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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 (6,146 Views) | |
| Shayi | July 10, 2007, 10:37 am Post #16 |
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Thanks you guys! I'm glad you enjoy the descriptions and what have you - I'm having so much fun with this one I've actually managed a second update in one day And today we will be meeting the elusive Captain Hetfield Captain Hetfield stood at the window to his cabin watching as the sunrise sent pale rays dancing across the water. The sky was turning through shades of yellow and pink into a clear blue, heralding another blazing day ahead. A smile curved his lips as he thrust his cutlass into the belt around his waist. He crammed his hat over his long blond hair and stretched slowly. He’d been woken that morning just as dawn was breaking by his First Mate with the information that they had come upon a heavily laden merchant vessel, ready for the taking. The information had been a good beginning to the day – his crew needed some plunder and bloodshed after the long spell in a port during the heavy storms. There was another knock on his door and he went and opened it, glowering down at his diminutive First Mate. “Mr Ulrich? What have ye to report?” He asked, gruff voice almost snarling out the words. It wasn’t just the crew who would be better for some bloodshed. He could almost taste it, feed off the fear and the destruction he knew that was coming. Ulrich could see it in him, could sense the impending fight and couldn’t help smiling slightly, green eyes glittering with anticipation. “We’re closing fast. The crew are at their stations and we be ready to fight.” He stated. Hetfield smiled once again. “And our cursed ship?” He enquired, a wicked smirk curling his lips. “I’d hate fer it not to be ready if the rumours be true about Captain Hammett pursuin’ us on our way.” “It won’t let ye down Cap’n.” Replied Ulrich with a nod of certainty. “An’ as to the rumours, I believe ‘em. The source I got ‘em from wouldn’t ha’ been lyin’ to me.” “Aye.” Replied Captain Hetfield, thoughtfully stroking his beard as his mind played back to him the destruction of the crew and taking of the treasure of the Death’s Lady. That Hammett had been a worthy adversary, but should have been dispatched at the time upon reflection. There would be no mistakes this time. Once again he thanked the fates for sending him Lars Ulrich as his First Mate. The Dane had more contacts in more ports than any other sailor he knew, a fact that he used to his full advantage. “Do ye want the Ymir to follow us?” Asked Lars, green eyes fixed on Hetfield’s face, reading his every emotion and thought. Hetfield shook his head. “No. Save Ymir for when we be needin’ her. Tell the men to hoist the colours. There be no quarter given today. No man on this vessel is to be spared. I want to see the sea awash with blood, and I want to see that ship burnin’ down to the surface o’ the ocean.” Replied Hetfield, harsh words accompanied by a sneer as he pictured the end of the merchant vessel. Ulrich chuckled and walked away to carry out his orders while Hetfield mounted the steps to the ship’s wheel. They were running well in a strong current that was pushing them ever closer towards their intended victim and he smiled, a cruel expression, one of a callous hunter intent upon it’s prey. He wanted to sail his ship into the battle, wanted to attack them and put another dead crew to his name. His name would go down through history, of that he wanted to be certain. Ulrich strode down the deck, issuing orders as he did, never looking back to see if they had been obeyed. If anyone didn’t they knew that they would have his razor sharp dagger at their throat, or Captain Hetfield to deal with. He made his way to the prow of the ship where he stood, looking at the figurehead, then out at the sea beyond. He could feel salt spray against his face and closed his eyes breathing in deeply. If Hammett was pursuing them, he knew he would have to bring the Ymir to existence along with her captive Captain, Newsted, and would need to call upon powers that he could not touch, and bring the ship and crew back into existence once more. Even as he thought about it his fingers went to the amulet about his neck, passed down through generations, lightly rubbing it as he did. He ran his tongue across his lips, tasting the sea. It was in his blood as it had been in his fathers, and grandfather’s before him. His ancestors had raided and pillaged from their longships and now he raided and fought as they had. Lars opened his eyes once more, staring out to sea again. The merchant vessel was in plain sight, no match for the swifter Revenge. It wouldn’t be long before they were upon her, and from the flurry of activity he could just make out aboard deck, they knew it too. He could feel the heat of the day’s sun on his head, and knew that the day would be hotter than hell itself. He tied his long, honey colour hair away from his face, and checked his pistols were loaded before lightly touching the hilts of his knives. He took a deep breath of the humid air. It was a good day for killing. As the ship drew alongside the struggling Mary Anne, a roar went up from Captain Hetfield’s crew, and the first cannons fired. And so the slaughter began. Lars rushed to the deck as Hetfield relinquished the wheel to another crewmember. As the cannonballs thudded home the first wave of the pirates began boarding, swinging across from one vessel to the next with practiced ease. This was their home territory, killing and plundering. The bloodshed continued until the Captain of the Mary Anne surrendered and he and his crew were tied up securely while what was wanted from their cargo was taken from them. Lars wiped the sweat out of his eyes, breathing heavily, watching over the captives. He knew it would be his job to choose which two to take down to the brig on the Revenge, to be set loose in the next port to spread the word of Captain Hetfield’s brutality. The stench of blood and sweat was thick in the air, mixing with the fresh salt, pitch, aged wood and canvas that came from the ship itself. Lars looked up to see Captain Hetfield stood beside him, bloodied and grinning widely. “We had a good haul.” He stated. “Pick yer two captives and we’ll leave this ship.” He finished. Lars nodded and motioned for two captives to be brought across