Vallyn's Song - Scriptwriting Practice!

Int. Vallyn

A man's weathered boot collides with blackened sand. Winds howl profusely, carrying specks of dust through the eerie atmosphere. The waves ahead push towards the shoreline back and forth in powerful strokes. A single white moon illuminates the man's sloped path downwards, creating a rippled reflection atop the ocean's waters.

The man (30s) named ERIK appears weary and gaunt with a terrible glint in his eyes, a look of near insanity. He dons a white tunic now covered in grime and tattered at the edges, and on his legs brown trousers haphazardly stuffed into his leather boots. His body shivers against the ice cold winds blowing from the arctic waters below. He then surveys the beach's landscape and begins to mutter strange prayers underneath his breath (indiscernible to the audience). 

The longsword in a sheath at his side weighs him down hindering his progress towards the water. The sword doesn't seem to have met a foe... yet, instead covered with solid ice. Erik hasn't eaten for days, instead searching the ends of land and time for the Sable Seas (the alleged home of sirens--RAVINES--and magical sea creatures alike). He's found them, or at least he prays to the Raven he has.

Finally reaching the bottom of the sandy cliff, he drops to his knees and runs his hand through the black sand. The specks fall through his fingertips, disappearing faster than wind. He can almost feel a warmth in the sand that he yearns for silently.

Suddenly, he rips a part of his already torn shirt off and creates two makeshift balls of cotton in his hands. He stuffs them both in his ears deep within, hands shaking.

Shuffling towards the shoreline, he peers beneath the waves hoping for a sighting of the sirens. When nothing emerges, he fumbles inside his trousers' pocket and pulls out a wooden horn carved with fish and half-humans with scaly tails instead of legs on the surface. Taking a shaky breath in, Erik blows the horn.

Nothing appears for a time. The water is still. The wind has stopped howling. Erik grows impatient and skims his hands against the water. It's so cold, his fingers turn blue and he backs away in fear. As he stares at his hands he suddenly realizes that snow has begun to fall. Each white speck falling sends sharp pains through his body.

He cries out in frustration and anger and begins to turn around.

Yet in his peripheral vision, he catches a dark figure slithering beneath the waves, a feat impossible for a twofolk like himself. Instead of joy, he feels determined. He unsheathes his sword, the ice falling like glass beneath him.

ERIK

Show yourself!

He's made sure to cover his ears well. He knows the siren's lore all too well.

A beautiful "woman's" head emerges from the waters. Erik can see her skin reflecting in the waves, surely not blue like his. Her hair is black. She appears normal if it weren't for her eyes, blacker than the water's depths below. She smiles and looks at the man above her. She's young.

He shakes as he stares into her bottomless eyes. Before he knows it, she begins to sing a sweet melody but only she is entranced by her song. Erik raises his sword and cuts her down before she can finish, a sudden slice to the neck. He is not bewitched by its curse. He cannot hear anything.

Her dead body nearly sinks beneath the ocean before he rushes forward and pulls it out. The silver blood of the siren now covers the longsword. The droplets surround him, splattering against his clothes and hands. He doesn't feel the coldness of the waters anymore. Her blood heals all.

 

The Ancille

    In a little brown cabin on the edge of the woods lived an old ancille who had grown far beyond his years. He was not frail or sickly, but his face was wrinkled and his hair greying enough that a common passerby would label him as a shrunken old shrew, timid as a beaver and tired as a sleeping bear. He was, however, greatly outnumbered by the vast creatures and bugs alike he adorned around the small cabin. Outside there were three goats and twelve chickens of which he never milked or swiped eggs from, and inside the house he had placed seven lizards in a little enclave below his bed, and nine worms that nestled in a dirt patch below the lit windowsill, and not to mention the two birds he tended to in the mornings and let fly to the heavens and back in the night, bringing back more worms and delights. He was a peculiar man at that. His sable eyes, said many of the small children who lived in the nearest village (who'd managed to bravely venture to the cabin), were as black as chasms and could swallow you whole if one stared hard enough! He never spoke, never once came to ask for help from the villagers of Temeny Hull, yet he always seemed to have an abundance of food and resources and with that, he never needed their help anyway. People often wondered where he had gathered his things from, or who had built the cabin he so eagerly resided in, yet it was better to listen from rumors and gossip than the frightening geriatric’s lips. And so the gossip spread like wildfire, and it was said that his mother came from a long line of early descendants of the twofolk, a woman who contained powerful sorcery within her very fingertips and whose eyes were not black like her son’s but a powerful golden, golden as the midnight sun, shining fire and blazing with heat from a thousand fireflies. They said that she had married Tavekh and cursed him herself in the night from their soft kiss of her lips to his. 

Vallyn's Siren Song

Vallyn's Song

Oh Sweet child of mine

A mere whisper of weeds

Fingertips soft and thine 

Born from the sable seeds;

The pirate so brutal 

Said rest be your soul

When your hair turned red golden

And the sun brazen skin 

Oh the scales and pale rest from within

The twofolk and your folk, eyes clouded blue 

Oh sweet child of mine, there’s nothing to do 

The drunken, the sailor, the siren, she weeps

Oh come be my child and rest in the deep.

