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| Yo ho ho...; New one - no idea where it's going! | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: July 5, 2007, 9:08 am (6,135 Views) | |
| Shayi | July 5, 2007, 9:08 am Post #1 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Title: Yo ho ho Author: Shayi Disclaimer: Yeah Metallica were never pirates in the 1700s or whatever. So you can pretty safely say this is purely my imagination and a total work of fiction! Notes: I am doing something I haven't done in years. Posting something before it's even finished. So I have no idea where it's going to go. But yes. Lets think pirates please. __________________________ The wind howled between the buildings, tearing at signs and shutters, roaring out a challenge to any foolhardy enough to venture outside. The rain lashed down, pushed onwards by the wind, a steady hail against panes of glass, sounding like thunderous cannon fire against the roofs of buildings and flowing in small rivers down the narrow streets. The sea in the natural harbour had been churned by the wind and waves until it was moving mountains of white foam, the boats and ships moored there tossed like flotsam on the surface. The streets were deserted, the only sign of life coming from the warm light that spilled from the windows of the taverns and brothels, lighting the muddied pathways. The sound of raucous laughter, shouting voices, the clank of tankards, shattering glasses and steel against steel was lost in the wildness of the night outside. The storm unleashed the heavy tension that had been hanging in the air over the island for the preceding weeks, bringing with it fresh air, blowing through the sticky humidity that had clung to the place. In one of the taverns a man sat in the corner by the window, back against the wall, eyes vaguely regarding the weather outside. In weather like this there wasn’t much to be done save drinking and whoring, and in truth, he was in the mood for neither. What he really wanted was to be back out at se again, to feel the wind on his face, the salt in the air, the familiar creaking of the timbers of his ship beneath him. He wanted to smell the sweat of his crew working, know that they were there, that they were on their way to somewhere, anywhere but sitting in some god forsaken hellhole of a town waiting for the winds and the storm to drop. Most of all he wanted the freedom. He yawned and downed the rest of his rum, feeling the familiar burn down to his stomach. They had come ashore for a couple of weeks, picking up provisions, finding a few new crew members to replace those who had been killed, and pick up any intelligence they could; naval vessels were getting a little too persistent and frequent in his view; but now they had been trapped by storms in the port. Most of the men didn’t care – there was plenty of drink, plenty of fights, plenty of gambling and plenty of whores to keep them entertained. He sighed softly and beckoned to the tavern wench to get him a refill. There was nothing else to do. As she walked over to him she smiled, her painted face glistening with sweat in the heat, bosoms quivering in her low cut dress. She looked at him eyes raking over his surprisingly fine boned face, tanned dark by the Caribbean sun, his lean frame and eyes that were blacker than the night outside. He didn’t affect a beard like many of the brethren leaving his face more open. The expression on it however made her look away. He smiled to himself; the bitch held no lure for him, yet another painted trollop eager to earn more money on her back. So long as she left him to himself and kept him supplied with drink, he would ask no more than that. He tipped his hat forward over his eyes, discouraging anyone else from intruding upon him and let his thoughts drift in a slightly inebriated haze over the past and the future. When the drink was put before him he didn’t bother to acknowledge it and the girl stalked off to find more interesting clients. He smiled to himself as she left then raised his head as her footsteps were replaced by heavier ones coming to rest at his table. Even as he looked up his fingers were round the butt of his pistol, ready to shoot at a moments notice. The Captain found himself looking up into an unfamiliar face. “What do you want?” He snapped. The stranger smiled, teeth very white in his tanned face, his dark eyes holding amusement. “I heard ye be lookin’ for more crew.” “And you think it’s for you?” “I know.” Replied the stranger with another quick smile, pulling up a seat at the table, motioning for another drink to be brought over. The pair remained in silence until it arrived and when it did, the newcomer spoke again, his low voice calm and quiet, almost soothing thought the Captain inconsequentially. “So will ye have me on your crew?” “Mayhaps. You have experience?” “Aye. I’ve sailed since I was a lad.” “You’re willing to obey orders, risk almost certain death, and follow me as part of my crew wherever I choose to sale?” “Aye.” Replied the man with a slow nod. “Aye.” “So then we have an accord?” Asked the Captain, spitting on his palm and holding out his hand. “We have an accord.” Replied the stranger, mimicking the gesture, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “Then welcome to the crew of Death’s Lady. We said as soon as the weather permits. You will know the Lady when you see her.” “I know her by reputation.” Murmured the stranger, dark eyes unfathomable as he studied the man before him. Captain Hammett was known to him, a cruel, cold man who ran a tight ship, a man no-one was certain they could call friend. Looking at him he was slightly surprised, having expected someone larger, more intimidating. Captain Hammett was smaller than he expected, lean with a more delicately featured face. Pretty enough to be