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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 (6,140 Views) | |
| Raedoll | August 30, 2007, 12:07 pm Post #106 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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I loved Robert and Hammett, I could see the both of them swiming and just letting the ocean melt their thoughts and worries off. WRARGH! Mustaine screwed up! BIG TIME. Homigawd. An army of the dead is ideal for a desperate man...Pierre is a smart businessman. Hetfield and Ulrich both have looming instincts that are excellent at foreshadowing. I really can't wait for more, I loved the description of Mustaine's soul being cut. I thought briefly that he was going to become undead and Join the men. But I thought wrong, and it was awesome. |
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| Shayi | August 31, 2007, 9:29 am Post #107 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you so much You have no idea just how happy your words made me just now... but they did. Here is the next update... It's hard writing at the moment, because I know where I want it to go - it's just writing it to get there! Still... I've done my best so here we go A group of men left the trees, walking swiftly as one towards the Death’s Lady. Hammett regarded them from the sea, surprised that they had returned so swiftly, instantly on the alert and suspicious as he swam quickly to the shallows. He waded out onto the sand, his brief idyll at an end as he left the water. Trujillo followed behind him, the pair striding up the beach, still soaking wet to meet with the approaching crew. “And why is it you have seen fit to return already? Have you finished your allotted task?” He enquired, taking in at a glance their set expressions of fear and shock all pale under their sun bronzed skin. It was rare to see any of his men in that state, Hammett had seen them face down innumerable other men from merchants, to Navy to other pirates and never had they flinched. They knew better than that. Hammett did not tolerate cowardice from his men any more than he would tolerate it from himself. “Cap’n, there be things in them trees that ain’t o’ this world.” Stated one man, obviously their elected spokesman. Trujillo stepped back, wringing water out of his hair, just watching Hammett dealing with his crew. Even sopping wet and half-naked Hammett somehow commanded respect and fear amongst the assembled men. “Yes?” Asked Hammett, soft voice holding its usual hard edge. “And what, pray was in those trees?” “There be dead men, Cap’n. Dead men be walkin’ the earth again.” Said the spokesman almost sullenly, backed by a murmur of agreement from the others. Hammett looked at their set, stony faces reading his men like a book. They were afraid. Afraid of what they had seen, afraid of not being believed, afraid to believe it themselves and afraid of Hammett. “Deam men?” He asked with a hard stare at them, goading them into further disclosure, mind working swiftly over what he was being told. Dead men alive once more could only mean one thing, that someone had been to visit Pierre and the seers. He too had run across them in previous travels and although they interested him, he needed nothing to do with them. The only man who would have dealt with Pierre, the only man who was in the vicinity and had a need of him was Mustaine. Hammett wanted the other crew members in the vicinity to hear of the horrors in the trees, wanted them to feel the tremors of unease and terror and so work as though death was already coming upon them as Hammett knew that it would. Their time was limited. Mustaine knew where they were, that much Hammett had decided was certain, and so Mustaine, with his army of the dead would be coming for them. “They were arisin’ from the ground. They ‘ad flesh hangin’ from their bones an’ the smell, it were like nothin’ from this world.” The man broke off, his pale blue eyes still filled with incredulous horror at what they had met. “I thought that would be it. That,” and Hammett’s voice although never raised in volume was enough that all could hear him, “that is what is coming for us now. It is Mustaine that is behind those dead men, and there are many more than the few that you saw. It is he who means to use those creatures to slaughter us.” He stated. There was no emotion in his tone as he spoke, just cold hard fact. It had the desired effect. The men moved faster than before, running to their stations to ensure that the Lady would be ready to sail just as soon as the repairs were finished on her holed timbers. As the men moved about their business they were unusually silent, their few snatches of conversation muted. The tension in the air was palpable, a living, breathing thing that surrounded them. Hammett turned to Trujillo, expression serious, once more the Captain, no longer simply Kirk Hammett. Now was a time for action and for command rather than dealing with anything else that he was thinking or feeling. Such things could wait. What was of importance was saving the Lady, the crew and getting them back on the sea again. “An’ so they come.” Commented Trujillo, voice a low rumble as he spoke. “We cannot meet them here.” Stated Hammett tersely. “Form a watch upon the edge of the trees, post sentries on the cliffs. If they are coming, I wish to know about it.” “All well an’ good Cap’n, but how do ye kill sommat that no longer lives?” Asked Trujillo with a wry smile, gazing out towards the trees. “We’ll be as lambs to the slaughter.” Prophesised Rawlett gloomily, walking up behind them. “I heard about what’s happenin’.” He finished, looking directly at Hammett who was as tense as a coiled spring, only his face remaining calm. “Not if I have anything to say in the matter. Mr Rawlett, as you have nothing pertinent to add, pray take yourself off and supervise repairs. Mr Trujillo, we shall find a way to rid ourselves of them. Mustaine will take us on man to man without hiding behind his ghoulish hordes.” Stated Hammett firmly, looking at the Lady once more. “If you have any need of speech with me, I will be aboard ship readying her to sail.” He finished, walking away from Trujillo, picking up his clothes from the rock upon which he had left them and heading straight back to the ship. Trujillo too picked up his clothes and pulled them on hastily, body already almost dried by the heat of the sun, before gathering the men who had been lounging in the shade provided by the towering sides of the Lady and sent them out to arm themselves, then range across the beginning of the trees and across the tops of the cliff, at the same time being warned to avoid detection by Hetfield and his men. They obeyed quickly and without question while Trujillo joined them, moving across the clifftop, keeping a weather eye out for Mustaine, and from any movement from Hetfield. As Trujillo watched he could see nothing from the trees, no hint that Mustaine was there with an army of corpses. He lay flat and shifted to the edge of the cliff, looking down at them, seeing the carpenters hard at work on the Revenge, and Ulrich a lone figure staring out at the sea. Vaguely he wondered where Hetfield was, and whether they had seen the things that the crew of the Lady had. Still, there was no point in dwelling on it, things would develop in their own time, and probably far too swiftly for Hammett who needed as much time as he could muster to have the Lady safe at sea once more. He had seen the instant change in the other man, from one who was slowly unbending, back into the cruel unrelenting statue that had for so long captained the ship that he loved. He could feel bloodshed in the wind, and knew that what was to come would be beyond anything that they had ever faced before. Death was certainly coming to them, fleet footed and sure. If he met death, he wanted to do it at sea, not fighting on land, that was something that he knew for sure. The ocean was in his blood, and that was where he wanted to end his days. He did not fear his own death, he knew that it came to every man in its own time, and for a pirate it often came all too swiftly. He would face it head on when it came, with no regrets. A smile curved his lips as he thought about it. He had done so much, and seen so many things, no there was nothing left to regret, except perhaps not having enough time with Kirk. A man’s fate however was not something easily turned aside. Mind occupied with those thoughts he settled for a wait, drawing both his swords, readying himself for whatever was ahead of them. Aboard ship there was a flurry of activity as the men readied themselves to leave the island. Hammett supervised them, his eagle eye running over everything that they did. Certainly he knew that they were entirely capable of doing their jobs as they always had, but this was one of the times when he had to be in complete control of everything that happened aboard his beloved ship. Until he knew that they were indeed safe once again he had no desire to relax his guard or let one slip in his control of all around him. No, it would not be long before they met with Mustaine once again, and under crewed as he was, meeting them on land could only result in death for them all. He swiftly mounted the rigging, balancing himself near the crows nest, pulling out his telescope and staring through it to the forest. Even from his vantage point he could detect no out of the ordinary movements, see nothing coming towards them. The lack of action rather than laying his fears to rest instead increased his certainty that they would be coming. And come they may, they would find a way to kill them. Mustaine would not better him, no matter the tactics he chose to employ. Not when he had another plan for himself, in Hammett’s eyes a man could make his own destiny, weave the threads to bring himself close to his own goals. And his goal was as ever Hetfield, Mustaine was merely a distraction along the way. |
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| *MiAnA* | August 31, 2007, 10:03 am Post #108 |
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Blackened
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I'm very addicted, I actually dream of metallica as pirates! (And daydream as well, i admit ).It's really well written, and I loved the part with Hammet and the crew. I can't wait to see what will happen when Mustaine attacks with the dead army. I swear I love that crazy man.
