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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 (6,142 Views) | |
| springsatine | August 5, 2007, 1:18 pm Post #76 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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I'm a bit slow reading this... I missed a lot of great updates. I can't wait to read the next Ulrich/Hetfield installment, they are my fav. pirates for sure!
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| Shayi | August 6, 2007, 11:07 am Post #77 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Ashley - thank you so so much, I'm glad that you liked that bit. In all honesty I'm really enjoying exploring Hammett. He's great fun. A little twisted perhaps, but fun! Spring - Cheers me dear! I'm glad you like that little pair Hetfield looked down at Ulrich, knelt on the bridge, his face white. “What did he say?” He asked, low voice harsh and tense, needing to know. “Stay this course, we be close.” Replied Lars quietly, slowly getting to his feet and tucking the amulet back down the neck of his shirt. “Anythin’ else? Ye be lookin’ like ye saw a ghost.” “Nothin’.” Said Lars shortly, beginning to walk away then staggering as the ship was hit by another huge wave. He bent his head against the wind, making his way down onto the deck with the other men, preparing them for what they were about to do, beaching the Revenge and finding shelter from the storm that was threatening to tear the ship apart and send them all to their deaths. Once he had spoken to the rest of the crew he made his way to the prow of the ship and stood there with his head tilted back, turning towards the stern to face the wind, feeling the icy rain lash his face while the wind was there pushing him back against the wood. In those moments he felt something, a strange, raw energy that flooded through him, a wild, savage primal joy as he stood against the elements feeling a fierce pride within him. He closed his eyes, half expecting to find himself upon a dragon-prowed ship when he opened them once again. When he did open his eyes he was still aboard the Revenge, drenched to the skin with his hair whipping across his face. He suddenly felt more energised, more alive than he had before. They would make it through the storm, that much he felt certain of. He threw back his head once again, shouting out a challenge to the storm, a long keening cry in the language of his ancestors. The wind carried away the words as they echoed deep within him and resounded down to the depths. Ulrich turned once again and stared out over the prow of the ship, sharp eyes watching for any sight of land. Slowly but surely night was beginning to fall, bringing darkness alongside the foul weather. He hoped that they would be able to beach the Revenge before night wholly came, which wouldn’t be too far away anymore by his reckoning. Hetfield grinned as he watched Lars at the prow and howled out his own challenge to the sky. Land was within sight and although it would be dark by the time they were able to beach the vessel he knew that they would make it. As he had predicted, they had the Revenge beached in the darkness and pulled up on shore out of the lashing waves. Exhausted the men huddled aboard ship, sheltering from the worst of the weather below deck where they lit some lanterns and drank, ate and played cards, feeling grateful for the respite from the howling weather outside. Ulrich sat alone, honing one of his knives, mind playing back over Ragnar’s words to him. As the hard voice replayed in his mind he could barely repress a shudder. True enough it was his ancestor who had trapped them there, but should they sail again he had no doubts in his mind that it would be him that they came after. And Newsted. Newsted had a grudge to settle with both he and Hetfield who had placed him aboard the Ymir, bound him to the curse. There was a cold feeling that filtered through him at that thought and he shook his head, pushing it away. What would happen, would happen and there was nothing more that he could do about any of it. Putting the knife down he took a long swig from the flask that he had offered James, feeling the sweet, burning liquid filter through his body. Something else that had been passed down through the generations of his family. It would keep out the cold, lighten his mood and that for him was what he craved at that moment. After tonight the Lady would be so much closer, close enough perhaps to catch and to take if the weather cleared. He had no desire to battle through a storm. If however the Lady managed to catch them at a disadvantage, beached as they were it would be so much the worse for the rest of them. He sheathed his knife and put the whetstone back in his pocket, eyes not focused on anything, staring into the middle distance. There was nothing for him to do but to wait. Wait and try to puzzle out Mrs Aggie’s words. At least that would keep his mind occupied. Hetfield sat quietly watching Ulrich and the other men, his clear blue eyes missing nothing. He knew that Ulrich was on edge, could sense it radiating from the smaller man. There was no fear mixed in with it – he couldn’t honestly remember when he had seen Ulrich afraid of something. But there was anticipation and frustration evident in every tense line of his body. “Not long, Ulrich, not long.” Came the quiet growl of Hetfield’s voice, filtering through into Lars’ conscious like smoke across water. Lars looked up at Hetfield, a sudden smile spreading across his lips. “Aye. I can feel it comin’.” He said softly. “Our fates will be upon us soon enough.” His voice dropped and he looked away, staring once again into the distance while Hetfield just watched him. It was unusual for Ulrich to be so quiet and reflective. Usually he was single minded in his pursuit of an idea, but now, he seemed much more inclined to a strange melancholy. Suddenly Ulrich looked back at him with a wide grin. “Aye there’ll be bloodshed afore this is over.” Hetfield raised the tankard that he held full of liquor and nodded at Ulrich. “To bloodshed, and to the death of Hammett.” He said with a wolfish smile before draining the tankard in one. “To bloodshed and Hammett’s death.” Agreed Lars, raising the flash once again, tilting it towards Hetfield in acknowledgment and then draining it, feeling the warm glow spreading through him once more, like fire rushing through his veins. He could feel the blood thrumming through him, and everything seemed heightened for a few seconds. He smiled to himself. There would be blood and death and he would make sure that he was in the centre of it, fighting side by side with Hetfield as he always had done. If death was to come to them, then it would come. He swore to himself that he would go down fighting as every man in his family was wont to do. He would not be the one to dishonour them all. No, he would die as they had and find out what was awaiting him after. His father had sworn to him that it was Valhalla. Others said he was hellbound. One thing he knew for sure was that it would be an exciting journey to get there. Hetfield saw the change in his