Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to zetaboards. We hope you enjoy your visit.


You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
Yo ho ho...; New one - no idea where it's going!
Topic Started: July 5, 2007, 9:08 am (6,139 Views)
Raedoll
Member Avatar
Poor Twisted Me
[ * ]
I love your descriptions of battle, and everything. GRAGHT. I just don't know how to explain all of it, and I don't think that I can type fast enough to keep up with my brain. Hammet, Ulrich. Hetfield, and Trujillo are all terribly vicious fighters, along with Mustaine. Amazingly described, especially Ragnar from the Ymir. And Lars's Viking blood. Simply and positively stunning. I really can't wait for more. The accord makes me wonder, if there could ever be something more for Hetfield and Hammett to work together.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Verity
Member Avatar
The Story Girl
[ * ]
I totally love this story so much. It just gets better and better. Wherever do you get your inspiration???
I wish I could write a longer, more detailed review because you deserve it, but I'm short on internet time. I wish I had access to a printer so I could print some of this out to read it when my internet time is limited.

I :heart: it!!!
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Shayi
Member Avatar
Bring me that horizon
[ * ]
Thank you guys so much :)

Rae: I'm glad you liked that, the battles are the hardest things to write and it was a real struggle. So if it worked, I'm more than happy! And we'll see with Hetfield and Hammett... there's a lot of water under that bridge...

Ashley: Thank you for taking the time to read at the moment! I know you're busy and all over the place :) And I'm glad you're enjoying it, so thank you. I don't know where the ideas come from.... this story feels to me writing it like a steamroller, it doesn't want to stop yet so, I'm just going to let it keep going...



Trujillo saw Hammett driving Mustaine back and shook his head, eyes reflecting concern. There was nowhere for Hammett to go. Back, there was just the ever deepening water, and before him there was Mustaine and the rest of his crew, all waiting to tear Hammett apart. There was no way that any of the crew of the Lady would be able to reach him. He felt his heart leap into his throat as Hammett glanced up at him, dark eyes locking with is for a fleeting instant. Trujillo felt something inside him go cold and climbed the rest of the way aboard the Lady, moving swiftly to the stern as she began breaking free as the wind caught in her sails, sending her out towards the revenge, slowly but surely moving through the surf.

The men aboard had had the Lady ready to sail just as soon as she lifted from the sand. They knew that they would leave whether all remaining men were aboard or no. Not to do so would mean them running the risk of losing the ship altogether, and with that all of their lives. Trujillo watched from the rail at the stern as Hammett suddenly ducked away from a vicious downstroke of Mustaine’s. The water was too high for Hammett to have a chance of killing Mustaine. With his added height and the backing of his entire crew Mustaine had an insurmountable advantage and Trujillo leaned over the rail, unable to do anything at that moment but watch as the ship began to creakingly move away. Hammett would want to see his ship safe above all else, that much he knew and respected no matter his own personal feelings. Even as the ship moved away, there were men of Mustaine’s trying desperately to board the vessel, being cut down and thrown back even as they did by members of both Hammett and Hetfield’s crews. Ignoring all of that with his attention fully on Hammett as he fought with Mustaine, Trujillo drew in a sharp breath seeing Hammett moved back a pace before simply disappearing beneath the waves.

Mustaine let out a roar of frustration, smashing the hilt of his sword down into the water. There was no way he could lose Hammett to the sea. Cruel mistress that she was. He shouted for some of the dead men to dive below the waves where Hammett had gone to find him. At least if they retrieved the body that was something that he could keep. That would be something that he could lash to the figurehead of the Wrath, to let everybody know that he, Captain Mustaine was the last one to fight Hammett, the one to drive him to his death. There was no pleasure for him in a body lost to the sea.

The dead men waded deeper, diving below the water, searching though it was nigh on impossible where so much sand had been disturbed. Their only goal as they went was to find the mortal remains of Hammett to take to their Master. Mustaine himself slashed violently at the water before turning away, wading back to the shore. He gathered his crew and began stalking back to the bay where the Wrath lay, hoping, now that his previous plan lay in tatters that he could still be able to sink the Lady and kill Hetfield while the Revenge’s crew were taken onto their own ship. He knew that he did not have much time, and ignoring the dead and dying on the beach urged his remaining crew and the dead men that followed him on faster through the sand then through the forest to where his ship lay.

Ellefson followed, a smile curving his lips as he went. True enough he was exhausted, sweat and bloodstained, but at the same time, Mustaine had just suffered a serious blow and would not easily recover from it. They would be hard pressed to get to the other ships in time as he guessed that was what Mustaine would be wishing to do. He stumbled in his weariness and cursed softly. There had been too many who had died on that beach, too many who had sailed with them for years and for that he was more than happy to kill Mustaine. Certainly, men would die when they attacked ships, but this was unnecessary. Mustaine should never have attempted to fight on land, with or without the support of the dead men who now followed him. Engaging both Hetfield and Hammett at the same time had seemed like a suicidal move no matter how good the army of corpses were. And it had turned out that they too could die like mortal men. Sure enough it was harder, more of a struggle, and Hetfield and Hammett’s crews had been worse depleted, but that did not assuage his feelings.

Kit came up beside him and Ellefson nodded at him in greeting, glad to see that at least his main ally aboard Mustaine’s ship had survived the slaughter of the beach. “We’ll ‘ave our chance at sea.” Muttered Kit, casting a darkling look in the direction of Mustaine. “If ‘e don’t catch the Revenge an’ Lady an’ Hetfield don’t kill ‘im, then we’ll do it.” He stated with a certainty that was surprising coming from the normally laid back man.

“Aye, you’ll find no disagreement from me.” Replied Ellefson, voice harsh although he spoke in little more than a whisper. “Will we ‘ave the support o’ the men? I’ve ‘ad no chance fer speakin’ to ‘em.” And that was true enough. During the fight he’d had no way of drawing out any of the crew he thought likely to back them in their venture and speak with them. Kit chuckled softly.