a woman he thought to himself. The Captain’s hands were slender fingered, but the stranger could tell the latent strength behind each strangely graceful movement. There was a vein of cool steel running beneath the Captain’s soft voice and a hardness about his expression that brooked no defiance. It was his eyes that really held the attention though; twin black pools of ice, no hint o f anything to soften the harsh man beneath. A sailor could drown in them and yet, it was hard to look away. The Captain smirked at the stranger took another long swallow of rum feeling it burn through him, unfreezing something within him. “What do they call you, sailor?” “Robert.” The Captain smiled again, the smile of a statue, unyielding, unreadable. “Robert what?” “Trujillo.” “Trujillo?” Asked Captain Hammett with a slight smile. “Where is it that you hail from?” “Spain, but I’ve been on mainly British filled pirate vessels since I was a wee lad.” Replied Robert with a shrug, leaning back in his seat, watching Hammett closely, trying to gauge his new Captain. “Very well, Mr Trujillo. Then you’ll know the ropes. Tomorrow you will sign the ships Articles. Until we are at sea once more you are free to do as you will. Once aboard ship? You will obey me.” As he finished his voice was almost like a whipcrack and he smiled to see the slight surprise flicker in Robert’s eyes, an expression that was only fleeting, hidden almost as quickly as it appeared. Yes, this new crew member would be different, not one who was easily intimidated, he would watch him. Watch and learn all he could about this one. “Where is it we sail to?” “That, Mr Trujillo is for me to know.” He replied, voice like ice over rocks. “You will do your duty and nothing more I thank you.” “Aye Cap’n.” Replied Robert, slowly getting to his feet, draining the last of his drink and leaving the empty vessel on the table before walking away without another word. Captain Hammett sat for a while longer, thoughts now plagued with memories, mixed with drink which was never a good combination. He stood up, swaying slightly and stalked out of the front door of the tavern into the raging storm outside. He walked as swiftly as he could, unable to keep a straight course against the force of the wind. The driving rain was icy against his heated skin, a welcome relief. He smiled, a wild, feral expression, battling silently against the storm, feeling it beginning to sober him. Through a gap in the buildings he could see his beloved Lady in the harbour, lashed by the same storm as he fought. For a few minutes there was nothing but him and the weather, the natural forces that were so simple, yet so deadly. For a while, thoughts of revenge, nightmares from beyond the grave, were all far away and couldn’t touch him. Nothing could touch him. He laughed, the sound snatched away by the wind and turned abruptly into a doorway, letting himself in to the lodgings he had hired for the time they were in port. He sat on the edge of the overstuffed and lumpy mattress, staring blankly at the window. Now he had a crew, a ship, and provisions. The next step was the journey. A smile crept across his face. Revenge. Revenge and plunder. Now those were two things that he could happily drink to. The storm blew itself out after a further two days leaving the town ravaged and the seas suddenly calm. The sky turned to a beautiful clear blue, a breeze disturbing the air, gentle compared to the winds of before. A beautiful hot day in the Caribbean. Hammett was up with the sunrise, groaning as the bright light played across his eyelids and he discovered that he had a hangover from the night before. He stumbled into the corner of the room and threw up in a bucket a couple of times before he felt remarkably better. He pulled a flask out from the coat that was hanging across the back of a chair and took a couple of long swigs, feeling once more the familiar burn of rum trickle through his body. Today was a day when once again he would feel the familiar decks of his beloved Lady beneath his feet once again. Still wearing the clothes he’d fallen asleep in he put on his hat, greatcoat and boots, shoved a couple of pistols in the sash he wore round his waist and belted his sword over the top. Before going downstairs and paying his reckoning. That accomplished he strode down to the harbour to assess the state of his ship. Most of the vessels moored in the harbour had survived the vicious lashing of the storm well, his Lady included. From the outside there were no obvious signs of damage he noticed as he rowed out to her, watching as she hypnotically rode the gentle swell of the ocean. As he neared his beloved he took a deep breath, smelling the clean salt of the sea, the well worn wood of the ship that was his life, and something indefinable that he liked to think was the scent of freedom. He boarded the ship and walked the length of the deck, investigating carefully to see that nothing was damaged before systematically checking through each deck. When he had finished he could hear the noise of the rest of the crew going about their usual tasks. He smiled to himself. They were like a well oiled machine, each one of them knew their place, and the newcomers would soon learn theirs. He went back up to the top deck and stood at the helm, feeling just for a few seconds the well worn wood of the wheel beneath his fingers, his touch caressing, that of a lover more than a master before he briefly heard from the first mate that they were ready to depart. TBC? |
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| HEADBANGERZ | July 5, 2007, 11:20 am Post #2 |
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Mrs. Newsted
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lol!! i like it Shayi!! keep on going!! does Captain J Newsted would be in the story later??