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| Verity | August 31, 2007, 9:15 pm Post #109 |
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The Story Girl
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I really admire the way that you write. Very lyrical, poetic, and awesome. It has style. I liked how you explained that if Trujillo must die, he would like to go at sea, and that the ocean is in his blood. Just like a pirate. I'm very worried though. I hope Rawlett is wrong about them being "lambs to the slaughter." This line "A man’s fate however was not something easily turned aside" Is complete brilliance. Very beautiful, and should be crossstitched to a throw pillow. You rock!!!! :horns2 |
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| Raedoll | September 1, 2007, 12:14 pm Post #110 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Bwarh, I'm caught up. Naked Hammett giving orders. Well? Where's mine? *pout* Oh well. I'm loving how you descibe everything and make the dialogue sound so...Authentic. Especially from a Pirate's mind's eye. <3 Can't wait for the next installment. |
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| Shayi | September 3, 2007, 11:35 am Post #111 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Thank you all so so much! Ashley: You actually made me blush Thank you! Rae: Yeah, I'd be rather into getting orders from a naked Hammett... Miana: Hey crazy people rock... especially when it's Mustaine And you aren't the only one who's dreamt about pirates! Anyhoo here we go again. Getting there slowly but surely... In the forest Mustaine watched with pleasure as the last of his dead men assembled. Finally he stood proudly before his horde. The stench of rotted flesh and of dried, desiccated tissue was nothing to him. Just so long as they were armed and willing to fight for him, that was all he asked. He raised his sword aloft, roaring out a challenge and all blank, vacuous eyes were suddenly upon him. A feeling of power and elation surged through him almost like the first rush of alcohol after a long dry spell, heady and all encompassing. Yes, this is what it should be, he wielding power over these hordes, they his weapon to strike down Hammett before turning upon Hetfield. He looked forward to it, watching as their crews were torn apart, before he himself took the Captains, killing them slowly, meting out his own justice. “Ye will be followin’ me from now.” He called out, voice carrying across the silent bodies assembled. “I be Captain Mustaine, lately Commodore Mustaine of the Dragon’s Wrath. Ye will obey me as yer master an’ assist me to victory against that demon, Hammett.” He finished triumphantly while the army beat an acknowledgement against the nearest surface with sword hilts and pistol butts. Mustaine stood for a few seconds, drawing in the atmosphere, feeling it almost prickling across his skin, something that he relished. This was where he should be, in control, in charge, a leader with a goal in sight. Now it was time to take them back to the Wrath to see how well things had been moving there and how swiftly he could have a chance to march against Hammett, assuming of course he was still on the island as the seers had informed him. “Now we return to me ship.” He stated, turning away from them and beginning to walk in the direction of the Wrath, knowing even as he did that they would be following him without question. The sense of absolute power made him smile as he walked, a cruel expression that just twisted the corners of his lips, a manic glint lighting his eyes. The foraging party that Ellefson had joined had been fortunate in not having encountered any dead men as they worked and were still primarily engaged in cutting down a suitable tree that had been located to provide them with a mast. Ellefson himself had moved to one side, ostensibly overseeing the felling of the tree, but in reality doing very little. In his mind he was happy to allow Mustaine to remain on the island for a while. They had fresh food and water so it worried him not at all. Ellefson sat on the ground, leaning back against a handy palm, letting enjoying the shade and the brief bit of peace while the others around him toiled in the heat. He suddenly became aware of another shadow falling across him and opened his eyes, staring up at another member of the crew. “An’ what is it ye be doin’?” “Waitin’ fer the mast to be cut.” Replied Ellefson, looking up at the other man’s grinning face. It had been a long road for them both, they had sailed together for many years and he was never displeased to have a chance to talk to his old friend. Once he had become First Mate he had found less and less time to speak with Kit, especially since in Mustaine’s eyes it was not fitting for him to look to be friendly with any of the crew members. “Ye be happy ter stay ‘ere then?” Asked Kit, pale blue eyes betraying his curiosity. It had been long since he had spoken with Ellefson, but it was plain that the man had been unhappy with his lot aboard ship. Now it seemed he was more than content not to assist them in leaving the island. “Aye. I would be.” Retorted Ellefson, motioning for the other man to sit beside him. Obediently Kit sat, looking at Ellefson with a more serious expression. “So do ye think ter get rid o’ Mustaine?” He asked quietly, voice no more than a vague mumble, eyes flicking to the men working behind them. “At times.” Replied Ellefson, hedging slightly, not entirely certain of what Kit’s reaction would be to his thoughts of mutiny. Yes, he had ever been certain that he could trust the man, but there were some things that were not worth his life to speak. Kit yawned and scratched himself, then pushed some of his tousled locks from his face, fixing Ellefson with a suddenly intent look. “You wouldn’t be alone in thinkin’ that.” He said with a glance across at some of the men. “Some of us don’t hold wi’ the way that Mustaine be actin’. All this talk o’ devils, they be sayin’ that Mustaine be runnin’ mad now.” Kit broke off taking a swift pull from a bottle that he had hidden in the folds of the sash at his waist, offering it to Ellefson who partook thankfully. “That be useful to know.” Muttered Ellefson, handing the bottle back to him, slapping at a mosquito that was buzzing around him. “Aye, I thought ye’d say that. They look as though they ‘ave that tree in hand, so I’ll be catchin’ up on some sleep now.” He stated, laying back, crossing his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. “Ye never do change do yer Kit?” Asked Ellefson with a chuckle, mind playing over the Kit he had known as a young lad, one of the cabin boys, running errands round ship for the rest of them, learning his trade. Yes they had both been young then, he had come from the country, Kit they had found running wild in one of the many ports, the son of a prostitute who had little time for a young lad. When he had joined them he and Ellefson had hit it off immediately and had thus remained friends aboard ship, even going so far as to abandon their first ship together to sign up on Mustaine’s vessel. That much they were slowly but surely learning was a mistake. “No.” Replied Kit shortly, cracking one eye open to look up at Ellefson briefly. “But that ain’t an insult to me.” He finished settling himself to sleep in the heat of the afternoon. Let others work was his view, like Ellefson he had no particular objection to an extended sojourn on the island. Besides, the heat in the trees was oppressive with no breeze to break through the humidity as there was on the ocean. The best thing to do in that sort of situation was to sleep and to slowly consider what was to be done next. Now that he knew for certain that Ellefson was of the same mind as he and several others, perhaps something could be done to rid them of the Captain. It was always good to have the First Mate on your side when it came to mutiny. Many more men would be happy to rise against the Captain if they had his second in command on their side. It also helped that Ellefson was in general liked by the rest of the crew. Ellefson shook his head and closed his own eyes, thinking on what he had learnt from Kit. The knowledge that there were others who were willing to rise against Mustaine was heartening. Certainly he would need to find time to feel out just how deep the feeling ran within the crew, to find out whether a mutiny could be a possibility or whether it would be overthrown by Mustaine and those who were still willing to follow him, those who did not care whether or not their Captain was sane just so long as he continued to lead them to victory and bring plenty of plunder. That was the nub of the matter and it was ever a fine balance, a knife edge to walk on where one false step would mean a painful death at the hands of Mustaine himself. Soon enough the tree was felled and stripped of branches