'Thor 3: Ragnarok' Plot, Movie Updates: Script under development; Infinity ... - Venture Capital Post
Venture Capital Post 'Thor 3: Ragnarok' Plot, Movie Updates: Script under development; Infinity ...Venture Capital PostThe production of the "Thor 3: Ragnarok" is starting to get ready as the development of the script continues. The Inifinity Gems on the other hand, are about to embark its way into Read more at http://wichitafallsfilmscripts.rememberthealamo.info/2015/05/04/thor-3-ragnarok-plot-movie-updates-script-under-development-infinity-venture-capital-post/
With each breath, her gaze turns. In. The thick thudded sound of steel meeting steel. Out. A pool of blood coating a body in red. In. Magic searing through the skies. Out. Lightning raining from the heavens.
Ragnarok. The day of reckoning. What begins with a fatal deceit by mistletoe and ends with the death of all gods. Sif knew this day would come. For weeks now, she had felt it. An intense dread had engulfed her from head to toe. An omen, some would say. And this was the worst of them—the worst of them all.
In my body, in my bones… I knew. I knew.
This is her last chance at glory, her last shot at valor. What better way is there to die than to die at Ragnarok? She would not let it slip between her fingers. How could she? Lady Sif was no stranger to death.
She breaths in and breaths out. In. Out.
The battle rages on. Dirt fills the air and splattered blood paints the ground beneath them. And the Dark-Haired Daughter of Asgard stands between the beauty and the destruction of war, a creature of pride and blood-lust who cannot for all the Nine Realms be tamed. She is wicked in battle as she believes she is cruel at heart. Sif is gentle, yes; she is capable of gentility and is known for kind things when it suits her. But these fine fancies will not secure the lady goddess victory she demands and desires. So the fury of a warrior-forged shall do. Her people are dying. Her golden Asgard is dying. And Sif shall not stand idly as it falls.
But each time her blade strikes and wicked steel meets steel, memories awaken inside her and clash with the devastation before her eyes. Fair Sif remembers Amora’s knife plunged into her back. She remembers the fall. She remembers Helheim, cool and cold, decrepit and dead. She remembers the terrible smile on Hela’s face and the life that seeps out from her. She remembers how cold it had been and how her heart had begun to slow. She remembers the darkness. Has it come for her again? Her sword sings and she can feel death’s clutches reach out to steal her away. The mere touch provokes her; a wild and crazed look appears in the shield maiden’s visage and she attacks like a beast untamed. Frost giants, fire demons, trolls and goblins and dark elves—it does not matter who gets in her way; she will run them all through if she has to.
But pride always comes before the fall, and she turns too late when she sees the steel slide down and slice off flesh and bone. A gut-wrenching and anguished scream escapes her haggard throat, the wound before her fresh and oozing and bloody. Her vision blurs for a moment, but it clears when she sees it. Her arm is gone. It lies at her feet—bloody, bleeding, and beaten little thing. It frightens her, but only for a second. She inhales a stiffened breath and despite the pain that inflicts her, she thanks the gods that it is not her sword arm that was taken. Staggering back, the imbalance catches her off-guard for a moment before she strikes. The arm is gone and will not return to her. So be it. She can still fight. She can still claim what is hers in the end, and her loss can be looked upon with pride. The arrows snatched upon her legs and the cuts against flesh matter little to a limb gone, and she could not have asked for a better wound of battle.
A glint of light can be seen from the corner of her eye and knows that it is lightning summoned by Mjolnir. Thor... If she could see her god of thunder's light from here, he could see the lady goddess from where she stood. Was he enraged by the sight, from her wound? How endearing, only she of all people could think--and if that be the case, she would scold him later for the thought. But there would be no time for that. There would be no time for a lot of things. Like a childish scolding. Or a wedding. Or a future together.
Because when she turns, she sees the venomous fang that pierces his chest.
No... No...
The electrocution kills the serpent, but the poison murders Thor. They crumble from beneath where they had stood, the world breaking from underneath them. Asgard is falling. But she watches the sight of her lover falling, and in that moment it is only him and her, her and him. She does not notice the arrow that carves into her thigh or the earth that begins to shatter around her. But until she cannot see Thor anymore. And even then, she stares into the emptiness until she must force herself to look away. "Thor..." She had always meant to die before him. He was always the stronger one between them. She could never admit it, but he always was. Why else had she always wished to die first? She could not bear to see him as she did now.
Sif wants to crumble. She wants to die. For what is Asgard without Thor? What is Sif without Thor? But every thought and whim and effort inside her vanishes, and a tear runs down her bloodied cheek.
The grand and golden halls of Asgard fall as the earth tears apart beneath her. And all she can do is watch. As her lover dies. As her people fall. As her golden and glistening Asgard crumbles. As everything that makes her who she is gone for good. It is the third wave of Ragnarok where none may survive, not even her.