“Lord love ye, David. O’ course we’ll ‘ave men be’ind us. Ye think this battle be sittin’ well wi’ the rest o’ the crew? They think it be madness that ‘e attacked on land. We’re bred ter attack from the sea, an’ well, ‘e be strayin’ from the path o’ sanity once too often.” Kit looked away for a second, making certain that nobody else was listening to their conversation. What was being discussed was not that which could be said in public.

“I’m glad to ‘ear it.” Replied Ellefson with a brief nod. “Ye’ll be havin’ time aboard ter discuss this further? Mayhaps when we’ve had time ter speak to others?”

“Aye, whenever ye can get away from under ‘is eye.” Agreed Kit, moving slightly away from Ellefson as they walked, not particularly wanting to arouse any suspicion against either of them. Mustaine, as both knew, was quick to jump to conclusions and to punish any who he thought to be plotting against him. And as always with Mustaine, punishment would mean death, something that neither Ellefson nor Kit relished the thought of. And so they continued the march in silence along with the rest of the crew, some surly, some simply glad to be going back to sea once more, and a very few still feeling adrenalin pumping through them from the fight, ready once again to pursue someone to the death.

The swift hike back to the Wrath felt like the longest journey to the weary and oft wounded men. Mustaine, driven by his own rage was unrelenting, as were the dead men who felt neither fatigue nor pain and so could continue at the punishing pace that he set. All who followed him would be glad to see the sight of the Wrath once again.

Ulrich joined Trujillo, the man who had started the train of doubt within him, at the rail, staring down at the sea where Hammett had disappeared, and where the dead men had begun to search for him. “I regret what ‘appened.” Commented Ulrich quietly. “Me ‘n Hammett were good friends at one time. I don’ know if ye knew that.”

“I know.” Replied Trujillo, voice harsh as he surveyed yet another man who had betrayed Hammett, and all on the say so of Hetfield. His tone didn’t brook further conversation but Ulrich just shrugged.

“I jus’ needed someone ter know.” He said simply, about to turn to go before a choked cry broke from him. Trujillo threw the rope that he’d been holding on to as far as he could out to sea where a dark head had just broken the surface, face turned towards the ship as the man began swimming towards the Lady. “Hammett…” Said Ulrich, eyes wide, making no attempt to disguise his shock. He hadn’t wanted to see Hammett die in the way he had. There were too many regrets between them and he wanted at least a chance to apologise for what he had done. It went against what few morals he had to betray a man for nothing more than an order.

“Aye.” Said Trujillo shortly. Ever since the knowing look that Hammett had given him before he disappeared there had been a part of his mind, something deep within him that was filled with a certainty that it would not be the end of Hammett and that knowledge was part of what prevented him going after him. That and the knowledge that had he done so, Hammett would have tried to gut him for being a fool. He watched with a growing sense of relief as Hammett grabbed the rope and he began pulling it in hand over hand with Ulrich and a few of the other men who had seen the latest development pulling behind, dragging Hammett swiftly through the water, ever conscious of those still in the water charged with locating him.

It did not take them long to haul the Captain aboard and the men fell back as he crouched on the deck, coughing and spitting seawater onto the deck. He could feel exhaustion wracking his body as he leaned against the rail, the wood comfortingly solid beside him. He wasn’t sure that he could quite trust his feet yet and stayed there for a few seconds, wearily waving away the men who waited for him. They left instantly save for Trujillo who just stood there, watching him, waiting for him to recover himself. Finally Hammett raised his head and looked up at Trujillo, meeting his gaze, struggling to his feet as he did.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
*MiAnA*
Member Avatar
Blackened
[ * ]
The last 2 chapters were awsome! I loved the descriptions, and how you wrote the fight. It got me glued to the screen, litteraly, my eyes hurt :wacko:
You scared me when Hammet dissappeared, I didn't tink he would die like that, but... you never know.

Keep the great writing, I'm loving it so far :)
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Verity
Member Avatar
The Story Girl
[ * ]
Just sensational!!!! Eeek!!!! You had me frightened about Capt. Hammett.
I had a feeling that he'd return, but I didn't know for sure.
You wrote that part beautifully. I loved how you wrote it from Trujillo's point of view- brilliance.
I'm glad that Trujillo was the first person that Hammett saw as he came around. Trujillo is his right hand man. :dance

And Ulrich feeling regrets was a nice, nice, touch.

You also write Mustaine so well. I could just see the anger boiling as his plan fell down in tatters.

This part was especially awesome

Mustaine let out a roar of frustration, smashing the hilt of his sword down into the water. There was no way he could lose Hammett to the sea. Cruel mistress that she was.

The sea is a cruel mistress. Isn't she???

Can't wait for more!
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Shayi
Member Avatar
Bring me that horizon
[ * ]
Miana - Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed those chapters.... although apologies about your eyes hurting ;) Still.... I'm kinda glad I can keep you interested!

Ashley - Hehe thank you! Yep, the sea is a cruel mistress and Mustaine is an entertaining chap to write. I can't help it.... I enjoy him :)

Onwards ever onwards however. Most of this chapter was written whilst drinking Jaeger and listening to the pirates of the caribbean soundtrack so... well we'll see.

Hammett held Trujillo’s gaze in silence for a minute before speaking. “Thank you.” He said finally, voice slightly rasping from thirst. Trujillo smiled, his relief at Hammett still living something that had been put to one side as he had acted, but now it was something that was allowed to come to the fore, flooding through him. Hammett shook his head, moving across to Trujillo. “I am relieved that you survived.” He stated, emotions under tight control, remembering the reputation that he had to uphold before his men and the crew of Hetfield. There was however a wealth of subtle emotion behind his words that Trujillo did not fail to pick up on. Nor did he miss the warmth that touched Hammett’s eyes.