ready to be taken back to the Wrath to be rigged as a duty mast which would hopefully see them safe to the next port where proper repairs could be effected. There was still work to do, but that could be done by the Wrath herself. The men tied ropes around the trunk and as one began heaving it back through the trees to the ship. It was hard and heavy going, especially in the heat and movement seemed interminably slow. Ellefson wiped away streams of sweat that poured down into his eyes, the salt stinging and irritating him. He knew it was not far that they had to go, but it felt as though they had miles yet. When they did arrive back at the Wrath, Mustaine had not yet arrived back and all was briefly peaceful, the crew engaged upon various activities. The working party dragged the tree into the midst of those at the side of the Wrath who had set up makeshift work benches to enable them to support the trunk while they finished off the rough job that had been started within the forest. It was not long before movements in the trees were noticed and instantly the crew were stood by the ship, weapons drawn, ready to fight off any who came to take the Wrath. Already frustrated by the heat and the lack of action the men were ready for a fight, almost wanted there to be one, anything to break the tedium of their day. They were silent, waiting and expectant, pistols and muskets cocked as the first intruders broke through the edge of the trees. There was a collective murmur as Mustaine appeared, then a loud outcry at the sight of those that followed him. The men stared almost disbelieving at the vile sight of the creatures that came behind him. The smell of them washed over the assembled crew, lessened now from what it had been, but still noticeable, the sight was like nothing they had ever encountered before and more than one man crossed himself. There were shudders of revulsion from men who had fought on bloodslicked decks and had seen men slaughtered in horrible ways, men paled at the sight of what followed Mustaine and fell silent when he raised his sword, gaining their attention. “These be men who be followin’ me. Ye are of the same crew now. Together, we’ll be takin’ down Hammett, an’ Hetfield. If ye have any objections, ye’ll be answerin’ to me.” He stated, voice finishing on a snarl as he regarded the men, enjoying the looks on their faces, the mixture of horror, rage and a strange curiosity. The surge of elation at his feeling of power that shot through him made him smile anew and he motioned for the walking dead to stand away from him ranging along the shoreline. “Hammett be on this island. Ye will have that mast in place by nightfall. An’ then? We will march on that devil and take he an’ ‘is crew to their deaths.” There was a brief pause before a roar of appreciation rang to the skies. Mustaine smiled, an expression that showed no happiness, only a twisted desire for death. “Two of you,” he gestured towards the dead men, “go across this island and find where the man known as Captain Hammett be. ‘is ship be beached in a cove, the Death’s Lady. When ye find it, come back to me before the end of this night. Ye will then lead us to ‘im.” He stated, watching with satisfaction as two of the corpses moved away swiftly into the trees, melting away into the shadows and disappearing from view. “The rest o’ ye,” he snapped, turning to his crew, “keep workin’ on that mast, I want ‘er seaworthy.” Almost as one the men turned away, getting back to their tasks, the promise of leaving the island and of bloodshed outweighing their discomfort in the heat and that of the mosquitoes that plagued them as they worked. The dead men stood silent, waiting for Mustaine to tell them what they must next do. Mustaine smiled once more. “I’m comin’ for ye Hammett. By dawn on the morrow ye will be naught but a corpse washin’ up on the tide.” He murmured, chuckling aloud at his own thoughts. |
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| *MiAnA* | September 3, 2007, 5:34 pm Post #112 |
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Blackened
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So, I'm not the only one dreaming about it after all =) I feel slightly more sane now. I really like the part with Ellefson and Kit. Sounds like almost everyone is thinking of a mutiny. At least they have a crew of dead people to 'entertain' themselves with. Sorry for my weak comments, I really try but I don't have the writting skills you do. Two sentences: I love this story. You rock. |
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| Shayi | September 4, 2007, 11:47 am Post #113 |
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Miana - thank you! Nothing wrong with your comments, they make the story worth carrying on with, especially when the writing is getting tough going like now So thank you! Captain Hetfield had left the sanctity of the Revenge and was stood on the beach, face like thunder as he thought about the situation that they were in. He had sent men to watch the edge of the forest, and was pacing once again, waiting for the repairs to be finished on the Revenge. There was nothing that he could do and that was frustrating. Now he was playing a waiting game, something that he was not designed for. He was designed for action, for anything but staying on a beach waiting for death to come. That was not in his design. He had made sure that all aboard the revenge was ready to leave as soon as she was seaworthy again, he had honed his blade until the edge was wickedly sharp and still he waited. The afternoon was late, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, shadows growing longer. Nothing had been reported by any of the men since the first sighting of those dead things moving through the forest and slowly they were beginning to relax. Ulrich walked with swift strides between the men posted as lookouts, ensuring that they were not relaxing their vigilance for even so much as a minute. He and Hetfield alone knew what was out there, and though he had no particular desire to share all that they had surmised, he needed to know that the rest of the men were prepared. He took a deep breath, the scent of the ocean mingling with that of the sand and trees into a heady familiar mixture. He could detect nothing else, nothing to suggest that there was anything out of the ordinary happening. Yet somehow that fact made the silence and the very stillness of the air reverberate with foreboding. He heard footsteps moving swiftly up behind him, recognising them without looking as being Hetfield’s. He turned and looked across at the Captain with a brief nod. “We nearin’ bein’ ready to sail?” He asked, green eyes troubled as his gaze flicked briefly to the ship. “’Tis nearin’ dusk an’ if Mustaine has an intention o’ attackin’, I’ll wager he’ll do it after dark has fallen.” He stated, glancing around the cove, almost to reassure himself that all was still quiet. He knew that the sentries were doing their duty as they should, but unless he held the reins he felt the subtle lack of control over them. “Aye, she’s nearin’ bein’ finished.” Replied Hetfield grimly. “Any movement as yet?” “No, there’s been nothin’ to report.” Stated Ulrich with a shrug. “’Tis not to say that they ain’t there, but what we can’t see we can do nothin’ about.” He finished, gazing back towards the forest. “I’ve jus’ sent some men up to the cliff, ter see if they can see ought in the next cove. Any warnin’ we can get be better than nothin’.” Hetfield nodded. That was the trouble on land. Too many places for people to hide, even on a small island it was easy to lose hundreds of men from sight in the rocks and trees, and even in the landscape itself should there be hills and gullies to conceal them. At least at sea it was hard, nigh impossible weather notwithstanding to hide a vessel when you were approaching to attack. He looked across at the men ascending the cliffs on either side of the cove, and turned away, staring out to sea and taking a long pull from his flask, shaking his head slightly. Should it come to battle he did not need his thoughts clouded by drink, knowing what he did of Mustaine, he was certain that he would need his full wits about him. “When Mustaine comes we ‘ave done all we can. I crave action now, no more o’ this waitin’.” He grated, voice harsh as he spoke. Ulrich could feel the tension radiating off the man in front of him. It was as though he were stood too close to a caged wild animal, ready to snap at the first provocation. He understood Hetfield’s frustration. They had lost Hammett, the Revenge had been damaged and for the time being they were trapped on an island with a horde of dead men potentially on their way to slaughter them. Ulrich himself could feel the tension building but stayed calm. There was no advantage in him succumbing to his own frustration, instead, he would just wait and