She breaths in and out. In. Out.
And all she can do is watch. As the world pulls her in. As her wounds take its toll. As she falls into darkness. As death claims her for his own. So, she gives up. She gives in. Sif is tired--and she is done.
The world closes in on her and she takes her final breath. Sif, the shield maiden, falls.
Amora the Enchantress was used to getting what she had wanted. In childhood, she was pampered. In adulthood, she was lavished in gold, jewels, and silver. By her magic or by her beauty, she believed that affection belonged to her because it was hers to begin with. So, naturally, when the one man who she felt was worthy of her body and her heart denied her of his, a jealousy stewed inside her. She could have had any man she wanted. Just not him. Not Thor. And it had bothered Amora to no end.
What made her, so beautiful and illustrious, inferior to the women he would choose? Whether it was the mortal Jane Foster of the Asgardian goddess Sif, Amora felt she was better than them, superior to them in every way possible. They were just grains of sand that should have stayed under her heels.
So, of course, the woman scorned acted out when she learned Thor had chosen the shield maiden over her. Of course, she would. How dare he place another in her place? How dare he deny of what was rightfully hers? He mocked her, he insulted her. How dare he! His pompous arrogance blinded him. He should have recognized her worth. And that was how it all started. That was how she had conspired with the goddess of death to bring about Sif's end in exchange for Thor. Yes, she had to kill some hundred souls to make her desire a reality, but it didn't matter to her so long as she had Thor.
And that plan blew up in her face. Thanks to a certain Norn Queen, Sif didn't die and she incurred both the wrath of Hela and Thor, forcing her to go into hiding. But even so, she could not deny the relief she felt when she learned the shield maiden was not quite dead. She wanted to kill her. It should have been easy; she killed those mortals, after all. But those mortals were petty lowlifes she had stumbled upon by chance, from cheap swindlers to crooks. She chose her souls well. But the last soul she needed was Sif's, and to steal it so underhandedly, so lowly... It was--unbecoming, to say the least. She wanted Thor's love, but not that way. She learned that that love would no an empty one, a fake one, and if she were to win Thor, she wanted him to be with her because he wanted to. That was beyond her now.
Amora had made an enemy of Thor and Hela both. Was this really the type of life she wanted to lead? But what else could the Enchantress do? She loved her magic, and she had an appeal for her less-than-favorable deeds. She had no desire to change, but she did not want to be hated, too.
She wanted to be loved.
Then, Ragnarok happened. Oh, she had a thought that Loki must have been up to something. They were too alike, after all. But she thought it to be his usual mischief and tricks, not the end of all gods and goddesses. So, when Asgard called forth its heroes, the Enchantress had to heed its call. No matter how terrible she was or how cruel, she was still of Asgard and she had to defend her home.
And it was on the battlefield that she saw them. Thor and his lady goddess. How she loathed the very sight of them. I'd rather see them-- Dead was what she thought. She would rather see them dead. But the moment before she finished this thought, a Frost Giant had appeared behind the thought god with a mace in hand. He was in Thor's blind spot, she realized. He did not know the Frost Giant was there. He would strike Thor, and it was be a devastating blow. She could call out his name now, but it would already be too late. By the moment she so much as utters his name... So, she doesn't.
Instead, she did what she does best. The Enchantress's beauty will not win her battle here, so she decided to use her magic instead. She willed herself to where Thor was and effectively switched their places. Perhaps, there could have been brighter, less fatal ideas than that, but it wasn't as though she had the time to think things through. It was Thor or her. And though she feared death, she did not fear this Frost Giant. She just couldn't stand the thought of Thor killed. "My love, I--I am sorry..."
The apology barely left her lips before the mace struck her down.
But this was what Amora wanted. And Amora was used to getting what she wanted.
She had heard it among the crowds, within the streets of the golden city of Asgard, laid to waste of battle, pillaging, mayhem, and death. The body was found, seemingly dead for days. Before the trickster god released the Wolf. Before Ragnarok. A spear laced on mistletoe had pierced his heart, and he had died instantaneously. He died... Died... Died...
Balder was dead.
It was strange. The Lady Nanna of Asgard should have known it had happened. The god of light's death always marked the coming of Ragnarok. But she never thought of it; it had never occurred to her. Had the attack on Asgard made her forget of a death forever written in stone? Or was it love that had blinded her? They had just confessed their love for one another, a love that the Lady Nanna had once thought unrequited. They spoke with affection unbridled--and now he was dead. Her beloved Balder, another corpse that was in need of a pyre. She did not learn of it until she was in the midst of Ragnarok.
