Theme Song #30

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Celest, Sep 20, 2012.

  1. 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. First time writing one of these but I like the idea. To be honest I don't even know if this is the kind of response you're looking for but this is how the music speaks to me and how my mind thinks about a scene within it. That being said my mind sees it essentially as a two part simultaneous movie style montage (which in turn makes me think of Team America, :) ). Anyway, I'm sure the photo also contributes to the way I placed the music and some of this I would have to say is in part inspired by the movie Thirteenth Warrior. That all being said, this is how I see the scene.

    As I said I see it as more of a film shot so this is how the theme and camera appear to me. The effect would be that dark gritty real effect you see now a days (sort of ala Sherlock Holmes) and it would all have a bluish dark hue to it which would contrast starkly with the presence of blood and fire which would be ever so slightly over emphasized. The camera would be constantly in motion swirling around the two main characters from various heights and altitudes capturing the scene from their perspective of the battlefield as well as giving a larger overview at times but always moving in a constant circle at a rather quick pace.

    The two main characters are a warring Celtic King and his Queen wife. The scene opens in the midst of a battle. The king stands in the middle of the field. He's bloodied, dirty, and disheveled but still strong. He has long hair braided with leather cords and is bearded the same way. He wears various furs and Celtic attire though has very little armor remaining and he carries an unbelievably large broad sword which he holds at waist height as he peers around. As he turns, the camera turns with him and reveals the battle. Bodies are strewn about in various configurations of death. Men continue to hack at one another. The earth is dark, torn, trampled, and muddy from mixing with blood. The sky is overcast and dark. The battle rages in a clearing and the forest around it is dark and non nondescript giving the impression of a hedge made of dark twisted branches occasionally broken up by the presence of bright orange red yellow pockets of fire. In the distance beyond the forest a large orange yellow flickering and pulsing glow lights the bottoms of the low overcast sky telling the king that his village, and possibly all that he loves in the world, is burning. As the king looks around, an enemy attacker sprints toward him with a raised weapon. The king engages him, struggles with him, then dispatches him and returns to surveying the battle. He seems to be looking for someone. As the camera continues to spin, the king's eyes fall on one man in the battle who finds the king at the same instant and the surrounding battle blurs. They are the only two men left in focus and the king stands his ground as the other man begins a purposeful walk toward him killing the king's men who find themselves in his way.

    Here the scene shifts and blurs as the camera continues to spin. When the blur ceases, the scene revealed is now the king's village. The dark bluish overcast is somewhat replaced by a brighter orange overcast as the scene unfolds to reveal the King and Queen's village engulfed in billowing flames. There is no sound save the music but one can almost hear the cracking and splintering of wooden structures as they give way to being consumed and fall in upon themselves. As with the king, the camera now spins about the Queen. She's beautiful and fair with long blonde hair. Her face is streaked with dirt and mud and a small crown remains fixed upon her head but askew. She wears a cream dress that's meant for working and it fits her tight at the top and looser at the bottom to allow her freedom of movement. She carries a smaller sword and small buckler shield. Around her a smaller battle progresses. Men of the king's enemy attack those left behind in the village which consist mainly of women and older men unfit for the greater battle. Children are seen crying and huddling away being protected by the women who have not taken up arms. Some smaller boys and a few of the smaller girls have found various weapons for fighting or buckets of water and attempt to put out blazes. The camera swirls around the Queen as she engages in combat with various men of greater size than her own. Through ferocity, cunning, skill, strength, and in defense of those about her she dispatches the various opponents as they come. At the conclusion of each engagement she looks over the forest towards the direction of the greater battle beyond the forest. Her face is a mixture of exhaustion, worry, fear, sadness, anger, and determination.

    Again the scene blurs and returns to the King. He's engaged in ruthless close quarters combat with his enemy, a rival king and the greatest threat to his land and reign. Their contest continues and is evenly matched. Both men are exhausted but in the end the King is able to dispatch his rival as he is strengthened by the furry of seeing his village burning in the distance, his utter disgust with the cowardice of the rival king's attack on the innocents of his home, and in his love, desperation, and hope to end this battle and return to his village to find his wife.

    As the King finishes killing the rival, the camera shifts again back to the Queen who is pulling her sword out of a man's stomach. The front of her cream dress is soaked through with his blood and spattered in other places by the blood of others. Around her old men and other women are falling the remaining enemies and some of them are falling in the process. The Queen surveys the destruction of her village and sees countless fires raging uncontrollably, men, women, and children lying dead or wounded in the dirt streets, and horses running wildly and terrified. She sets a course towards the edge of the town staggering somewhat in exhaustion and sadness but continues through sheer will and a queen's determination borne of duty.