expression, could practically read his thoughts as they rushed through his mind. Every emotion, every thought was reflected in Ulrich’s eyes, whether his expression was giving anything away or not. He knew that Ulrich was prepared to follow him to death no matter what. The thought made him smile slightly to himself. The simple knowledge that he had that kind of loyalty let him know beyond all doubt that he would be able to face down Hammett once again and this time finish what they had started. He would humiliate him once more, and this time, he would kill him, watch as his life drained away aboard the deck of the Revenge. No, he would not have the comfort of his own ship at the time of his death. He would die knowing that the Lady had been sent to the depths and that he would shortly be joining her. Those thoughts would be the ones to occupy him through that night and through the storm. Aboard the Lady, Hammett frowned as night fell. He felt no doubt that Mustaine would still engage them in battle, even through the rain and the darkness. In some ways he hoped he could turn that to his own advantage. He raised one hand to the sky, feeling the rain beginning to slacken slightly. Still falling steadily but no longer at the skin searing rate it was before. For that he was eternally grateful. He guessed that the Revenge had been running in the worst of the storm. True enough, what they had experienced was bad, but they were always just behind the worst edge. Through the darkness he could make out more clearly lantern-light aboard the Dragons Wrath, telling him that Mustaine was still gaining upon him, slowly but surely. Trujillo approached the bridge, walking as swiftly as he could, tying the loose strands of hair that had escaped the leather thong away from his face. He could see that Hammett’s expression was one of tension, a dark underlying anger that had no outlet. Not yet. The way Hammett’s knuckles shone white as he gripped the hilt of his sword was enough to tell him to step carefully around the Captain. Hammett looked up as he approached, eyes piercing him straight to his soul. |
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| Verity | August 6, 2007, 12:50 pm Post #78 |
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The Story Girl
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poor, poor, poor Capt Hammett with Hetfield and Ulrich toasting to his death. I can't help but think that someone is going to go down, but who will it be? I like all of the characters. “Not long, Ulrich, not long.” Came the quiet growl of Hetfield’s voice, filtering through into Lars’ conscious like smoke across water. That was awesome!!! I like it when James does that kind of growl. I love going into Ulrich's mind. He seems very brave, not fearing death, and his loyalty is admirable. But still, I would hate to see him go down. This is absolutely a fine piece of litarature! Magnificent! It's too good to call it a story or a fanfic.
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| Shayi | August 7, 2007, 10:56 am Post #79 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you so so much for enjoying this. And for sticking with it. And for saying such nice things about my story So, yeah. Thanks Ashley! Trujillo halted by Hammett, dark eyes watching him carefully. “Mustaine is closing fast.” Stated Hammett, almost looking through Robert as he spoke, not wanting to make eye contact yet. Part of him was still almost afraid to allow Trujillo close to him, not ready to completely open himself to another. Until he had let those thoughts pervade his conscious he would not have thought twice about it. Now, doubts and fears were beginning to creep into his mind and it angered him. And so he tried to keep himself as he always had, a cold, icy statue with no feelings visible to anyone else. “Aye, Cap’n. The men be ready fer attack.” He stated, keeping his voice low and gentle, not entirely certain of how Hammett was going to react to him. Judging by the expression on his face he wasn’t sure of how the man was going to react to him. Evidently whatever Hammett had been thinking about hadn’t been at all pleasant. “Good.” Replied Hammett shortly. “He will be upon us and I do not believe that either the weather or the prevailing light conditions will deter him from attacking us.” Robert simply nodded, not volunteering further comment, instead just watching the other man for a few seconds before looking out to sea once more, seeing Mustaine’s ship’s lights in the distance. It would not be too much longer before they were in range of the Wrath’s guns, that much was obvious. What he wasn’t so sure of was how to approach Hammett in the mood he was in, how to get into his head and see what it was that had him looking so cold and uncaring once again. “I have not yet thanked you for your work in securing the sail.” Said Hammett, still looking away, eyes focused directly ahead. “It was most commendable.” “Aye. Well it may have been.” Replied Robert, eyes narrowed as he looked at the Captain. “But ‘tis what needed doin’. I spent a lot o’ my youth workin’ the ropes so ‘tis no true hardship. Now. What I want to know, Cap’n is what it is that’s got ye in this mood. Yer sullen an’ cold where ye had a bit o’ humanity before. What is it?” He asked, feeling a flash of anger slide through him that he kept under control, quenched beneath his calm exterior. Hammett turned to look at him, face inscrutable as he studied the man before him. He knew that Robert deserved an explanation for his actions, but was not particularly inclined to give him one. There were some things that he was not ready to share for any man, no matter what his feelings about him were. “There is nothing that concerns you, Mr Trujillo. My thanks to you.” “Very well. Believe what ye will. I believe ye owe me an explanation. I’ll be on deck, preparin’ for his attack.” Replied Robert, swiftly hiding the flicker of emotion that had crossed his expression. He gave Hammett a curt nod and walked back down onto the deck, noting as he did that the storm was lessening slightly. Still the rain fell, but the wind had dropped which would bring with it calmer seas. All to the better. Yet none of that explained Hammett’s sudden change of attitude towards him. Evidently something had been enough to make him realise that he was afraid to trust, afraid to let anyone close enough to him to see the real man behind the cold façade. Robert let out a quiet sigh that passed unnoticed by anyone else. He could tell that Hammett had feelings for him and that they were something he could not face. It was almost ironic. Hammett who would face hell, fire and death could not deal with his feelings for another human. Hammett watched as Trujillo walked away, feeling a deep regret within him, regret for saying what he had done. Regret that he could not speak to him about what had happened. And a deep rooted fury at Hetfield for helping cultivate that side of his character. He saw Robert moving across the deck and shook his head. That man was one who could simultaneously drive him to the brink of madness and still help him retain his sanity. He would have