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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 (6,141 Views) | |
| Shayi | August 10, 2007, 9:53 am Post #91 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Miana - Glad you're still enjoying this one Thank you so much for reading this much! Spring - Not yet I haven't but when I get back, I will. Verity - Thank you so so much You rock. Right then here's this section! See y'all when I get back! On the other side of the cliffs, Hetfield and Ulrich stood back a little from the rest of the crew, surveying the smouldering lightening strike that had shimmered across the Revenge, leaving a darkened scar in its wake. As soon as it stopped smouldering the ships carpenters would be working away at it, getting the vessel seaworthy once again. Hetfield scowled, expression as dark as the clouds above. This was all wasting precious time that could be better taken up with seeking out Hammett, or waiting on the seas for Hammett to come to him. Ulrich shook his head, cursing softly as he surveyed the damage then glanced up at Hetfield before lapsing into silence. He too was frustrated at the latest turn of events. A period of being stuck on an island without civilisation of any kind with a ship that couldn’t sail, and still they were being soaked through by the rain, covered in fine gritty sand from their hurried departure from the ship after it had been struck. Ulrich looked up at Hetfield for a few seconds then back at the ship once again. “Ye can’t say that we weren’t warned.” Muttered Hetfield, eyes never leaving the ship. “Aye. Aggie be right all too often.” He replied quietly, expression subdued. “But there be no use mournin’ what we can’t help.” “Aye, you be right.” Replied Hetfield with another look up and down the length of the charred wood. It would delay them and yes, they might not meet Hammett, with the rumours and destruction that followed Hammett around, he would not be too difficult to locate. Men like Hammett never went unnoticed among the brethren. He was both to be feared and respected, hated and admired. Hetfield knew what that felt like. He’d worked hard to bring up his reputation to those kind of stakes and would never let it slip, not for any man. The position of Captain could be precarious, there were always those who could organise a mutiny, could have him killed. With the crew he sailed with, it was unlikely but like all things at sea, entirely possible. Hetfield lightly lay one hand on Ulrich’s shoulder. “Ye’ll be havin’ bloodshed soon enough, Lars,” He murmured, “by the time this be through, I think perhaps we’ll have more blood than we were thinkin’ possible.” “Aggie’s words been playin’ on yer mind?” Asked Ulrich with a sly smile, surprised by the surprisingly mellow mood Hetfield was still in, despite the lightening strike on the Revenge. True enough at the time he had cursed up a storm, screaming bloody blue murder out to any man, god or fate that was listening to him. Now that they were stood there, looking at the damage where there was nothing that they could do all he was becoming calmer, accepting the situation. Although Ulrich could still feel frustration bubbling through him he too was retaining an outward calm. There was nothing that they could do and to show too much impotent anger before the crew would only make their mood more sullen and angry than it already was. And an angry crew could become dangerous. “Aye, they have now an’ agin.” Replied Hetfield with a shrug. He still did not hold with fortune telling, or any form of what seemed to him to be witchcraft, but Mrs Aggie’s predictions had been playing through his mind, preying on him like ghosts that would not quite leave. Some things seemed almost to make sense, but as soon as he tried to grasp at the meaning it flitted away from him, leaving him with nothing but a sense of irritation and loss. A storm they had most certainly had, though whether it was also to be counted as a storm in their lives he wasn’t sure. He could surmise that whatever happened next could be taken to be a storm within their lives, battle and bloodshed would live up to that description. As for the meeting of men long parted and death, that he could take to refer to himself and Hammett, along with Ulrich and probably Mustaine as well and in all truth if he had anything to do with it that would mean death. Death of both Hammett and Mustaine two men he would be glad to see out of his life for eternity. As to the rest of her prediction, those were the parts that he struggled with. There was a teasing thought at the back of his mind that they were not the only ones referred to in the prediction, that perhaps the ice and fire referred to others, not to him or Ulrich. Even as he thought, Lars shrugged and spoke. “I too have thought about it. We’ve ‘ad the storms. We’ll be meetin’ wi’ Mustaine and Hammett one day sooner ‘n later… but the fire an’ ice? I don’t believe that be us. I believe that be Hammett. Hammett be the ice, though what the fire be, I know not.” He stated, so clearly echoing Hetfield’s thoughts that the Captain was taken aback slightly. “Aye, that would be makin’ sense to me.” He said slowly then shook his head, expression hardening once more. “That be enough o’ that kind o’ talk now.” He said, voice suddenly becoming harsher. Ulrich looked at him with slight surprise registering on his face for an instant then shrugged, remembering just how much Hetfield tended to shy away from discussing such things. It was almost strange that he had admitted to be thinking about it all in the first place, but then Hetfield had never been the most predictable of men. “I’m goin’ back aboard.” Stated Ulrich with a yawn, looking at the dawn light that was flooding the beach. “I’m in need o’ some sleep an’ I’m of no help out here. No man can do anythin’ until the carpenters ‘ave done their work.” He stated, lightly touching the amulet beneath his shirt, glancing up at Hetfield who shrugged. “Aye, do that.” He said shortly, turning back to survey his ship. Ulrich nodded, walking away, back to his cabin, lying at an angle where the ship rested to one side on the sand. That was not a concern to him, he wanted to get some sleep before going fishing and foraging while the carpenters worked. There was nothing else practical that he could do until they had finished. On the other side of the cliffs, Hammett and Trujillo had gone back to the ship and had gone into Hammett’s cabin, ignoring the slightly drunken angle, swiftly changing into dry clothes. They sat on the bed, sliding back until they were against the wall, both with a bottle of wine in hand. Glasses were unnecessary. In Trujillo’s view they were nice for an occasion but invariably pointless, and in Hammett’s mind, the need for assistance in unburdening himself outweighed any need for civilization. Hammett took a swift mouthful of the claret liquid, swallowing without bothering to savour the taste. He could feel his close control on his emotions slowly waning as he thought back over what it was that he was about to relate to Trujillo. His history. His history with Hetfield. The one thing that had come close to breaking him altogether. And now, somehow, he knew that he was going to share it with another. Something inside him was screaming at him to run, to stay as he had been for so long. Alone. Self-sufficient. Untrusting. But he quashed the feeling and took another drink. Trujillo waited in silence watching him and waiting. The minutes felt like they were stretching slowly into hours as Hammett waited, lightly running a section of the cotton sheets between one thumb and forefinger, composing himself and his thoughts. Finally he looked up at Trujillo, eyes dark and face cold. “To begin, Hetfield and I, we have not always been such enemies. When I came into piracy, we were all still young. From very different backgrounds as you may well have guessed but once you are a pirate, things like that cease to be of any moment. We sailed together under a Captain Ahan for a few years and that was fine. Then we ended up going our separate ways. I worked under another Captain, Hetfield, well, I heard nothing of him until I found out that he was Captain of his own ship. After a few months I ran into him in a port and ended up becoming a replacement for the First Mate. So you see we have a long history.” “Aye, ye certainly do.” Replied Trujillo quietly, letting Hammett pause, arrange his thoughts, decide where he was going to go next. He would be as patient as needs be. The story