    The scene cuts back to the King where the battle is almost spent. The rival king's men continue to die or flee from the King's pursuers. Some the king's men continue to fall. Another group of men near the king are gathering and stacking branches into a massive pile. Once complete, one man hands the King a lit torch and the King throws it upon the branches. The branches catch and begin to burn letting off a ten foot thick column of white smoke straight up into the air and it billows and spreads up against the low dark grey cloud deck.

    The scene cuts again back to the Queen who in the same instant uses a piece of burning barn as a torch. She throws it into a large brass bowl fifteen feet in diameter and filled with bundles of natural fuel. They catch instantly sending up an enormous white column of smoke. As she steps away from the flame and smoke she looks in the direction of the King and sees the column of smoke indicating the King's victory and telling her that he still lives. The Queen's knees give out and for a moment she steadies herself on the tip of her sword before she collapses to the dirt falling victim to the exhaustion and emotions she had previously banished in order to fulfill her duties. Though no less a queen, she lays in the street weeping tears of sadness for her people overwhelmed only by simultaneous tears of joy for the life of her husband.

    The scene cuts back to the king who looks toward the orange glow of his burning village as he locates the signal column of his wife. He falls to his knees facing the village. Love, amazement, and thankfulness mark his face as tears begin to run over and down the mud, smoke, and blood that covers his face. He doesn't weep and his face remains strong, but his tears flow freely like rivers into his beard.


    Well that's how that piece of music talk to me. Like I said, I don't know if that was what you were looking for but that's sort of how my mind sees it. Thanks for sharing the challenge.
  3. On a night like this no other event could be so special. Nothing else could bring so much joy perfectly time with the stars and their arrival with the seasonal sun. The combination of it all made gave way to color and splendor like never before. Dancing rays of orange and pinks that matched the bright smiles and dresses of the ladies, the robust moon with its army of stars promising the shelter of a graceful night made me smile. Yes this was the eve when it was finally all coming together.

    I stand here at the edge of the hall looking in upon the laughter and joy of my people. The festivities were well underway for the most joyous of all days for it had been well over a year since there had been anything to celebrate in our tiny village. We had suffered the death of two young boys from a horrible drowning and the loss of an elder. It was time to have joy and happiness for all. Everyone was taking part in the event. From the food to the decorations not a soul had been left out. The brides dress was hand sewn by all the ladies in the village. They gathered together in the weeks before taking turns working on it. It was a treasure to watch them talk, laugh and give advice to the bride to be.

    The men worked hard on making the stage and preparing the new home for the couple. It will be simple but made well and by the hands of men who know what hard work is. Between the pints and smiles these folks share stories and memories of love, lives and dreams. Today marks a new day not only for the bride and groom but one for everyone else too. We all get to smile and laugh. Marching on, holding hands and hoping for a new day. Together we are stronger for it on this eve of new moon and new fellowship of love and hope.
  4. Through the largest mountains of the land, the caravan advances unrelentingly on the majestic wheels that have been blessed by none other than the gods themselves. Large, eighteen-wheelers and even larger trucks move across the serpentine curves, their massive forms glowing black and gold against the sunlight. Unbelieavably ancient, but powerful engines roar inside the vehicles, speaking of an age when technology was at its highest, and man needed not hide from their enemies. Old, but tough suspension coils balance the vehicles on the dangerous roads as their drivers steer them in the curves, all the while praying to their goddess. Utterly bizarre chassises carry on them the weight of many dozen tons of various wares. Inscriptions bless the various parts of the machines that survived the fall of man, making sure that their parts would never fail.

    Despite the obstacles that stand in their way, the convoy continues to roll on. Despite the fear in the heart of the drivers, the trucks will always protect their masters. Despite the impossible curves and the steep hills, the trucks stop not even for a single second for they too know that time is of the essence. Even these machines can feel the urgency of their task, the importance of the journey and most importantly, they know the result. They know that if they arrive on time, then smiling faces will greet them with cheers that echo off the nearby mountains. They know that if they arrive in time, thousands will be saved because of their assistance. But they also know that if they do not arrive, then they will be the cause of a million deaths or even more.