to deal with it, a world without Robert was not one that he wanted to be a part of any more. Trust he would have to find. There was the distinctive roar of a cannon and Hammett glanced back towards the Dragon’s Wrath. They were close. Not close enough to hit them, just close enough to want to make their presence known. That was ever Mustaine’s way, reflected Hammett, he would always announce his arrival, fight by intimidation rather than by stealth. It was of no moment, he would wait until the Wrath was close enough to be a target before using the cannons, he could wait. He switched his mind away from Trujillo and contemplation of his own feelings and into preparation for battle, preparation to kill. The men slowly ranged themselves across the deck, weapons at the ready the anticipation of a good fight thrumming through them. It had been too long for them without any action, too long with strange incomprehensible things happening around them and a good fight would see things back to normal. Trujillo stalked up and down, hungry for something to do, encouraging the men, inciting them to chant loudly, a challenge to Mustaine that would be heard by his men aboard the Wrath. Below decks Rawlett was having the men ready the cannons, a dangerous task they all knew. The cannons firing would send them reeling back wards and as the ship tilted, ploughing through the rough seas there was always the danger of someone being crushed, of damage to the ship itself. Below decks it would be sweaty, smoky and suffocating, hot and dangerous. On deck it would be a different story. Exposed, slippery, it would be a desperate fight to keep the Lady. Mustaine drew closer and closer, another shot skimming across the deck, smashing through the rail on the far side of the ship. A great cry went up from the men on deck and the cannons below them crashed, letting out gouts of smoke from the side of the ship, deadly cargo speeding towards the Dragon’s Wrath. Hammett watched from the bridge with a smile touching his lips, savage, lips slightly parted, almost drinking in the atmosphere of death. Shots were traded between the ships and some of the bullets found their mark. The screams of wounded and dying men began to mingle with the sharp crack of muskets and pistols and with the pounding undertones of the cannon fire. Splintering wood skittered across the deck and down below holes were punched into the sides of the ships. Below decks Rawlett watched as carnage began to be the order of the day. The cannons fired wildly in the pitching seas, sometimes reaching their targets, other times being flung off trajectory. The floor was slick with blood while the stench of burnt flesh, gunpowder and smoke hung thick in the air. Screams of the wounded were drowned out by the almighty noise made by the Lady’s cannons. Still the men worked like demons, loading, re-loading, firing, spurred on by Rawlett’s familiar harsh shouts of encouragement and threats. The first grappling hooks began to dig wicked teeth into the rail of the Lady and Trujillo slashed the first two, watching the ropes trail uselessly down the side of the ship and hit the water. To his side more hooks were being flung across from the Lady to the Wrath, men giving covering fire so that their companions could begin to scramble across. One of the powder ran across the deck to Trujillo, speaking urgently to him before racing away again back down to the cannons. Trujillo shook his head in anger and began to make his way over to Hammett. Even as he did the first of Mustaine’s men were making it onto the deck, running at them, heading straight for Hammett who already had his sword drawn, balanced lightly on his feet, waiting to take somebody into death. Trujillo held his twin swords at the ready, waiting for them to make the first move. Hammett’s sword met his opponent’s in a harsh clash of metal. He could feel a primal joy surging within him as they fought, the knowledge flooding through him that either one of them could die, but that it was going to be Mustaine’s man who would. He revelled in the heightened senses, the feeling that time was almost standing still around them. Fighting to him was almost like a dance, lightening fast and intricate. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Trujillo fighting, his two blades like quicksilver, blood and water streaming down the steel. He noted how the man moved with a savage, powerful grace as he battled, before turning his attention back to the group that was converging upon them. With an instinctive sense of his immediate surroundings he moved so that he was back to back with Trujillo as they faced down the men that were surrounding them. Trujillo parried one man with his left hand above his head, swords crossing to the hilt whilst ducking low to stab up into the throat of another barely even registering the low gurgling sound as the man slumped to the ground, bleeding out his last moments into the deck. “Cap’n?” Queried Trujillo before hearing a scream from behind him letting him know that Hammett had claimed another victim. “You were coming to speak with me?” Enquired Hammett, swiftly wiping away the sweat and rainwater that blurred his vision even as he fought. “Aye,” Replied Robert, “we need to be makin’ land. She’s takin’ on water too fast.” He stated, both regret and anger in his voice. Hammett’s face betrayed no emotion at the news. “Very well Robert. We will dispose of these, and then,” he glanced upwards, “we shall proceed under sail.” “Aye, Cap’n.” Replied Trujillo with a strange smile, even noting that the Captain had used his given name in the heat of battle. Hammett would come round to trust. “We be close enough to land as it is.” “True. We will need to make haste to the more sheltered side of the island. At least there is wood in that area and protection as we make our repairs.” “Although… Hetfield.” Began Robert, slight concern in his expression. “Compared to the Lady,” said Hammett, looking at the bodies at their feet, “I do not care about Hetfield. So long as I have the Lady, I can pursue him again.” Robert nodded his understanding as they both stood there, breathing hard, bloodied and watchful. It seemed as though the majority of Mustaine’s men had been repulsed and then another great cry went up from the crew of the Death’s Lady as two cannonballs connected by a chain splintered through the mast of the Wrath. Hammett watched with a sneer of satisfaction as the mast began to topple. Mustaine’s men would no longer fight. Now it was just a race for two badly damaged ships to make it back to land once again. Mustaine’s men began swarming back onto the Dragon’s Wrath while Hammett with one last glance at Trujillo went back to the helm, savagely twisting the wheel, forcing the ship to port, breaking the connections with the Wrath. Any man who was left behind was left to his own devices. Even as he did he saw Robert on his way up the rigging once more with a group of men, unfurling the soaking canvas of the sails. It would be a gamble, but one he was willing to take to save the Lady. It irked him still further that he had seen Mustaine on the deck of the Dragon’s Wrath, bellowing orders and scrapping with the men who had made it over. Mustaine would have come onto the Lady in the second wave of his men, but that second wave had never come. They would meet again, that was sure enough, and when they did, he would be the one watching the flame haired devil dying. |