was something that he wanted to hear and needed to hear. “Mm.” Hammett took another drink and shrugged, fingers slowly tightening against the glass as he spoke again. “Ulrich was a good friend to me at that time as well. He is currently Hetfield’s First Mate and was in his crew even then. After some time, Hetfield and I became lovers.” He broke off with a chuckle at Robert’s expression of surprise. “Yes, it is true. Maybe that’s why the flames of enmity burn so brightly between us. Ever has there been a fine line between love and hate, they are such powerful emotions. We were both fire in that relationship and yes we burnt each other. I admit now, I betrayed him. I betrayed him. I was both young and foolish. He wasn’t blameless in my actions, far from it. But in the end, I slept with a member of the crew who I believe is currently being punished aboard the Ymir, ostensibly for some other crime, but he was the one who I betrayed Hetfield with. I took what plunder I thought was mine and left the ship. Hetfield was furious. Ever a man ruled by his emotions. He swore revenge upon me forwhat I had done.” “And for this you and he pursue each other across the seas?” Asked Trujillo, eyes narrowed. It seemed like too small of an excuse, not enough for to rouse Hetfield to such fury. “No. Not just for that. I not only took plunder from him, I took half of his crew. I had humiliated him in front of the other half of his crew and he does not take humiliation lightly. I took his pride from him and he will not forgive that. Not ever. He also did not take the loss of half of his crew lightly. I believe that he has had his revenge on me already. He thinks differently.” Hammett broke off, face set in an icy mask as he fought to keep his rising emotions under control over the next part of the tale that he was to tell the man sitting beside him. Robert remained silent, sensing that Hammett needed time to keep the rigid control that so characterised him, realising that to Hammett’s mind he could not lose that. He knew that it was the only thing that was holding him together. Hammett took a slow breath, letting it out quietly before he began speaking again. “In the intervening time, I came into ownership of Death’s Lady. Hetfield attacked us and undercrewed we lost. He took me aboard the ship as his captive along with Rawlett and slaughtered the rest of my crew.” As he spoke his voice was completely devoid of any emotion and the only sign that he felt anything was the tightness with which he held the neck of the bottle, knuckles white, bone showing through skin. “That day I lost my ship and my crew and my freedom. I don’t know how long we were kept in the brig. Rawlett he fed. I was starved and beaten. He used his fists, wanted to make it personal. I was tied up and beaten by him until I couldn’t stand. That, yes that I could deal with. I knew that one day it would stop. Even then I was trying to think of some way to escape from my hell, to find the Lady once again. But it did not end there.” “Ye don’t have ter do this.” Said Robert quietly, seeing the expression finally come into Hammett’s face, something dark and unearthly, an anger and hatred that could never be denied. “No, Robert.” He said, voice suddenly harsh. “You will hear of what Hetfield did to me and you will understand why I will kill that man. I am willing to trust in you, but you must be willing to bear the knowledge of the burden that I hold.” Trujillo nodded, eyes never leaving Hammett who acknowledged his agreement with a slight nod. “Hetfield had Ulrich tie me to the mast. I don’t believe that Ulrich wanted to obey him at that moment. We had long been friends and I believe that a vestige of that remained between us. Any fight between Hetfield and I did not concern Lars. However, he obeyed Hetfield. I was left there, out in the elements, unclothed and ignored until I was almost unconscious. And when he had done that to me, he raped me. He took me again and again, then let the rest of the men do the same, all those who wanted to.” Hammett broke off, a palpable shudder running through him. |
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| *MiAnA* | August 10, 2007, 11:06 am Post #92 |
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Blackened
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No wonder Hammet wants to kill Hetfield. The way he interacts with Lars makes it seem almost impossible that he'd do something as bad as he did. I liked the interaction between all of them. The backstory was also great as usual, but I feel sorry for Kirk. Who would have tought Newsted would be involved as well... Can't wait for more. I'm going to miss your daily updates Still, i hope you have a great time while you're away.
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| springsatine | August 10, 2007, 11:19 am Post #93 |
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The Outlaw Torn
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Hetfield is such an evil man Can't wait to read the next installment! And yeah, have a great time while you're away
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| Verity | August 10, 2007, 1:53 pm Post #94 |
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The Story Girl
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Hammett and Trujillo were awesome together. You described the wine scene just perfectly. Glasses are pointless aren't they?? I can't imagine poor Hammett being starved and beaten and raped. I guess that means not to mess with Capt. Hetfield. I'd be seriously petrified of the man. He shows no mercy. I thought the part about Hammett betraying Hetfield was interesting. It makes Hammett such a deep character, who even has his own faults. I didn't see the two as lovers coming . That was a total twist and surprise. Have a wonderful time while you are away!!!!
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| Raedoll | August 11, 2007, 12:52 am Post #95 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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The history within this story is rich and brilliant, I'm really loving the details and then the sudden twists, turns and dips and flips through the story. I can't believe Hetfield ruined Hammett the way he did, though Men and their Pride are forces to be reckoned with. All three pirates trapped on the same island with ships unfit to sail? Uhoh. I'm smelling swordfight, battle, and death. The sun is red, Sailors take warning say your prayers. Beware the Locker and Ymir, Freedom has such a great price that it drives to Insanity. I can't wait for more, it's so much at once and I love the pace of the story. You're a good writer, Shayi. You make everything so real and rich. The subtle things suddenly pop out and jerk to attention you can't help but want to press onward, quickly. Readily awaiting the next installment. |
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| Shayi | August 26, 2007, 6:05 pm Post #96 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Hey guys, back again now Thank you guys so so much for all your great replies to the last chapter, I'm so glad that you're all reading and enjoying it Here is the next installment! (Still typing up the rest from my handwritten stuff that I did on holiday!) Robert swore low under his breath, just trying to process the information. It was difficult to imagine that happening to Hammett, difficult to consider that kind of pain. He was about to speak but Hammett was continuing, lost in another world, another time. "All I really remember about that day is blood, agony and sweat. All that I could see while his men took me was his blue eyes burning into my own. And he laughed. Hetfield wanted to break me that day, redeuce me to nothing. He failed int hat much. I swore to myself that I would never break for any man. I was the rightful Captain of the Death's Lady and no man was going to break me that way. That was the only thing that helped me retain my sanity." His voice had turned quiet and reflective before he shrugged, knocking back another swig of wine. "I regained the Lady evenutally, got a new crew and the rest as they say is history." There was silence between them for a few minutes, the only sounds being that of heavy raindrops against the wood as Trujillo digested the information, letting it all sink in. What he had just heard chilled him to the core. He took a long pull of wine, wincing as it hit into his icy centre. He looked at Hammett who's expression was once again inscrutable. Robert