“Aye, I be glad ter see ye safe.” Replied Trujillo with a light touch on Hammett’s arm as he moved beside him, the gesture was infinitesimal, unnoticeable by any other, but it was an outreach of human warmth, a confirmation that they had done it, that they were there together. Hammett drew in a deep breath, pushing all thoughts once more to the back of his mind save those of the moment at hand. Everything else must once again wait. He turned to face the crew, stepping forward and relieving the helmsman of the wheel. His crew knew their places but it would them good to see normalcy restored, their Captain in his proper place, the ship’s surgeon tending to the wounded and the Lady once again under sail. They would not likely forget what they had endured that night on the beach and the horrors would not leave them. However, a new day and a return to the familiar routine that occurred after every battle at sea would help them.

From his elevated position on the bridge Hammett could easily see Hetfield stood at the prow of the ship, staring out at the Revenge. So easy it would be to kill him with a single shot. However, they had an accord and much though he burned to see Hetfield dead, it would wait until he could have the satisfaction of killing him slowly in hand to hand combat. Speaking to Hetfield that night, touching his hand, all had made him feel a shudder of disgust, as though he had been sullied by the man’s very presence.

Trujillo walked down onto the deck, returning to his duties and leaving Hammett to his thoughts. There would be time for speech later. For the time as they neared the Revenge he knew that he must organise the longboats to take Hetfield and his crew between the ships before any aboard the Lady would be able to rest. He knew that as with all who had fought hard in the battle that it was only instinct and will that were keeping him going, keeping him on his feet. When Hetfield’s crew had left the dead would be counted and plans would be made. There would be time to talk, to reflect, to regret the passing of good men and to sleep.

On the port side of the ship, at the base of the stairs to the bridge Ulrich stood alone, considering what he was next to do. Ulrich looked up at Hammett, stood there at the wheel of the ship with an expression of rigid control on his face. The Captain was soaking wet, pale and bloodied but still unbowed. There was little that would bring the man to his knees. Lars walked swiftly up the steps to Hammett who acknowledged him with a look. “Yes Ulrich, what is it?”

“Ye fought well.” Said Ulrich with a look at the Captain. Hammett regarded Ulrich for a few seconds, gaze level and calculating.

“What is it that you want Ulrich? Yes, we fought together in the past and we fought together during the night. We both of us are proficient and have ever worked well as a team. That is all that there is. Once, Lars, once we were friends. That ended the day that you turned your back on that friendship, tied m e to that mast and let Hetfield and his men have their way with me.” He said, voice like water sliding over ice. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Is this why you are talking to me?”

Ulrich looked away, expression troubled as his mind went back to that moment. “An’ what would ye have had me do? Defy Hetfield?”

“That would have been preferable.” Replied Hammett coolly.

“Aye. But then he’d ‘ave killed me an’ still gone ahead with what ‘e did to ye.” Stated Lars, anger bubbling just below the surface. Hammett shook his head.

“No, Lars,” and for a second his name sounded more like a curse. “Hetfield would not have killed you. Oft you were the only man that he would listen to reason from. You did not intervene because for some reason you were afraid of his wrath. Certainly he would have been angry, but pray consider Lars, compared to that which I had done, you speaking against him would have paled. I know that I had betrayed him, but his punishment? You could have stopped that.”

“An’ if I had intervened? Ye would be dead.” Said Lars. “Suffice it ter say my counsel wouldn’t ‘ave stopped ‘im from killin’ ye by ‘is sword.”

“Far rather dead than what I endured.” Replied Hammett, voice harsh and unforgiving as he spoke. “Did you come seeking my forgiveness to provide balm for your soul?” Hammett’s voice had become almost mocking and Ulrich shrugged.

“Mayhaps.” He said slowly. “There’s bin years o’ regret on my part an’ I@m thinkin’ bitterness on yers. I look for yer understandin’ rather than yer forgiveness fer the sake o’ me honour.” Lars finished with a defiant look on his face. He was determined not to back down to Kirk. Whatever he had become, this was the man he had counted as friend, ally, drinking partner and much more over the years they had been together.

Hammett looked at him, measuring him up, carefully weighing his words. “While I know not whether I have it in my heart to wholly forgive, I at least will concede that I can understand why you did as you did that day, and that answer must suffice.”

Ulrich nodded. “Aye, an’ suffice it will.” He said with a brief nod to Hammett before l ooking out to sea. They were not far from the Revenge and Hammett gave the order for his men to weigh anchor. The remaining me of Hetfield’s crew could be taken to his ships in the longboats. They may have had an accord, but Hammett had no desire to get within range of Hetfield’s guns. He had known him for long enough not to risk a double cross.

The sails of the Lady were furled and the anchor dragged into the sand, halting them in the deeper waters of the bay. Ulrich nodded to Hammett, a faint smile on his lips. “Thank ye.” He said quietly. Hammett nodded, expression briefly softening.

“Fare thee well, Ulrich. I would that things had happened differently, but a man cannot dwell on things that could have been.” He said, his voice quiet as his eyes devoured his old friend.

“Aye. As do I. To dwell is ter tempt madness, an’ there be enough o’ that in this world. I wish ye well Hammett.” Replied Ulrich, briefly clasping forearms with Hammett in an age old gesture before turning on his heel and walking away down the ship, ready to return to the Revenge. He felt as though a weight had been lifted, he was free from doubts and was once again feeling in control.

Hetfield had spent his time aboard the Lady in silent, brooding solitude at the prow of the vessel. He resented the fact that he had had to accept Hammett’s assistance, hated the fact that he needs must travel aboard Hammett’s ship with no hope of slaughtering the Captain and couldn’t bear the fact that they’d had to run from a fight. His body hurt, his spirits were bruised and his temper was riled. He felt physically exhausted and mentally enraged. He stared balefully at the beauty of the dawn that was breaking before them, appreciating none of it. The only sight that roused him from his dark mood was the sight of the Revenge coming ever closer to them. He would not feel comfortable until his feet were aboard the deck of his own ship. Even as the thoughts ran through his head he gripped his sword hilt tighter as though choking the life from it.