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| springsatine | August 7, 2007, 1:44 pm Post #80 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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So good to read that my boys are going well. I love Lars' loyality to his cap. And seems like we are not going to know why Hammett is so angry at Hetfield, yet ![]() I wanted to ask you this for a while, have you ever written love stories? Or they just aren't your type?
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| *MiAnA* | August 7, 2007, 1:57 pm Post #81 |
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Blackened
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I just read your story, and I think it's beautiful, and very well written. You've got great tallent at writting! I really, really fell in love with it.I can't wait to find out what caused all these conflicts. The battle scene is great, almost as if I was actually there. My favourite pirates so far are Ulrich and Hetfield. I love the way you describe all the characters so well. Beh, I was allways bad at making reviews, or commenting on something. Someone should make a movie adaptation of this story
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| Verity | August 7, 2007, 2:28 pm Post #82 |
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The Story Girl
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flame haired devil??? That's an awesome description for Mustaine. That chapter was really amazing. Action, deep thoughts, suspense!!! The relationship between Trujillo and Hammett is so real. Hammett, being dark, mysterious, and afraid to trust. I wonder why he is though. I am interested to find out the secrets of his past. I really thought that someone might happen to Hammett or Trujillo in this chapter. I'm so happy that you spared them. But I know there are more battle and death scenses to come. The part where you mentioned "the atomosphere of death" that was awesome. Because of this fic I haven't had to buy myself a book. Rock on and I can't wait for more. I'd say it's a page turner, but I can't since it's on a computer screen. It's a screen scroller.
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| Shayi | August 8, 2007, 11:41 am Post #83 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Man thank you all so so much. Spring: Nope, not yet. But we will find out, don't worry. And yes, I have written love stories as well! Miana: Thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying this one and I'm glad you like the descriptions and characters! (and I don't think you're bad at commenting! :P) Ashley: Yeah I spared them in this one although there were a couple of moments when I considered doing otherwise. However, full complement of characters alive for now (future death scenes and battle scenes to come of course...). *G* Glad you liked the descriptions in this one. Thank you so much for sticking with it all! (and you know, I actually blushed when you said you hadn't bought a book. Hah!) Right then. Roll on the next chapter! On the Dragon’s Wrath Mustaine swore loudly, glaring round at his crew. He was almost beyond words, fury blazing through him. His ship’s mast lay at a crazy angle over the side of the ship, trailing in the still churning waters. Men were working furiously, trying desperately to save the sails and some of the ropes for when they could make land and rig up some kind of mast. Below decks men were working swiftly to ensure that the ship wasn’t taking on too much water through the splintered holes that had been blasted by the Lady’s cannons. The wounded and dying were being tended to by the ship’s doctor, mainly on the deck of the ship. Mustaine slammed the hilt of his sword against the rail of the ship, frustration radiating from every plane of his body. Death’s Lady had escaped him once more, Hammett was still alive, his beloved ship, the Dragon’s Wrath was damaged, many of his crew were injured and some were dead. “Work faster ye scurvy dogs, we need to be makin’ fer land afore ye get a taste o’ the cat.” He roared, voice carrying over the wind, over the rain and through the darkness. The men toiled faster, knowing they risked both Mustaine’s ire and death in the waters of the Caribbean if they did not get the ship moving towards land swiftly. Mustaine stared balefully up at the sky, willing the weather to calm so that they had more chance of making it to safety. He took several long gulps of rum before stowing the flask safely back within the sodden folds of his coat, coughing slightly at the harsh burn of the liquid that stripped his throat leaving it feeling raw and abused. The accompanying glow that spread through him seemed only to fuel the flames of his anger rather than calming him. He stared after Death’s Lady who had broken free of them, who’s great sails were catching the wind, sending her plunging into the next wave. His usually pale countenance was suddenly suffused with colour, blue eyes blazing. He knew that there was no-one else really to blame for what had happened, but he needed something to take his mind off his ignominious state. Finally the men under Ellefson’s direction had hauled the ropes and canvas free and had severed the remaining part of the mast, sending it plunging over the side into the sea. As it went the ship rocked back onto a more even keel, the deadweight that had been dragging the Wrath violently to one side released. Ellefson watched it as it went, half-picturing it as the Captain’s lifeless body being pitched from the side of his own ship. He wiped sweat and grime away from his eyes with the back of his hand. All this just for a score to be settled. An incredibly old score. Why couldn’t Mustaine just stay with easier prey? There were fat merchant ships, for instance which were easy money with rich pickings for all. Instead Mustaine appeared to feel an overwhelming need to take revenge on Hetfield and Hammett. It wasn’t just for the glory of taking down either of those notorious men, although that did play a large part. No, Ellefson had heard another reason from the Commodore many a time. Once, Mustaine had sailed under Hetfield. It hadn’t lasted for very long. They were all still quite young at the time and Mustaine had had a problem with drinking and authority which had led to ructions between he and Hetfield. It led to his being left in a port while the ship sailed on. His replacement had then been Hammett. That was the shortest version he could remember. When Mustaine had told the tale it was usually overly embellished and filled with drunken ramblings. And now Mustaine was willing to risk putting his own ship down in the depths if it meant that he could catch the two men who had eluded him for so long. Ellefson shook his head, before walking away towards his cabin. The storm was at least