Theme Song #9

C

Celest

Guest
Original poster


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.
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A beautiful maiden stands in a white abyss, her skin of earthy hue a dramatic change from her blank surroundings. Her raven hair trails long down her back like a flowing river, wavy as though wind were caressing water's surface. Vibrant emerald eyes gaze off into nothing and any who should come to gaze upon her would feel as though they were looking upon a vast and healthy forest from far above. She is motionless, her glowing and sparkling silver dress drapped over her frame. There is no wind, no rain, no light or darkness. No air and no sense of time.

But there is sound.

Music and voice work together to encourage her to move and slowly she lifts her arms over her head. She pushes a leg outward. She arches her back and drops a hip. She is not just moving, she is dancing. And as she dances, the void of white begins to change. Each movement brings something new. Where she stands, dirt appears beneath her. Every step has grass shooting up toward the sky and flowers popping into existence with a flurry of colorful dust. She twirls and a breeze races along the newly formed ground like a herd of wild mustangs. Throwing out her arms wide, birds burst forth and take to the sky. Leaping gives the land forests and mountains where she lands. She brings a hand to her lips and tosses a kiss upward, painting the sky a lovely blue.

Every movement she makes gives life to the void until there is no white left and what lays before all to see is a wonderfully brand new world. But each gift she gives, she pays a price. The lands form and her beautiful earthy skin begins to dissolve in patches until her muscles and tendons have become her topmost layer. And still she dances on, giving the world animals and in turn giving up her leaness. The price is painful and her tears flow from her cheeks, gathering and pooling as rivers, streams, ponds, lakes, and even the mighty oceans.

Now, only a skeleton is left dancing. Without substance, her movements are awkward. And as the music draws to a close, her bones begin their inevitable dematerialization, breaking apart in chunks and drifting as powder on the wind, dividing and swirling in little funnels. Slowly, a new creature takes form; a last addition to this beautiful world, born in her likeness. They are smaller, weaker, and far more simple. But they are her children nonetheless.

As for the dancing maiden, without skin nor muscle nor bones to keep her hold on existence she has become the definition of nothingness, her life having been exchanged for the power to create something extraordinary... Something truly beautiful.

And upon the ground where her dress had collapsed now stands a mighty silver tree unlike any to be found elsewhere in this young world. It is silver and glowing and sparkling and it is a reminder to her children of her sacrifice.
 
[[My picture on this was pretty heroic in my mind.]]

Far within the lands resided a church that has seen many ages and many people come and leave. But since then has only had very few attend it's masses since the war began. But one man has never left and will never abandon the church. His name was Ben, a follower since the day he was born, and finally of age to use a sword. He was finally able to become a Crusader, the highest type of warrior his town had. "Hear my call..." Ben started softly while kneeling at a finely decorated altar. "Bless me with the strength I need, the flame in my spirit that shalt never die, and for me to bring nothing but justice to those who are corrupted and are in need of my salvation! BY THE LIGHT!" Rising to his feet he felt the mysterious ways of the light pour under his skin, empowering his body, mind and spirit. "They shall know..First hand from the Crusader." A ray light beaming down from the ceiling of the church, from the ceiling descended a vision of delicate, smooth hands with the wings of angels in them. The hands gently placing the wings upon Ben's back, as he expanded his new gift, his vision was turning to the window on the side of the church. Taking his sword in his main hand with one swift motion, Ben leaped into the air, busting through the window into the clouds. There he was, soaring above everything and everyone...Lowering his altitude an inch or so, his keen eye took notice to an enemy solider wandering about. It was time to send a message, a message that would strike them hard, a message that would let them know there was a crusader to deal with!
 
[Made me think of army and since it's scifi month, why not add the robots]

None of the two armies every expected this day to happen. For cycles their people have lived together in perfect harmony. Until a month ago, when the robots decided to rebel against the humans. No one knows why but some say that the robots were trying to rule the world and have the human kind working as slaves for them. Now, an army of around 100,000 men stood in their ground with guns, swords, and spears all of them waiting for the first battle cry. The battle was taking place in the middle of a large plain with low level mountains creating the landscape. It was like any other sunny day except that this day would change the fate of the two kinds of foe. Ahead of the crow of men, just a mile away, un armed robots of every shape and height waited in silence. As the leaders of both parties retreaded from the center of the circle and reached their group, the screams of men and the screech of robots echoed throughout the field. The battle has begun...
 
Laser battery fire punches through space, splattering against the shields of the massive Lancer Class battleship, Vengeance. The stern admiral, hands clasped behind his back, commands a damage report and simultaneously orders a return fire against the enemy ship. Commanders bark orders, calling out coordinates, firing ranges, and vectors as gunners input the correct codes into the ship's AI firing system.

The admiral gazes at the huge plasma displays in front of him, his steely blue eyes taking in the destruction -- dark space lit up with battleships, frigates, fighters, blaster fire, ion cannon streaks, fire, smoke, and debris from the battle raging around them. He knows his fleet is outnumbered three to one, but by the gods and the determination of the Imperial Black Fleet, he would give those devils hell to pay.

