EXERCISE Theme Song #16

Discussion in 'REFINING WRITING' started by Celestialis, Jun 14, 2012.

  1. [video=youtube;o_0jhMyEdYk]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_0jhMyEdYk&feature=related[/video]

    Music touches people in different ways. Many people enjoy listening to music for inspiration, and others simply listen to it to relax. Some songs tell stories while others allow you to make your own story.

    Your challenge:

    Listen to the song above then take a minute or two to think about it.

    Write out a scene to this song; make this song your scenes theme song.

    Let me know what you see when you listen to this music.

  2. The group of three hop down from their horses, pebbles from the volcanic rocks surrounding them crunching under their boots. They stand in front of the gate, covered in pulsing red runes that contrast with the jet black stone. A man dressed in a robe takes a scroll from his sleeve, and chants a few words in an ancient tongue. The gate slides open, causing the ground beneath them to quake. Through the open gate stands a dark tower, twisted and jagged, piercing the sky like a glowing red thorn. They nod to each other, and enter the gate, the runes glowing bright behind them. They enter the hot iron doors of the tower, and begin their ascent. The closer they get to the top, the hotter and brighter it gets. The space around them distorts from the heat waves, and the smell of sulfur overpowers their nostrils. The ground under the archer crumbles, and the warrior's hand shoots out to hold him up. The debris falls to the bottom floor, which isn't visible through the heat, and makes a barely audible noise.They wipe their tempered foreheads and carry onward. Eventually, they reach the top, which holds nothing but a small landing and a large iron door. The door was embellished in fierce dragons with open maws, as if they would be eaten if they dared go through the door. The warrior walks forward and places his gloved hand over the design, following the teeth with his fingers. He clenches his fist and pushes the door. It's heavy, and it scrapes against the rocky ground, barely moving under the warriors might. Suddenly, the dragon symbol on the door lights up with runic symbols, and it opens on it's own. An intense light and a wave of scorching air hits the adventurers, as they squint into the opening, readying their weapons.
  3. Part 1 Here

    Part 3 Here


    There was a silence between the group of heroes as they gazed down from the mountain ledge they stood upon, eyes fixed on the writing bored of orcs that littered the valley. Billowing clouds of oily black smoke rose up from their forges, the sound of metal on metal piercing through the din of their coarse voices as they shouted for blood and death. Their fair haired healer dropped to her knees staff held loosely in her hands.
    "There's so many... How can we possibly stop such an army?" No one chose to answer her, grim frowns covering their lips. There were only eight of them. Eight brave souls that had been searching tirelessly for a way to stop the war that was looming just over the horizon. Aifren gripped his sword, turning to face his companions. "I know what you're all thinking, and yes, it does seem hopeless." His eyes drifted over each tired face, seeing the despair and doubt in their eyes. "But we were chosen to end this! We are the one's DESTINED to end this! We've come too far, done too much to turn back now."

    His companions shifted slightly, some of the weaker willed individuals adverting their eyes. Aifren grit his teeth.
    "We have faced countless atrocities to be here today! We've broken the Circle of Blood Magi, we were the one's who banished Raith the dragon, and WE were the one's that brought down Castle Velsoa!" He glanced briefly over his shoulder, spitting at the army below. "We may not match their numbers, but they are no match for our strength! They fight for the thrill of it. We have a purpose! To protect those that cannot protect themselves! We can best their men ten thousand to one!" His companions, while not entirely hopeful, seemed to be inspired. They brandished their arms, gripped their weapons tighter, ready to charge in. Aifred turned. "Hold fast, friends. We will end this now!" With a shout, the group began it's decent down the mountain, into the throng of battle.

    Well, all but two members descended, Feros the black warlock halting Viserus, the young priest. Angered by this action, the young man spun around, eyes icy in their glare.
    "Unhand me, wretch!" He hissed, the dislike he held for the black mage showing in every fibre of his being. Feros held tight, keeping the man from moving much further. "You and I both know that there will be no happy ending if we all die here today." Viserus diverted his eyes, a scowl pulling the corners of his lips down more deeply than they had been. Prophecy and visions were forbidden by the church. Only the Gods would know how events would unfold. And yet, everything the two had been shown by Raith had come to pass. How could he deny what his mind knew to be true? "...Yes, but what of it? My friends, the people YOU swore to serve, are throwing themselves against an orc horde to attempt to save our people!" The younger male pulled his arm out of Feros' hold, turning to face to battle. "I won't run from this. You can cower and flee if you so wish, but I-"