was surprised that Hammett had taken down his walls so far, let him know the details of the horrors perpetrated upon him by Hetfield. It helped him to understand why Hammett had such problems with trust. No, Hammett wasn't blameless, his was the initial betrayal, but Hetfield had been sadistic, inhuman and had driven Hammett to be the man he now was. Hammett watched Robert with a strange expression, not quite smiling, but not cold or withdrawn. "There is not anything for you to say, Robert. I just hjope that you now understand at least a little of why it is so hard for me to give you the trust that you need. That you do deserve." He stated quietly. Somewhere behind the soft spo0ken words there was regret, a sadness for something lost that could never truly be regained. "Aye," replied Robert softly, "I understand. I'll not be askin' o' ye sommat that ye be unable to give me." He said, dark eyes never leaving Hammett's calm face. The Captain shook his head. "No Robert, I merely hoped for your understanding. My trust you have somehow gained. You just need to understand that at times it is still difficult." He finished, putting down the bottle of wine with a yawn. "Ye have my understanding." Stated Robert simply, shifting off the bed and putting the remains of his wine to one side. "No more talkin', ye be in need o' sleep an' so do I." He said, his low voice firm, brooking no questioning from the Captain. Hammett gave him a look of slight surprise, swiftly veiled but raised no objection. Kirk was in nio mood to nay say anything that was proposed to him. He was tired, physically drained from the long hours they had put in during the day aboard ship and mentally from re-living his own personal hell. At that moment there was nothing that suited him more than just getting some sleep. The storm would blow itself out swiftly enough and they would be able to repair the Lady and head out to sea once more. There was of course the small matter of the Revenge in the adjoining cove, but that was something that could wait until they had slept. Hammett sat back and watched as Trujillo pulled off his clothes, the grey dawn light that filtered through the windows, soft and almost ghost-like as it touched him, casting the planes of his body into gentle contrasts of silver and shadow. Yes, this man had been many places and done many things; his muscled body told of a life of hard work, scars told of one of many dangers. And yet in Hammett's eyes it held beauty. It was something so far removed from what they had been discussing it seemed to Hammett almost as though they inhabited and entirely different world. Robert broke him out of his reverie. "Are ye gettin' yer clothes off or are ye sleepin' as ye are?" Hammett chuckled, looking up at Trujillo with something approaching a smile. There was a softening about his expression, a slight warmth that just made its way to his eyes as he stood up, stripping swiftly before rolling into bed without another word. Aboard the Dragon's Wrath Mustaine peered bad-temperedly into the rain, squinting against the downpour, trying to make out the sight of land. A grey smudge that appeared to have nothing to do with the weather was growing ever larger and he quickly pulled out his telescope, peering through the old and battered instrument. It was land, that much he knew for certain. A jubilant smile transformed his habitual expression. They would make it. Once again he and the Wrath had cheated the elements, escaped that which had been the fate of so many other men and ships. It never ceased to make him smile, the amount of times he had cheated death. Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that such a state of affairs could not last forever, but at that moment he felt invulnerable. He was Commodore David Mustaine and he and the Dragon's Wrath had once again escaped the clutches of Davey Jones. That was enough to set him into a good mood once more. All they had to do was remain on the same course and find a gap in the cliffs where he would be able to safely beach the Wrath, draw her up on the shore and rig up a duty mast would do until they were able to go back to a port where proper repairs could be effected. Mustaine's luck held as he believed that it would. No strange machinations of that devil Hammett couls stop him. The Wrath made it safely through a gap in the towering cliffs that enclosed a natural bay, sheltered from the elements where they were able to beach the ship, pulling her up the sand away from the ravages of wind and waves. Mustaine strode across the shore as soon as he was able to disembark, speaking to crew members, reminding them that he was Commodore Mustaine, that he had been the one to bring them to safety and that he was the one who was blessed with luck and would lead them all on to victory and riches. Ellefson ignored him, instead staring morosely at the exposed hull. He could see that it was in dire need of careening, covered as it was with barnacles, algae and other organic growth. The wood beneath was spongy and soft, that much he knew from working down below previously. Still, that was Mustaine's outlook. Until there was an immediate danger of the ship sinking and of them drowning he would keep his mouth shut. Hopefully by that time he woudl have been able to disappear into a port, get away from Mustaine once and for all. The rain had eased off to become a light drizzle which would end soon enough with the heat of the day. The grey dawn light was giving way to the brighter light of morning. Mustaine sent a team of men out into the surrounding trees, armed with saws and axes to bring back a suitable tree to be stripped and fashioned into a rough mast. Ellefson volunteered to accompany that party. Anything in his view was better than remaining near the volatile Commodore. In the meantime the Commodore shut himself away in his cabin, eating as hearty a breakfast as he could muster while poring over charts to try and ascertain what island it was that they had landed on. The men heading out into the forest were grumbling mildly at the trun of events, but Ellefson knew that in reality they were just grateful to have made it in safely to land. The heat was swiftly building, letting them know that it would turn into a stifling, humid day working amongst the trees, shielded from any breezes that came in from the sea. The hum of insects also rose to prominence as they moved further inland, forming an unfamiliar cacophany that elicited more mutters from the men which Ellefson chose to ignore, continuing to lead them forwards,searching for a suitable tree. He needed one that was tall enough, straight enough and not to thick, something that could easily be made into a mast. Most in Ellefson's group were men that were born and bred to the sea in one capacity or another who had found piracy more to their tastes than any honest trade. This meant that they were ill-equipped for travel through the tangle of trees that they were presented with and were naturally suspicious of the unknown and inclined to be surly as they went. It did not make for a pleasant time, the deeper in that they went. Silence fell amongst them, stretching as taut as a wire shivering on the edge of snapping. Ellefson shrugged off the atmosphere. It was no worse to him than the constant state of tension that existed around Commodore himself. Besides, in his youth, Ellefson was a country boy, born and bred and had spent the first years of his life running wild in the fields and woodlands of his home village so the tropical forest that they had entered held no real fear for him. The only thing that unnerved Ellefson was not the noises of the trees or the animals that made them their home, but the small rocky tors with deeply etched pagan symbols that preyed upon his mind. It had been a long time since religion had disturbed his thoughts, but at the sight of those symbols he was suddenly thrown back to a small country church. He could see the warm sunlight on the old grey stones, smell the polished pews, the scent of the ripening apples from the orchards outside. For a few seconds he could almost hear the parson's voice droning on in the late summer air while he, then a small boy, wriggled in his seat, dreaming of going out and playing in the hayricks. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. This place was a world away from that village and he was far from that innocent boy that he had once been. He had blood and death on his hands, one of those who would enver be clean or innocent again. With that on his mind he struck out harder into the trees, trying to forget. After finishing his repast Mustaine folded away the charts in front of him with a smile that finally reached his eyes. He knew where he was and knew for certain where it was that he was going. Abruptly he got to his feet and jammed a hat over his flaming locks before divesting himself of his greatcoat and striding out of his cabin. He descended to the beach and without a further glance at the ment massed ion the sand began walking away towards the trees in a slightly different direction to that which had been taken by Ellefson and his party. Mustaine walked with supreme confidence. It had been many years since he had been to his destination, but he kenw that he could find it again; that much he was in absolutely no doubt of. The heat and the relative darkness between the trees did not disturb him. He had been there before and it almost suited his mood of dark determination. He noted the same kind of symbols that Ellefson had and paused beside one of them, taking a long swig of rum to keep his confidence bolstered before continuing on his way. He began to lose track of time and space, knowing only a growing thirst that alcohol couldn't quench and still the surity that he was going in the right direction. Not long after the trees stopped and a garden appeared in the middle of the clearing, filled with strange plants, together with a house that appeared to be growing out of the forest itself. There was silence as he moved towards the building. There was no birdsong, nothing, even the insects were quiet, letting nothing mar the close heat and silence that surrounded the dwelling and its land. For a few seconds Mustaine hesitated, the brooding, ominous atmosphere penetrating his outer bravado. After fortifying himself once again from the flask he kept with him he walked forwards to the house. As he drew closer it was plain to see that the house had become overgrown with vines and creepers while white gleaming skulls peeped out from between broad, dark green leaves and vibrant flowers. Here adn there long bones hung, swayed slightly by the wind that picked up around the dwelling, rustling against the leaves in a ghostly chorus. Ignoring all of this Mustaine strode up to the door and rapped loudly. The door was opened by a creamy skinned beaty, dark sloe eyes regarding him with lazy amusement. "Ah, David mon cher. It has been a long time, no?" She asked,twirling a few strands of dark hair between her fingers. "Aye, that it has, but I be in need o' yer assistance." "Mm, I thought that you would be." She replied with a soft laugh as she stepped aside to let him in. He came slowly over the threshold, eyesroving around the room that he had entered. Amongst lanterns strung from the ceiling nestled shrunken heads, beautiful flowers stood alongside jars of preserved body parts and creatures. Bloodstains jostled for position on the table with papers and quills. The macabre so seamlessly joined with the ordinary jarred Mustaine and he looked back to Antoinette, the woman who allowed him to enter almost looking for reassurance. She was standing watching him as he made his inspection of the room completely impassively. "You have questions that want answers, do you not, mon petit?" She asked, barely glancing over her shoulder as two more women descended the small staircase to her right. "David, we thought that it was you." Said May-Lin, a smile touching her red, rosebud lips. She ran her fingers through her black, silky hair, letting it fall around her delicate face as she watched David through long lashes. Behind her Lotus nodded, ebony skin reflecting the light with a golden glow as she moved slowly across the room to Mustaine. "Aye, I 'ave questions, but I also 'ave a request fer Pierre." He stated harshly, feelign strangely intimidated by the three women who circled him, eyes devouring him like the predators he knew them to be. "David, David, we will answer you questions, then for the rest we will summon Pierre." Said Lotus, taking his calloused hand in her slender, soft one, leading him over to the table. As she sat him down Antoinette and May-Lin silently cleared it of all the clutter that had accumulated on the surface. They moved slowly and deliberately as they placed a bowl, pitcher of water and a phiall of dark liquid on the surface before him and he could feel his natural impatience rising, ready to consume him. The fact that any of the three of them could end his life as easily as they could snuff out a candle was all that kept his temper in check. The three women sat opposite him, all watching him silently. Lotus glanced at the other two before her gaze went back to Mustaine. "You are ready?" She asked almost haughtily. "Aye." He replied shortly, willing her to begin. He knew that there was no point in verbally rushing any of them. Things would come in good time. Antoinett picked up the pitcher and poured the water into the bowl. "Seawater, for you are a sailor." She said simply as the smell of brine filled the samll room. David felt as though he could almost feel the breeze on his face, hear the waves and the cries of the wheeling gulls. May-Lin picked up the phial of dark liquid, adding it to the mixture. "The blood of men that rests on your hands." She stated as the familiar sickly, coppery, cloying tang of blood mixed with the scent of the sea. The clash of battle adn screams of men filled Mustaine's head until he thought he could bear it no more and then they suddenly ceased and he was looking at the three women once more, his fingers wrapped in a death grip around the arms of the wooden chair in which he sat. "And now we begin." Said Lotus, her strong, musical voice playing on his senses. "What is it that you would know?" Mustaine paused for a few seconds before replying. "Where be me other ship?" He asked, voice strangely hoarse as he spoke. As the three women stared into the dark mixture in the bowl before them, the surface shifted and an image appeared. A ship rested holed and rotting in the darkness of the ocean. Now and again pale rays of light filtered down to her, playing lightly across her timbers. "Sunk, Commodore Mustaine." Said May-Lin, voice mocking as she spoke. "Or, Captain Mustaine as you now are once more." "So sorry, cher." Said Antoinette softly, "you have further questions for us?" Mustaine stared at the three and at the image in the liquid, letting out a howl of rage and disbelief while the three women before him regarded him impassively. "'Tis the devil Hammett." He muttered through gritted teeth, blue eyes blazing as he glared down into the bowl. "Hammett is just a man." Said Lotus, looking at Mustaine with a hard expression, weighing and measuring him with uncanny accuracy. Before her was a man obsessed, skirting on the edge of madness. A dangerous combination. "Now, have you any further questions for us?" She asked, watching him closely, seeing how his expression changed, going between anger, thoughtfulness and something more subtle, a hint of cruelty and something burning deeper, making all three seers uncomfortable. "Aye, where be Hammett?" He asked, eyes lighting up, staring eagerly into the water which shivered and showed Hammett in the cabin of his ship, sleeping, another body beside him, blurred from view, not the specific topic of the question. "He is in a sheltered cove on this very island." Said Antoinette, her normally soft voice now with a harder undertone as she looked at Mustaine. He smiled widely, chuckling as she touched the liquid lightly, causing the image to disappear. He would give them payment fro the answers that they had given him, but they were no longer comfortable with his questions. Mustaine's agitated mental state had disturbed them, his questions were born of an overpowering hatred and obsession. "Ah, me questions be answered an' now I must be havin' speech with Pierre." He said, throwing a purse of coins on the table. Lotus tucked the coin purse away in a larger pouch at her waist before the three women moved away. May-Lin went up the stairs to fetch Pierre while Lotus and Antoinette remained, watching Mustaine thoughtfully, their calm expressions revealing nothing. |