blowing itself out slowly but surely so at least they had a chance of making it to land without being claimed by the sea. Until then, he would do his utmost to stay out of the way of Mustaine who’s temper, foul at the best of times would be entirely irrational by this time. Mustaine stood at the wheel, watching with narrowed eyes as the men slid the mast into the water. A snarl slipped past his lips as he watched, anything that delayed him just gave more kindling to his anger. He was certain that it was Hammett’s doing. He was positive that his luck was due to that demon in human form, one who needed to be killed no matter what. It was almost as though he had a curse sailing the oceans, a curse that he simply could not lay to rest. Somehow, this was all the fault of Hammett, of that he was almost certain. He stared out to sea, mentally running through the islands in the region that were close to them, ones that he had noted on his map previously. It always paid to know where you could run to when the occasion called for it. They should make it to one of the closest islands, even damaged as they were. He took his compass out of one of his pockets and made a swift adjustment to the course of the ship. Without the shrieking wind behind her she was moving painfully slowly, driven on by waves and currents, but still making progress towards the nearest island. Mustaine closed his eyes and shook his head, staggering slightly as he did, holding himself upright on the wheel. He almost wished that when he opened his eyes it would all turn out to be a nightmare. With a shout he opened his eyes, and realised that yes he was living in a nightmare, one that was currently of his own making. He snarled, feeling the rage that had been slowly ebbing away begin to build up within him once again. “Come here, you.” He growled, pointing to one of the younger members of the crew who was ineffectually trying to make some sense of part of the tangled and waterlogged rigging that was festooned across the deck from where it had been hastily hauled free of the fallen mast. Obediently the lad came towards him, eyes wide with something approaching fear but still holding reckless defiance. Mustaine could remember another who had been so like that, the same bright blue eyes that held a fire that would not be extinguished, the same waves of long gold hair although the lad’s was currently hanging limp around his face, darkened by rain and sea, and the same leonine expression. “What’s yer name, boy?” He asked, leering into the lad’s face, breath hot and stinking against the boy’s cheek, as yet unmarred by more than a light dash of stubble. “ William.” Replied the boy, tilting his chin upwards, meeting Mustaine’s gaze, voice clear and hard, refusing to back down, even to the Captain. “William?” Asked Mustaine, leaning back once more to get a better view of the lad. Yes, he was far too familiar, those burning blue eyes that met his resonated with memories of another pair that seemed to burn right through him. “Ah William. Ye be far too familiar to me. I can’t have ye growin’ up like he did. No, can’t have ye makin’ the same choices, can’t have ye doin’ the same to me as he did.” Even as he spoke his voice had fallen into a low, chanting rhythm and the lad stared at him, eyes narrowed, trying to understand what he was talking about. Mustaine shook his head, the lad’s face swimming before his eyes. James, William, William, James, they seemed to be one and the same, the images of the two changing before him. Yes, this lad was the image of a younger Hetfield, proud, uncaring, ready and willing to take on anyone and everyone. No, he couldn’t have another Hetfield on his ship, couldn’t risk that. James had set him adrift once. He couldn’t have this lad who looked so like him do the same. The lad was still staring at him and he shook his head again. “Ah William I can’t let ye do it.” He stated, pulling his sword from his belt and running William through in one swift, violent stroke before the lad even had a chance to protest or defend himself. William stood there, staring down at the length of steel that ran through him, uncomprehending. He looked back up at Mustaine as he pulled out the blade, now a column of white hot agony that ran through him before falling to the deck, hands clutched to the bloody hole. Mustaine watched as the lad slowly bled his life away before him and laughed, feeling sudden elation. That was one less risk, one less thing to concern himself with. The men closest who witnessed what Mustaine had done shuddered. They had seen death and faced it down countless times, but this seeming madness of their Commodore was something else altogether. The sooner they made it to land with the stricken ship, but better it would be for all of them. Mustaine just smiled, ignoring the body at his feet, wiping his sword clean on the leg of his breeches and sheathing it before taking the wheel once again. Aboard the Ymir Newsted was watching the proceedings with interest. He had seen the Wrath lose her mast, watched as the Lady was holed and smiled. Yes, they would need to make land soon. It would be good to see what was to come of them. Hammett he hoped would survive. He would need Hammett to take the Revenge so that he could get a chance at grasping freedom. Mustaine could be useful should Hammett fail. It gave another chance of Hetfield being taken in battle, of Ulrich falling, of him being able to take his freedom back once again by any means possible. Newsted smiled to himself, watching and waiting. |
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| Verity | August 8, 2007, 1:20 pm Post #84 |
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The Story Girl
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I loved the Mustaine backstory!! I like how you based it on the real backstory with him and James. You just made it the pirate version. I liked it. I loved this part “Work faster ye scurvy dogs, we need to be makin’ fer land afore ye get a taste o’ the cat.” He roared, voice carrying over the wind, over the rain and through the darkness." Again, I can just hear Dave snarling that. You should be writing lyrics for him. Seriously though, my husband was trying to get me to go to the bookstore and I was like: I don't need to, when I have fanfics on met chicks to read that are just as good. ![]() I can't wait to see what's going to go down with Newsted on the Ymir. Oh, the suspense!!! |
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| Raedoll | August 8, 2007, 1:50 pm Post #85 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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I'm caught up, I swear. Holy freaking cow. Death's lady and Dragon's wrath possibly sinking?! WTF!??! I loved the battle scene, and the way you described the ships getting damaged. Mustaine is such a ruthless killer though I wonder what he'd do to Kirk. I enjoyed the story about Mustaine being left at a port, it fit very well with the historically accurate aspect and the twisted into a pirate story part. I really can't wait for the fates of the Lady and Wrath. Eagerly anticipating your next twist!