A low voice from behind him broke him from his reverie and he turned to look down into the deeply tanned face of Hammett’s first mate. “Cap’n Hetfield, we be lowerin’ the longboats ter take you an’ yer crew ter yer ship.” He stated dispassionately, keeping a firm hold over his own temper, his fingers itching to tear apart this man who had shattered Hammett all that time ago. Hetfield just looked at him with an arrogant sneer on his face and wordlessly walked past him.

Trujillo glowered after him, a rare look of hatred on his face. Silently he swore to himself that if Hammett did not kill Hetfield the next time he encountered him, he would gut the man himself. With that promise in his mind he walked across the deck, watching as the longboats were lowered and were rowed towards the Revenge, taking away her crew and Captain.

Trujillo moved swiftly down the ship to where Hammett stood at the wheel, a rare look of melancholy on his face. It was an unfamiliar expression and Trujillo shot him a quizzical look but Hammett simply shook his head. “What have you to report?” He asked, voice level but with a world weariness behind it that was impossible to hide. It was a long weariness, dredged up from the soul that spoke of a man who had seen and done too many terrible things to have much hope left of salvation. For Hammett however, his only means of salvation stood before him.

“Rawlett is dead.” Stated Trujillo, dark eyes full of sorrow and regret. Rawlett had been a good man who hadn’t deserved death at the hands of men already long dead. Hammett’s face betrayed a flicker of shock, but no sorrow. His only nod to his own sadness at Rawlett’s passing was his briefly bowed head. His true emotions as always stayed buried deep. He would miss the old man in his own way, just as he had been fond of him. Gruff and superstitious as he had been, Rawlett had been an excellent first mate and a staunch supporter and ally, and Hammett felt his loss more keenly and painfully than he would ever allow any other man to see.

“He was a good man.” He intoned softly. “A good pirate. A good ally. I would an there wre more like him in this world.” With that Hammett lapsed into a brief silence, sparing another thought for his dead comrade.

“Aye, he was. I doubt there be others like ‘im. Yer crew betwixt wounded an’ dead be at half strength, mayhaps slightly less, an’ Hetfield fared no better.

Hammett looked away from Trujillo, staring at the familiar wheel in his hands then out at the Revenge and the horizon. “Robert, there are times when I feel as though I have taken more from this world than a man should.” He said quietly, betraying his own weakness before Trujillo and no other. “I am exhausted and no doubt that contributes to this mood.”

“Aye, we’re all that.” Agreed Robert, hiding his concern at the trend of Hammett’s thoughts. Hammett waved one of the crew members towards him. The man, a helmsman went to him directly and stood before the Captain awaiting orders.

“Mr Harrison, you will take the wheel for a time. Keep a weather eye on the Revenge. As soon as the longboats are back aboard I wish you to pile on full sail. We will skirt this island on the tail of the Revenge. I wish to keep her in sight. Should there be any significant developments I wish to be appraised of them immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye Cap’n.” Replied Harrison sharply, duly taking the wheel from Hammett. Secure in the knowledge that his orders would be obeyed to the letter without comment or question Hammett turned to Trujillo, briefly motioning for him to follow. Wordlessly Trujillo did so as Hammett descended from the bridge and entered his cabin. Robert shut and locked the door behind them, laying the key on the desk. Hammett took a long drink from a waterskin left there, offering it to Trujillo who accepted gratefully before laying it down.

Hammett sat in one of the chairs at the table, leaning back, looking at Trujillo as he prised the lid from the keg of seawater that stood in Hammett’s cabin for the purposes of washing. Hammett had ever been more fastidious than many other members of the brethren. It was replenished often and so remained a constant fresh source. Hammett took in the blood and grime, the traces of gunpowder and sand that coated the man before him who was swiftly and efficiently filling the basin with water to allow them to wash. Trujillo had fought hard, that much he knew and smiled slightly to himself. It was as it should be.

Trujillo pulled off his shirt, wincing as the material tore free of a long thin slice across his ribs where a blade had glanced off him. A trickled of blood showed and Hammett stood up, going to him, lightly running his forefinger across the wound, sucking the blood from it, his eyes never leaving Trujillo’s. Robert read the expression on his face, the mixture of smouldering lust, a feral desire that was never far below the surface and a need for affirmation that both indeed were safe, a feeling that was echoed in his own soul. He kissed Hammett slowly, softly, tasting his own blood on his lover’s lips. When they broke apart Hammett smiled and nodded, taking off his shirt, picking up a washcloth and beginning to attend to himself. He, like Trujillo had been the recipient of several cuts and bruises, but nothing that needed anything more than cleaning and leaving to heal in the fresh air. The pair of them were silent as they did. There was not yet the need for words.

The pair of them quietly and methodically stripped down out of their wet and bloodied clothes, stained with the sea, the blood of themselves and others, sweat, sand and dirt. The clothes were thrown in a heap in the corner of the room, and twice they emptied the basin out of the window to the rear of the cabin as the water became tinged first with red, then a dirty brown as they scrubbed themselves. Finally both stood clean and quiet, the familiar roll of the ship beneath their feet keeping them grounded in reality. They dressed to the waist in cleaner clothes and wordlessly dropped onto the bed.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Raedoll
Member Avatar
Poor Twisted Me
[ * ]
Whaaaaaaaa. I love how you gave us those little twists and turns and everything elses. You've got a great suspense writing style, I was worried of Hammett perishing. Hetfield on the other hand seemed like a caged, wounded animal. Not quite angry or scared enough to lash out but readily close by. The prowl between Hammett and Ulrich was excellent, especially how cold and exact Hammett's words could cut in like that. Brilliant. Robert and Kirk are good for eachother, and it's a pity about Rawlett. Though he was getting older, mayhaps it ended his sufferring. Hopefully. I really can't wait for more, I'm heavily enjoying this story. It just pulls you in like the undertow.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Shayi
Member Avatar
Bring me that horizon
[ * ]
Rae: Thank you so so much, you have no idea how stoked you just made me! It's been one helluva day and that just perked it up!

Due to said day from hell - this update is slightly shorter than usual. Pah. That aggravates me.... because I have too many words that want to get out!