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| springsatine | July 5, 2007, 2:19 pm Post #3 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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Very interesting! what about Captain Hetfield? hehe
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| Verity | July 5, 2007, 6:30 pm Post #4 |
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The Story Girl
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This is awesome. Wow. So so so descriptive. You literally took me back to the 1700s. I can just imagine Capt Hammett. I bet he's very swashbuckling. Your descriptions are just as good as any professional writers! Captain Hammett was smaller than he expected, lean with a more delicately featured face. Pretty enough to be a woman he thought to himself. That is an awesome description of Kirky. I hope you do continue, it's so good. I hope Kirk isn't too hard on Rob. We wouldn't want Rob thrown down in Sterridge.
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| MetalChik666 | July 5, 2007, 6:36 pm Post #5 |
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She's Like Thunder
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u really made this up?? wow. ur put so much detail into everything its amazing keep it up hun!
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| Shayi | July 6, 2007, 5:33 am Post #6 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you guys so much - you have no idea how much your replies mean to me I'm glad that you are enjoying it so far! Verity - I'm glad you like Captain Hammett - I have a feeling I'm going to really enjoy writing him MetalChik 666 - Cheers me dear, descriptions are fun! SpringSatine - read on for the infamous Captain Hetfield ;) Headbangerz - Just you wait and see - where would we be without Newsted in the tale somewhere. A sudden smile touched his lips and he shouted out the orders for them to set sail then pulled a compass from his pocket and with easy familiarity set the course of his ship. He was where he belonged once again as were his crew. He took a couple of deep breaths, feeling the air leeching the smoke, the scent of stale beer, the cheap, sour perfumes of the prostitutes and smell of sweat out of his lungs. Sensing a presence beside him he turned to look at the First Mate. “Mr Rawlett?” “All is shipshape, the new crew member seem t’know their business well enough. Where is it we be headin’ Cap’n?” He asked rubbing his greying beard with one hand as he surveyed the crew on the deck below. “We are setting a course to go and find the Revenge. Aptly named really since that’s why we’re going to find her.” “Aye that’s what I thought ye’d be sayin’.” Replied Rawlett with a slight frown. “That what the crew be thinkin’ as well. Why would ye do that after all these years?” “Why? Because I have heard where the Revenge is sailing. I never forget a betrayal – and that Captain must pay for what he’s done. He left me to die in a rotten cell or hang after betraying me, slaughtering half of my crew and stealing my ship.” “You got your ship back.” “Aye. I did. The man he left in charge as Captain wasn’t as competant as he thought. But, I still hunger for his blood.” Replied Hammett with a wicked smile, eyes glittering like chips of cold obsidian. “And blood is what I will have.” “The crew be whisperin’. About a curse.” “A curse?” Asked Hammett, voice smooth as silk. “Would this be the curse they believe that Captain Hetfield of the Revenge has put on any who sail against him?” “That be the one.” Replied Rawlett almost apologetically, keeping a close eye on his Captain, hoping not to be the one to arouse his wrath too far. “Then quell those rumours Rawlett. There is no curse. Hetfield is just a man. A man who will bleed and die, same as any other. Let that be known. If I hear any murmurings of a curse, I will see to it personally that the man who is doing it has his tongue cut out. Please make that clear.” He stated with finality, letting Rawlett know that the conversation was at an end. Rawlett stifled a sigh, tugged his forelock and went back on deck, shouting out orders to the crew as he did, covering