    "I was not asking you to run!" Feros bit in harshly, silencing his companion from continuing any further. "This battle is lost if we don't get help!" Viserus raised a delicate brow, a look of suspicion in his gaze as he turned to face the other. "And where do you suppose we find aid?" Feros' lips pulled into a grin, though it was hidden beneath his robe's mask. "We summon a dragon." Viserus took a step back, gasping in surprise. Of all the possibilities, that one wasn't one he had been expecting. "A dragon? It is impossible to summon a creature so strong! It would kill the summoner! Don't throw your life away on something so idiotic." Before the priest was able to move, Feros had stepped closer, on odd gesture from someone so advert to being near others. "It can be done. Dragons are creatures of balance. Balance must be used when they are called. Water and fire. Earth and Air." To Viserus' surprise, the warlock took his hand, gripping it tight. There was a shock as he felt the warlock's power crossing underneath his skin.

    "Dark and light."

    Down below, the battle waged on in bloody fury as the six heroes tore through the orc ranks. Metal met met, piercing through flesh and littering the ground with the blue blood of their enemies. Their healer was doing her best, but they all were bleeding rather horribly from their own wounds, red tinging there clothes. Well, it might have been if they weren't so covered in dust and grime and mud. Battle was not a beautiful thing. There was no glory. There was no honour. It was all sweat and blood and death. Aifred brought his sword down in a wide arc, taking a charging orc's head clean off. Gods, it was never ending.
    "Up there! Look!" The man's attention was drawn away from the battle, up to the mountain side where he and the others had been standing a moment before. The two mages they had brought were still there, wrapped in white and black lights. "What are they doin' up there?" He wasn't given time to ponder, as an axe was swung dangerously close to his face, shaving off a few hairs of his beard. With a roar, he threw himself back into the fight, sword swinging high.

    Viserus felt strange. His own magic was familiar to him, but he now had the magic of a black mage mingling in his. It didn't feel as sinister as he thought it would. He looked over to Feros, his hood and mask having fallen away as the magic swirled around him. It made him look almost human.
    "You do realize that this spell is going to consume the lesser mage?" He asked. Feros just turned to him, a sly grin on his lips. "I guess we find out now which one of us is stronger." The two pointed to the sky, and the black and white light exploded into the heavens, breaking them apart. Out of that crack in the world, fell a large, winged beast. The orcs screamed, scattering as the dragon rained fire down on their armies, singing them black, the green men roasting inside their armour. Aifred and his friends fled from the battle, taking a breather as the dragon demolished their foes. "How did they manage to call down such a beast?!" The healer asked, cowering behind the man next to her.

    Aifred turned to look up to the mages in wonder, but it was cut short. Where there should have been two mages, there now only stood one. It confused him, but there were more exciting things to watch. He turned back to the battle, cheering the conjured dragon on.


    "I think we won.."
  4. Surrounded, gods-damn it. Dival looked left and right to see an endless circle of encroching enemies. in his hand the only thing he had ever or would ever trust, his sword. Forged of metal unknown and it's makings long lost to history. gripping it's handle tightly he set his gaze upon his countless foes. So many. Pushing his will to flee away he readied himself. The swathe of human flesh drove and surged towards him. Gritting his teeth he took a slow breath to calm his nerves. If he fled all was lost. If he ran everything he knew would be destroyed in an instant. No. He couldn't run, it was him against an army, one man against an innumerable foe. Something stirred within him. He felt his lips pull up into a slight smirk, a surge of long hidden energy, he knew what he must do. Turning his blade to it's opposite side and gripping with two hands he drove the point into the earth.
    ​"Annihilate, Megalo Machairi." With the utterance of those words the blade began to shine, not a glorious shine of light but the dull shine of a furious torrent of anger. Ramming the blade further into the earth, the ground before him split, cracked, rumbled and fell, giving birth to an inescapable maw. A crag of vicious jaws and sheer drops. as the army came and fell to their deaths from this ever approaching crag, their mages halted the flow of destruction restoring the path, whilst thier archers launched a mighty hailstorm of arrows into the sky. Dival looked a the blade in his hand, ignoring the rain of steel and wood. Ripping the blade from the earth that dull glow still lingered as the blade split the very air before him. Shearing the wind into a vacuum and utterly crushing the arrows from lack of pressure.