Hammett yawned widely, reaching out to one of the drawers, pulling out a chart and spreading it out on the bed with them. Trujillo looked at it, briefly deciding where they were and looking for the nearest ports. They would be requiring more men, however, it appeared that the likelihood was that they would be engaged in battle by Hetfield before that was allowed to happen. “We’ll be in battle afore we make port.” He commented softly.

The Captain nodded and rolled up the chart abruptly, tossing it onto the table with an expression of annoyance. “That I have no doubt of.” He replied, lying back, looking at Trujillo who lay beside him. “I enjoy watching you fight.” He murmured, the comment coming out of the blue and surprising Trujillo slightly. “You release that savagery that I so rarely see. One day we shall have to duel, you and I.”

“Name the time an’ place.” Replied Trujillo with a smile. He had long wanted to match swords with his lover. “I felt fear today.” He stated suddenly, unused to letting any other know such private thoughts.

“You and I both.” Replied Hammett, surprisingly gently. “And I know why. Over the last few days I’ve had the time to think, to reflect upon things.” Hammett took a slow breath, and Trujillo waited in silence for what was to come. “I’ve come to realise, Robert, that you are the second half of my soul. Certainly I have been afraid to admit that, even to myself, and you know my reasons why. But I trust you Robert, I can truly say that I do. And so, you have my heart.”

Robert stared at him, surprised to hear the admittance coming from the other man. The expression in his eyes was soft as they rested on Kirk, a slight smile curing his lips as he reached out, running one hand down the side of Kirk’s face. “You too hold my heart. Ye have fer a long time.” He relied, voice a low rumble as he spoke. Kirk smiled, letting one of his hands rest of Robert’s hip, closing his eyes. His breathing relaxed into a slow, steady rhythm.

“Good.” He muttered, almost asleep. Robert watched as Kirk slept. There was so much you could tell about a person when they were asleep. It was the one time that Kirk ever let his guards down, allowed himself to be vulnerable. Robert had seen Kirk sleep before, seen his too beautiful face relax, peaceful and at ease with himself. None of the strains of the past days showed, all tautness had left round his eyes and mouth. Robert glanced down to where Kirk’s slender, long-fingered hand rested on his hip. Strange to imagine that hand, so oddly graceful had dealt out so much death and cruelty. It seemed almost alien that the sleeping man before him was one of the most notorious and feared men in the Caribbean. It was that multi-faceted contradiction of a man however who had somehow captured him. And it was on that thought that he closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.

Still upon the island, Mustaine had arrived back at the Wrath, still scowling, the punishing pace he’d set making his lungs burn and just increased the foul mood that he was in. The Wrath was riding the waves in the bay ready to make it out to sea as soon as her Captain was aboard once again. The longboats rested on the beach, ready to bear the crew to their vessel. Mustaine did not pause at the beach but got the first relay of men into the longboats and ordered the dead men to make their own way to the ship. How they did it worried him not. They needed no air, they could not drown. By the same token they needed no sustenance and so would not be a drain upon the resources aboard ship.

The men rowing would not move fast enough for Mustaine. He snarled, urging them on faster, to more and greater effort that the exhausted men simply could not put forth. Every second that was lost was a further second that he was not pursuing Hammett’s ship. He was certain that Hammett was still alive. The more he had thought about it as he walked, the more certain he had become that Hammett was still alive. There was no way that Hammett would have given in so easily, no earthly way that he would have let himself die in those waters. Yes, Hammett would still be alive. That decision buoyed his spirits and he grinned, blue eyes glittering with an eerie madness.

They boarded the Wrath and Mustaine hastened to the wheel, watching as the last of his crew boarded, the dead men climbing aboard from the sea. He gave the order for the ship to proceed under full sail, heading in the direction that he knew the Death’s Lady to have taken and where she would be meeting the Revenge. He just hoped that the time that it took for Hetfield’s crew to leave the Lady would buy him enough time to have a hope of catching them. He span the wheel, feeling the familiar pits and grooves under his fingers, smiling as the ship responded to his touch. She was better than any whore lover he had taken, dedicated to him alone, ever loyal, one who had never yet let him down. Parched he took a drink from the flask he habitually carried with him, the fire that burned down to his stomach only intensifying the heat from the march through the forest. He called for water to be brought to him, expecting as always instant obedience and receiving it. As he drank he frowned. Now that he had stopped the physical exhaustion was catching up with him and for a second he swayed on his feet before getting hold of himself. He would have to sleep, and soon, but he would hold out until the Lady was in sight once more, that much he promised himself.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
*MiAnA*
Member Avatar
Blackened
[ * ]
These last two chapters were great, as allways. I liked the reconciliation between Lars and Kirk (if I can call it that), James' mood and how you descibed his discomfort at being in Hammet's ship. And of course, I loved the Rob/Kirk parts =)

Mustaine fascinates me. He gives half his soul, gets an army of dead men following him, has a crew that wants to get rid of him and is chasing two men that only want to kill each other (not mentioning the fact that he's a crazy drunk), and i still love the guy!

Please, never stop writting, i love this story :)
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Verity
Member Avatar
The Story Girl
[ * ]
I hope that your day gets better, really I do.

Poor Rawlett, that was kind of sad. I know that he was an off character but still, you wrote him well and made him come to life. The way Hammett dealt with it was spot on. How he doesn't want anyone to know the sadness that he feels. It's just the way that I thought he would act.

The part with Hammett and Trujillo at the end was just amazing. You have a gift with words. I wish I could write more, but I must go now. blah.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Shayi
Member Avatar
Bring me that horizon
[ * ]
Ashley: It did get better in the end - cheers! Got home and went out skating with some friends so that put things in better perspective. I felt a little sad about losing Rawlett, I'd rather grown to like the chap, but still... I'll be more sad to lose others lets put it that way! And thank you again, you say such nice things! I'm glad that you enjoyed it :) (And I hope everything's going good for you on your travels!)