Valerine Apple

They called her Valerine Apple with rosy, round cheeks,

Peppered and freckled, a near florid complexion

as she sang sweet songs in the passing weeks,

Swaying in a ring among all thee’s affection.

Sprouted from the hazel green locks

Yet morning Suns burnt her red, 

above sable ravens flying like hawks

a singular brown strand atop her crowned head.

Her sky was not of the azure heavens

Brimming instead with fresh leaves 

The scent of life from the oak’s gum resin

Her kin beside her so one could thieve.

The chirps of the birds pervaded her ears

yet the night offered comfort and shade

And she had no trepidations or fears

for she knew how the red fruit stayed.

 

Siren Song

Hey guys, I wanted to share you an exciting sneak peak at the end of the first chapter of The Mage's Artifice. I hope you enjoy!

    She found her lips moving, not in words and stories, but in song. 

    The Siren Song of Valerine Valencia.

    It poured out of her like a wave in the storm, cursing every man and woman that traipsed aboard the ship. She could feel every heart pulsating beneath their soft flesh, and in her mind, she could take every remnant of their souls as she pleased. She could rip their minds in two and it would be merciful. She shuddered, and they shuddered with her, linked to her like a hand held a hand, like a fist tightly enclosing around them until they were no more. The men had fallen, paralyzed by the Song of the Siren for her first song was filled with ceaseless passion and anger, uncontrollable even to her. She could feel her body transforming, and she willed herself to do so, suddenly finding herself standing aboard the ship among the fallen men, neither alive nor dead, only shells of broken bodies. The young Bard stood amidst the others, silent, unwavering. Only then did she place her hands on his skin, icy in the tear stained night, and ripped back flesh, revealing the bones and the dark red blood she so eagerly consumed, heart and mind and soul gone from the very beautiful boy that once was alive.

The Oracle Part 2

 “It will be impossible. I’ve been cursed, young boy. Cursed with knowledge. Cursed with immortality. Strike me now, and I shall return. Strike me again, and I shall return just as the ravens feast on the dead.”
..................................
Liuk looked down. He was a Raven. He was unsure if the woman’s words were spiteful or not. He was unsure if the woman was real at all.
“I’d assumed you to be a Raven,” Liuk questioned. 
“Not by choice.”
“Was it anyone’s?”
“Oh, yes.” The Oracle stared into his eyes, menacingly. Hers were pure black, just as Liuk’s, and he knew she must’ve been a Raven herself.
“How? I did not choose this fate. I did not choose to be subjected to the terror and violence of the Amovians and their Lumentian Knight-mares.”
The Oracle laughed, a throaty raspy sound that chilled Liuk underneath his skin. “We all choose our own destiny. Even me. By choice, I’ve ended here. On a rock, in the sea, beneath the lands and the sands and the oceans. I’m not here. But I am. Whether you believe me to be true or not.” She stared into his eyes, and he swore he could feel her gaze penetrating into his very bones. “I’m surprised you are not afraid of me, young boy.”
Liuk didn’t know whether he should be afraid or not. He furrowed his brow. Was she telling him something he shouldn’t know? “What do you mean?”
“The monkey chain around your neck,” she pointed with a weathered finger. “Your brother crafted that for you. The monkey is carved from the very shell of your youth.” 
Liuk didn’t know what that meant. Was she speaking in riddles? He did not dare to ask. 
“I’d lost it… as a boy,” Liuk finally said. “I found it today. And how did you know? It is unknown how the jewel came back to me.”
“Yes,” the Oracle said. “Unknown.” 

The Oracle Part 1

The Oracle was an old woman whose age was undeterminable under the wretched clothes she wore on her frail body. Her hair was black as midnight and her eyes devoid of any color, sunken and withering. Above her own face, she wore a mask, grey as a wolf’s winter coat with cracks running down the sides until one could almost see the darkness poking from beneath.  
When Liuk arrived at her den, the door was already ajar and golden sunlight found its way inside the dark cabin. He continued forward and slowly creaked the wooden slab open until pure light painted itself over every shadow in the room. It was only one room where old pickaxes and torches lay askew, and rotten oak pieces haphazardly thrown in corners. Dust caked every surface of every object, even the Oracle herself. 
“I’ve expected you coming.” The Oracle’s voice was old, but it spoke the truth that no other mortal could give Liuk. He needed her answers.
“You’re awake?” Liuk closed the door behind him, and they were both shrouded in the darkness of the room. Dust and cobwebs floated in the air. 
“Sit and close your eyes with me.”
Liuk knew better than to question the authority of the wise Oracle. He obeyed her command without question, and slowly found an open space on the floor to make room for comfort. The stone floor was icy, and cracks made it so he could feel grass and weeds growing between the crevices. As he traced his fingers against the stony pavement, he was jolted awake by the cold waters of the sea wetting his skin. The room smelled of salt and death.