This idea hit me with a bang just after watching one of my favorite halloween specials on the family channel, "Hocus Pocus". I thought "man that'd be cool to live through". Then I thought "what about if We could live through it with the world's most brutal metal band?" It took off from there!

Hope you enjoy it! Please review!

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The filming of the music video was running smoothly.

They were in the process of filming the video for the "lost vikings" song, and so far it was going pretty much okay.

Outside, it was storming. Rain lashed the windows in heavy sheets and the sky had turned an ugly, throbbing purple.

In this scene, Nathan Explosion would come through the prop gates and into he prop village on a horse and, with the rest of his band, take the "villagers" hostage. The villagers were being played by random fans and several roadies, male and female, actually.

The whole song was about a group of vikings that left their lands to pillage and plunder others, all the while avoiding detection. Obviously, the video was staged to take place sometime in the dark ages.

Nathan Explosion, who was on the horse, was wearing a chain mail tunic (that weighed a frigging ton) and metal shin guards over his usual boots. On his head he had a helmet, specifically crafted for this purpose.

Beside him, his band mates wore very similar outfits, although Toki had insisted on traditional iking battle dress versus dark ages. He wore a long tunic belted with leather and covered in weapons and carried a battle ax. He wore a horned helmet and a fur cape covered in bedraggled knots.

His excuse had been, "I'm Norwegian, and I's gonna dress likes a viking, nots some englands freak."

They had only taken very basic horse riding tips for this video and as such were having a hard time controlling their horses. Nathan's balls were killing him from the width of the stallions back. Next time he rode a horse, he would wear real pants.

In the fake village that had been set up, one roadie in particular was not having a very fun time. She was 20 years old and her name was Maeve Riordane.

She usually cleaned and tuned Pickle's drums before shows, but had been chosen to play in this music video because, as Skwisgaar Skwigelf had put it, "yous is de only roadies whos does not looks like shit."

She had been forced into a fress with full skirts and squeezed tight into a bodice that pushed her considerable bosom up and formed way too much cleavage for her liking. She was to be scooped up by Nathan himself and thrown over the horses back. She had to admit, it was not something she was looking forward to. Nathan was big and strong and she was half afriad of the force he might use.

She hid behind a pile of hay, as was in the script and just as she threw herself, the lead singer of Dethklok rode by on his horse and, with one arm, scooped her up around the waist and threw her over the horse as planned. Her skirts went flying, revealing a flash of bare leg that was pale as fish and then she was riding with him. It was not very comfortable.

"CUT!"

The horse reared and she almost fell off. She managed to stay on by twisting her hands in the soot colored mane in her face. She was very near the singer's legs and could smell his sweat, his clothes and his skin. She could also smell the horses sweat. The smells combined made her want to gag.

Nathan dismounted and helped the roadie off the horse. She was shorter than him but extremely pretty. Auburn hair with darker highlights that were almost brown and eyes the color of grass. Perfect pink lips. A spike through one eyebrow and another through her tongue. Metal.

"That was excellent, guys, great job!" congratulated the band's engineer and label representative, Dick Knubbler. His robotic eyes shone green and he was smiling.

Maeve straightened her dress and sighed as best she could with the corset sinching her tight.

"Hey. Goods job," said Skwisgaar, putting a hand on her bare shoulder. She rolled her eyes. The lead guitarist had been trying to get her in the sack since day one.

"We'll finish the rest of it after a lunch break, okay? Go get something to eat," he said, and mumbling about sandwhiches, the band took off.

Maeve stayed behind. Lunch breaks for the employees were not at the same time as the band's.

She wanted to get the hell out of the dress she wore. She didn't mind dresses. She even admired the ones from the age they were trying to mimic. She had just had no idea they would be so damned uncomfortable.

"Nice job staying limp like that, Mae," said the roadie who cleaned the microphones. They didn't use their names that often. Maeve's designated name was #39. The lower the numbers were, the higher up their positions in Mordhaus were and the closer they got to interact with the band. Being just under number 40, who tuned the pyrotechnics, she was allowed onstage during shows to tune the drumsets.

She wandered off the stage, removing her slippers. They were laced around the ankle and across the top of her foot so she had to work at it, but her feet breathed a lot better away from the soft leather.

She padded barefoot over to the hallway that would lead to the kitchen. Roadies were allowed in there as long as they didn't disturb Jean Pierre, the chef.

She snuck in there now and "borrowed" a can of spaghetti-o's off a shelf of non-perishables. What spaghetti o's were doing in a place where there was a gourmet chef, she had no idea.

She punched it open with a can opener, and grabbing a spoon, she began gulping it down as she walked. She was hungry now, dammit, and she wasn't going to wait for the band to finish sipping their tea to eat.

She loved Dethklok, liked hanging around near them, liked listening to their music, liked working for them. They really were good bosses, when Skwisgaar wasn't hitting on her. They just didn't treat her as a regular. They treated her as a number, not someone they knew by name. That was the only thing stopping her from correcting their way of thinking sometimes. She didn't want to be a nag, lest she be known as the nagging roadie.

She headed back to the stage set where the rest of the roadies were lolling around. A few of them were wearing wigs because their heads were shaved or they had hair styles not akinned to the Dark Ages. Like the purple mohawk of roadie #216, who was shorter than average.

She flipped her auburn hair over her shoulder and sighed. Time to get back into character soon.

She bent over on a stool and began lacing her shoes up once more, her hair hanging down in soft, loose curls to obscure her cleavage. She looked up only when a particularly loud boom of thunder made her jump. The storm outside was getting worse.

She stood up once more and regained her composure in time for the band to come walking back in.

Time to assume the position.

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PLEASE REVIEW!!!! I will be working simultaneously on this fic, as well as a different one, now that I have permission. PLEASE REVIEW!, wait,. I already said that... eheh. Nevermind.