    The army's morale was wavering it was plane from the sheer expansive horror over what this single man could do. Dival swung the blade in an open and clear swath, carving through hundreds of enemies in a single swing. He was not moving from that spot. The mages conspired amongst themselves and launched a huge fireball so large and so bright it could have been mistaken for the sun descending from the sky to crush dival beneath. Ramming the hilt of his blade into the sky the gargantuan orb of fire simply funnelled it'self into the hilt of his blade. This time his blade shone brightly, the colour of magma, as the blade followed the arc he drew fire sprayed from the point. All within the arc was ignited with a furious blast of white fire, so hot it melted steel and burnt bone to ash within seconds. "Next contestant."
  5. The elevator was remarkably quiet for such a primitive construct, so the noble did not mind being transported with it. He wondered what his assistant wanted to show him so badly, all the while gazing at the scenery below, which was nothing more than an abandoned wasteland littered with the corpses of both men and animals. What could be here, in the middle of nowhere that was so imposing that he was forced to visit this place, what could be so wondrous to be fit for his eyes? He did not know the answer, but he waited patiently as the elevator ascended, its pace slowing down as they approached one of the stations on the side of the elevator shaft. He and his assistant changed elevators there, and then continued their seemingly endless ascent.

    When the noble was finally about to ask his assistant where they were going, blindingly strong, white light filtered into the cabin of the elevator, robbing him of his eyesight for a second. However, when he opened his eyes, the noble was rendered speechless, for in front of him lied the most divine city he has ever laid his eyes on: hundreds of golden, elegant skyscrapers reflected the light of the sun, all of them constructed on a huge, floating continent the likes of which he has never seen before. Large, wide streets cut deeply into the seemingly infinite number of skyscrapers, roads with multiple levels connected each and every building, but the most divine aspect of the city was the simply gigantic statue standing in the exact centre of the floating continent.

    The noble knew very well that the skyscrapers were hundreds of metres tall, but as the elevator ascended to even higher levels, he realised that the statue must be kilometres tall as it simply dwarfed even the tallest buildings with its majestic appearance. It was a statue of an angel, with a huge, wide claymore in her hand, standing on both of her feet, proud of her position as a divine being, the halo floating above her head without any support. The statue itself seemed to be made out of gold, silver, white marble and wood or at least it seemed to be coated in gold and silver, because no superstructure could support so much material as far as the noble knew. He really could not explain the wooden or marble parts though, lacking the technical knowledge of the engineers that built the imposing statue.

    In fact, the whole floating city seemed to be an engineering miracle. The skyscrapers seemed far too thin to support themselves, yet there they stood, and the multi-layered roads had no supports, simply floating in the air. The noble could only look on the city with admiration, awe and respect for its creators as the elevator halted at its apex, leading them to a barely visible platform that floated above the floating city. As he stepped out of the elevator, the noble could not help but wonder how the city was built, and how have its creators managed to make something so perfect, something so majestic.
  6. Hot steamy breath touched his face as he clutched his sword tightly to his chest. There was no way he would be able to get out of this alive. The dragon stood just inches from the doorway smelling him, his fear and his stench. Honestly the dragon did not want to harm the guy, he just didn’t want any of his treasure taken from him. He had found it fair and square why does everyone have to be such jerks about it.

    Moving his long elegant back some, he arched it and then all at once breathed out hot agonizing fire into the hallway where the knight stood. There was a loud scream and then the human ran in ablaze and flailing. It amazed the dragon how humans could think hiding in a hallway would do them any good, that and why wasn’t the man completely dead? That blast should have rendered the man to ash. Shaking his head the dragon looked down at his now soiled treasure. It was going to be a pain to clean now, maybe he should just chuck it.

    Deciding on the later he gathered both the dead man and as much of the bad treasure in his large clawed hands. Spreading his massive wings he thrust them downward, lifting him off the ground. His large wings propelled him upward till he was through the large hole at the top of the mountain. Flying high above the ground he found some of the treasure leaking through his fingers. Grumbling he lowered and once he was close to a village, where all the people screamed and ran for their lives, he dropped both the large amount of treasure and the dead guy.

    “Enjoy.” His loud booming voice echoed through the village as he flew back to his cave. All in a good days work. He thought to himself as he once again settled down on his huge mound of gold, rubies, and other priceless and grand possessions. The townsfolk were speechless and all became extraordinarily greedy. A town once ravaged by poverty had, in one pass of a dragons wing, become the richest.