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| Shayi | August 26, 2007, 6:43 pm Post #97 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Heh. I was on a roll.... here's another installment. On the beach Hetfield stalked up and down like a caged tiger. Ulrich was asleep in his cabin and Hetfield had toyed with the idea of doing the same but knew that sleep would not come to him. Instead he paced and watched the carpenters ensuring that the smouldering timbers were wholly extinguished before beginning to work on removing the burnt timbers and replacing them with new. All of it was delay that he did not need. At least had they made it to another port there would be certain entertainments that he could partake in. Women certainly, cock fights, gambling until the early hours in raucous taverns, the list went on. Instead he was trapped on an island with a damaged ship and nothing more to do while the carpenters worked on her. He paused for a few seconds, surveying the men working, watching as they sweated in the growing heat of the day, working harder under his critical eye. None of them woudl choose to risk the wrath of Hetfield, not in the thunderous mood that he looked to be in. Hetfield wondered vaguely about the whereabouts of Hammett and Mustaine but knew that until Ulrich was awake once more he had no way of contacting Newsted aboard the Ymir. That was something that Lars alone could do. Hetfield snarled at the feeling of impotence, striding away from his stricken ship and heading out towards the forest. It would be worth at least keeping an eye on the parties sent out to forage for fresh fruits and to collect fresh water for the barrels that had been used since they were last in port, should they locate a river. With that thought in mind he set out towards the trees, walking swiftly, ignoring the heat. His anger had to find an outlet somewhere and in swift, violent movement he was finding at least some small form of release. Compared to the blinding sun on the beach and the searing heat that was gathering as the day went on, beneath the canopy of the trees it was mercifully dark and cool. The sounds of birds and insects were strange to him after the long months at sea, broken only by visits to bawdy ports. At those times he was more interested in the sounds of the taverns and the brothels. As he walked his temper started slowly to cool, lessening as he went deeper into the undergrowth, beginning to hear rough snatches of songs as his men hacked through the undergrowth gathering any edible fruits they could find. That at least was one boon of being forced to find land. he shook his head and continued walking until he found the working party. In his cabin aboard the Revenge Ulrich found that sleep was hard to come by. His mind was skipping frantically over the events that had passed and over Ragnar's words to him. Now that there was no danger from the sea his mind was free to roam over what had been said to him. True enough his ancestor had imprisoned them there, but now he was to be the one who would pay for that transgression. Should it come to calling upon them in battle he no longer had full confidence that they would not turn upon the REvenge. True enough he had some measure of control over the Ymir and could send it back between worlds, but in so doing they would be losing a valuable asset. That was something that he did not particularly wish to contemplate. Hetfield's reaction too was something that he did not want to think about. It was not until Newsted had been placed aboard the Ymir that Ragnar had begun to deviate fromt he silent servitude that had until that point characterized the savage Vikings that inhabited that ship. It was almost as though the injection of fresh life aboard a ship that by rights should have gone a thousand years ago had begun to affect the crew themselves. Ulrich sighed softly. It had never sat well with him, banishing Newsted aboard the Ymir. True enough the man had done that which he knew would provoke Hetfield's wrath, but up until that point Newsted had caused no trouble and had been a good sailor. No man truly deserved the punishment of being trapped aboard the Ymir. There had been other things that Hetfield had done over the years that Ulrich did not truly hold with. What had been done to Hammett was one of those things. They had long served together, long been friends. Ulrich closed his eyes tightly, blocking out the memories before falling into a light, uneasy sleep which was plagued with dreams of things that were, and things that could be. Aboard the Ymir, Newsted watched with amusement as the three ships lay stranded upon the island, on the whole unaware of the presence of the others. Where Mustaine had gone when he left the beach was not something that Newsted was privy to. Past where the ocean touched the shore he was unable to see. ALthough the ships were beached beyond the reach of the usual tides, they were not beyond the reach of the spring tides. However, Newsted knew of the group of people who inhabited the island from rumour and legend, and had heard what they were rumoured to do. It was to them that he believed Mustaine was bound, a fact which concerned him slightly, knowing from repute what Mustaine was capable of. It was not Hetfield that he felt any particular concern for. The sooner that Hetfield was engaged in battle, the sooner the Ymir would be taken into the mortal realm. If however Mustaine got to Hammett before he was able to catch the Revenge it would be doubtful that they would see the mortal realm for a long stretch of time and so his hopes of freedom would slowly but surely diminish. The fact that Hammett was aware of Hetfield's presence was a small comfort. At least it gave Hammett a measure of an advantage for a time. Undercrewed as he was after the battle with Mustaine Hammett would need all the advantage he could get. Ragnar stepped up behind him, a slight smile on his craggy featured face. "Hammett is a crafty man, Newsted. He will be biding his time until it is right for him to be attacking." He stated with quiet assurance. "Aye, ye be in the right o' it." Agreed Newsted, eyes flickering briefly to Ragnar before looking out into the mists once again. "I jus' wish that there be more we could do from 'ere." "I have oft thought of that. But it is our place to be waiting and watching until we are finding the right moment and we are being released into the mortal realm once again." He said with the same calm confidence that seemed at times to radiate from him, insensibly comforting to Newsted as he stood there. |
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| Verity | August 26, 2007, 8:17 pm Post #98 |
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The Story Girl
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I've read one of your fabulous installments!! Total awesomeness, and I'm very impressed that you hand wrote this. Trujillo and Hammett's relationship is fantastic. You explore it very realistically and maturely. I feel so sorry for Kirk. He's trying so desperately to learn how to trust Rob, he wants to, but you hit it on the nail when you said he's been through a personal hell. I feel a little sorry for Trujillo too, because Hammett has such a time trusting him. Their growth of their relationship throughout this fiction has been supurb though. And the scene with Ellefson, Mustaine and the 3 women was very very descriptive. The description of the house with the flowers and the little jars preserved body parts of creatures was an awesome touch. I'll be reading the next installment shortly!
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| Shayi | August 28, 2007, 11:40 am Post #99 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Ashley: Thank you so much I'm glad that Trujillo/Hammett relationship is working because that's been one of the things that's been pretty hard to write But hey, it all adds to the fun. Anyhoo.... here's the next bit! Yes, Newsted would miss that man’s presence when the time came for them to pass on to the other side. That thought surprised him slightly, the fact that he had been once again thinking ‘when’ rather than ‘if’. That at least meant that some of his hopes that had been slowly but surely waning as he whiled away his life aboard the Ymir were returning. Looking down at Newsted Ragnar smiled to himself. Yes, this man would be one who would not give up. Once they left the mortal world once and for all, he and his comrades, Newsted would continue. No, he knew that Newsted would never in all his days forget the horrors that he had experienced as part of the crew of the Ymir, the punishment something that could not be understood by any other living man, but he would continue, would learn to love life once again. It was that strength that Ragnar had come slowly to admire, watching as Newsted kept his mind and soul