support. Muffled cries of battle and clattering blades grew further. She let her mind clear itself.

A harsh whistle pierced the morning air. 

Rathas's eyes widened as they revealed their ace. Around the masts of each ship, nine gates fluttered alight: three per water mageborn. Hunks of ice, blunt and sharp, ejected from them at breakneck speeds.

Rathas couldn't make out what exactly was happening. Her skull throbbed; feelings of exhilaration and faint affected her simultaneously. Adrenaline pushed her through it all. Sweat slipped into her eyes and its sting went ignored.

The wheelhouse stopped rattling. Bad sign. Now that it was clear, more soldiers jumped to the [i]Ironmaw.[/i]

They were looking for the other mageborn.

Her gates pulsed a bright, smoldering red. A chunk of ice smacked the window. Good guess. With pressing intensity, she focused. Each water mageborn caught on and took aim at the window. Her gates pulsed again. A blunt wad of ice smashed it through, inviting frigid air to tear through the wheelhouse. 

The door crashed open.

Her eye twitched. The final volley of ice sailed towards the wheelhouse.

This was it.

Two of the three gates thrusted towards the congregations of unused manpower on the more crowded ships. The third swung back to the [i]Ironmaw,[/i] to the group who thought they would be safe there.

She let go, and the sky flashed a devastating shade of red just before a pommel clocked her behind the ear.