see how they were to act next. “Aye, Cap’n, I feel it too. We’ll be wishin’ fer quiet soon enough.” He said with a brief flash of a grin before it faded and his expression became serious once again. “They’ll be comin’ tonight.” He murmured, I can feel it in the air, somethin’ is goin’ ter happen an’ soon.” “I hope yer right.” Said Hetfield, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, the familiar feeling under his hand going some way to assuage his anger. “An’ Newsted? Have ye spoken to him?” He asked, wondering if perhaps Newsted would be able to shed any more light on it, something at least to let him think about. Ulrich shook his head. “He can see only as far as the sea touches.” He stated, glancing out towards the sea, almost as though he would be able to pick out the Ymir. Hetfield nodded and stalked away without another word towards the Revenge. Ulrich watched him go, then turned back to the sentries once again, patrolling up and down the line of them, ensuring that all was under his control. Up on the top of the cliff Robert stretched slowly, constantly alert and listening for any signs of life approaching. The afternoon had been long and hot and now it was stretching away into dusk. The Lady was almost ready to sail once again and he hoped that any move that Mustaine chose to make would be after they had left. The scent of grass, salt and sea was magnified by the sun that had beaten down on them all day, and the sound of the ocean crashing against the rocks was the only sound that had broken the silence for him that afternoon. He had begun to stiffen up with the long inactivity and was ready to have someone else come and take over the post for him. A scuffling sound followed by the scrape of leather against stone made him tense and creep towards the edge of the cliff. Looking down he could see a man climbing upwards, one of Hetfield’s crew evidently having seen the cliff as being a good place to put a sentry. Robert decided that he could safely assume that Hetfield too had had some contact with Mustaine’s men and was placing sentries to at least give him some warning should Mustaine choose to attack. Silently Trujillo moved back from the cliff’s edge, slowly drawing his swords, mentally wincing at the soft hiss of metal against the sheath. He stayed low, not wanting the man climbing, or anyone on the beach below to see him and settled down to wait once more, a slight smile of anticipation curving his lips. There was nothing for him to do but to swiftly dispatch the man, whoever he was and assume that he did not have to report back to Hetfield for a time, that way he would keep the Lady undetected for a time longer. The wait seemed to stretch on for hours although in reality it was only a few minutes. Even as the man cleared the cliff edge and walked out onto the top Trujillo sprang to his feet, laughing at the look of surprise on the man’s face. The other man barely had time to draw his sword before Trujillo’s twin blades sliced across his neck, decapitating him instantly, spraying blood across Robert. The head fell with a dull thud while the man’s body seemed almost to hang there for a few seconds, before crumpling to the ground. Robert stepped back, dropping to his knees, using a couple of handfuls of grass to meticulously clean his blades before sheathing them once more. The sickly, coppery stench of blood rose in the air, mingling with the outdoor scents that had been there before, warping them into some horrible miasma of heat and decay. Trujillo looked impassively at the corpse. It was by no means the first man that he had killed and would certainly not be the last. Already the flies had begun to gather and he shifted away from the corpse to the edge of the cliff, looking down at the Lady, signalling to one of the men to come up to relieve him of his post so that he would be able to . The dead man could stay there. Ordinarily he would have consigned him to the waves, but then they ran the risk of him being washed up once more. When his relief arrived he briefly explained the body and set him to the watch before swiftly descending the cliff and walking across the beach to find Hammett and tell him of what exactly had happened. He could see the Captain looking critically at the repairs to his ship and went swiftly to him. “Have you anything to report?” Asked Hammett, looking at him with a hard stare, dark eyes piercing him and holding him until he couldn’t break away. “Aye Cap’n, I have.” |
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| Raedoll | September 4, 2007, 5:45 pm Post #114 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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WHat's robert got to report?!!>! I just caught up with all this and it's really fascinating me. How both men sense a danger approaching and yet there's nothing they can do for the moment. BLARHG. I need more. Woman, lol write! |
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| Shayi | September 5, 2007, 9:09 am Post #115 |
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Why thank you! Here is the next bit “And what is it?” Asked Hammett, his face set in a hard, cold expression, focused on the moment, quashing the fleeting fear that had arisen within him when he had seen the blood spatters decorating Robert’s tan skin and showing as darker shadows on the black shirt that he wore. “One o’ Hetfield’s crew scaled the cliff. I killed him. Hetfield ain’t any the wiser, yet.” Reported Trujillo, face set in harsh lines as he spoke, knowing that even as he did time was slowly but surely running out. “He will know soon enough.” Murmured Hammett looking up at the cliff. “Aye, I left the body there wi’ the next lookout. They’ll not know until it be time fer ‘im ter report back.” Said Trujillo quietly, dark eyes scanning Hammett’s face. He could see the tension about his eyes and lips that told of the strain that he was under. “Very good.” Hammett moved away from the party of workmen, motioning for Trujillo to walk with him. “And so Hetfield will know of our presence and will no doubt make the most of it and attack. Doubtless also Mustaine is on his way here and the light is fading fast. It will be an interesting night.” He observed with a wry smile at Trujillo beside him. Robert nodded, a slight smile softening his expression as he regarded Hammett. Certainly Kirk would not give in to fear, he had faced death too many times for that, as had he. What Robert feared was the loss of Hammett, and he would stake his life that Hammett feared the same about him, but would probably never admit to that fact. “An’ interestin’ night fer sure.” Agreed Trujillo. “How be the Lady?” “She is almost ready to sail once more. We may be lucky. We may be able to make it to open waters, outrun Mustaine’s crew and meet Hetfield on my own terms.” He mused, eyes staring into the middle distance, unfocused, thinking through all the possibilities while weighing up their options and realising that they were very few. Robert speaking once again dragged him back to reality. “Mayhaps we will. But I think that first, we’re goin’ ter be facin’ down Mustaine, an’ I doubt that Hetfield will be far behind.” Replied Robert quietly, voicing his own opinion on the matter. “I don’t know whether we’ll be in time ter make it away from the island.” His expression had changed to one of slight sorrow and a determination that Hammett had rarely seen on the usual calm and optimistic man. “There will be bloodshed, that I agree. I can feel it, much though I wish that it were otherwise.” Said Hammett finally, making the only concession to their plight that he wished to. He did not wish to consider too deeply the fact that what Robert was saying was the most likely contingency. He knew that much and knew also that it did not help to dwell upon such things. They had reached the base of the cliff, standing at the edge of the sea, looking out at the waves. There was a feeling in the air of expectancy, and a foreboding at variance with the clear skies above. The atmosphere was oppressive, both feeling that death could not be far, both knowing far too well that it could be their last night on earth. Hammett looked across at Robert seriously, lightly running his tongue across his lips, knowing what he was about to say, that it was right, but it wasn’t the easiest thing for him to say, not easy for him to let go of the bit of control that told him not to, told him to keep quiet and see how things panned out. “Robert, I have two men on my path who both want to see me dead. If I die tonight, you are to have the Lady.” He said it without any regret, without any emotion. He could have been doing nothing more than remarking upon the prevailing conditions. Trujillo stared at him, feeling as though he’d just been hit with a solid weight. Of everything that he expected Hammett to say, that had not been it. Hammett shrugged and