with them. “Do I kill the rest?” He asked, knife already in one hand, idly twirling it in front of the rest of the captured crew. He couldn’t help feeling satisfaction at the looks of terror plainly written on their swarthy faces, begrimed with dirt, blood and gunpowder. They may have been gagged, but the looks in their eyes told him of their fear just as surely as if they had been screaming out loud. He didn’t care anymore. A life spent seeing just that look had hardened him to it. He certainly would feel no pity for men who given half a chance would have been just as happy to see him dead and doubtless supported the many people who would gladly see the world rid of the brethren. “Leave ‘em tied. They’ll be goin’ down with the ship as will the dead.” Replied Hetfield grimly as he turned and walked away. He returned to the Revenge and stood on deck in silence, watching as the Mary Anne was set alight, still with the captives still sat aboard deck. The crackle of flames and the acrid smell of smoke added to the medley of noise and aromas that filled the tropical afternoon. He smiled. He was Captain Hetfield, he was stood on the deck of his own ship, and he was the centre of carnage in an otherwise beautiful piece of paradise. Life was good. Ulrich ordered the captives be forced to watch the end of their vessel as she burned down to the water before having them thrown down in the brig. He looked away from the burning hulk in the water, and looked back up to where Hetfield was ordering the men to pile on full sail to take them away from their latest conquest and to take them to somewhere they could safely store some of the plunder which even as he spoke was being piled below decks. The ship would be stocked with tobacco, silk, spices and rum. There wasn’t much in the way of gold, but it wasn’t expected. Instead they had plenty to trade with when they next arrived at a port. Sometimes goods to be bartered where just as valuable as silver or gold. There would be a celebration that night, and he would consult with the Captain of the Ymir as that went on, see if Hammett was close enough to them for the curse to begin to take effect. |
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| springsatine | July 10, 2007, 10:45 am Post #17 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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I love this story!! It's like watching a movie!!Oh yeah... Captain Hetfield
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| Shayi | July 11, 2007, 7:45 am Post #18 |
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Bring me that horizon
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And on with the next installment ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Once they were well under way Lars went into his cabin in silence, closing and locking the door behind him. Best to find out whether Hammett was close before they spent the night drinking and ending up in no fit state to fight. Took off the amulet that he wore around his neck and looked at it for a few seconds, eyes glazing over as he slowly began reciting the words in a language he could only remember as an ancestral echo in his mind. He drew one of his knives and cut his palm, letting a droplet of blood fall onto the glassy surface of the amulet, calling upon the ship that was bound to him, to his ancestors and his blood. The Ymir was a ghost ship, neither dead nor alive, trapped between worlds, floating into eternity unless summoned by the line of Ulrich who held sway over them. It had been a millennium that the crew had been trapped on the godforsaken ship, Captainless and captive. Their Captain had been Skol Ulrich, who had sold them all into the shadows where they now sailed just to save his own skin. Whilst Lars was working for Captain Hetfield, the Ymir had at last gained a Captain. The Captain was a man who had sailed beside them, but disagreed with some of the ideals that drove Hetfield, and with the brutal way he had of dealing with his crew and his enemies. For that, he had been trapped aboard the Ymir, doomed to sail with them into eternity unless he was granted clemency somehow by Hetfield – something that he held out very little hope of. Captain Newsted stared at the dragons prow of his ship, cutting through the mists in the wake of the Revenge. They were bound to follow them, a world apart. The Revenge and the unfortunate merchant ship the Mary Anne were only ghostly shapes through the thick mist that pervaded the world between worlds. The sea below his ship was ink black, fathomless and full of nameless horrors. There was no sky above, just more of the impenetrable mist that plagued his every waking moment and stole into his dreams. Almost he could feel glad when they were summoned as a curse, as a weapon to be used to slaughter. At least for a while then he could remember the sun, the sound of the sea, the feeling of warmth on his skin and the touch of the breeze at his back. Trapped between worlds there was nothing. There were no waves, just a glassy smoothness that the stayed gliding through as they followed the Revenge. The full sails held no wind, and the air was damp and chilled. He slowly walked towards the bow of the ship, boots making a hollow knocking sound against the perpetually wet wood of the deck below. He could feel a crackling in the air, teasing across his skin and he rubbed one hand across his face waiting for the call he knew would be coming. A face appeared before the bow, familiar and cold. “Newsted?” The voice sounded almost as though it was coming from underwater, blurred and far away. “What?” He asked, voice harsh and rusty from lack of use. The crew of the Ymir rarely spoke. They knew what was required to keep the ship sailing and went through the motions soundlessly, ignoring him until battle was to be joined, getting the job done that they had done for a thousand years. “Where is Hammett?” “Hammett?” “Yes, Captain Hammett. Is he close by?” Demanded Lars impatiently. Captain Newsted shrugged. “Not close enough to be o’ concern to the Revenge.” He replied, scanning the misty horizon where he could detect the other ships of the brethren. He could see Death’s Lady as an indistinct image under full sail. Until he could see her clearly there was no danger to the Revenge. “But she be under full sail. She’ll catch ye yet.” He finished, a distinct frisson of pleasure running through