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| *MiAnA* | August 8, 2007, 3:08 pm Post #86 |
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Blackened
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Although he's a drunk crazy and violent man, I like Dave's character a lot. I also feel kinda sorry for William. He was killed just because he resembled James You got me wondering if James had a son or something, but then you killed him so... that pretty much ended the tought xDI also liked a lot the backstory. It's the perfect pirate version of what really happened Still, I'm very anxious to find out why is Kirk after the Revenge.Well, I can't wait for whatever's comming next. I'm addicted
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| Shayi | August 9, 2007, 10:46 am Post #87 |
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Bring me that horizon
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I'm glad all you guys liked the bit of backstory that went in there Miana - Glad you like Dave as well, writing a drunk madman is quite amusing Ashley and Edgirl, thank you guys, I'm glad you're still doggedly reading this one, and that you're still into it! Here's the next chapter then! This episode and tomorrows will be the last ones for a fortnight as I'm away for a fortnight. So this part is a little longer than normal! Ragnar appeared at Newsted’s side. “You’re being happy.” He remarked, looking at Newsted with a querying expression. Newsted smirked slightly, “aye, the Wrath and the Lady be heading fer land. They fought an’ both were damaged.” He stated, a smile still on his lips. “Neither be at the bottom o’ the ocean. Hammett still be havin’ a chance ter bring down Hetfield an’…” He broke off and Ragnar smiled. “An’ then freedom.” He said with quiet satisfaction, gazing out over the side of the Ymir, watching the shadowy, veiled shapes of the Wrath and Death’s Lady as they struggled to make it to land. “I think they will be making it.” He observed, lightly laying one big hand on Newsted’s shoulder before moving away once more, leaving Newsted to his own reflections. Aboard Death’s Lady they were making swift headway with the following wind howling into the great sails, filling them and driving them forward. Below decks Rawlett had a team of men working furiously to keep pumping water out from the ship. They worked as though the legions of hell were at their back, rather than just a grey-haired pirate, knowing that if they didn’t keep enough water out, the Lady would be going down with them along with her. In the rigging Trujillo tied off the last of the ropes he was working with, looking down at the deck below briefly, then gazing out into the storm lashed sky, and at the dark crimson sails. The Lady felt like home, somewhere that he was connected to. A ship could take a man that way, once he knew her rhythms, her feel, her sounds, her scents, then he was hooked and there was little he could do to escape her. The sea and the ships were cruel mistresses but ones that he had long served. Yes, he knew how a man could fall in love with a ship, would do anything to see her safe. Same way that a man could fall in love with the sea. A dangerous love to be sure, but one that had burned within him since he was a child. He smiled slightly to himself before making his way swiftly down the ropes, climbing as natural to him as walking, dropping back down onto the deck once more. He looked round at the rest of the deck, still bloodied although other crew members were swabbing the deck, removing the pools of blood that remained made easier by the rain that still fell, diluting it further. Another group were getting rid of the bodies, weighted and thrown over the side into the water. He watched without emotion as members of the crew were consigned to the depths. It was something that came with the life that he had chosen to lead. The risk of death came in so many ways, battle, accident, disease, death on land or at sea. He had lost countless comrades over the years and knew that he would lose more as the years wore on. Eventually he too would go into the cool dark embrace of death and the ocean. He shook his head, drawing his mind away from the morbid thoughts. They had come off lightly as far as death was concerned and the ship’s surgeon was tending to the wounded. Trujillo looked away, rubbing one hand across his face. He was looking forward to making land, having a chance to sleep, a chance to eat, a chance to dry out for a while. Sleep seemed like such a long time away, and he’d only managed to snatch a cup of water and some stale biscuits to eat and guess that most of the rest of the crew were in the same situation. Certainly Hammett and Rawlett were. He glanced across the deck checking that everything there was running as it should be, the men had been in enough battles to know their places and their tasks to clear up afterwards. Hammett was at the helm as he tended to be, keeping them on course. Trujillo made his way down below, to talk to Rawlett, see what needed doing down there, if he could do anything to help to keep them above water. Anything else could wait until they made land. He knew that he needed to talk to Hammett, but it would wait, it would hold until they knew that they were not going to be the latest victim of the seas. Below decks it was hot and stinking. Men were working pumps furiously with Rawlett standing over them red-faced, spurring them onwards. At the sight of Trujillo he paused, acknowledging him with a curt nod. “Ye need an extra pair o’ hands?” Asked Trujillo. Rawlett’s face relaxed into a smile. “We have ‘er.” He said, jerking a thumb at the men working away. The smell of sweat, blood, wood, smoke from the cannons above them, salt and the grunts and curses of men were filling the air in an intoxicating, almost suffocating mixture. “What be happenin’ wi’ the Wrath?” He asked, vaguely curious as to what had