his own discomfort and fears in the process. Hammett watched him go, eyes narrowed. He could sense trouble in the wind but shrugged it off, knowing that whatever came, he and the Lady would deal with it together. Trujillo looked up from the deck at the Captain as he coiled one of the ropes snaking across the deck, thinking over the conversation he’d just heard. He knew the rumours about the Revenge and her Captain. It was said that the First Mate knew curses from his native land, ones that would bring a terrible fate to any ship as would sail against them. Easy enough to deny them during the day, it was at night that things like that suddenly seemed more likely to be real. Still, they would see when the time came. He was signed to the ship and into Captain Hammett’s service and as far as he could tell, death was the only way out. It suited him. From words with the other crew members, as Captains went, Hammett wasn’t the worst. On other ships he would have been replaced, but for all he demanded complete obedience, for all his cruelty, for all his harsh law, Death’s Lady was the most successful ship in the Caribbean, and if you didn’t step out of line, you got a healthy share of all the plunder. And so, ruled by an iron fist, they sailed that way. Still, the Captain intrigued him – he was too well spoken to have been a pirate all his life. And he’d certainly heard plenty of strange stories about him, some seemingly unbelievable. But then, on the ocean, truth was often stranger than fiction. It would be interesting to find out. The day was uneventful, sailing with a good wind behind them speeding them across the ocean towards where the Revenge was last heard of. The night fell swiftly as it always did, a vast sky full of stars staring down at the ship, reflecting off the water. Any men not on duty were sprawled on the deck, playing cards and dice, drinking and talking. A couple of others prowled the deck making sure that none of the games got out of hand resulting in a fight while another sailor played some kind of flute. Trujillo leant against the side of the ship, staring out at the waters beyond, feeling the gentle movements of the ship beneath his bare feet, the warmth of the day still radiating from the wood beneath. The creaks of the ship, the ropes, the sound of the shifting of the sails and the smooth hiss of the sea moving past were a familiar sound, a sound to him that meant home. He didn’t hear the footsteps coming towards him as his lost himself in his own thoughts and suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun round to face them, hands already on the hilts of the twin swords strapped to his back and found himself staring into a set of dark eyes and the expressionless face of his Captain. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” Said Hammett softly, slight amusement in his voice at Trujillo’s expression. “Come, I would like to talk to you.” Wordlessly Robert followed him across the deck and into his cabin. Walking in he paused briefly to take stock of his new surroundings. Everything was stored away in chests and drawers. The only sign that anyone lived in that cabin was the maps and log book spread across the table, and the charts tacked to the walls. Hammett rolled up some of the maps and put away the log book, motioning for Robert to take a seat. “I do not have armed men in my cabin, so remove your swords.” He said without looking round. When he turned back he was satisfied to see both swords and two pistols placed to one side on the floor and Robert seated at the table, watching him with what looked like slight amusement. “What was the last shi p you sailed on?” He asked suddenly, handing across a glass of wine that he’d produced from a cupboard. “The Redeemer.” Replied Trujillo quietly. “She now lies at the bottom.” “I thought that was it.” Said Hammett with quiet satisfaction. “You were First Mate, yes? I recall from when I met with Captain Balen.” He shook his head in remembrance. “He should never have done what he did.” “Pursued Hetfield as you are doing?” Asked Trujillo with a brief flash of anger, quickly hidden, remembering the now dead Captain. He’d been a good