him at the thought. A respite from the tedium of his existence, and the chance that Captain Hammett would take the revenge that he so desperately wanted. Bound to the Ymir there was no way that he could take his revenge, but he would gladly watch if Hammett could. Seeing Ulrich disappear he turned back to the image of the Death’s Lady flowing in the fog. Yes, she would catch them fast enough so long as nothing stood in her way. He watched the men moving around the ship, silent and surly as they went about their tasks. There was no Valhalla for them, no death to end this eternity. They had nothing to care for save killing to slake their anger and hatred for Skol Ulrich for trapping them there all those years ago. When he had first been taken aboard the Ymir, Newsted had found it eerie to watch the silently moving Vikings, relics from another age. It was only in battle that they seemed human once more, fury coursing through their veins, ancient battle cries ringing out to the skies. At first he’d been determined not to end up as one of them, as silent as the grave, inhuman. He’d read, sung, spoken to himself, drunk even though he no longer had need and eaten to try and retain a shred of his humanity. Over the years though there had seemed less point. He ceased to eat or drink, simply because he no longer needed to do it. The eternal supply of food on board reminded him only of what he had lost. There had seemed less and less point in speech when nobody would answer so eventually he fell silent, speaking only when he had contact from Lars, or when they were once again sailing the mortal world. Lightly he ran his fingers across the hilt of his sword, remembering when he had last felt alive. It had been too long. And there had been no need for the senseless waste of life that had ensued. Yes, the Redeemer had had thoughts of taking the Revenge, but to burn the crew alive on their vessel, save those few who managed to escape? Newsted shook his head. He’d fallen into piracy through a series of misadventures and still retained some of the morals he’d held when he’d worked on a farm out in the countryside back home in England. Sometimes the things that he saw still had the power to sicken him. As Captain of his own ship, Newsted had been happy to raid and pillage, kill when necessary, but not just for the sake of bloodshed. He thought with fondness of his ship, the feeling he had as he stood at the helm then shook his head. She had been long at the bottom of the sea before he was taken into Captain Hetfield’s service as a crewman. Now, now he was a Captain once again but this time on a ship beyond the grave. Pushing away the memories he went back to the prow of the ship, behind the proud dragon, watching the distance, waiting until they were briefly set free once more. On board Death’s Lady Captain Hammett watched as the sun rose higher, arcing over them, bathing them in the warmth of the Caribbean afternoon. He had still got his luck with the wind, and was in pursuit of the Revenge. He smiled to himself. Fortune still favoured him as there wasn’t a ship in sight and he could concentrate his efforts on making his ship fly towards his objective. Lightly he ran his tongue across his lips, mind flitting to the prisoner still down in the brig. A shame that it had to be done, but he had to learn that once warned there was no leniency, not for any man. Ignoring the rest of the crew he strode across the deck then below to the brig. As he opened the door leading in to the ship’s prison he paused, the rank odour of the filthy place hitting him full force after the fresh air of the outside world. He stepped across the threshold and towards the cage that held his crewman. Robert was sitting with his back against the bars, looking up with no expression on his face which Hammett found strangely disconcerting. Not something that he would ever betray to another. “Did you enjoy your stay?” “What the fuck do ye think?” Replied Robert with a marked snarl in his voice. Hammett chuckled softly. “I didn’t think that you would somehow. Are you ready to obey me without question, to do as I tell you, to follow me to the death.” “Aye.” “I didn’t expect you to submit so easily.” Murmured Hammett with a penetrating glance at Robert. “You’re not the man who I will submit to. Aye, you’ll be Captain and I’ll obey yer orders. I’ll follow you to the death, but beside that, I’m my own man, not yours. An’ if ye think ye can give orders to do something I disagree with, believe me, I will question.” He replied, his voice hard and unyielding. Hammett smiled again, a laugh just beneath the surface. No, this man wasn’t that easily bent to his will. And he was glad of it. “Very well. You realise that you are only alive because you interest me. Because you are the only member of this godforsaken crew that will stand up to me. But, never forget, Mr Trujillo… that if I give the word…you will be killed in whatever way I deem suitable.” As he finished his voice was barely above a whisper, a whisper that could chill through flesh and make a summers day cooler than the coldest winter. |
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| Raedoll | July 11, 2007, 8:12 pm Post #19 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Catchup is difficult with richly written chapters such as these. Captain Hetfield and Newsted are very interesting men indeed. Captain Hammett seems much more cold and distant in the last two updates...and I query how Mr. Newsted can remove himself from under the services of Mr. Hetfield. First mate Ulrich seems eager to please, as any should underneath a Captain such as Hetfield. Very well written, it flows well and makes the mind twist to wonder how to start painting the pictures created by the text. |