Miana: Yeah reconciliation will do... :) I'm glad you liked that bit! lol, I know what you mean about Mustaine. While I've been writing this, I've been trying to hate him, turned him into a half-crazed drunk with a possible hint of psychosis and still I can't dislike him! Ah well! So thank you so much for your kind comment!!

Here we go again...

Safely aboard the Wrath, making way after the Lady, Ellefson headed below decks, ostensibly to check that the provisions were all secure before they were engaged in battle, at which time everything would need to be tied down and secure. In reality as he stepped into the cool relative darkness below decks he made his way to where the crew slept and swung himself into one of the hammocks. He was exhausted, sore and filthy and not in the slightest part inclined to assist Mustaine in his venture to capture Hammett. With that thought on his mind he closed his eyes, trying to relax enough to get some sleep. The familiar motion of the ship moving across the water made that attempt swifter and it was not long before he had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was however not long before he was roused by a heavy hand clamping down on his shoulder. He woke with a start, hand instantly pulling his pistol from the folds of his sash, looking up into the face of one of the crew members. “What do ye want?” He snarled, pushing the pistol back into his sash once again. He hadn’t spoken often to the man who stood before him, a hulking giant of a man who had been picked up from being a galley slave in a ship that they had taken. However, he had never heard anything untoward about him.

“I’ve bin a’talkin’ ter Kit.” He said. “Do ye want to know more?” His voice was strange, hoarse and cracked as he spoke, and with his size and obvious competence when it came to death it seemed eerie and strangely out of place. Ellefson nodded slowly.

“Aye, I’d like ter know what ye think.” He said, still feeling slightly cagey, not entirely certain whether he could trust this man before him. He wasn’t even certain of his name, it was certainly something strange, outlandish he remembered thinking. He dragged his thoughts back to the man before him who was regarding him steadily. Ellefson sat up and the man duly crouched down before him, lessening the chances of them being overheard.

“Rumour do say that ye be thinkin’ o’ disposin’ o’ Mustaine? If that be the case, I think I know how I can be assistin’ ye. I be a plain speakin’ man and I ain’t one ter mince me words. I know fer certain that there be a quarter o’ this ship who would be willin’ to follow ye. There be another quarter loyal only ter Mustaine. An’ the other half, ah, they could go either way. They don’ particularly care who be their Cap’n, jus’ so long as they are ‘avin’ a share o’ the booty.” He broke off with a nod, watching Ellefson’s face, seeing his reaction.

“Those be odds that I’d be willin’ ter take.” He said quietly, thinking it through. Almost guaranteed that the half that were neither one way nor the other would go to his side. They had taken too much trouble from Mustaine of recent times, and had no plunder. It would be time for them to have a change of Captain.

“Do ye have anythin’ planned?” Asked the other man. Ellefson nodded, still racking his brains to remember his name. Ahmed. That was it. He knew it was something out of the ordinary.

“Aye. I be thinkin’ that we take our moment when he be engagin’ Hammett in battle. ‘E will catch ‘im, that much I be certain of. Too decided on ‘is course not to. In the confusion o’ battle, ‘twill be the perfect time ter dispose o’ him, bring ‘is ship down from the inside out.”

“An’ then ye be Cap’n?” Asked Ahmed with a sidelong look, eyes narrowed.

“Aye, fer a time.” Confirmed Ellefson with a swift nod. “After that though, I be thinkin’ that I’ll be headin’ fer port an’ leavin’ this ship. Then the place of Cap’n be up fer grabs.”

Ahmed nodded with a swift smile. “I’ll be interested ter see that.” He replied. “Until the battle then. You act, I swear me an’ the rest will be followin’ ye. Anythin’ ter dispose o’ that madman.” He spat on his palm and held out his hand while Ellefson did likewise, shaking hands with him to seal the bargain between them. Ahmed slipped away into the shadows and Ellefson lay back, a smile of satisfaction on his lips. Kit had worked swiftly and well. There was nothing more for him to do but wait until the moment presented itself.

Above decks, Mustaine stood at the wheel, drinking deeply from a waterskin. When he had drunk his fill he tipped the rest across his face, letting the cool water trickle down over his heated skin. Finished he threw the waterskin aside, swiping one hand across his eyes before pulling his telescope from his pocket, squinting through it into the bright dawn as they rounded the edge of the cliffs, seeing if he could make out the ships of Hammett and Hetfield. A smile curved his lips as he saw the two familiar ships. Luck still favoured him. He sent a sour glare towards the temporary mast. As long as it held, he was safe and would be able to give chase. There was no reason why it shouldn’t hold long enough for him to capture one of their ships. The Death’s Lady he was determined to burn to the water, but the Revenge? Now that would be a ship fitting of him. He would take the Revenge and keep the Wrath as his second ship under the command of another.

Briefly he thought of his first mate before chuckling to himself. The man was a dolt, good as a whipping boy but nothing else. His mood changed, clouds coming into his horizon. He had meant to keep a watch on Ellefson. The man was not to be trusted. So far nothing had come of his feeling, but it was nothing to be too careful. He frowned, he could feel disquiet, unrest and tried to shake the feeling, concentrating instead on what lay ahead of them, what was happening at that moment. He had long learnt to listen to his feelings, but this time, he had a singular goal, and anything that did not tie in with that could be ignored, pushed to one side until it was necessary to face it down. This creeping unease fell under that aegis. It could wait.

There was of course the question of the Ymir. However, now, with his army of the dead, paid for with his very soul, he knew that he could conquer them. His men, now used to the corpses aboard ship would not feel as much fear when they saw the crew of the Ymir. They would have lost much of the aura of mystery and supernatural fear that made them so effective. He grinned, yes, Hammett and Hetfield would be outplayed upon all suits. He frowned, wondering whether Hetfield had indeed thrown in his lot with the devil Hammett, whether their accord would be of a longstanding nature. He knew from hearsay that there was an old enmity between them, but as to what it was or how deep it ran, he did not know.