gone on above decks while they were pumping out the lower parts of the ship. “We saw ‘er mast goin’ over.” “Aye, a great shot if ever I saw one.” Replied Trujillo, knowing that keeping Rawlett on his side was imperative. Yes, Rawlett had accepted him, but he had no intention of antagonising the man. “I believe they be makin’ fer land. Las’ I saw they were pitchin’ the last o’ the mast over the side.” He stated with a low chuckle. “I’m glad ter be hearin’ that.” Replied Rawlett. “That Mustaine got a chip on ‘is shoulder about Hammett, aye, an Hetfield.” He stated, eyes narrowed. “Hammett took ‘is place aboard Hetfield’s ship.” He finished with a sharp bark of laughter. Robert stared for a second before his expression became veiled once again, hiding his thoughts from the other man. “Hammett sailed aboard the Revenge?” “This were years afore Hetfield ever had the Revenge. I only know about all o’ this from drinkin’ wi’ an ol’ member o’ Mustaine’s crew once awhiles back.” Said Rawlett with a shrug. “So the sooner Mustaine be out o’ our way the better. At least then the Cap’n can be concentratin’ on riddin’ the world o’ Hetfield and satisfyin’ his bloodlust in that direction. Aye, an’ then the rest o’ us can go back ter plunderin’.” He said, a slightly sour note in his voice before turning to one of the teams on the pumps. “Put yer back into it Mr Joseph or ‘tis the Cap’n’s wrath ye’ll be feelin’. ‘E won’t take kindly to the Lady bein’ at the bottom.” He bellowed, voice huge in the confined space. “I’ll be on deck again.” Said Trujillo, turning to leave. Rawlett just nodded, back to being absorbed in berating members of the crew. Most took it in good humour, knowing when Rawlett was just doing it for the sake of show and when he was completely serious. Now, he was completely serious. Their lives depended on their ability to keep working, not to give in to their burning muscles or shortness of breath. There would be time to rest when they were safe. Until then all human concerns, pain, hunger, exhaustion were of no moment. They had to continue. Back on deck Trujillo saw Hammett gesture for him to go up to the bridge and made his way up there swiftly. “Below?” Asked Hammett shortly, not wasting words when it came to his beloved ship. Until they got to land safely he would not think about anything else. Not what was between he and Trujillo, not about Hetfield. What mattered was bringing the Lady to shore safely. “They’re workin’ the pumps as hard as they can’. Makin’ headway against the water.” Said Trujillo, looking directly at Hammett. He could not say for sure how long the men would keep winning the battle against the water that kept being driven in through the gaps in the planks by the wild sea outside and he would not lull Hammett into a false sense of security. Hammett nodded, glancing up at the sky. “It’s beginning to calm.” He noted then gestured over the prow of the ship. “And there be land.” Trujillo smiled, dark eyes suddenly lighting with the expression. “Then we’ll be makin’ it.” He stated, turning and walking away from the Captain and going below deck to take the news to Rawlett. True to prediction they made it safely to the natural harbour on the side of the island hauling the struggling Lady up the beach where they would be able to repair her. Mustaine was following behind them, that much Hammett knew, and he would be drawing up to the same island as they were on. All the more reason to try and effect a swift repair of the Lady and put out to sea once again. Hetfield, he didn’t know where he was. For all he knew Hetfield had been put to the depths by the ferocious storm that was still raging overhead. Hammett allowed the men to rest, to eat and to just shelter within the beached ship before they began the repairs. He himself ate and drank swiftly and left the ship, walking slowly across the beach towards the cliffs. He would feel more secure when he had had a chance to take a look around them. After so time aboard ship the land felt strange, as though it was moving beneath his feet. Only the ocean felt natural now, right. His sodden clothes clung to his skin, sticking to him as he moved. He hadn’t noticed it during the heat of battle, and the ensuing race to land, but now, now they were beginning to grate on his already slightly frayed temper. He heard footsteps crunching softly on the wet sand close behind him and spun round in a flash to see Trujillo following him. “Yes, Mr Trujillo? What is it that you want?” “I’d like to talk to ye, Cap’n.” Stated Robert, voice hard and uncompromising. Hammett looked at him, raising one eyebrow as he did. “Very well. Come with me to the top of the cliffs and we may talk.” He said unexpectedly, expression inscrutable. He knew that he needed to speak to Trujillo, he didn’t relish the task particularly, but it was something that he needed to do. Without another word he turned and continued towards the cliffs, slowly beginning to climb towards the top. It was a steep route, but not impossible, and was one that he had done before. Robert watched as he started up the rain-slicked rocks and followed him up. He was surprised that Hammett had agreed so readily to talk to him. He only hoped that it would not be a case of Hammett avoiding the issue and refusing to truly deal with it. The pair of them climbed in silence, finally reaching the top breathing heavily, almost glad of the chill of the rain on their heated skin. Hammett turned to look at Trujillo, taking in the man before him. His long black hair had escaped all restraint and was hanging in damp strands around his tanned face, now pale with fatigue and the grey light of dawn that shone on them all. He felt a sudden strange need that he swiftly quashed. What had to be done now was more important than his more primal urges. “What is it, Hammett?” Asked Rob, breaking the silence that was stretching between them under the ominous, still thundering sky. “You wish