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| Shayi | July 12, 2007, 6:39 am Post #20 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you for taking the time to catch up with this one... it does seem to get rather involved.... but thank you I'm glad to know that it's read!! Onwards ever onwards then! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Robert narrowed his eyes, staring up at Hammett in a mixture of anger and defiance. “I know that, Captain. But when I go, I will take as many as I can with me. Remember that.” He retorted, getting to his feet in one fluid movement. Suddenly Hammett smiled and Robert could for a brief instant see a different man behind the cold, imperious mask he wore. “Very well Mr Trujillo. Very well.” He said, a rich chuckle just rippling below his words as he took out the key and unlocked the cell. “You’re free to take your place on board with the crew.” He stated, still smiling to himself, the smile of a sphinx, mysterious and unfathomable. Trujillo moved to the door and walked through, watching with a frown as Captain Hammett left the brig, closing the door behind him. He had never thought that the Captain was on an entirely even keel, but now and again it seemed almost like he was two people. The vicious killer hid a decent side, the sight of the man that he might have been if he’d found a different path in life. He stretched out, feeling his stiff and aching muscles slowly ease as he began moving again. He took up his twin swords from where they had been hung and strapped them to his back before thrusting his pistols back into the sash at his waist. It would be good to get out of the cold, stinking brig and get some food. As he went back up on deck he paused in the doorway, the sudden brightness of the day almost blinding after the semi-darkness. He closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath of the warm clear air, glad of the change. He scrubbed his hands over his face and headed back onto the deck where he was met by Rawlett. “Have ye learnt anythin’?” “Aye. I’ve learnt that the Captain ain’t necessarily the man we think he is.” He replied quietly. “I wouldn’t say that to the rest o’ the crew if ye has an intention o’ keepin’ yerself alive.” Replied Rawlett, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke before taking a long pull on whatever was in his hip flask. “We’ve run across a mort o’ trouble, so ready yerself.” “Hetfield? Or his cursed ship?” “Neither. Mustaine. He were a pirate, one of Hammett and Hetfield’s mortal enemies. Aye. There be more history there than you or I could ever know. Now, now he be in the employ o’ the East India Company. A privateer. Commodore Mustaine ‘e calls ‘imself now.” Rawlett shook his shaggy grey head. “He won’t give quarter. An’ I don’t think we’ll outrun him and be able to keep chasin’ the Revenge.” He finished reflectively, squinting into the distance, as if trying to gauge the speed of the ship now pursuing them. “We’re ridin’ light an’ from memory, Death’s Lady is one o’ the fastest ships in these waters.” “Aye, but to outrun Mustaine, we run the risk o’ losin’ Hetfield.” “Better to lose Hetfield than risk losing the ship.” Trujillo replied with a shake of his head, a few strands of hair escaping the bandana keeping it back which he pushed away from his face as he spoke. “Mayhaps.” Replied Rawlett slowly. “To outrun Mustaine would mean that we would either be off course for catchin’ Hetfield, or, we would run into him and have Mustaine catch us when we did.” Trujillo nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “T’isn’t easy bein’ Cap’n.” He murmured. “No, Mr Trujillo, it is not easy.” Came a soft voice from beside him. “Not easy at all. And now that the pair of you have quite finished discussing what I am to do? Rawlett, get back to your position. I need you to take the wheel for a while. Mr Trujillo, another word?” Robert stared at him, wondering how in the hells he managed to overhear conversations like that. He was not left to wonder long however. “It is a Captain’s business to know what is going on on his own ship, Mr Trujillo. Believe me; I have had much practice at it. Now. Rawlett is getting old. He’s been sailing under my command for a long time.” He paused and shook his head, looking out at the horizon. “No. Not now. Mr Trujillo, I told you before that I was interested in you. I want you to work with Rawlett for now. Alongside him.” “Why?” Hammett looked amused. “Why? Because you have been First Mate under Balen, and whatever difference we had, I respect his choice in men. Because I have a feeling about you and I am very rarely wrong. Must you have any further reasons? We currently have Commodore…” Even as he said the word he chuckled. “Mustaine heading for us. What I want to do is to buy us time. I have no intention of getting into battle with him, I have more on my agenda than just him. However, I cannot have him constantly pursuing the Lady while I attack the Revenge. You are with me so far?” “Aye…” Said Robert slowly, eyes narrowed as he contemplated. “She won’t be catchin’ us before nightfall?” “I did not underestimate you.” Murmured Hammett, his words only half heard by Trujillo. “No. She won’t catch us at all, not until we catch up with Hetfield.” “So ye mean to slow the Lady, let Mustaine get closer to ye?” “Yes.” Replied Hammett calmly. “And?” “When it be dark we scupper her.” Replied Robert with a low chuckle. He had run across Mustaine before he was a privateer and hadn’t been particularly enamoured of him then. The idea of scuppering his vessel right underneath him made him laugh. “It’ll do to buy us time. I don’t doubt they’ll keep her above water.” “They won’t let her sink. We just need to slow her.” Confirmed Hammett with another of his rare, genuine smiles that transformed him from a cold statue into something more human. “You, Mr Trujillo will take one of the longboats and a few men with you to do it. Needless to say, if any of you are caught, there will be no bartering to bring you back. You will be at the mercy of Commodore Mustaine and he may do with you what he sees fit.” Robert nodded, feeling a sudden chill run through him, despite the muggy heat of the day around them. There was a storm coming on. In every sense. “Aye Cap’n. I expect nothin’ less. Do ye want to pick the crew members who be goin’ with me or are ye leavin’ that up to me?” “You pick them, Trujillo. After all, it’s all your skins, so pick wisely.” With that he turned swiftly and strode away across the deck, giving several commands as he did so, watching with satisfaction as his men moved like a well oiled machine to slow the headlong progress of the Lady. Trujillo frowned as he watched him. That was a man that he couldn’t quite work out. Every time he thought that he had him pegged, something else would show through. Vaguely he wondered what had made him like that, changed him from the young man that Robert was fairly positive he must have been. Nobody knew where Captain Hammett had come from, only that he had appeared on the scene one day, fresh from the