maandag 6 september 2010

Project leerjaar 3

eerste krabbels

Dragon Country - Night
P VS ANIMATION Synopsis script Actie

A cold wind whistles through the rocks near the dragon’s lair. By the light of a flickering torch two workmen finish driving a heavy post into the ground. As they affix a pair of iron manacles they see the torches of a procession coming up the slope. They hurry down to meet it. Horsrik is in the lead, followed by soldiers and royal attendants. Elspeth rides in the tumbrel behind a blindfolded horse. Bringing up the rear is Tyrian. At last the cart can go no further. Elspeth alights and leads the rest of the troop to the post. As the soldiers put the irons around her wrists, Horsrik unrolls a parchment, turns his back on the wind and begins to read:

Now be it known throughout the kingdom, that the Princess, having been chosen by a deed of fortune and destiny -- Horsrik blinks. There’s a black stain growing in the middle of the parchment; all at once it bursts into flames. He cries out and flings the document away. There follows a flash of light and a puff of smoke and Galen is standing there, as if he had materialized out of thin air. Horsrik and his startled men backpedal down the slope.

HORSRIK: No fire, I beg you.

Galen raises his hands in a menacing gesture.

GALEN: Be gone!
That’s enough for Horsrik and company: he and the soldiers depart.

HORSRIK (over his shoulder): I declare these proceedings duly ordained...

Only one man remains behind the challenge the young sorcerer: Tyrian. He draws his sword.

TYRIAN: I knew I’d find you here. Well, I’m not as sentimental as some. The kingdom, every one of us, need this sacrifice. If you intend to interfere, you’ll have to kill me.

GALEN: I’ve got plenty of reasons to kill you that have nothing to do with this sacrifice.

Galen draws his own sword. As it emerges into the night air it seems imbued with a blue phosphorescence.

TYRIAN: Most impressive. Can you use it?

Elspeth twists around in her chains.

ELSPETH: Let it be! Please! Tyrian is right -- it’s our only hope!
Galen starts to reply, but as soon as his attention wavers, Tyrian is lunging toward him, sword point directed at his neck. Galen barely manages to parry the thrust before Tyrian is at him again, blade swinging toward his knees. Galen drops the tip of his sword to catch the blow. When the two steel edges connect, sparks fly. In a series of thrusts and counter-thrusts, each accompanied by a shower of sparks, Tyrian backs Galen up the mountain.

ELSPETH: Tyrian -- both of you -- run! Flee! It’s coming!

Sure enough, at that moment the earth gives out a low moan and undulates in a sickening movement. Vapors begin rising from the lair.

TYRIAN: In a trice! This is no swords-man.

He might be right, for Galen turns and bolts across the slope. When he reaches the post with Tyrian two steps behind, he whirls and brings his blade down on Princess Elspeth’s chains. The chains part in an explosion of sparks.

GALEN: Run! Get out of here!

The Princess darts from the piling as Tyrian swoops down to continue the attack. Galen dodges and the stake catches Tyrian’s blow. The earth shakes again. Galen glances at the Princess.

GALEN: No! Stop! What are you doing?

Elspeth is not running away down the mountain. Instead she is walking, slowly and deliberately, right into the smoking cave. Swoosh! Tyrian’s sword comes down again. The dismayed sorcerer ducks back and Tyrian’s blade again bites deep into the wood.

TYRIAN: You’ve failed, my friend, and I thank the gods for it. Come out from behind
that post.

It’s now or never. Elspeth is no longer in sight. Galen grits his teeth, grasps the sword with two hands and swings it as hard as he can in a wide arc. The blade never even slows down as it sails right through the post, lopping it clean off. The glowing sword flashes above Galen’s head and eagerly buries itself in Tyrian’s chest. The King’s man is as startled by the amputated piling as he is by his own death. His eyes roll up in his head, his knees buckle and he topples backward -- the blade sliding free.

Smoke swirls at the mouth of the cave as Galen enters, holding his sword before him, lighting his way with its faint blue glow.

GALEN: Elspeth!

The floor of the cave as it winds down into the mountain is paved first with rock, then with dragon scales, then with bones. With each footfall, clusters of mysterious insects scuttle away.