together. It was that which had prompted him to slowly start speaking to him once more, to break free of the silent, dull monotony that had characterized them all. Newsted was fresh blood aboard the ship, that slowly was permeating the very wood of the vessel itself, reviving them all. Ragnar himself had little time for modern man, the trappings of a world that had long passed them by, but Newsted had interested him, he had found in him a modern day comrade and would as such be sorry to see him go. He knew that Newsted too would feel sorrow at their passing, but even so, there was still no place for them. They would die to let them live again. One thousand years of purgatory meant that they deserved at least that. Aboard Death’s Lady Hammett had just woken to the bright sunlight streaming through the window of the cabin. He stretched slowly and luxuriously, enjoying the subtle warmth after the long nights of storms, blood and sweat. He glanced to his side, seeing Robert’s dark hair splayed across the sheets, the man still peacefully sleeping. The sound of hammering came to the fore in his still sleep shrouded mind and he took a deep breath, glad that work was already well underway upon the Lady. Having Hetfield in the next cove was not an advantageous place to be and that held him slightly on edge, a feeling that he preferred not to entertain. He stretched once again and moved carefully away from the bed, leaving Robert to sleep while he swiftly dressed and went out into the bright sunlight. He did not want to stay inside, dwell upon the things that he let known to Robert the night before. Those were things that were now between he and Trujillo and would not again be mentioned. It was enough that he knew. Still, the thoughts could still pervade the day, lying so close to the surface as they were once again. Once outside Hammett watched the men working with a critical gaze. He knew that they would make no errors. To do so would mean punishment by Hammett himself. When it came to the Lady he would brook no mistakes. Hammett turned away from them walking slowly towards the cliff-top where he knew that there was a sentry posted. He would rather go and see for himself what it was that Hetfield was doing. It also gave him something to do while he waited. Just so long as Hetfield remained unaware of his presence, so he would have more chance of a surprise assault upon them. At least upon land the Ymir would be of no assistance to them if what Ulrich had told him all those years ago still held true. The Ymir was bound to the sea, and much though Hammett preferred to fight on the water than the land, in this case it could well prove to be his most sensible option. Thoughts of future battles and movements filled his brain as he climbed up the rocks to the cliff top, seeing with satisfaction the man posted there as sentry instantly ready to attack him as he moved up over the last few feet of rock. “Tis your Captain.” He said with a slight smile. “Now, what is it that Hetfield is currently occupying himself with?” The man posted to the cliff-top jerked his head in the direction of the forest. “’E went of into them trees Cap’n. ‘E ‘asn’t come back yet an’ ‘is men ‘ave started work on the ship.” He stated, voice rough and gritty as he spoke. Hammett frowned, eyes flicking instinctively towards the trees before looking back at the man before him. “Did any others go with him or was he alone?” He asked, dark eyes glittering like obsidian. The man shrugged and shook his head. “Din’t see no-one go wi’ ‘im. But there were a party o’ his crew went in not long afore. I be thinkin’ ‘e were joinin’ them. Other’n that, there’s jus’ been workin’ on the Revenge.” He said, sucking on a gap in his teeth pensively as he looked down at the shore where the Revenge lay. “Very well. Thank you. You have already got relief arranged?” Asked Hammett, his eyes devouring Hetfield’s ship below them. That self-same ship that watched his destruction by Hetfield. He repressed a shudder, the memories still too close to the fore from his talk with Robert last night. “Aye, I’ve another sunwidth afore the next ‘un comes up ‘ere Cap’n.” He replied with a brief nod of respect. Hammett turned away, looking one last time at the Revenge before swiftly decending back to the cove where the Lady was still beached. He had been sorely tempted had Hetfield been alone to go into the forest, to kill him swiftly in combat between just the two of them. That would have suited his mood to perfection. Even as he thought of Hetfield he could feel a dark cloud descending around him, a lust for the blood of the man who had cost him so much. As he dropped the last few feet to the sand he glanced back to the Lady. No, there was nothing of any use that he could do there. Rawlett would have sent men out to fish and to gather fruit and water as was his habit whenever they found themselves upon an island and in need of supplies. Men who had nothing to do were lounging in the sand in the shade of the boat, half heartedly playing cards or sleeping in the mid-day sun. There was a haze of heat dancing across the sand, shimmering before him like a mirage, telling of the afternoon that was to come. Footsteps scrunching in the damp sand at the edge of the ocean drew his attention to the sea once again where Robert was slowly walking towards him, barefoot and bare from the waist up. “Cap’n there be men followin’ the stream up ter get water fer the barrels, Rawlett be sleepin’ fer now an’ work is progressin’ fast on the Lady.” He stated, dark eyes unreadable as he looked at Hammett. Having woken to find Hammett gone had made him wonder slightly what kind of mood the volatile Captain would be in when he did run into him once again. Hammett merely nodded, staring past him out towards the horizon. “Hetfield is in the forest. If he didn’t have half his crew with him, I would kill him now.” He stated softly, voice holding a low promise. Trujillo looked at him, eyes flickering across the set expression. Yes, he could see that it was true, but put in the same situation, he would react in just the same way. “Aye, I wouldn’t expect ye to do anythin’ different.” He said quietly. “Have ye plans to be attackin’ ‘im while he still be on this island? Ye be safe at least from the Ymir then.” “I do.” Said Hammett with a low chuckle at Robert seemingly reading his mind. “It will however be a race to complete the work on our respective ships. I have no desire to engage Hetfield in combat without the Lady being ready to sail at a moment’s notice. I am also uncomfortable with the fact that I do not know the whereabouts of Mustaine. This is a game to be played carefully.” He broke off and shook his head. “What are you doing?” Kirk asked, changing the subject as his eyes roamed over the half-clad man before him. “Since there be nothin’ useful I can contribute aboard ship I be headin’ into the sea to swim. Make meself smell less like shit, I haven’t felt human since Mustaine attacked.” He stated turning towards the sea, walking away from Hammett. “That be somethin’ ye might be wantin’ to do as well.” He added, not looking back to see Hammett’s response to the comment. |
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| Raedoll | August 28, 2007, 1:48 pm Post #100 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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I'm caught up, finally. And I can say Wow. Hammett's let Trujillo in and that's excvellent. Mustaine visiting Lotus and May-lin reminded me of Tia Dahlma. This story is impeccably well written and described, I love it. This could be a great epic. Interesting how events turn and how things start to change. Ulrich has right to be faintly uneased. Those words are cryptic. Wuah. Brain is overwhelmed with details and I have no idea what in the bloody bollocks to write. Blargh. More to follow <3 |
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| Verity | August 28, 2007, 11:13 pm Post #101 |
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The Story Girl
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I love this fic soooo much!!! You are so very talented. You have a real gifts for words, and putting them in just the right places. Every update the descriptions, the wording is all beautiful and rich. I loved the description of sleeping Rob. Hell yeah!!!! I wonder what's going to go down with Hammett and Hetfield. I'm still feeling very sorry for Hammett not being able to trust, and his emotional scarring from Hetfield. It rocks, and I'm glad you're back.