Barbary Coast and since then had been a plague upon the Caribbean. And now he wanted him to work alongside Rawlett? Certainly a step up and a responsibility he had long become accustomed to under Captain Balen. He smiled to himself and walked down the deck, selecting four crew members to accompany him. As he did he didn’t notice the eyes on his back, constantly watching with a mixture of bitterness, regret and anger. Night fell swiftly as it always did in tropical climes, thankfully a night with decent cloud cover, obscuring the moon and starts and leaving the sky an inky mass below them. The shape of Mustaine’s ship was almost impossible to make out through the darkness and all lamps were forbidden on deck. The only sounds as the longboat was lowered to the water were the creaking of wood and ropes, and a soft splash as it reached the surface of the sea. Robert closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. There was a cool breeze blowing and he could smell rain on its way – a change in the air. Without further ado he motioned for the men to start rowing, swift and silent, the oars making little sound as they smoothly broke the surface, bearing them away to Mustaine’s ship. He smiled to himself as he looked at the set, earnest faces of the men rowing with him. They knew as well as he did that they had to succeed. Men with the threat of death at Mustaine’s hands would work faster and better than those who knew that they would be rescued should anything go wrong. That was why he had made sure that they knew should they be taken, there was no going back. The first drops of rain were splashing down on them by the time they reached their goal. When they stopped rowing they were almost butted up against the dark form of Mustaine’s ship, Dragon’s Wrath, the sides towering majestically above them. |
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| Raedoll | July 12, 2007, 6:53 am Post #21 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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PIRATES! THAT'S IT! I'VE HAD IT WITH WOBBLY LEGGED, BLOODY, RUM SOAKED PIRATES!!!!! *snerk* Shayi I'm really digging this and the fact that Mustaine is a Commodore! It seems very fitting, seeing as he's proably too drunk off his arse to be captain material. Robert's getting promoted?! So suddenly!? Wowza!!! Poor Rawlette...geting old Poo. Hammett is Daft, lassie. DAFT I say!
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| springsatine | July 12, 2007, 8:05 am Post #22 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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Pirates in action nice
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| Verity | July 12, 2007, 10:20 am Post #23 |
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The Story Girl
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“Very well Mr Trujillo. Very well.” He said, a rich chuckle just rippling below his words as he took out the key and unlocked the cell. “You’re free to take your place on board with the crew.” He stated, still smiling to himself, the smile of a sphinx, mysterious and unfathomable. That's just awesome!!! Totally bad-ass writing. The volcabulary in this is world class!!! I can't wait to see what Commodore Mustaine is going to do. How will I ever survive the wait!!! This needs to be published into a book. A big, beautiful book with gold trimmed pages, and gorgeous illustrations. :horns2 |
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| Shayi | July 13, 2007, 7:40 am Post #24 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Edgirl - lol, cheers for that - good ol' rum soaked pirates! And I agree. Hammett is Daft with a capital D. Spring - Thanks chicky.... I hope you don't imagine Hetfield as too unlookable in this!! Verity - Thank you so so much! Well you get your wish, Commodore Mustaine will put in an appearance in this little episode I'm glad you enjoy it - and you know, I've always wanted to own a book like the one you describe! Anyhow girls - on we go! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Robert looked across at the other crew members in the boat as the rain started pelting down harder, a thunder against the wood of the ship, stinging as it lashed their faces. He nodded to them, signalling for them to pick up their tools and head over the side. Only one man remained in the longboat, waiting for them to return. Robert grimaced at the sudden cold of the inky water, feeling it seep through the clothes he had left on, chilling him through. Nodding to the two crew members to his right and then the one at his left they went swiftly to work, prising holes in the gaps between the planks of wood that made up the ship, breaking through the pitch. Even as they worked he thanked the fates that the wood was soft, almost spongy. Evidently Commodore Mustaine did nothing on the upkeep of his own vessel. A flash of lighting forked down, splitting the sky, followed by a roll of thunder that sounded as though the heavens would come crashing down in to the ocean. Robert glanced up briefly then double checked their work. It would be enough to slow the vessel, not enough to sink her. The holes were just below the waterline and were letting in water already. Swiftly the four swam towards the longboat, where the remaining crew member helped to pull them up. Adrenaline coursed through their bodies as they all plied the oars, moving swiftly towards the ship that would be their safety. Robert crouched in the back of the boat, watching the Dragon’s Wrath carefully for any sign that they’d been detected. Everything was silent and still aboard Mustaine’s ship until the next flash of lightening came, bathing everything in bright light, exposing the longboat trapped between the two ships. Robert swore furiously and the other men pulled harder on the oars, their own curses ringing out into the night only to be drowned by the constant drumming of the rain. There was a flash of light aboard the Dragon’s Wrath, a lantern light, swiftly muffled that showed briefly several figures moving swiftly across the decks. The familiar crack of a musket ball hitting the water sounded near them and the men didn’t pause in their rowing, not even looking to one side. Muskets were notoriously inaccurate, and they were too far away and it was too dark for any of Mustaine’s crew to manage to get a hit. Aboard the Dragon’s Wrath a man was stood at