His main screen explodes again as an enemy frigate collapses under the might of the fire power delivered from Vengeance's forward ion batteries. A ragged cheer erupts from the bridge's crew, but the admiral's expression is grim. He knows that they had also just lost a frigate and another is too crippled to move and is throwing all available power into its forward laser batteries, pounding the enemies main ships, trying to weaken or punch through their shields.

The admiral clenches his hands tighter together as another round of ion cannon and laser bolts hammers the weakening shields. He knows they wouldn't last much longer, but he also knows they had to keep the enemy occupied so the capital city on the planet below them could ready their defenses and reinforcements could arrive. The enemy had launched a surprise attack and his fleet had been the closest to intercept.

Warning sirens pierce the bridge, sounding through the ship as it rocks from explosions. "Forward shields down! Extensive damage to sections 40-49! Port forward batteries destroyed!"

The admiral bows his head slightly. All his life he has worked hard to become the man he is, rising through ranks, proving himself time after time until he had reached his goal of admiral of his own fleet. If this was the end, let it not be said that his character wavered, that his strength failed. His flagship was the Vengeance, and vengeance would be delivered to his enemies.

He looks up, fire flaring in his blue eyes. "Power up the Hammer! Convert all shields to the front and all remaining energy to the engines for ramming speed! Be prepared on my mark!" With those commands, he steps to the comm, hailing the commander of the nearby frigate, the Seraphim, whose batteries have completely run dry. But the admiral knows their shields are still operational as are their engines. He relays his plan to the commander, and his respect for the commander grows even more as the man affirms the plan without a waver in his voice.

Stepping back to the bridge floor, the admiral gazes around at the crew, each one looking at him, awaiting his next command. They respect him and follow his command, even if to the very gates of Hades, and he reciprocates that respects. Everyone silently acknowledges the heavy price about to be exacted. The bridge commander walks up and smartly salutes, "All systems are ready, sir."

He nods, then moves and hails the Seraphim, giving the order to proceed to ramming speed. From a large screen on the left wall, the bridge watches as the frigate flares its engines, picking up speed, heading straight for the enemy flagship. Enemy fire pounds the craft mercilessly, but it does not waver or break, charging straight into the storm.

"Engines to ramming speed! Follow the Seraphim and prepare to fire the Hammer on my command!" The admiral stares intently at the main screen, hands white as they grip the command console. A giant explosion fills the screen, buffeting the huge battleship, as the frigate explodes, ripping through the shields of the enemy flagship, severely damaging several nearby enemy ships.

"FIRE!!"

After issuing the command, the admiral bows his head, a single tear slowly trickling down his lined face.


Sacrifice...
...the consequence of vengeance.
 
The knight got on his horse, waving goodbye to the villagers behind him. His face was concealed by his steel grey armour, but he would have it no other way, as he did not like being recognised. However, that is exactly why he became famous, and that is why rumours started spreading about the faceless knight, a man, who helped whoever asked him to help, and charged no cost. His acts of goodwill became legendary throughout the land, earning him much fame.

However, instead of being proud of himself, the man was ashamed. Even though he tried his best, people still recognised him as a knight of legend, and attributed to him acts which he never really done. He was credited with slaying many beats, and saving thousands of lives, but in reality he had done nothing but act according to his morals. No, they were not exactly his morals, they were morals that knights should have lived by, but refused to acknowledge. Ashamed by his own fame, and by the attitude of his fellow knights, the faceless knight set out on a journey.

He did not know when the journey would end, for he had no goal. He only wanted to be gone forever from this world, this world who worshipped him as a hero, because he knew he was not worthy for that title.

The knight travelled for years. He visited small, but tidy villages, beautiful, sparkling waterfalls, rocks that looked like they came from another world, huge metropolises of stone and wood, communities hidden way from the human eye, sacred forests, holy mountains coverd by snow... soon, there was not a place in the world he did not know of. Yet he still had not found his place, and continued on his journey, hoping to find peace at last. But every place he visited was already familiar to him, because he had seen everything. Weeping at his own misfortune, the man continued travelling.

Eventually, rumours started to spread about a pilgrim covered in rusted, silver armour, with a horse made out of bones underneath it. Some claimed it was a living nightmare, while others claimed it was an angel in disguise, for it helped them when they were in need, and still others thought that he was merely a figment of one's imagination. After a while, even these rumors started to vanish, and the knight simply seemed to disappear. However, if one looks closely into the night, maybe they will be lucky enough to see the shape of the faceless knight, still watching over us so that he may help when no one is paying attention.
 
She stood on the edge of her ship, her foot on the railing, hair blowing in the breeze, at least what little she had. Out of all the female pirates she was the only one who chopped off her hair. She'd just come from a conquest and her men were hungry for more but she quenched their thirst in a local tavern. They pillaged, raped and murdered while she sat in her ship calling orders of destruction. Their cannons roared and boomed like thunder as she laughed and slaughtered all who stood in her way.

Bored now she looked to the horizon an potential. There were so many places she had not landed, claimed for herself, or destroyed. How she longed for carnage, to feel the spray of blood and the joy of taking what someone else coveted dearly. It was her dream to become the most powerful pirate captain there ever was, if only the men would stop hogging all the glory she would go down in history as the meanest, cruelest, captain of them all. In her mind she was ten times the captain they were, or ever would be. One day, it would happen, she would get her glory. All she had to do was sit and wait.
 
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