POV Script 1

By
David Lyev
INT. CASTLE HALL - DAY
The castle hall is decorated with beautiful tapestries and
brightly lit through stained-glass windows. Around the
corner comes BRENT ROWLAND, half-staggering and
half-running, sword in hand.
BRENT’S SWORD is clearly newly forged and fairly shines in
the sunlight filtering in through the windows, but the rest
of him looks worn. His armor is shabby and second-hand, his
body language conveys exhaustion, and his free hand is
clutching a bleeding gash on his sword arm. Regardless, he
smiles grimly as he approaches the massive oak doors at the
end of the hall.

As he reaches the doors, Brent takes a brief moment to

gather himself, taking a deep breath and drawing himself
upright. Then, he raises his foot, and aims at the door.
SMASH CUT TO:

INT. THRONE ROOM - CONTINUOUS

The doors burst open, and Brent marches in, looking
confident and determined despite his worn state. He strides
past fluted columns, elegant statues, and rich tapestries,
following the lush carpet carving a crimson path through the
gray stone.
At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais, sits KING
FARLEY, lounging on a bejeweled throne, the center of a
vortex of opulence. He is dressed in regal black and red,
and he has a look of profound boredom on his face. He barely
looks up from the glass of wine in his hand as Brent comes
to a stop, standing proudly in the center of the room.
BRENT
You’ve lost, Farley.
FARLEY
That’s KING Farley. So long as I
hold this throne, I am still king.

BRENT
Not for much longer. Your armies
have fallen, and your castle is
mine.
FARLEY
So I see. I have to say, I’m rather
impressed. That was nearly three
hundred men you defeated. All
alone? How?

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 2.

Brent smiles grimly, brandishing his sword as he begins to

stride forward again, drawing nearer to the throne with
slow, measured steps.
BRENT
Wouldn’t you like to know?
FARLEY
I really would. I remember when you
were a normal man; no different
from a thousand others in my army.
What changed, I wonder? Where do
you draw such amazing strength
from?
Farley finally raises his eyes from his wine lazily. He
gives Brent an exaggerated once-over; Brent meets his gaze
stoically as the king
FARLEY (CONT’D)
Ah. The sword. Of course. It must
be enchanted... impressive work.
Wherever did you get it?
BRENT
That’s enough! It’s time you
answered for your crimes!

FARLEY
(mock innocence)
Crimes? What crimes? Living well?
Ruling as I see fit? Punishing
criminals? You do realize this is
what kings do, yes?

BRENT
Not good kings. Not like you do.
Brent stops again, nearly within striking distance of the
throne. He strikes up a battle stance.

BRENT (CONT’D)
I’m through talking. I’ll give you
one final chance, Farley. A fair,
honorable duel; to the victor, the
throne.
FARLEY
(sneering)
How very noble of you.

Farley stands and descends from the dais, drawing his own
sword.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 3.

FARLEY (CONT’D)
It isn’t too late, you know. If you
stop all this foolishness now, a
plea for clemency could be made.
Just put down the sword, and nobody
will have to lose their head.
BRENT
You’re the only one losing his head
today, tyrant.

FARLEY
Your sword is impressive, but
surely you remember that I have my
own magic?
Farley gestures behind him, to the ornate throne.

BRENT
I remember.
(deep breath)
Magic is weak in the throne room.

FARLEY
That is correct. That means, should
you wish to kill me...
Farley strikes up a battle stance.

FARLEY (CONT’D)
You’ll have to do it with your own
skill, and nothing else. Do you
really think a common soldier
stands a chance against the
greatest swordsman in twelve
kingdoms?
Brent grits his teeth, and readies himself for battle.
BRENT
I’m willing to try it.
Brent leaps forward, and the fight begins.