the prow of the ship, snarling out curses as he swigged from a bottle, now half empty. He could see that the longboat was going to make it safely back to Death’s Lady and he cursed again. He pushed damp tendrils of red hair away from his pale face and swung round to face his first mate, stood behind him with a look of fear on his face. “What the fuck d’ye want?” He growled, watching with satisfaction as his subordinate quailed slightly before him. “Commodore, they’ve holed the Dragon.” He stated, the scent of rum hanging about the Commodore telling him that it would not be news well received, even less so than if the Commodore had been sober. Mustaine’s expression went though several different variations before he just shook his head, turning away to stare out at the Death’s Lady. “Where is she holed?” He grated out, body tensed, fingers of one hand gripping the rail so tightly he knuckles blazed white. “At the waterline, starboard side.” Came the quiet reply. “There be crew fixin’ her, but ‘tis slow work.” Mustaine spun round, viciously backhanding Ellefson, his first mate. “Then get them workin’ faster. I will take Death’s Lady. If that bastard Hammett be afraid to come to me, afraid t’be a man an’ fight… then I’ll be the one to send him to Davey Jones.” He said, finishing on a vicious whisper, taking another long pull of rum, feeling it burn a trail down to his stomach, driving away some of the cold that seemed to drag through him. Ellefson stepped back a pace, wiping a trace of blood from his cheek from Mustaine’s rings. “Aye.” He replied sortly, stalking off, fury in every line of his body. Mustaine watched him go with a marked sneer, then turned back, staring at the sight of Death’s Lady through the darkness. He could feel it in him, a burning need, an overwhelming desire to see her at the bottom of the ocean, watch as she burned. Most of all he wanted Hammett aboard the deck of his ship, watching the death of his true love, his freedom, his ship. He wanted to watch as Hammett, that proud, vicious Captain crumbled in front of him, and he wanted to be the man to do it. Death’s Lady had eluded him too many times on the water, and Hammett had shamed him before his crew. A dark smile slid across Mustaine’s lips. Hammett would pay. As Ellefson walked away he softly cursed the Commodore under his breath. Fuelled by drink he was violent and unreasonable. Driven by an insatiable desire to wreak pain and suffering on all those he felt had wronged him he made for a very unpredictable man to follow. At the same time, who was to say working in the employ of another would be any better? A grimace stole across his face as he made his way across the waterslicked deck, heading slowly down into the foetid, stinking, rat infested bilge to urge the men fixing the ship to work faster. It was more than their lives were worth to go any slower. Even as he picked his way through the stinking waters he could imagine his sword slicing through Mustaine’s belly, ripping him open and then watching as he writhed, dying in surprise. He smiled to himself. Yes, that would be a good day. Vaguely he wondered whether it could be done, whether he could do it. He wouldn’t stay around much longer than that, he’d had his fill of piracy. From the money he could take from Mustaine’s coffers he could set himself up a tavern, live out his days celebrated as the man who slaughtered the traitor pirate Mustaine. He was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of hammering and furious cursing from the men working on repairing the ship. After one glance at them he could tell they were working as fast as they could and shrugged. There was no point urging them on faster when there was nothing more that they could do. Instead he stayed for a few minutes just watching before the stench from the stagnant, festering water began to get to him and he went back up on deck, keeping a weather eye on his captain who was watching as the Death’s Lady drew further away. Yes, once again, the Lady would give them the slip. He smiled to himself and looked up at the sky. The rain was slowing, and the thunder sounded further away. He knew what he wanted to do, and for the first time in a long time there was a hint of hope. A smile touched his lips as he headed for the rigging to go and help the men with the sails. Anything to stay out of Mustaines way, to keep himself to himself and to slowly plan. On board the Death’s Lady Captain Hammett watched through his telescope in satisfaction as Dragon’s Wrath began faltering in her progress, slowing down. He put the telescope away, stowing it safely in one of his pockets and wiped some of the water from his face before looking back to his crew where the men safely back from their mission were once again taking over their usual jobs, working alongside their crewmates. Robert walked up to the Captain and nodded. “It’s done.” He stated. “So I see.” Replied Hammett. “I saw the attack upon the boat, was there any damage to it or the crew?” He asked, voice cool and unconcerned. “No.” Replied Robert quietly. “All went well.” “Good. That was well done, Trujillo. You may utilise my cabin to dry yourself and change into some less vile clothes. Await me there.” Robert regarded him steadily for a moment, dark eyes unreadable before he wordlessly turned and walked away. He went down and entered Hammett’s cabin for the second time lighting the lanterns as he did, once again surprised by how clean and tidy everything was. There was nothing out of place in the room, evidently Hammett liked to leave no clues as to the man he was either through his speech, or through his belongings. Robert dragged his sodden shirt over his head, grimacing as he pulled strands of seaweed from his long hair. Next he rid himself of the trousers he wore and left them in a heap with the shirt. Those he would deal with later. Vaguely he wondered where Hammett kept any clothes as the rest of his were below deck. As he looked methodically through the chest he had guessed would contain clothes for something that would fit his larger frame he began to consider what it was that Hammett would have summoned him for. |
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| springsatine | July 13, 2007, 7:55 am Post #25 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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He he. Definitely NOT unlookable Can't wait for the next part!