“Oh Hammett,” he muttered, putting away his telescope in one voluminous pocket of the blood and salt-stained coat he habitually wore, “I will have your blood. I will have your body. I will kill you. I’ll swear it afore God an’ the Devil. I swear on me own mother’s grave that I’ll kill ye one day. Jus’ you wait, Hammett, I’m comin’ fer ye.” He finished on a whisper, one hand still on the wheel of the ship, the other grasping the hilt of the dagger thrust through his belt. Yes. That was what he was going to do. The delicious thought just occurred to him, a pleasant imagining to wile away a tedious chase. The thought of Hammett tied to the wheel of the Wrath, beaten down, blooded and spirit broken while he slowly gutted him, still living. The picture became so vivid, so real that he could almost smell and taste the blood and fear, could almost hear the agonised screams rising into the wind. He smiled again. A wolf’s smile, the smile of a killer. And when men looked up to see him from the deck below, they shivered.

Hetfield meanwhile stepped thankfully onto the deck of the Revenge to be greeted by a ragged cheer from the men already aboard. He nodded his acknowledgement and strode up to the helm, relieving the man there of his duties. A smile touched his lips. Yes, it was good to be back aboard his own vessel, feel the familiar timbers beneath his feet, the rock and sway, the creaks that were the Revenge’s own unique voice, talking to him. And he would oft sit and just listen to her and the ocean. He looked at the longboats on their way back to the Lady. Just as soon as the little boats were back there, the accord was off, and he knew that their next pursuit would begin in earnest. What he wasn’t certain of, was whether Hammett would begin to pursue him immediately, or attempt to make for the next port. If that was the case, was his wisest plan of action to attack Hammett while he was still vulnerable, or to do likewise and make for port, and try to sign on further crew. There was also the question of Mustaine. What would he decide to do next? It was considering these problems that Hetfield watched the sails fill with wind, and began, staying her course away from the island.


Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
*MiAnA*
Member Avatar
Blackened
[ * ]
First of all, Happy birthday!
I hope you have a great day =)

Second...
Another great chapter I see. Mustaine should really trust his feelings. The mutiny is close, and I can't wait for it. Besides, a battle with his dead army against the men in the Ymir would be great! I can't wait to see what is going to happen next.

Keep up the great writing, and have a fantastic day :D
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Shayi
Member Avatar
Bring me that horizon
[ * ]
Thanks! I did have a great day :)

I agree - Mustaine needs to get on top of things - but we'll see what happens! I'm so glad you're still reading this bad boy... it's getting surprisingly long. However - here goes the next bit!


As he stood there, Hetfield stifled a yawn. He was weary, that was certain, and he debated whether to put his head down and snatch a few hours sleep. Hammett would not strike immediately, that much he knew. With that in mind he took one last look up and down the length of the ship, glad to once again be aboard the Revenge. He gave the order for the ship to be kept on the course that he had set and handed over to another helmsman. He finished by ordering that the crew sleep in shifts and that done, retired to his own cabin.

Once there he stripped swiftly, grimacing at the blood and filth that clung to him. He reasoned that sleep was by far more desperate a need and that cleanliness could wait until he had awoken., With that thought in mind he drank some water then sloshed some rum from a thick bottle into a battered tankard, drinking it down quickly. He coughed as the liquid burnt the back of his throat, still raw from screaming and howling during the battle and he winced, shaking his head before rolling into bed, pulling the thin coverlet over himself and soon fell into a sleep, plagued with dreams that were more likely to be known to any other as nightmares. His mind was filled with battle and death and above all Hammett was there, watching, ever watching and mocking with his cool gaze as monsters from the deep tore into the Revenge, slowly but surely destroying her. The sedative effects of the strong alcohol he had drunk helped to keep him trapped just within the realms of sleep, tormented and plagued by his night visions.

Ulrich however slept soundly, his mind at ease. They were back aboard ship, the Ymir could be effective once more and they had survived the battle. Things were as well as they could be expected to be and in that he was content. Plans could be made after they had a chance to sleep. There was no point in trying to make plans when neither had a clear head. As he slept he was untroubled by the dreams that were making Hetfield’s sleep a living hell. When he awoke it was to the familiar sounds of the ship at work. The scents of wood, tar, sweat, leather and ropes assailed his senses, underlaid by the subtle salt of the sea. The familiar creaks and soft shifting of her wood as she rode the calm sea were one of the constants in his life and for that he was grateful.

He lay for a few minutes, just letting the familiar sensations wash over him. It felt a world removed from the horrors they had experienced on the beach that night, things best to be forced from the mind. He did not want anything cluttering his thoughts. He stood up, dragging the leather thong that held back his amber hair that was matted with sand and blood and he grimaced as he looked down at himself. A wash was most certainly in order and he would attend to that quickly before going back up on deck. Before he made it to the deck however Hetfield appeared in his cabin looking far more human than he had the day before, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Aye Cap’n?” Asked Ulrich, voice calm, wondering what it was that had caused Hetfield’s agitation.

“Even in me dreams.” Said Hetfield, shaking his head. “I think that I be free o’ Hammett in me dreams but ‘e torments me in sleep. When I’ve killed ‘im it’ll be so much the better.” His voice was harsh as he spoke but he shook his head and sat on the edge of Ulrich’s bed, while Lars got on with dressing. “They be followin’ us still.”

Lars looked at him in surprise. He had expected the Lady to turn away, keep out of potential harms way while both ships headed to port. “Do she think to engage us in battle afore she’s ‘ad time to gather more men?”

“I don’t know. I think she be followin’ us ter keep us in ‘er sights for when she has managed to make port an’ gain more crew. I could be wrong.” Hetfield swiped one hand across his face irritably pushing stray blond hairs away that had fallen across his eyes. “Wi’ Hammett, I don’t think that the course that seems ter be the most logical be the one ‘e will always take.”

“Aye.” Replied Ulrich thoughtfully. “An’ what o’ Mustaine?” His mind was already skipping across the possibilities of what was to happen between them all in the future. Hetfield speaking once again took him back into the present.

