Theme Song #28

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Celest, Sep 6, 2012.

  1. [video=youtube;eWUa9iuns8g][/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. Knelt before the alter, Tristan offered a few words to Ares in preparation for what was coming. He could hear the other warriors outside going through their own rituals, swords and shields clanging and clashing. It was different kind of music to prepare to. Finishing his prayers to Ares, he turned spoke to Athena briefly before standing and turning to the box where his armor and weaponry was held.

    The door opened a little, and his wife said softly, "They leave soon, my love. You must hurry."

    Tristan turned and took a step towards her, the only sign that it was safe for her to enter, and she ran into his arms. Tears were in her eyes, but she didn't dare let them fall as that would only say she did not expect him back.

    The contact was brief, but it was enough. Without words, they shared a kiss and then she left him to finish preparing. Eyes closed, Tristan allowed that moment to burn into his mind for when things became tough. He was going to be cutting it close and he knew it, but that moment was worth what he would face being a little late.

    Opening up the chest, he pulled out the pieces of his armor and slid them on. Being just a gladiator that gained freedom, he wasn't given the armor of a typical soldier. He had a leather breastplate that had a silver plate woven onto the abdomen. Leather gauntlets were slipped over his arms and strapped into place. He already wore the leather pants that he would be wearing. Unfortunately he wouldn't have nearly the protection on his lower half compared to his upper half or the soldiers in the army.

    His final piece was a belt that already held his sword's sheath looped onto it. It was merely a gladius, short but broad. Lifting the sword, he held it parallel to his body in front of him, the tip facing the sky and the broad side towards him. He pulled it against his forehead, eyes closed, and prayed for it's success out in the field before placing a gentle kiss to the metal and sheathing it.

    The helmet in the chest was considered and then lifted. He stared at the metal plate that would cover the area between his eyes and the top of his head. It was covered in leather in an effort to make it comfortable but as it wasn't the soldiers that wore them it wasn't that big of a deal.

    Tucking it under his arm, he left the room. His wife was kneeling before the alter, and would stay there until after he had left. She had seen him as she wanted to remember him already; the idea that the last sight of him was of him leaving for battle was not something she wanted.

    Outside, a shout went up and Tristan rushed out just in time to see a fire starting on one of the walls that surrounded the town. It would be several days before the soldiers arrived, if they even came before the battle was over. But this town was full of reformed criminals, the gladiators that survived, and their families. It would be a hard fight ahead, but they wouldn't ever lay down and give the enemy their home.
  3. "It is time my princess." Maria nodded at her servant. Her father warned her that this day would come, she knew that this also meant that her father had passed trying to defend their palace; defend their country. She sat down on the stool in her bedroom and her servant washed her feet and hands. Her servant then got her dressed in a long beautiful evening gown and had put her hair up just to decorate it with the crown that was once her mothers. With the new passing of her father, she was now the queen of a country turning to ruins. There was nothing that she could to, they were already starting to storm the palace gates.

    She was only seventeen, now a queen. "We need to move my lady" her servant said kneeled before her. Maria took in a deep breath as they moved to the palace temple. She knelt in front of the God-like statue and lit an incense to say a prayer to keep her strong and to watch over her father. A tear ran down her cheek as she stood and wiped it away. No one could see her cry, no one would see her week. She then walked through the palace to the throne room and took a seat in the chair that had once belonged to her mother.

    Thunderous sounds were coming from inside the palace. "The palace walls have been breached my lady! You must go now!" The messenger’s voice was trembling with fear.

    "No, I will not run. I am my father's daughter. I am the Queen. I will stand strong for my people. If my people go, I shall go with them." She sat upright, tall and proud. The sounds of screams and slaughter coming closer. Maria's servant knelt on the floor beside her with the look of sadness in her eyes. Loud booms coming from the great doors to the throne room filled the air with echoes. Suddenly the enemy soldiers flooded in the room to only find the servant knelt down with her head to the ground in prayer and the new Queen Maria staring at them. A man broke through the crowd of blood-stained swords and looked Maria in the eyes.

    "Well, what do we have here?" The man said in a deep voice as he came closer. He bowed and then continued forward. Maria couldn't help but scoff at the mockery he was making of her. He was walking up the steps before her; no man would ever dare coming that close to the queen. "You are a beauty. They were telling the truth." He said pleased with himself, like she was going to be his trophy. He touched her face and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Her people had perished, her father was slain, she had nothing more to live for. She pulled out a small dagger that she had hidden in her dress and drove it straight into her chest. She fell back into her mother’s embrace and she was home again.
  4. Amongst the ruins of a devastated city, in the middle of the largest dust cloud that has ever been seen by Man, amongst the forest of steel support pillars, collapsed walls, cracked concrete, shattered glass and infinite death, stands a longe man. His form is surrounded by eternal darkness that seems to come not from the dust cloud but from the body of the man itself, his clothes glow black and red, his eyes seem empty, his cape flutters in the wind and in his right hand is a sword that could impale a skyscraper. His mind is madness, his gaze is the abyss, his form is of Man but it is also one of nothing, a mere presence that stands there. In his heart is rage that has built up for four thousand years, in his mind is revenge that has been planned thoroughly, in his hands and around his body is the device with which he will commit his revenge.

    But how foolish it is to call this abomination a mere man, when he clearly is not one. Even now, his form is unsteady to the human eye, the red and black colours of his clothes swirling and creating a whirlwind that seems to obliterate the very soul. The aura of his body stinks of a plague, a virus that will consume even fire, hard work and steel. The material of his sword is unknown to Man and so are the contents of his mind. The amount of his knowledge is simply too vast to even comprehend. So how come such pitiful creatures have defeated him, pitiful creatures that only have a mere fraction of his experience, of his knowledge?

    Rage build up in the heart of the beast, for he is no longer human. Uncontrollable desire circles around him and moulds the dust into particles, moulds the particles into weapons and grafts the weapons to the flesh of the fallen. A sickly aura overwhelms the few survivors of the destroyed city, taking over their minds and replacing their consciousnesses with a single command, a desire to obey the beast that created this destruction. And in the mouth of the beast, words are formed that declare the end of Man.
  5. His eyes were closed as the raindrops fell upon his head. His hands were trembling and he could feel the water seeping into his jeans as he knelt on the cold hard ground staring at the smooth carved granite before him. It had been three years since he had been here, three years since that accident that took her from him. Strong thin hands clenched into fists as he raised his head to the sky and screamed at the top of his lungs.

    He’d been waiting to do that, to release all the pain and agony of that day and to finally be able to say goodbye to the woman of his dreams. She had been everything he wanted and more. He loved her smile, the way she looked at him when they woke in the morning, how she moved, the way she always thought of others before herself. Thoughts of her filled his mind the more he yelled and soon his voice was horse and he could no longer cry out to the heavens. He hoped she heard his call, his cry of agony and that she would feel at ease in a strange way. Though he was still hurt by it, he knew she was in a better place. She had to be, if not then whoever was in charge of the afterlife clearly did not know what they had missed out on.

    His plain grey shirt was soaked through and he was beginning to feel that numb feeling after being in the cold rain for so long. It was time for him to go. With another glance at the grave he stood and placed a hand on the cold stone a small smile forming on the side of his mouth. He would be back again sometime but for now he was fine.