He pauses to mop his brow; it’s getting hot. A sound echoes up from the depths, a grinding sound like the gnashing of teeth, followed by hissing and squealing. Galen grips his sword tighter and pushes on. Suddenly he stoops and picks up an embroidered slipper: Elspeth’s. The grinding sounds are louder. He hurries forward and rounds a corner. He stops and gags.

Two disgusting little reptiles -- like scaly raccoons -- are perched on the corpse of Princess Elspeth Ulfilas, feeding contentiously on choice bits of the royal flesh. Galen groans: he lashes out and his sword beheads one of the tiny monsters. The other one buzzes its half-formed winglets and hisses a hot stream of air. Galen brings down the sword and slices it in half. Eyes riveted on Elspeth’s remains, he edges around the carnage and backs away. Hissss! -- there’s a third one, lurking in the shadows, munching on something; it might be a hand. Galen shrieks and jumps away. The little creature comes at him and clamps its jaws on his leg. Galen stabs at it repeatedly. Finally it lets go, and flails and flops across the bloody floor, ululating its death agony. As the creature’s last mewling echo down through the cavern, the ground quivers. Bits of stone fall from the ceiling.

Galen works his way down a narrow passage whose walls are alive with insects and beads of sulphurous water. As before, he holds the sword in front of him; he marvels at its increasing brightness. The heat is increasing too; sweat mats his hair and runs down his face. A few yards further on the sword starts pulsating. Now the walls take on a flickering rosy sheen and the passage widens into an underground vista of staggering immensity: an underground lake, its surface bubbling and torn with sheets of flame. Arching over it is a vault of stone, penetrated here and there by natural chimneys. The dimensions of this internal world are unknown – the fiery lake disappears into half a dozen side chambers. The one clear path is accessible only by a series of flat stones leading across the hot liquid. Galen grips his sword and resolutely hops from rock to rock.

He’s halfway across when the earth rumbles and the stepping stones teeter beneath his feet. A fiery wave washes over his legs, leaving his boots smoking. Another tremor knocks Galen to his knees. As he scrabbles to pick up his sword and shield, the great head of Vermithrax rises up out of the depths on its long neck. It gazes at him through huge pale eyes under armored lids. A tongue flicks out and runs around its lipless mouth. The head sways from side to side. The mouth hinges open, the nostril-like igniters come on and touch off the jet of gas squeezed up out of its innards. A roaring tube of flame engulfs Galen. He crouches behind his dragon scale shield which deflects the fire just enough to save his life. The dragon pauses to take a breath. Galen springs to his feet, and bounds back the way he came, his skin and clothing singed. Flames lick at his back as the dragon lets fly with a second burst.

Coughing and weeping, Galen staggers up through the tunnel, nearly tripping over the body of one of the baby dragons. A few seconds later, Vermithrax follows, squirming and clawing its way upward. When it reaches its dead offspring it surveys the scene with expressionless eyes. Bringing its head low, it sniffs and nudges at the lifeless little ones.

At that moment Galen leaps out from behind a niche in the tunnel wall and lunges forward. Striking sparks, the point of his sword slides across the dragon’s plated cheek and stabs deep between the scales of its heavy neck. There is an unearthly shriek and the creature flicks it’s head back and upward. Galen goes sprawling and finds himself holding half a sword. The rest is buried in the beast’s neck, and Vermithrax doesn’t like it. It flings its head this way and that, knocking rocks loose from the ceiling. Its movements cause the ground to quake. As boulders tumble around him, Galen drops to the floor under his shield. Dragon flame reaches through the cascading debris and washes over him. patches of skin scorched. He looks dead. Valerian rolls him onto his back. She gasps: the eyes are open, regarding her.

GALEN: Still alive.


Horsrik (ridder, leider van soldaten en koninklijk personeel)

Valerian (meisje)

Tyrian (ridder, dapper, wil wat het rijk wil. Eigenwijs)

Vermithrax (draak, witte ogen, misschien doorzichtig, heeft kids)

Galen (tovenaar, met schild en blauw zwaard, veel vechten, verwilderd, jong)

Basilisken (gevleugelde geschubde wasberen)

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