man, a good pirate and it had been a good ship. Now like countless others it was in the depths, the haunt of countless creatures of the deep. “You overheard then? If I were you, Mr Trujillo, I wouldn’t accuse me, or question what I am doing. It will be worse for you if I do. I can, and will break your will and your spirit. As long as you can still fight and sail, I care not for the rest. So heed that warning.” “Do an’ ye will.” Retorted Robert, a slight smile touching his lips. He would fight and sail and would bow to no man. Piracy was freedom. A ship was freedom. Those were two things that he would let no-one take from him. A dark look crossed Hammett’s expression, unused to having anyone speak back to him. Trujillo watched him, waiting for the icy rage to take over the Captain as he had heard it was wont to do. Instead Hammett smiled. “You interest me very much Trujillo,” he murmured, “but that is for another time. For now, I would like to know more of this curse that people whisper about. Was it Hetfield that sank The Redeemer, or was it something else out there?” Trujillo shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” He said with a hollow laugh. “Try me. I have seen many strange things in these waters, things that defy all explanation and yet they live.” Said Hammett with a curious smile still hovering about his lips. The way that the light from the lanterns played across his golden skin made him seem almost inhuman, something not quite of this world and Robert nodded. “Very well. There is a curse. T’was Hetfield as sunk The Redeemer, right enough, but t’was the curse that started it all…” He began, taking a mouthful of wine, savouring it as he did. Captain Hammett apparently have excellent taste in wine. Hammett leant back in his seat, steepling his fingers together as he watched Robert begin his story. “You interest me excessively. Go on.” “Balen decided it’d be an idea to be pursuin’ the Revenge. Hetfield had a full load and was movin’ slow, headin’ off to leave her wealth whereever it be he hides it. Balen started in pursuit – had some strange notion of bein’ the one to finally bring down the Revenge, defeat the curse. We made good headway for the first couple o’ days. Then things started to happen. There were storms that passed as quickly as they came…” “Not unusual.” Replied Hammett sceptically. “Aye. But ones were ye can still see the blue sky all around while thunder and lightenin’ an’ howlin’ winds threaten to tear yer ship apart are. Then the men started seein’ things. Swore they’d seen a strange ship with a dragon’s prow, sailin’ towards us then disappearin’. Balen shrugged it off, said it was nothin’ – something mis-seen through the heat and the mists that came. The men weren’t happy an’ there were murmurs of mutiny. Then there were sightin’s of a great serpent, swimmin’ alongside o’ the ship. It never attacked us – it just scraped its way down the ship. ‘twere enough to upset the men though. Then one day the Revenge sailed out o’ the mist while the men were preparin’ to fend off the ship that appeared ready to attack from t’other side only moments before. It was the dragon prowed ship again – ghostly it was, the men swore ‘twas not o’ this world. Then we were taken by the Revenge. Those he didn’t kill were left in the water before he burned The Redeemer into the water.” He finished, voice quiet as he ended his tale before taking another long pull on his wine. TBC |
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| springsatine | July 6, 2007, 7:45 am Post #7 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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Oooohhhh... Captain Hetfield and a curse... I like it!!! Sounds intriguing
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| Verity | July 6, 2007, 11:15 am Post #8 |
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The Story Girl
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I'd like to mess with Captain Hetfield This is awesome, now I'm left hanging. I want to know more about Captain Het and this curse. The writing and the dialogue is really wonderful!!! I'm glad Capt. Hammett has good taste in wine. Me too!