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| Shayi | August 29, 2007, 8:00 am Post #102 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you so so much both of you. This one is so long now it's getting rather daunting.... but I think I have an idea of where it's going! Still... onwards ever onwards and all that! Hammett chuckled, watching as Trujillo strode down to the edge of the sea. He stayed watching as Robert moved forwards into the waves before stripping himself down to the same state as Robert, dropping his clothes over a dry rock before walking swiftly after him. Hammett relished the feeling of the water on his skin, the feeling of the ocean caressing his body, the one constant in his life that had been his love for so long. It was at times like that, when he was swimming through the waves, water pitching over him with the scent of it in his nostrils and the taste of it in his mouth that he felt completely whole once again. There was nothing but him and the currents and pressure of the ocean and everything else faded into insignificance. It was also good to feel clean again after the last few days of rain, sweat and blood, feel human once again. He paused, treading water for a few minutes, just watching Trujillo as he swam, part of the ocean itself. It was strange to think, but it felt to him that there was one life on shore, the life of Captain Hammett, while in the ocean; he was just one more part of something ancient beyond measure. Deep in the forest Mustaine stood waiting for Pierre to come down from the rooms above. Finally, he did, his grinning face lightening the tension that had built in the room. “David, so long since you have been here. My good lady tells me that you are requiring my assistance in a matter?” He asked, lilting French accent changed slightly by something imperceptible beneath. Watching him Mustaine felt uneasy. Beneath the surface bonhomie ran something darker, foul and tainted, something that Mustaine never wanted to see come to the surface. “Aye.” He said, voice harsher than necessary, recovering himself in front of the man who unnerved him so completely. “I be in need o’ somethin’ from ye.” “I know that you are, David. The real question of course is whether you are willing to give me the payment for it that I will demand of you.” Replied Pierre, voice gently mocking as he spoke. “I be willin’ to pay whatever it is yer askin’.” Stated Mustaine, blue eyes blazing as they stared at Pierre, unyielding in intensity. The close hard scrutiny appeared not to affect the other man. He nodded and smiled slightly. “Then ask for what it is that you desire.” He prompted gently while the three women ranged themselves behind him, all watching Mustaine closely, knowing what it was that he was going to ask for, dreading it and at the same time feeling a faint thrill running through them all. “I wish for yer men. Fer yer army to be under me control. I want ter kill Hammett an’ I need yer people to help me.” After Mustaine spoke silence fell while Pierre still smiled slightly, regarding him with eyes so dark as to be almost black, amusement in his expression. “And you know what my men are? You understand that they no longer live? That they are a tool only for your use? And you understand that I exact a high price for the service?” Asked Pierre, voice suddenly like a whipcrack, all traces of laughter instantly extinguished from his expression as he looked Mustaine up and down, the sneering face with the blazing blue eyes before him only holding anger and fanaticism. “Aye, yer men are sommat that rumour long told me about.” Replied Mustaine, certainty lending his voice steel. “What be the payment that ye be askin’?” “No, no, David you know well enough that that is not how it works. You either agree to meet whatever payment it is that I require or you do not get my services. It is only once you have agreed that you will pay whatever price it is that I tell you. If you are willing to pay the ultimate price for what it is that you want, there is no possibility of my reneging upon my end of the bargain.” He said with an air of patronizing condescension, as though it were something that he had gone over many times with a particularly recalcitrant child. “Now, David, mon cher, do you agree to pay my price?” Mustaine was silent, fists clenched at his sides until he took a long pull of the drink that he carried with him. The harsh burn brought him back to some semblance of reality and he nodded slowly. “I’ll pay yer price. I’ll be happy payin’ anythin’ ye ask so long as I can kill Hammett an’ then Hetfield. Jus’ name it.” Even as Mustaine spoke he could feel a dropping feeling through out his body, as though he were falling through time and space while his feet stood still. Pierre nodded once and Mustaine felt a burning agony rush through his body, tearing at him, ripping him to shreds. He could feel himself screaming until his voice was hoarse, throat a new blinding pain while the only sound in his ears was a roaring, like that of distant surf, threatening to overwhelm him. Just as blackness prickled at the edge of his conscious the sensation stopped and he was standing rooted to the spot where he had been before, shivers running through his body, sweat pouring from him. “What was that?” He asked, breath coming in short gasps, feeling violated and vulnerable before the occupants of the house. “I exacted my payment, cher.” Replied Pierre with a supercilious smile. “I now own a part of your soul, to use as I wish. You have a strange madness within that soul, David, and that is something that I have long desired to use. Now, my army is yours until your quest is complete, and when it is, they will return to me. You will keep what remains of your soul for as long as you live. When you die, that is the choice of that soul. It may either rejoin the portion I hold and remain with me, or it may pass on to the next life. That is the deal that has been struck.” Mustaine stared at him, eyes wide, mind whirling at what he had just done, and what had just been done to him. Doubts touched him as to whether it was worth it, but it was to no avail. What had been done had been done and there was no moving away from that fact. All that he could do was move forward in his pursuit of Hammett and then on to Hetfield. All thoughts of his soul could and would wait. The overwhelming sense of loss and fear was slowly beginning to trickle deeper within him, buried so that it would not disturb his mind again. He took one last fleeting look at Pierre, May-Lin, Antoinette and Lotus before turning away and stalking swiftly out of the door, resisting the temptation to break into a run, feeling as though he had the legions of hell on his heels. Once outside the silence was unnerving and he snarled low under his breath, mentally damning Pierre and his women to the devil before stalking away to the end of the garden where legend had it Pierre’s army would gather. Slowly but surely he began to notice it happening. First the movements were subtle, leaves shifting as if disturbed by an invisible wind, rustling across the ground. He could hear sounds deeper in the trees, wrenching, tumbling sounds of damp earth being moved, roots and fibres being torn as things pulled free. A sickening stench assailed his nostrils as the first arrived, the smell of rot, of dead things, of things long forgotten that should never be part of this world. He waited, impatience thrumming through him as he saw the first of his men. Or the sick parodies of human that they were. Decayed and swaying they stood before him, flesh hanging in tatters from bone, blank eyes of deep glaring sockets regarding him impassively. There were further sounds, shivering through the trees of feet marching, crunching on dry branches and twigs from all around. The scent of soft crumbling dust pervaded his senses, a dry, gentle decay that spoke of mausoleums rather than being redolent of the dank earth beneath them. Still more came until they were all stood before him, watching and waiting. As the first feelings of shock and nausea disappeared Mustaine grinned widely, drawing his sword screaming out an unintelligible challenge to the sky. The creatures before him responded drawing their weapons in a silent salute never taking their gaze from him. “I’m comin’ for ye Hammett,” howled Mustaine, voice still hoarse from screaming, cracking as he spoke, “I’m comin’ for ye, and ye will rue the day ye took me place an’ left me adrift. Aye, you’ll rue the day.” He finished almost in a whisper before laughter overtook his voice and he sheathed his sword, beginning to walk swiftly away from the house back towards his ship, the ghostly legion following him. |
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| Verity | August 29, 2007, 9:58 am Post #103 |
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The Story Girl
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Wow!!!!! This story keeps getting better and better and better. I just can't wait to see where you are going with it, though I am seriously scared for Hetfield and Hammett. Dave giving off a piece of his soul with sheer brilliance. And the way that it was written. I love stories with a bit of magic and sorcery in them. The way you wrote that part was absolutely first class. Pierre nodded once and Mustaine felt a burning agony rush through his body, tearing at him, ripping him to shreds. He could feel himself screaming until his voice was hoarse, throat a new blinding pain while the only sound in his ears was a roaring, like that of distant surf, threatening to overwhelm him. Just as blackness prickled at the edge of his conscious the sensation stopped and he was standing rooted to the spot where he had been before, shivers running through his body, sweat pouring from him ^^^^ that whole paragraph had me mesmerized indeed. I even read it twice. I know I said that this story would make a great book once, it would also make a great movie. I can't wait to see what more tricks that Shayi has up her sleeve, and I'm very glad I found a quiet place to go read it, and give it the attention it deserves.