“From what I’ve bin told so far, ‘e’s followin’ behind Hammett. ‘E won’t wish ter stop at any port, since ‘e ‘as plenty o’ crew with the dead ‘e has wi’ him.” Said Hetfield, a darkling look in his eyes as he considered the losses that his own crew had suffered. Had Mustaine not interfered he had every certainty that the amount of dead and casualties would have been by far lower and that was something for which he would never forgive his ex-crew mate.

“I think that be part o’ the reason why Hammett be tailin’ us. If ‘e heads straight fer the nearest port, he’ll slow himself, Mustaine’ll catch ‘im an’ wi’ a crew twice the size, ‘e’ll burn the Lady to the sea. Hammett don’t ‘ave much choice but ter keep on tailin’ us.” He observed. Hetfield nodded, a wicked smile stretching his lips, a thoroughly cruel expression that Ulrich knew of old meant that trouble would be going someone’s way.

“He’ll be feelin’ pressed then. Mayhaps ‘e will be betrayed inter makin’ a mistake. An’ then, we’ll be on hand ter take advantage. Aye, Mustaine’ll be there, but I understand the men o’ the Ymir will be able ter hold ‘im off, if not destroy him?” Hetfield had phrased it as a question, but the tone was that of a challenge, almost daring Ulrich to say that he was wrong, to take away his faith in the Ymir.

Ulrich grinned suddenly. “Aye, they’ll be all too ‘appy of the action.” He said with certainty. Hetfield nodded, a sudden good humoured smile changing his expression for the better. It felt right once more, his plans, his ideas were falling into place. Yes, certainly he’d had to adapt the way he had meant to do things, but it would suffice. He, Captain Hetfield would still be able to come out on top. With that thought in mind he left Ulrich abruptly and went back out on deck into the afternoon sun. The brightness made him stand there blinking for a few seconds, but he went up to the bridge and relieved the helmsman. His usual rhythm of existence restored he took out his compass and checked their bearing before looking back through the telescope to where the Lady traced their wake. She was out of range of the guns, but he had no doubt that that could change quickly. The Lady always had been swifter through the water than the Revenge, a fact that irked him more than he liked to admit.

Hetfield folded the telescope away, looking across the sea at the horizon. It always gave him the knowledge of freedom and with that gave a feeling of power. He let his mind wander as they sailed, his immediate worries having temporarily sifted to one side after speaking to Ulrich. He let his thoughts drift to more pleasurable things, lingering over the things that Giselle and Scarlett had done with him, to him and for him. His smile grew and he fancied he could almost smell the cheap perfume on the breeze. That was what life should be like. Pillaging, drinking and whoring. Hammett had stopped that and Hetfield would put period to his life. Then, finally he would be able to return to those three things that he knew so well.

Ulrich stayed below deck, decided that it would be a good time to speak to Newsted once again. Once more he used the amulet to allow him to see between the worlds. As he looked down upon the Ymir, Newsted stared back at him, a distinctly unfriendly look on his face. “Aye, ‘n what do ye want, Ulrich?”

“Jus’ to see what ye make o’ these dead men that Mustaine ‘as wi’ him.” Replied Ulrich, eyes narrowed as he glared at Newsted.

Newsted shrugged. He had taken too much from Ulrich to really care whether or not he was seen as insubordinate. For the time that he was on the Ymir, there was not much that Ulrich could do to him and so he wasted no breath on appearing pleasant. “Nothin’ to be tellin’ ye. They’re dead. Ye know that, an’ ye know ‘ow ye can be killin’ ‘em. You want more.”

Ulrich nodded. “I do. Can yer men aboard the Ymir take down Mustaine, even wi’ that crew with him?” He asked, voice low and serious as he spoke, his eyes raking across the men who were on the deck. They were all obviously men hardened to war, men to whom death held no stigma, nothing that could shake them. Death was to be greeted as an honour, a chance to join the great battle with Odin and feast in Valhalla every night. No, these men would not go to battle with fear working against him.

“Aye, they could.” Replied Newsted, voice harsh as he spoke. “They’re men born to fight an’ will do so until death.”

“Then I be satisfied. Ye will be called upon sooner than not an’ ye will be needin’ to fight. Whether it be wi’ Hammett’s crew, or Mustaine’s, I know not, but ‘tis comin’.” Stated Ulrich, words almost threatening, but stopping just short of that. Newsted shrugged and nodded.

“We will be ready.” He stated. Satisfied with the reply Ulrich withdrew from that world and back into the cabin. He breathed in deeply, still feeling as though the still, damp air from the other world was in his nose and mouth. Clearing that feeling he stood up and stretched, a satisfied smirk on his face. Hetfield was ready and so was Newsted. None of this boded well for Hammett or for Mustaine. He felt a twinge of pity and regret for Hammett, something he had not expected but assuaged his feelings with the sure knowledge that if he had the chance to, Hammett would slaughter them all without mercy and would enjoy to do so.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
*MiAnA*
Member Avatar
Blackened
[ * ]
More Hetfield and Ulrich action :D
I really liked the dialog scene. It's very well writen, and, once again, got me stuck to the screen.

I can't wait for more. :)
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Raedoll
Member Avatar
Poor Twisted Me
[ * ]
I'm caught up. And I have my pirate fix now <3 Mutiny above the Wrath? Oh dear. Mustaine must keep a weathered eye on his crew. No matter how scared they are of him, an opprotunity to be rid of fear would make Lions out of them. Mustaine has mispegged Ellefson, I believe. The man is smarter than he lets on. Mustaine best not get caught up in too many fantasies, 'Tis not wise to count yer debloons before ye plunder it. I see death on the horizion, and soon. Mayhaps another accord between Hetfield and Hammett. it's nai impossible, but an understanding between the two of them to eliminate Mustaine would give them free range at one another once the common enemy is slain. Ooohhh. I don't like guessing! :3 But I will keep reading this to find out.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
ZetaBoards gives you all the tools to create a successful discussion community.
Learn More · Register for Free
Go to Next Page
« Previous Topic · Finished Fictions · Next Topic »
Add Reply