looked back out to sea once more. “I know that you didn’t expect that, Robert. I didn’t expect myself to say it. But, Rawlett will understand why it is not him. And the men trust you and like you. Whoever is left when all of this is over will follow you without question. I’m not giving up, never think that. In my mind I am determined that I will kill Hetfield and that it will be my blade slicing through Mustaine’s throat as I’m sure he wishes to do to me. However, nothing in this life is ever certain and I wish to be prepared for any circumstances.” He said quietly, voice level and calm. “Then I thank ye.” Replied Robert quietly, lightly touching Hammett’s shoulder, the slight bit of human contact breaking Hammett from the vaguely melancholy mood that had overtaken him. He looked back at Trujillo, expression suddenly feral, dark eyes smouldering as he kept his gaze on Robert, devouring him. It had been too long since they had a chance to be alone, away from everything and if his predictions were correct it could well be the last time. Catching the expression Robert laughed softly, the sound more closely akin to a growl of need than anything else. He looked across at the rocks that they were stood beside and smiled, a wolfish expression, something wild and untamed that Hammett had never seen before. It was something that suddenly rocked him down to his soul and he drew in a sharp breath, waiting to see what Trujillo would choose to do next. He did not have long to wait, Robert grabbed him by the shoulders, shoving him roughly against one of the rocks, kissing him savagely. Hammett felt his fingers digging into Trujillo’s back, dragging him close, chest to chest as he felt the hard rock beneath him pressing into him vicious and painful. And it was what he needed, something that grounded him, let him know that he was alive. Once more he could stop being a Captain, Trujillo would never allow him to be that when it was just the two of them, and much though it went against what he had held onto for so long, it was a relief, a strange, achingly painful relief. As they broke apart Hammett pushed Trujillo to one side, pulling him into the rocks, shielding them from the view of the rest of the men. “I want you now, Trujillo and I will have you.” He stated, voice just hiding a slight tremor as his rigid control began to come crashing down around him. Trujillo gave no reply, instead he kissed him again, fingers working swiftly down the buttons on Hammett’s shirt, pulling it free and throwing it down onto the sand, pushing Hammett down at the same time. Hammett sprawled on the wet sand, dark eyes all pupil, ringed with just a sliver of brown as he stared up at Robert with unshadowed lust. Robert dropped to the ground with him, rapidly divesting himself of his own clothing while Hammett removed the rest of his clothes, tossing them to one side. There was no need for words between them, this was something that both wanted, that both would take. Every movement was filled with a barely contained savagery, sweating bodies moving together in the still warm evening, hot, needy kisses, nails raking across golden skin and teeth sinking into flesh coupled with barely stifled cries. Kirk let Robert take him, letting down the last of his defences in a swift and brutal need for completion for them both. Finally, sated, they lay on the damp sand, breathing hard, neither yet finding any words that needed to be said. Robert raised himself on one elbow, looking down at Hammett who was lying, eyes closed beside him. He lightly ran his fingers down the side of Kirk’s jaw, seeing the other man’s eyes snap open to stare straight at him. At the strangely tender gesture Kirk felt something inside him shatter and knew that whatever happened, the man before him was one who he would follow and who would follow him until the end whenever that was. Even as they lay there Hammett heard a cry of warning and the pair of them scrambled to their feet, pulling their clothes on as swiftly as they could before walking out onto the beach, no longer hazed in their own world, instead ready for action, ready to face whatever it was that had appeared out of the growing gloom. They had not realised how swiftly dusk had fallen, wrapped up as they had been and now it was only in half-light that they could make out the beach and the men upon it while the Lady lay as a great dark shadow against the sand. |
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| Raedoll | September 5, 2007, 9:55 am Post #116 |
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Poor Twisted Me
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Daaaaaamn. So Robert bumped off one of Hetfield's men, that's okay. Just one less. Hammett's very smart, knowing it may be his final day on earth and surrendering the lady to Robert. And then that look that they both gave eachother, mm. By far one of my favorite parts: Catching the expression Robert laughed softly, the sound more closely akin to a growl of need than anything else. He looked across at the rocks that they were stood beside and smiled, a wolfish expression, something wild and untamed that Hammett had never seen before. HAWHT. Though, sadly it was all cut far too short...onto Battle but with Who and What? |
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| *MiAnA* | September 5, 2007, 11:22 am Post #117 |
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Blackened
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Poor Hetfield. He must be frustrated of standing in a beach and do nothing. I wonder if he'll find out Kirk is also in the beach... Ah, well, next time don't torture and rape your former lover. I hope Hammet doesn't die... But i like the interaction between him and Rob. To know he trusts him enough to leave him his own ship is good (lack of better things to say, but I think you got my point neh?) I can't wait for the battle part =) |
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| Shayi | September 6, 2007, 8:10 am Post #118 |
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Cheers ladies Miana: Yep. In my view, Hetfield deserves everything he gets! And yeah, I got your point about him and Robert. I love 'em those boys Rae: Yep. The less of Hetfield's men the better... I'm glad you liked the bit between he and Robert... I enjoyed writing that. And yeah, I know it was cut short. Simply because I wasn't sure how graphic you're allowed to get on this board! Rawlett strode forward to meet them, a darkling look on his face. “Our position be known.” He stated, staring hard at the two men before him. “Yes?” Asked Hammett, one eyebrow raised in a haughty expression, conscious of the sand that still clung to his hair and skin but choosing to disregard it. His choices in life were his business and certainly not something to be judged by members of his crew. Rawlett nodded, swallowing hard. He had no wish to be the one to break the news to Hammett, but it was his duty as he saw it. “Aye, Hetfield knows. The loss o’ his sentry ‘as bin disclovered. They sent up a group o’ men. Our man were killed an’ they know we be here.” He stated with a brief glance towards the cliff. Hammett inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Rawlett, take half the crew, get the Lady dragged to where the tide will catch her. I presume she is now seaworthy?” He asked, almost daring Rawlett to contradict in any way. “Then, when that is done, your men will be armed and ready to defend themselves and the ship.” Rawlett did not reply, simply tugged his forelock and walked away. The Captain turned next to his second First Mate. “Trujillo, you get the remainder of the crew armed, let them know that should we be overwhelmed to get aboard the Lady. The tide is on it’s way in and she may be our only escape.” “Aye Cap’n.” Replied Trujillo, expression grim, all business once again. “I shall ascend the cliff and see how quickly Hetfield is moving and, if I am able to discern from which direction he will attack so that I may inform the men.” He stated his words crisp, not ready to brook any defiance. Trujillo nodded and strode away up the beach, shouting orders to those men not already commandeered by Rawlett. He sincerely hoped that they would be able to hold off Hetfield and his men until the tide was in far enough to get the Lady afloat once more. Doubtless Hetfield too had considered that and was implementing much the same strategy. Casting an experienced eye over the sea he knew that it was possible. But they would be cutting it fine. Hammett swiftly and surely scaled the cliff, conscious of everything around him, cautious and watchful. He could just make out the sounds of protesting creaks of timber of the Lady as she was moved, and the voices of the men singing a familiar hauling song. Knowing that there were most likely still some of Hetfield’s men atop the cliff he skirted the edge of that jutting