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| *MiAnA* | August 29, 2007, 5:26 pm Post #104 |
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Blackened
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You're back! This story is getting better and better. I can't wait to see what will happen now that three enemy ships are in the same island. |
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| Shayi | August 30, 2007, 11:34 am Post #105 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you so so much guys Ashley: Yeah, I love a bit of magic and sorcery (duh!) and that part was so, so enjoyable to write, it was fun just to get wrapped up in it... so really, I'm rather glad that it worked! Miana: Thank you! I'm just glad that you're still reading and enjoying this one! Okay.... next bit! In the trees Captain Hetfield heard an unearthly yell emanating from the trees to his right and turned round, sword instantly drawn while the rest of the crew that he had been working with froze, staring in the direction of the noise, hands ready on their weapons. A few soft curses came from them before there was total silence. Hetfield paused for a few seconds waiting to see what would come next. The only thing that greeted him were the sounds of the birds and insects of before. He felt a strange trepidation flowing through him as he moved forwards towards the source of that inhuman sound. He felt suddenly aware of his every movement, careful as he shifted through the trees followed by the rest of the work group. One of the crew burst through the trees coming straight at him, face white pursued by two further men of the Revenge’s crew. At the sight of Hetfield and the others they halted, breathing hard, eyes wide and staring as they tried to compose themselves before the Captain. “What was it?” Demanded Hetfield, taking in everything about them, knowing that none of them were men to take fright over nothing. “Cap’n, t’was a dead man.” Stated one, swallowing hard, forcing his hoarse voice level and as he could make it. Hetfield stared at him, eyes narrowed as the two men flanking the one who had spoken nodded. His penetrating gaze too in their obvious fear, their drawn weapons and harsh expressions. Yes these men were telling the truth as far as they saw it. “Aye? An’ just what was this dead man doin’?” He asked, voice low, almost snarling as he spoke, anger flooding through him. Even as he stood there, flickers of memory were playing through him like coils of smoke, elusive, hard to reach. The fact that he couldn’t quite grasp the tantalising threads of remembrance frustrated him. “’E came up from the ground.” Began one of the other men who had seen it. “’alf decomposed ‘e was, right in front o’ us.” “Then ‘e looked at us all…” the new man speaking shuddered at the remembrance of those gaping sockets staring into his, almost as though the dead could see straight down to his soul. “’an walked away, like ‘e had a purpose bigger’n us.” He finished, shaking his head. “An’ this is what ye all saw?” Asked Hetfield, staring at them hard, knowing even as he did that they would all be of an accord. They were as honest men as pirates could be, and certainly would not lie to him about such a thing. It had to be accepted that they had seen it, unlikely though it was. As a man who dealt regularly with the unlikely fact that the Ymir existed, Hetfield did not find it too much of a stretch of the imagination to believe that the dead could walk and were doing it now upon the very island that they were on. “Aye, we are.” Corroborated the first man who had spoken. Hetfield was silent for a few minutes. “If this dead man did not harm ye, continue yer work until I tell ye otherwise. Should ye see more or see owt else out of the ordinary, report immediately back ter the Revenge.” He said, locking them all with a threatening glare before turning on his heel and stalking back to the Revenge, mind working furiously as he did. He wanted to speak to Ulrich, see whether his theory as to what was happening made any sense. He knew the man’s phenomenal memory of old and should he have heard any hearsay about such things, it was almost certain that he would remember. As he walked he sheathed his sword, keeping a weather eye out for anything else that may be lurking within the woods. As he reached the Revenge he did not even take the time to see how swiftly the repairs were being effected, instead boarded the vessel and walked straight towards where he knew Ulrich to be. Aboard the Revenge Ulrich woke with a start as Hetfield pushed open the door of his cabin, walking in with a face like thunder. “An’ what be the matter, Cap’n?” He asked, voice still rusty with sleep as he spoke. “A dead man in the woods.” Replied Hetfield, voice harsh and with a current of underlying anger that let Ulrich know that he should tread carefully. “A dead man? Why be that a problem?” Asked Ulrich with a frown of confusion. The fact that there was a dead man in the trees didn’t seem to add up in his sleep addled state to an angry Hetfield storming into his room. “Because three o’ the crew saw him rise from the ground an’ walk.” Retorted Hetfield with a growl, staring at Ulrich, blue eyes blazing. The fact that there were dead men reputed to be walking in the woods would swiftly travel round the rest of the crew, rendering them all uneasy. True enough they had seen the Ymir in battle, but they were still men of living flesh and blood, not men who had gone beyond death. This would not bode well for the morale of the men or their willingness to stay there until proper repairs were finished. Ulrich closed his eyes again, thinking swiftly, memories swirling to the fore of what he had heard about the island in his travels. “Aye, there be an army o’ the dead on this isle.” He said finally. “I overheard an’ old man talkin’ about it in Aggie’s shop, many a year ago now.” “An army o’ dead?” Asked Hetfield, voice betraying incredulity that swiftly dissipated at the serious expression on the face of the man before him. “What else did ‘e say about them?” Ulrich shrugged. “Not much more. I hear that they lie in the ground, dead until they be summoned by their master. ‘E lives on this island with some seers. ‘E always exacts a terrible payment fer ‘is services rendered so ‘tis up to a man to be decidin’ whether what ‘e can gain outweighs what ‘e may lose.” “An’ so someone ‘as paid the price fer this army o’ the dead?” Asked Hetfield, eyes never leaving Ulrich’s face. “That’s how it be seemin’ to me.” Replied Ulrich, chewing his lower lip slightly as he thought about the problem, a notion of who it could be forming swiftly in his mind. “An’ I ‘ave a shrewd idea about what man it may be.” He finished with a frown, yawning and rubbing his hand across his eyes before looking back at Hetfield. The Captain was slowly pacing the floor of the cabin shaking his head. “Aye, I don’t doubt that ye do. I believe it be Mustaine. There were no other ships near enough to this island that Newsted told me of. An’ Mustaine was ever one crazy enough ter do sommat like that.” He finished viciously pounding his fist onto the surface of the desk that stood at one side of the room. The brief pain that flared in his hand did somewhat to release part of his anger and he turned back to Ulrich with a dark look in his expression. “If it is Mustaine which I think it be, then we need ter be swift in gettin’ away from this island. Newsted and the men on the Ymir cannot help us when we be on land, an’ if Mustaine knows we be ‘ere wi’ that army behind him, then we be outmanned.” He stated, resuming his pacing of the room. Ulrich nodded, knowing just as Hetfield did that if Mustaine had discovered their presence whether by means of the seers or if the dead man was able somehow to communicate with him, they would have to move as swiftly as possible to get the Revenge seaworthy and leave the island, getting to the relative safety that the open waters provided. Ulrich stood up, stretching and walked towards the door, all vestiges of sleep long gone. “I’ll be gettin’ the carpenters to move as swiftly as they can. I doubt they can do more, but I’ll harry ‘em.” He promised, leaving the room and descending to the beach to speak with the men working there leaving Hetfield aboard ship. He watched the men working critically, knowing that in reality they could not work faster. He just hoped that they would have time to get the Revenge back on the water before Mustaine arrived. That was of course, assuming that Mustaine knew that they were there and that he was going to come. That was the delicate balance they were caught in and it felt as though one false step could send them plummeting off the edge. It wasn’t so much the position that they were in; it was the unknown factors that worried him. However, there was nothing to be gained in harrying the workers and he slowly walked away to the edge of the sea, gazing out at the distant horizon. |
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Thank you so much for reading this much!





I guess that means not to mess with Capt. Hetfield. I'd be seriously petrified of the man. He shows no mercy.
It rocks, and I'm glad you're back.

4:27 AM Jul 11