me to tell you everything?” “Not unless ye be happy to do it. I jus’ need to know why it is that ye be untrustin’ o’ me.” He replied, keeping his voice quiet and gentle, not wanting to push Hammett further away, trying instead to draw him out. “It isn’t just you, Robert. It’s anyone. I no longer have much trust left for people. Not after I was betrayed by Hetfield. He did things to me that I do not believe anyone should have to suffer. Things that will still bring me nightmares. And yes, I will tell you all of it, and I hope that then you can understand. I want to be with you, Robert. I want to trust you and that in itself scares me.” He gave a self-depracating laugh and shook his head. “Yes, cold, cruel Hammett does feel fear. Death I do not fear, but love and trust in another is something that shakes me through to the fibres of my being.” He said quietly. “What do ye want to do?” Asked Trujillo, dark eyes filled with understanding and for Hammett, a flickering of hope. The Captain for once seemed almost breakable, vulnerable in front of him. “I still want you, Robert. You may not want me when my story is done, but I still want you.” He said with a slightly twisted smile. Robert shook his head, not bothering with words. There wasn’t much need for them any more. He stretched out a hand to Hammett, smirking as Kirk pulled him in to a kiss, cool lips and hot mouths, chilled flesh pressed together, wind and rain whipping around them. As they broke apart Robert smirked. “An’ there ye have my answer.” He stated. “Ye want to tell me yer story now, or in the dry?” Kirk chuckled, then suddenly stiffened, eyes catching sight of something that he had missed before. Without another word he dropped low, motioning for Trujillo to do the same. Robert followed his lead and slithered forward with him to look over the edge of the cliff where a thin plume of smoke was rising. He motioned for Trujillo to come closer and he did, staring down at the beach in the next cove. The sight that met his eyes made him stare and turn to look at Hammett who was looking at what was there with an icy smile curving his lips, anticipation running through him. On the beach below them lay the Revenged, beached as the Lady was with the crew thronged around her. A plume of smoke was rising from the smouldering wood where she had evidently been struck by lightening whilst on the beach if the jagged burnt line down one side of the ship leading to the sand was to anything to go by. They could just make out Hetfield stood there gesturing at his men and Ulrich stood beside him. “Well, this makes this a little more interesting.” Said Hammett looking across at Trujillo who was suppressing a chuckle. The situation struck him as somewhat humorous and potentially rather fraught if Hetfield found them there and decided on a pitched battle there and then, especially as they still had the wounded from the battle. “Aye, it does.” Replied Trujillo with a sudden smile lighting his expression. “Shall we be gettin’ back to the Lady then?” “Yes, I’ll have a lookout posted atop this cliff. Until then you and I will go and take some shelter from this storm and perhaps get some sleep? Beyond anything else I believe that we deserve a drink. The men are on double rum rations – those who are not involved in the repair of the Lady.” Said Hammett once again looking more human again, unlike the inhuman statue who had been sailing the ship after the battle. “I’m certain that we will be able to talk then as well.” “Aye, wine has a way o’ loosening the tongue.” Said Robert with another swift grin standing up and moving towards the cliff edge to return to the Lady with Hammett close on his heels. |
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| *MiAnA* | August 9, 2007, 11:08 am Post #88 |
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Blackened
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A fortnight... Thats a lot! Well, as allways, great job with the story so far. It's getting better and better. And they are in the same beach as the Revenge, so I can't wait to see what happens next. I have to say, I was pretty exited to hear the backstory, but the twist was awsome. Keep up the great job, I'm loving it
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| springsatine | August 9, 2007, 12:39 pm Post #89 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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Oooh, I just love the pirates atmosphere! Poor William though XD. The fact that Hammett considers Hetfield as a cruel person, makes me want to like him more XD. I'd love to read some of your love stories Did you post some of them here already? |
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| Verity | August 9, 2007, 3:21 pm Post #90 |
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The Story Girl
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I'm so going to miss these pirate stories. But I do hope that you have a wonderful, whimsical, and magical time while you're away.With that said, now to the fiction. I could just about smell the blood, sweat, and woodsmoke from the Death's Lady, and though it's not a pleasant smell, it's what makes you such a good writer. I wonder what Hetfiled ever did to poor Hammett. Eek!The poor guy can't trust anyone, and you wrote it so well “Yes, cold, cruel Hammett does feel fear. Death I do not fear, but love and trust in another is something that shakes me through to the fibres of my being.” He said quietly. That line was totally awesome. I hope that Trujillo can teach Kirk not to fear love and trust. |
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I wonder what he'd do to Kirk. I enjoyed the story about Mustaine being left at a port, it fit very well with the historically accurate aspect and the twisted into a pirate story part. I really can't wait for the fates of the Lady and Wrath. Eagerly anticipating your next twist!
4:27 AM Jul 11