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| Verity | July 13, 2007, 11:10 am Post #26 |
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The Story Girl
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Your commodore Mustaine was awesome!!! Poor Poor first mate Ellefson having to deal with an unreasonable drunk. Mustaine spun round, viciously backhanding Ellefson, his first mate. “Then get them workin’ faster. I will take Death’s Lady. If that bastard Hammett be afraid to come to me, afraid t’be a man an’ fight… then I’ll be the one to send him to Davey Jones.” He said, finishing on a vicious whisper, taking another long pull of rum, feeling it burn a trail down to his stomach, driving away some of the cold that seemed to drag through him. I can just see Dave dressed in full pirate's clothes, drunk off his ass from too much rum, and snarling those very lines. Totally awesome summer reading. it!
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| Raedoll | July 14, 2007, 1:49 pm Post #27 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Ellefson, as in David? *tilts her head slightly* Interesting that he's second in command. Robert and his men are fools to enlist under Hammett, and Ellefson even moreso to be dragged under wth Mustaine. *shiver*. The Commodore can probably piss rum at the rate he drinks. Robert getting special privalleges to use Captain Hammett's cabin? I wonder what This could lead to... this story. I agree with Verity, Lovely Summer Reading.
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| Shayi | July 16, 2007, 8:00 am Post #28 |
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Thank you thank you thank you I'm glad that you're enjoying this still. Ye, David Ellefson. Strange I know, but under the circumstances, he is the one who sprang to mind for first mate And Ashley, glad that you like my Mustaine. I tried to really dislike him, but he's a lot of fun to write!! Here we go again with some more:- ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Captain Hammett smiled to himself as he watched Trujillo disappear into his cabin. Yes, he knew that he wanted the man; he admitted that to himself, although the expressionless gaze that Trujillo had fixed him with before he went into the cabin had almost unnerved him. Almost. Slowly he traced his fingers along the grain of the wood in the rail of the ship, feeling each ridge cool and familiar under his fingertips. The question was – how far could he trust a man who had only joined his ship a few days before? Certainly he had been straightforward so far, but who knew a man’s soul? Having a feeling, an almost certain knowledge in your mind about a man was one thing. Trusting them with yourself, your life was another. Hammett frowned. He hated doubt, feeling vulnerable before any one at all, least of all before his own close scrutiny. Finally he smiled slightly. He would take what he wanted. The crew were his body and soul. Why should this man be anything different, any more than property to be used as he chose? The weather had slowly begun to clear once again, the rain slowing until it had almost stopped and the first light of dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon. Rawlett stepped up beside Hammett, his footsteps slow and deliberate against the wooden boards. “Cap’n… you may want to be seein’ this.” He stated, voice harsh and tired. He too had been up for most of the night, working with the rest of the crew in the savage rain. “What is it?” Asked Hammett, automatically pulling out his telescope. Rawlett frowned, pointing out to sea. Captain Hammett frowned, raising the telescope to inspect whatever it was that had drawn his First Mate’s attention. Through the slowly increasing grey of dawn he could make out a fog, sliding across the water, long tendrils reaching out towards them, filtering up into a large cloud that hung heavy and low. It looked almost like a solid wall and Hammett frowned. “I’ve never seen ought like it Cap’n. Not in all me born days at sea. ‘Tis an ill omen Cap’n, a curse on us fer followin’ the Revenge.” He stated darkly, pale blue eyes watching his Captain with a hint of anger and distrust. “Never again do I want to hear those words issue from your lips Mister Rawlett or suffice it to say, it will be much the worse for you.” Said Hammett, voice soft and sinuous, water flowing across steel in its cool intensity. “Yes, there is a fog, and we will sail through just as we always have no matter what the particular prevailing weather conditions. See to it that the crew are at their stations working as they should be. Then you may retire and have some rest. Do not think Mister Rawlett that you are irreplaceable however.” Stated Hammett, shutting the telescope and storing it in his pocket. “Aye Cap’n.” Replied Rawlett wearily. “Aye.” Slowly he walked away. He trusted his Captain, enough to follow him into the mouth of hell and back again. At the same time, it was no natural fog that they were headed for, never did a fog appear like that in the climes that they were in. He sighed to himself, steeling himself for the unfavourable comments of the crew that he would have to try to deflect about what they were to sail into, and why they were sailing into it. Once Rawlett had left him, Hammett looked at the cloud of fog through narrowed eyes. It would be harder to keep a tight rein over his crew with the closer that they got to the Revenge. He had no doubt that this was something to do with that ship, with that Captain. Which was a good thing. They were getting closer indeed. The fog was encroaching faster, moving almost as though it was a living thing, stretching out across the surface of the ocean towards them. Still, it would help to throw Mustaine off the scent once he could start sailing in earnest in pursuit. Hammett stretched slowly and walked down to his cabin, pausing for an almost imperceptible instant on