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| Raedoll | July 7, 2007, 12:14 pm Post #9 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Dear lord you've gotten me hook line and sinker. I'd be happy to be a fish out of water on either of the good Captain's decks, if you catch my ocean current. This story is very refreshing to read, I can see Kirk wearing a Muskateer hat with a big feather in it with a Hook-esque outfit. Vivid descriptions make this story a delight to read, Robert seems like he'd be a handy man to have on board at sea. I like the way you use your descriptions to also help into changing who's viewing the story. I can only imagine how ruthless Captain Hetfield is, and what he's done to Captain Hammett to make the swashbuckler thirst for blood. |
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| Shayi | July 9, 2007, 4:41 am Post #10 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Aye, I catch yer ocean current Edgirl ;) I'm really glad that you're enjoying this! (It is just such fun to write ) And thank you to Verity and Springsatine I'm really happy that you guys are into it too. Well, there'll be more tomorrow, I'm still away at the moment from seeing 'tallica last night at Wembley - so, thank you all again, more tomorrow
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| Raedoll | July 9, 2007, 12:00 pm Post #11 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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YOU SCURVY CUR! *brandishes her foot and a few odd inches long dagger at her* You Faked me out! |
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| Shayi | July 10, 2007, 4:33 am Post #12 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Well well Edgirl me hearty - no more faking out this time! Put yer cutlass down ye cursed landlubber ;) Seriously - thank you guys so much for all your kind words. Here be another update. Captain Hammett regarded him for a few long seconds. “So that’s what we have to look forward to?” He mused, glancing at one of the charts on his wall. “Aye. The question is, will it be worth it?” Asked Robert, voice hard and accusing as he spoke. Hammett raised one eyebrow and Robert continued. “Will it really be worth bringin’ that down upon your men, upon yourself? I give ye fair warnin’, Hetfield is not a man to be taken lightly.” “Have you quite finished? I warned you before, not to question my decisions or my authority Mr Trujillo. You have been on this ship but one day – do you dare presume that you know my mind and my men better than I do myself? This crew would follow me to the gates of hell and back. They may well do so still.” “That I know too well. That be why I be warnin’ ye Cap’n.” “You take too much upon yourself, Trujillo. My reasons are my own. But Hetfield will get what is coming to him. I will rain hell down upon him and enjoy it as I watch him die and force him in his dying moments to watch the destruction of his ship. Revenge is sweet as the purest rainwater in the desert, and revenge is what I will have.” “Revenge for what?” Asked Robert curiously, the flush of anger still in his cheeks as he looked across at Hammett who was smiling at him, looking more like a devil than any man had any right to, distant, as emotionless as the rocks at the bottom of the sea. “I wonder why I am telling you this?” Asked Hammett softly, leaning forward slightly, taking a dagger out of one of the drawers at his side, lightly twirling it between his fingers, watching as the blade caught the light, slowly losing himself in memories. “Mayhaps I just have a feeling about you Mr Trujillo. It won’t save you, but it will buy you an answer. Revenge for what he made me suffer in the brig of his godforsaken ship which I have no desire to ever re-live, revenge for his slaughtering my whole crew, revenge for him taking my plunder, and revenge for him stealing my ship and setting her adrift. ‘Twas by luck and luck alone that I had the Lady returned to me.” “You must have the devil’s own luck.” “Some may say that. In truth when I escaped and made it ashore I heard that someone had commandeered a vessel adrift on the sea and were callin’ themselves Commodore. I bartered passage on the Lady when she next drew in to port and made myself Captain once more. I was young and foolish then, but I won back the Lady and here I am today, with my revenge against Hetfield still unslaked. Now perhaps you understand my need for revenge?” Trujillo inclined his head once and looked back at Hammett again. “I understand, Cap’n. I understand a need for revenge. I too watched the slaughter of a crew that I sailed with by the hand of Captain Hetfield. I understand the need for caution, but aye, I understand revenge.” “Then to the mouth of hell we will sail. And as for you; you will spend the night in the brig. I do not tolerate impudence and I do not expect for a crew man to question me. You had one warning and now, you will learn to do as I say without question and you will learn that lesson well.” He stated, voice harsh. With a smooth, fluid movement he got to his feet and stalked across the cabin, opened the door and called to Rawlett. “You will take Mr Trujillo down to the brig where he will be spending the remainder of this night.” He stated laconically as though doing nothing more than ordering a meal or informing him of the weather conditions. Rawlett looked at him in surprise then motioned for two large crew members to come to his assistance and escort Robert down to the brig where he was to spend the night. Rawlett accepted the order in silence, watching as the Captain once again closed the door to his cabin, leaving the crew on the deck staring after them. Vaguely Rawlett wondered what the hell Trujillo could have done in the single day that he’d been on board, but knew far better than to question the Captain’s orders. He like everyone else was happy to stick with wealth and success and keep quiet about anything else. As Robert was taken down to the brig he could feel the eyes of the rest of the crew on him the whole way, and kept looking steadfastly ahead, refusing to meet their