piece of rock, peering down at the shadowy beach where Hetfield was. He could just make out the Revenge, pulled close enough to the sea to be caught by the tide, and lanternlights bobbing as Hetfield’s crew moved towards the already dark forest. So they would approach from the trees. Hammett shook his head. With the lanterns extinguished that meant that his men would be unable to see them until the last possible seconds. That prospect he did not relish and began the laborious climb down to give the warning to his men and to prepare himself to fight. In the next cove Hetfield was smiling broadly as he turned to address the crew who were to form part of the attack. There were a very few others who were to be left behind to ready the Revenge to sail at a moments notice should some turn of fate go against them. “Now we go to attack Death’s Lady.” He announced, strong voice carrying across those assembled, evoking a swift cheer that died away as he began speaking once more. “Kill all o’ the men, but leave Hammett to me. Do ye understand?” There was a chorus of ‘ayes’ and Hetfield grinned widely. “Then we go.” He shouted, drawing his cutlass, armed with his pistol in the other had and began striding towards the forest with his men behind him. Ulrich moved beside him, green eyes alight at the prospect of action ahead. After the inactivity since they had been beached upon the island and forced to make repairs he needed this fight. He could feel the very blood singing in his veins, surging through him in a torrent that threatened to sweep him away. He would not lose one ounce of his control however, he would use his own building exuberance by turning it into calculated savagery. The silence that had reigned supreme amongst the trees was unceremoniously broken by the trampling feet of Hetfield’s crew. Although none spoke there was the sounds of grunts and snarls, vague mutterings as by the dull light of the lanterns they tripped on roots and snagged themselves on branches. Hetfield led onwards, unable to stop the grin that still curved his lips at the thought of what lay ahead. It was something that he’d waited far too long to do and now, under the light of the moon and stars that were beginning to show in the sky he would slaughter Hammett, get his final revenge. No, Hammett would not escape him again. Slowly the trees became more sparse and Ulrich motioned for the lanterns to be extinguished. One by one the soft orange yellow glows went out, leaving them wreathed in shadow. They moved forward as one being, unleashing yells and screams of rage and challenge as they broke cover, advancing at a run towards the crew of t he Death’s Lady. What peace was left of the night was rent with the sound of pistol shots and the ringing of metal against metal as blades met. Above the noise of the tools of war were the voices of men, intimidating, fighting, wounded and dying. By the light of the moon and stars things looked surreal, unearthly. Hetfield laughed wildly as he engaged another man in battle, all the while scanning the scene for Hammett. As he fought he could feel the surge of adrenalin taking over, driving him ever onwards. A howl built up in his chest and he let it loose, wild cry ringing up to the sky. He watched other men fall, whether his or Hammett’s he did not much care, he was slaking his thirst for destruction until the real target of his wrath and burning desire for revenge came into sight. Across the sand Ulrich was creating havoc, dexterously fighting with his cutlass in one hadn, knife in the other. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, he could feel it pouring down his back, stinging in a shallow cut from someone’s sword. None of that mattered, he was in his element, in the thick of the action, fighting for survival and for glory. Certainly, he enjoyed working the towns as a spy when he could, but in his heart of hearts he was still the Viking that his ancestors had been, blood diluted but still strong and the call to slaughter was something that every fibre of his body responded to. He could smell the metal, the sand, the blood and the sweat, so strong he could taste it, the taste of battle, the smell of the familiar. He could see out of the corner of his eye Hammett fighting hard, outnumbered but refusing to give an inch. Ulrich dispatched his opponent swiftly, ducking away from the fight, eyes devouring Hammett for a few seconds. Still the man fought as though it was a deadly dance, light on his feet, swift and sinuous with his blade. No, Ulrich had no desire to engage his once friend in a fight. He was not afraid, but it would feel to close to betrayal to him, and he had already done that once to Hammett, and then sworn never to do it again. Lost in contemplation he almost didn’t see the man coming up beside him, the sword swinging down in what would have been a killing stroke had he not countered at the last second, blades sliding together until they locked at the hilt, face to face. Ulrich found himself staring into dark eyes that held a latent savagery, a man he had never seen before who armed with twin blades was going to try and kill him. He twisted free, and they began to fight in earnest. Ulrich had never met anyone like the man he fought, the man who battled in complete silence. There was none of the taunts, the mockery, trying to catch his opponent of guard to press an opening. He just fought with single minded intensity, moonlight flashing down the bloodied blades. For the first time in a long time Lars felt a trickle of something akin to fear slide through him, the smallest hint of doubt about his own ability to come out on top of a fight. It was that doubt that worried him more than the idea of being bested, of being killed. Hetfield caught sight of Ulrich fighting with Trujillo, seeing that Lars was hard-pressed. He began trying to make his way over to him, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Outnumbered Hammett’s crew began to press back towards the ship, hoping that the tide wouldn’t be too long in coming in enough to float the ship. They fought like furies, knowing that if they didn’t, they would die by the blades of Hetfield’s men, or face punishment from Hammett himself. Hammett saw that they were slowly being overwhelmed by weight of numbers and snarled to himself. The tide would not take them away before Hetfield had a chance to kill them all. That much he knew for certain. With an otherworldly howl of rage he made for the tall blond man he could see fighting like a fiend ahead of him. “Hetfield!” He screamed, voice carrying above the noise of the battle, and Hetfield jerked his head up, staring straight at Hammett, seeing the man coming towards him like an avenging fury. He smiled to himself. At last he would have the revenge that he craved. There was the sound of loud crashing from the trees and although the battle continued, it was subdued as slowly one by one the men stopped, staring in horror at what was emerging and coming towards them all. Mustaine walked at the head of group of men, his crew, flanked by beings that were the stuff of nightmares. Mustaine laughed aloud at the sight of so many dumbstruck men staring at the horrors that he had brought out of the forest. It was his moment, his time. And he would make the most of every second of it, drink in the sensation of power, and enjoy the destruction when he unleashed his men. The crews of Hammett and Hetfield had regrouped and were facing the more immediate and terrible threat that Mustaine presented after sharply barked orders from Hammett and Hetfield themselves. Ulrich stood beside Hetfield breathing hard, green eyes clouded with worry. “We will not be survivin’ this.” He stated with certainty. “We must.” Said Hetfield, voice hard. “I will not let Mustaine take away me victory, nor will I be lettin’ him take me crew.” He finished, looking at Ulrich with determination flaming in his leonine expression. “There be one thing I can think of.” Said Ulrich slowly, testing the waters, not certain that what he was about to suggest would find favour with Hetfield, in fact extremely doubtful that Hetfield would countenance the suggestion. Under normal circumstances he would never have suggested it at all, but these were far from normal circumstances and Hetfield was determined that he should not be bested by a man that he had thrown out of his own crew, especially if that man was also determined to rob him of the satisfaction of killing one he had decided was his sworn foe. “Aye, an’ that be?” Asked Hetfield, keeping a weather eye on Mustaine who was marching up and down before his men, giving orders, trying to intimidate the other two crews with a show of power. “We need to join wi’ Hammett. None of the crew of the Ymir can be settin’ foot on land. They be cursed to sail. We cannot use them. Our only chance o’ survival against them is fer both of our crews ter