the threshold before entering without knocking. He found Trujillo sat there at the table, eyes roving over a chart that he’d left unrolled on the surface. At the sound of the door opening Robert had stood up to face whoever was entering. The Captain paused once again, taking in the man before him clad in funereal black, taken from his own chests. Robert’s hair hung in waistlength wet strands and he was smiling slightly, golden tan skin glowing in the lamplight. “Cap’n, you were wishful to see me?” He asked quietly, voice a low rumble breaking the silence. Hammett nodded. “I was, Robert.” He replied, voice no longer the cold impersonal tone that he usually used, instead, a sensual sound, almost caressing the words as he spoke. Slowly he sat down, motioning for Robert to do the same. “I still am. However,” his voice changed once again, cold and impersonal once more. “we now have a situation on deck that needs to be dealt with before I deal with the situation here.” Robert regarded him with slightly narrowed eyes, reading carefully between the lines, watching the changing expression that flitted over the Captain’s face, swiftly veiled. “Aye? An’ what situation is on deck?” “We are nearing Hetfield’s ship.” He stated. “A mist has descended upon the sea, encroaching at a great speed upon this vessel.” Robert nodded, feeling the memories flood back of his last encounter with the Ymir. He knew full well what that mist meant. “So the Ymir is goin’ to be upon us soon enough.” He said quietly. “That is what I believe.” Replied Hammett. “Which means that we are getting closer to the Revenge. What I need from you Mr Trujillo is for you to be on deck with the crew. I need you to let them know, and subtly, for subtlety is often the key, that you have been in contact with the Ymir and this fog and survived to tell the tale. I have Rawlett there to disabuse them all of notions of curses and witchcraft, but should it grow beyond his control, you may slowly let on that you have survived this.” “Will that not undermine him?” Asked Robert raising one eyebrow in question as he watched the Captain. “Somewhat.” Replied Hammett calmly. “But, that is why I have told you that you are only to speak upon the subject once it grows beyond Rawlett’s control. You know as well as I do that seamen can be a remarkably superstitious breed and although for once what they believe is close to the truth, it will be best for them not to find that out until they actually encounter it for themselves. As long as they believe that they pursue only flesh and blood they will sail as though the devil himself was upon their heels.” “Aye Cap’n. But your men need no devil.” Murmured Robert, slowly testing how far he could push Hammett, slowly feeling him out. “No?” Asked Hammett, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “No. They have you.” Retorted Robert with a swift smile, breaking the previous tension that had hung in the air almost like a tangible presence between them since Hammett had mentioned the fog that was slowly trying to engulf the Lady. Hammett looked at him, dark eyes almost black, before suddenly smiling broadly, a chuckle slipping past his lips. “You may well be right there, Mr Trujillo.” He replied, standing up as he did. “I have a small amount of work to do here, but you will go back up on deck once more and return to your duties.” He stated, still with a smile playing about his lips. Trujillo nodded and stood up, walking towards the door. As he laid his hand on the door handle, feeling the smooth brass under his fingers he heard Hammett come across the room to stand beside him and turned to look directly into his face, seeing a briefly open expression, a strange moment where the Captain looked more human than he’d ever seen him before. “And Robert, when this has been dealt with, I will want to speak with you again.” He murmured, words almost like velvet to the senses, wicked and dark, a heady mix that threatened to overwhelm. He changed in an instant from a distant statue of a man into a creature of lust and desire, something to arouse the most chaste to sin, the flash of open want in his eyes a look that could take an angel to its knees. Robert nodded, not breaking eye contact with his Captain. “I’ll be lookin’ forward to that…Cap’n.” He responded before walking swiftly out of the room and back onto the deck of the ship where the icy mist was already easily within view, almost completely upon them. |
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| HEADBANGERZ | July 16, 2007, 8:11 am Post #29 |
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Mrs. Newsted
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this fic is sooo damn good, i've never read something like this before and i totally love it!! and imagine Newsted as a pirate makes me wanna ![]()
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| Raedoll | July 16, 2007, 11:39 am Post #30 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Awaiting orders, Captain Hammett....Dear Lord woman, what're you trying to do? Melt the face off of every reader that opens this place up? Jeeze. It's clear the good captain is lusting after Trujillo like a school girl, Mr. Trujillo reciprocating emotion to a certain degree as well. Mr Rawlette is aware of the danger he's in I believe, and needs to start choosing his words carefully o.o You know, I've got a theory, "It could be bunnies!" ((XD Sorry Buffy the Vampire slayer couldn't resist )) No. I've got a theory that Hammett is chasing after Hetfield like a Woman Scorned....and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Could there have been something in the past (other than Captain Hetfield's ruthlessness) that made Hetfield attempt to dispose of Hammett? PLOT HOLE. or just me being silly.
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It's like watching a movie!!
Poo. Hammett is Daft, lassie. DAFT I say!
nice
it!


4:27 AM Jul 11