gaze. It was true, he had been warned, but, he decided as he was locked in, Captain Hammett thought that he could beat him like this, he had another think coming. One night in the brig was not going to make him change his opinion, and although he was perfectly happy to follow orders, submitting entirely to another man’s will was not on his agenda. Especially when the Wolf’s Cry and Captain Hetfield were involved. Those nightmare days were never going to fade from his memory, and he would not bend before an unyielding Captain. When Rawlett left he sat with his back against the cross bars of the cage he was in, feeling them slimy and cold through his shirt. He didn’t particularly care about that, and instead began to take stock of his surroundings. It was almost completely dark down in the brig, the only light provided by a single lantern hung well out of reach of his cell. The cell was made up of heavy iron bars, criss-crossing and the door was bolted and padlocked tight. The air was heavy, clinging on its way down to his lungs and was foetid and rank, almost as though it too found the place depressing and vile. Robert looked around once again, seeing nothing more of interest and closed his eyes, reasoning that the least he could do was try and get some sleep before the morning came round again. From what he had heard about his new Captain he was lucky that a night in the brig was all that he had got. Which begged the question why he had seen fit to question him when warned not to; in truth he wasn’t entirely sure why he had done it. He knew that he could keep his temper in check, he knew full well that it would have been better to have kept quiet, but something in him drove him to test the Captain, see how far he could push him. Maybe it was his arrogance, the sense that he was so driven he would do anything to get what he wanted and to hell with the consequences. Maybe it was his mocking smile and his too quiet, smooth voice. Whatever it was, now he was paying a price for it and would do so until the end of the night. On deck the men slowly filtered back to their places below deck to sleep for the night while Captain Hammett stayed awake, plotting their course, lost to his own thoughts, to his memories of the night that he lost his ship, his men, his treasure. The blood, the sweat, the screams of the dying, those were things that he had experienced since that he could put from his mind. But the raw agony of losing his ship, his love, his freedom had been something that would haunt him until his last breath. He pushed it from his mind, thinking instead about the new crew member, the one with the nightmares that he too suppressed, with the calm smile and willingness to take punishment before he backed away from his principles. Essentially a good man. Something that was all too lacking among the brethren. He knew full well that should his tactics ever begin to fail his crew could mutiny, turn their backs on the one who had led them for so long and he would once again lose his beloved ship. On some days, when the pickings had been slim it was like walking on a knife’s edge. Sometimes, he believed that perhaps his crew knew that really he was a good Captain, that he had, although he’d been harsh, had been fair and had done things for the greater good. The rest of the time he saw them for what they were, good fighters, good sailors, but drunks, gamblers and mostly the dregs of society. Very few could be called good men to boot. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning his head down to his hands, slowly massaging his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache taking over. Fresh air was what he needed. Something to take away the tension. He got to his feet and put out the lanterns before walking out of the room and going up on deck then up to the wheel. The helmsman in place for the night looked at him with some surprise. “I’m taking over for the night. You are free to leave.” “Aye sir.” Replied the man with no surprise. Captain Hammett had ever been one to dance to his own drum. With a quick nod to his Captain he slowly walked away and headed below decks to snatch some extra sleep. Captain Hammett took the wheel, the well worn wood familiar under his hands. He knew every inch of his ship as intimately as any lover, knew ever movement, every sound as though he’d lived aboard her his whole life. There was something to be said for being at the helm at night, the wind was still holding strong and they were flying through the water, the lookout at the front keeping a weather eye out for other ships. He looked up at the sails; stained black by the night, knowing by day they had once been crimson but time and weather had changed them to the colour of dried blood. Fitting in his mind for Death’s Lady. For a while, there was nothing. Just him, his ship and the night around them. A strange type of peace that let him just be himself, take deep breaths and relax, no longer having to act as Captain. He was just a man with a ship. |
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| Tallicachick | July 10, 2007, 6:26 am Post #13 |
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Blackened
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Wow!!! You are indeed a great writer, your use of descriptive language is really good. I love this story and can't wait to read some more. |
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| springsatine | July 10, 2007, 7:16 am Post #14 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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Excellent writing! Really! I can't wait to read more!
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| Verity | July 10, 2007, 10:04 am Post #15 |
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The Story Girl
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Absolutely wonderful! Where do you come up with this shit??? It's amazing. I can smell the ocean air as I read I am on an island right now, but seriosuly, the writing is that good!I'll be checking up for some more!!! |
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