    So the convoy rolls on. The wheels crack the stones beneath them and the machines do not yield to the harsh conditions of the road. The engines continue to roar, broadcasting their power to the whole world. The drivers continue to sit at the steering wheel regardless of their fears. Everything is in place in this great machine of perpetual motion and perpetual perfection, for it was not out of coincidence that these ancient trucks were chosen as the ones which would carry the mission out. Their properties were well-known to all who had drove them: they were stubborn machines infused with so many blessings and curses that they would never give up. They would continue on their own even if their drivers died. They would fulfill their mission even if their engine was destroyed, and their confidence would become the confidence of the convoy.
  5. Alexandre Casanova stared in awe at the scene before him. He knew that leaving his home realm would be very different, but this was more than he could have imagined. He glanced over to his friend, Damon Surra, who was just smiling at him. This was where he had come from, and now Alex understood why he had wished to return. When imagining the journey, he had thought that the Realm of Shadows wouldn't be much different from the Realm of Chaos, but different they were in many ways. It was peaceful. Not just in comparison to Alex's home, but in general. They are so powerful, and yet they do not fight. He silently noted. Damon elbowed Alex, winked, and stepped through out of the bushes they had hidden in. What the hell is he doing? Alex could feel himself start to panic. These people had a reputation for defending their land with a passion, and he had a feeling that they wouldn't like to see someone from his family stepping on to the land owned by one of their most powerful leaders. Still, he followed Damon, fighting to look calm though both he and his friend were dressed in armor clearly made for the Casanova army. He nearly said a prayer, but then thought it best not to; the gods he was raised to put his faith in may not have agreed with his most recent decisions.
    Everything stopped when the apprentices and their masters saw the pair step out into the open courtyard. A few swords and staffs clattered to the ground, and most of those who had not dropped their weapons in shock were now in a battle stance. Only a few masters stood calmly, waiting to see how their leader would react. Alex and Damon had interrupted training, it appeared. Seeing that they were only training melee and energy spells, Alex relaxed slightly. This I can handle... hopefully. He looked back at his friend, who was as calm as ever.
    "Damon?!" A powerful voice broke the silence. Alex quickly identified the source and felt a mixture of emotions when he recognized the man as the leader of the province and owner of the land they currently stood on. He no longer tried to mask his emotion, now more terrified than he had been since he was a boy. But still, Damon was smiling calmly.
    "I have missed you, father." Damon responded, tears forming in his eyes. Alex's head snapped towards him.
    "Father?!" Damon nodded, his eyes never leaving the man who had addressed him. The wise and powerful leader, clad in obsidian armor and covered in battle scars, dropped his sword and ran to his son. Alex's eyed widened and he drew his sword, unsure of whether this man was a threat or not. But rather than attack Damon, and Alex had suspected, the man hugged him. Alex stood straight and sheathed his sword.
    "I don't understand." He nervously said.
    "Why on earth not, boy?" The leader asked, a baffled smile on his face.
    "You know who I am, and yet you haven't attacked me. He is your son, and you just hugged him, after all that has happened. There are so many things going on here that I don't understand." Damon's father sighed.
    "Sicarious is worse than I had imagined, it seems. Alexandre, you are not your father. If you were you'd have an army right behind you and my son would either be in chains or brainwashed and fighting with you. No, you brought Damon home with no one else by your side. I understand that to be a crime, leaving your realm for a reason other than conquest." Alex nodded, beginning to understand what was going on, but still not quite comprehending why this man had not decapitated him on sight.
    "My name is Rowan Knox, and I am in your debt. Now come inside and catch me up. It isn't every day that one of my greatest enemy's most valued commanders comes to me without an obvious reason."
  6. A bright smile lit her face as she took his hand. They bowed and he led her around the dance floor. Both faces hidden by masks, they stared into each other’s eyes, neither knowing who the other was. They twirled around each other, their pace matching the music as it ebbed and flowed through their bodies. The rest of the world faded from existence and it was only them. Hands touching as they walked around each other, one hand behind their backs. The change in drumbeat did not faze the two dancers as the rest of the floor scattered to watch their performance. Neither of them could contemplate where this would end, or if they would ever see each other again but that didn’t matter. They were in the moment, they could feel themselves becoming one as they moved. The music pulling them and pushing them.

    Her heart leapt in her chest and he felt nervous. What was this strange power looming over them? Familiarity and hope lingered around them as they danced. The rest of the dancers knew they could tell in an instant but the two still dancing were lost and could not find their way home. The ball was for them, the dance of two dead souls finally being reunited after a hundred years of separation. Their bodies long since decayed and put into the earth, the princess and her servant. A forbidden love that cost them their lives but not their devotion to one another or the burning desire to be together.