work together.” Hetfield stared at him with incredulity and Lars shrugged. “As I see it, there be nothin’ more we can do.” Hetfield shook his head. “Mrs Aggie.” He murmured and Lars nodded. “Aye, that be what I’m thinkin’. I know ye put no faith in prophesies, but this time, I think it be best to just believe in what she said.” He replied. “This be a meetin’ o’ men long apart. An’ I hope that the death is to do wi’ Mustaine. Do we do this or do we wait an’ die?” He finished, voice becoming harsh as he stared at Hetfield who finally nodded. “Do what ye will.” Ulrich nodded and turned away, jogging across to where he could see Hammett stood with the man he had earlier faced in battle at his side. Hammett and Trujillo regarded Ulrich’s coming with slight surprise, but did not need to wonder why. They too knew that the only chance they had was teaming up together against Mustaine who had started his men at a slow walk towards them. As they marched they could hear the sound of a low chanted song, slow, ponderous and ominous. Looking up they could see the mouths of the corpses moving in union, singing a paean to death. Ulrich nodded to Hammett as he stopped just a few paces short of him. “Hammett, it’s been a long time.” “Say what it is you have to say, Ulrich.” Replied Hammett with a cold look at the man who had for a long time been his ally. “We propose that we join forces against Mustaine. See ourselves safe.” Replied Ulrich shortly, eyes searching Hammett’s face for a hint of what he was thinking, flickering to the man who stood beside him, who was watching him with an expression of slight curiosity and a hardness that would not be dispelled. “Very well. We will acquiesce to your suggestion. Understand however, that once both crews are safe upon their own ships and back at sea, the accord between us is at an end. I have no faith in Hetfield not breaking said accord. I will go to him and this agreement will be with him, and not with you.” Stated Hammett, knowing that Hetfield would happily break another man’s word, but it would go against his pride and perceived honour to break an accord of his own. With measured strides Hammett accompanied Ulrich back to Hetfield. “I have reached agreement with Ulrich. We join our forces against Mustaine as long as it takes for both crews to return to their respective ships safely and back to sea. After that time the accord will be at an end. You agree?” He asked, dark eyes boring into the blue ones that faced him, filled with a rage and hate that drove deep between them. Hetfield held out one hand which Hammett took briefly in a strong grip. “Aye, we have an accord.” He replied, looking away from Hammett for an instant to where Mustaine and his men were coming closer, close enough to see the expressions on their faces, the decaying faces even more awful to look upon in the moonlight. Without another word Hammett turned away from Hetfield, leaving his former lover, worst betrayer and sworn enemy behind. There was an unreadable look on his face as he returned to Trujillo and Rawlett who were awaiting him at the head of his men, it disgusted him, touching the man’s hand, ghosts of the past flitting through his mind like mist that could cloud his thoughts and judgement. That was the last thing that he wanted. He shook his head to dispel those nightmares that were slowly pressing in on him and addressed Trujillo and Rawlett, appraising them of the accord. Both nodded, Robert briefly catching Hammett’s eyes, noting the softening in the expression as they rested on him before both of them turned to face the advancing men, while Hetfield’s men closed the gap between them uniting the two crews, putting on a front of solidarity to the advancing horde of fiends who were closing on them more swiftly. The air thrummed with energy as they waited, not moving any further forward to meet the advancing men led by Mustaine, instead standing their ground, keeping close enough to the sea and shoreline to make good their escape from the terrors that were pursuing them. Hetfield sent men to get back to the Revenge over the cliffs, letting the crew remaining aboard his ship that they must bring her around to the next cove just as soon as they were able to pick up those who were fighting upon the beach. It felt like forever and less than a minute before Mustaine and his men came upon them all. Mustaine let out a yell as the front ranks of his men engaged with those ranged across the beach. He felt as though he was invincible, these were his men, he had earned them by giving part of his soul. He was the one who would be the victor over the men who he had pursued for so long. Alcohol and adrenalin burned in his veins and he felt that fortune was on his side. The first clash of his blade against another man’s made him feel as though he was at home once more, all the rage and frustration that had coursed through him dissipating as he let it flow out, fighting like a demon to get to Hammett or Hetfield. Either would satisfy his desire for blood and glory at that moment. Certainly Hammett had been the one he had pursued, but either man dead would please him. He could feel a manic laugh bubbling up in his throat as he fought beside man and corpse and he let it flow free, rising from him as a red mist descended over his vision. He could not lose. He was Captain Mustaine and he had one of the legions of hell on his side. |
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| *MiAnA* | September 6, 2007, 10:39 am Post #119 |
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Blackened
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I think this is one of my favourite parts so far. It's amazingly written! I loved the part were Ulrich fights Trujillo, and how he doubted himself. The agreement was also very well written. I wonder who'll die. I don't want any of them to die, not even Rawlett! I can't wait for the next installement
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| Shayi | September 7, 2007, 9:02 am Post #120 |
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Bring me that horizon
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Miana- Thank you! I'm glad that you enjoyed that bit - it was really hard to write that one but I'm glad that it worked Unfortunately however they are pirates, and death is always a possibility... and yes I have decided already what they're fates are Still - we'll see how it all plays out! Newsted pressed close to the rail of the Ymir as the combatants flooded the beach, coming into his view. The first sight of what Mustaine had following him had shocked him and filled himn with a sense of disgust. God only knew how the men who had to face those fiends felt. He watched with a slight smile as Hetfield and Hammett shook on an accord. That much was something he never thought would happen again, not after what had passed between them. As he watched Mustaine’s men fell upon Hammett and Hetfield’s crews like locusts, and he watched with sickened fascination as the corpses tore into the living men. He shuddered, glad for once that he was aboard the Ymir, although if Ulrich were to die and the amulet he wore was destroyed then the Ymir would be free once more, but free to be ravaged by the living dead. He did not think that Mustaine would have any qualms about destroying the legend that was the Ymir and her crew. Ragnar too watched the battle. His sentiments however were much different to Newsted’s. He could feel nothing more than an overwhelming urge to join those who were fighting, to feel his sword slicing through flesh, to have the challenge of facing down another man knowing that either one could prove the victor. Instead, he was still trapped aboard ship, forced to watch as other men took the glory and victories that he still craved. He went over to the railing alongside Newsted to closer observe the fight. Although in the world where the Ymir sailed they could hear nothing of the mortal world, he felt as though he could almost hear the battle reverberating in his head, the clash of metal, the yells and cries, he could almost smell the metal, the blood and the sweat and he yearned for it once more. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing in deeply, memories of battles long gone flooding back to him. He was born to fight. It was in his blood and as he opened his eyes once more to watch the men on the beach he knew that nothing would change that. On the beach Hammett was being driven back by a group of the dead men. Every thrust he put past their guard driving deep into their flesh had no effect and he could see his men falling. He found himself back to back with Ulrich, one who he had fought alongside many times in the past. “They won’t die.” Gasped Ulrich, breath coming short and fast from exertion. Hammett vouchsafed no answer, and shook his head, chancing a glance at the tide. They were getting closer to being able to escape, but not close enough, they still needed more time. As yet another of the corpses pressed closer he parried, locking their blades together so that they slid face to face and he stared into the deep pits that had once held eyes before shoving the thing, for it could hardly be called human, away from him, watching with satisfaction as it stumbled into two more of the creatures, catching them off guard. Finally he twisted, pressing back to back with Lars, beheading one of the dead men as he did so. As the head fell to the ground the body went with it, lying unmoving. “Their heads,” he called out, “they die without their heads.” The words spread like wildfire through the men, making them fight with renewed vigour as they saw that there was some way of ridding themselves of the vile creatures that plagued them. The beach was slowly turning into a bloodbath, filled with the wounded and the dying. Hammett could feel himself tiring, his breath coming quickly, sweat pouring down into his eyes, strands of damp hair clinging to his face. His muscles burned with effort, but he knew he had no choice but to continue to fight, to hold out until they could escape on the tide. Mustaine watched as his dead men were slowly but surely being cut down. A look of pure rage crossed his face and he screamed out in fury, cursing Hammett to the skies, slashing at any man in his path, trying to get to Hammett who was beside the Lady, now up to his knees in the sea where the tide was coming in, washing against the sides of the ship. Further up the sand Hetfield glanced over his shoulder, trying to sea where the tide had come to to see whether there was any chance of the Revenge rounding the point to take them to safety. Swift enough to see that they were not there yet, that the sea had not yet stretched far enough up the sand to fully float either ship. He cursed roundly, snarling as he continued to fight on. As he made his way through the men Mustaine laughed, the sound rising higher and higher, uncontrollable as he went. He didn’t even notice where he had been nicked and cut by other’s blades, his sole aim was to get to Hammett. He knew that he had the advantage. Hammett and his crew had been outnumbered and hardpressed, and had been engaged in a fight before he had even arrived. He knew deep down that he could do it, knew that if he got to Hammett, he would kill him. Hammett could see Mustaine heading towards him, still fighting pressed back to back with Ulrich, long used to fighting alongside him, the pair moving together like a machine, dealing out death, protecting each other as they wearied. Hammett, now inured to the fight was watching the field of battle while still fending off those who attacked. The decaying faces and torn, oozing flesh no longer held any horror for him. At the back of his mind he wondered where Trujillo was, how he had fared, but knew that dwelling on it could easily cost him his life. Behind him Ulrich had fallen into the easy rhhythem that they had had so many years ago. For a while it felt right, and he could almost forget. Then the memories of what had led to that point crashed in on him and his arms began to feel entirely leaden while the water seemed to press in on him with more force. The faces around, both dead and alive started to swim together and he knew that time was swiftly running out. Hammett felt the change in Ulrich just as surely as if he had been face to face watching him. It was an infinitesimal change, more sensed than physically felt but he had known Ulrich for long enough to know that it was there. “Don’t give up now, Ulrich. If you do, and they don’t kill you… I’ll gut you myself.” The voice that he used was low, ice cold and cruel. It held more threat than had Hetfield stood snarling and growling before him. Ulrich swallowed hard, not replying, pulling himself together, while cursing himself for his own slight loss of control. Hammett pulled away from Ulrich as Mustaine arrived before him. This fight between he and Mustaine was not simply a defence, holding him off until they could escape. He needed to be able to move, and knew that Ulrich could easily fend for himself. The water, now thigh high was making him clumsier, slower and Mustaine who was taller than he would be less affected. Mustaine knew it and used his height to his advantage, bearing down on Hammett with all the force he could muster as their blades met. Hammett parried, twisting the blade away, sliding back as the fight between them began in earnest, neither willing to give up an inch. From his vantage point further up the beach Trujillo could see Mustaine had reached Hammett and had engaged him in battle. He turned away again, refusing to think further upon it, being himself already battling with other members of Mustaine’s crew. Every movement was instinctive, there was no time to think about it. He too knew himself to be tiring and wondered vaguely whether he would be able to get back to the Lady, whether the tide would come in too quickly. Mustaine’s men were moving round to try and cut the crew off from their ship, and it was an uphill battle to prevent them. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Rawlett surrounded by some of the dead men, fighting valiantly but being slowly but surely overwhelmed. Usually silent as he fought he let out a snarl of frustration and began furiously trying to get over to the older man, hacking his way through the corpses that stood between them. Even as he made his way there, he saw Rawlett dragged down, disappearing from view and cursed loudly, turning his attention back to the matters at hand. There would be time for regrets later. Hetfield too saw Mustaine engage Hammett in battle and swore loudly and vociferously. If Mustaine killed Hammett before he had a chance he would burn the Wrath to the water with Mustaine and his crew still aboard he swore to himself. Even as the thought ran through his head he noticed that the water surrounding Hammett and Mustaine was already waist high and was beginning to lift the Lady slowly but surely out of the sand. Men standing close by moved aside, lest the big ship roll, but she did not. Hetfield tried to get to Hammett while Hammett’s crew circled the stern of the Lady where the water was shallowest, defending her to the last. Trujillo finally reached the Lady and scrambled up one of the ropes hanging from her side, leaning out to look across the battlefield. Hetfield’s men and Hammett’s men circled the ship while Mustaine’s men pressed in on them. The sight was not one that gave him hope but he sprang down to the sand once more, resuming the fight, refusing to dwell on what he had just seen. Almost up to his chest in water Hammett fought off Mustaine viciously, determined that he should not die in that way. Mustaine for the first time was beginning to doubt himself. Hammett’s blade had found it’s way past his guard more than once and his shirt bore the red stains to prove it. He felt a weariness beyond anything he had experienced before and shook his head, trying to rid himself of it while Hammett pushed forwards, forcing him a stumbling pace back. Hammett smiled, dark eyes gleaming as he watched Mustaine’s expression chance from one of savagery to something approaching fear. For an instant Mustaine hesitated, stumbling back another pace, the high water making him clumsy, the creaking of the Lady’s timbers so close catching him off guard. He could see the close proximity of Hammett’s crew and knew only an icy fear that suddenly pervaded him. He was outnumbered having cut himself off from his crew and Hammett was still pressing forward like something from another world, bloodied and smiling at him. He shook his head as if to deny that it was happening and Hammett laughed softly. Behind them the first men were scrambling up ropes to the safety of the Lady as she began to ride the tide, ready to make it out to sea once more. In the distance the Revenge could be seen rounding the point and Hetfield’s men alongside Hammett climbed for the safety of the ship. Together they would go out and meet the Revenge and the men would disembark and the accord would be over. The more men that boarded the Lady meant the fewer to fight off the men who were trying to kill them even at that moment. Those aboard did their part, firing down on the men and the corpses that pressed closer and closer, driving the crews of Hetfield and Hammett as close to the ship as they could. More died, dragged down beneath the steadily rising water, drowned beneath trampling feet while others were merely hacked to death by a myriad of sword blades. The battle raged even as the faintest hint of dawn began to pluck at the horizon, heralding a new day coming for them. |
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You have no idea just how happy your words made me just now... but they did. 
).

4:27 AM Jul 11