The Lady Nanna had been out, fighting alongside her sisters, her fellow Valkyries. She had been called to arms, and so she would fight. But seeing that the grand and golden city was being savaged and worrying for safety of her queen, the lady had departed from the field of battle in order to make certain that the All-Mother was well. Running through the streets, Nanna had fought and killed along the way, stopping to heal those she had found wounded or upon the point of death.
Truth be told, when Nanna was chosen to follow the footsteps of her mother and become a Valkyrie of the Valkyrior, she was conflicted. Though she had idolized her mother in the past, their relationship had grown strained and becoming a Valkyrie would not forge her own path but follow one chosen by Freya. She was content with her work as a healer. She did not seek glory nor did she seek valor, and she felt she was honored enough to be a one of the All-Mother's selected handmaidens. And all Nanna had wanted was to help those in need. But being a Valkyrie was an honor above honors, and denying oneself the passage would have been an insult at best. And so, she followed a path preordained--her mother's path and not her own, moving forward but always looking back at the past. If she had stayed a healer, she could have avoided bloodshed.
And if she had not been away, perhaps she could have saved him.
When she had heard the rumors of Balder's death, she was in the middle of healing wounded children in the city streets. And all time seemed to cease. Her arms stiffened, her heart slowed, and all noise vanished in thin air. All that remained were the words repeating in her head endlessly, mockingly, devastatingly. Perhaps, the children called out to her to see if she was well. If they had, she couldn't hear them. Her thoughts were consumed and her body was frozen. Balder... Balder... Balder...
"No," came the faintest of whispers. "No..."
Balder was dead, and she remained among the living. What worse punishment was there than that? If only she had been there--if only she could have saved him! If only... If only... She finished the last of the children, healing their wounds and setting them on their path. "Run. Hide. And whatever you do, don't turn back. Asgard shall have need of thy strength one day, but now is not that day. Run!" Those children... They would die whether they ran and hid or not. But Nanna wanted to believe they would live. Why, she wanted to believe that with all her heart. For all those that she healed. For everyone. Yes, she had been content with healing, with helping, with saving. Why had she turned from this path--why?
Balder... I...
And then, she felt it. Steel entering her from her back, skin split open and blood and flesh exposed. Air shoved out from her lungs and her voice had transformed to the meekest of startled breaths. The Lady Nanna should have noticed the enemy coming behind her sooner. She should have reached for her blade-- But the lives of others always came before her own. That was what it meant to be a healer of Asgard. That was what it meant when she had forged her own path.
Her body connected to the ground almost instantaneously, a pool of blood drenching her skin. She did not die an awe-inspiring or noble death in battle. She did not die defending another life. All that had happened was carelessness and bad timing.
Perhaps, if she had stayed in battle, she would have lived. Or perhaps, she would have died faster.
But all things ended in death at Ragnarok. Balder's death. Asgard's death.
Karnilla had fought not for Asgard but for the man she had loved. The sorceress had always thought herself above the golden realm, superior in her own domain. But for Balder, the Queen of Norns would do just about anything. Her loyalty was that much certain. Even if Balder did not love her, even if he had chosen the dark-haired daughter of Asgard or the healer of flaxen tresses, Karnilla would do just about anything for Balder as she would to obtain him. But she already knew she would not obtain him today.
She already knew he was dead.
She could have stopped fighting. She could have. No purpose of staying in Asgard remained for Karnilla as long as the god of light and prophecy was dead. Yet, she stayed. Why did she stay? Did Karnilla think this was what Balder might have wanted? Or had rage consumed the Norn Queen so much that the thought of fleeing was far forgotten and replaced with a woman's sorrow, a woman's vengeance?
But even in her vengeance, she recognized her. The healer with the flaxen tresses. The Lady Nanna, is what she had been called. She knew this was Balder's new woman, his new lady love. It sickened her to see the woman. How it sickened her to see someone in the place that she should have been! She had a thought to use her in the future as leverage to get Balder, but with Balder gone, that plan did not serve as much purpose as it would to keep that woman alive. Let her rot, she thought. But would that not, in essence, allow precious Nanna to reunite with Balder? The nerve of that woman. Even in death, she would seek to ruin her. And Karnilla would never have peace. It seemed the Fates were against her.
But not today.
She saw a fiend come to the woman from behind, steel in hand. Nanna would die. She would die and Karnilla should have been happy and proud. But instead, and for the strangest of reasons, dread took hold of the queen instead. She wanted the woman to die, yes, but on Karnilla's terms--no one else's. If she died here, now, and in this way, it served no purpose to her. And Karnilla did not bow to cheap victory.
She meant to warn the woman. She meant to shout, to yell. For Balder, she told herself. This was what Balder would have wanted--for his love to be saved. As much as it pained her, this was what he would have wanted, and Karnilla had no desire for Balder's death--or any wishes he may have had with his last breaths--to be in vain. But before she could so much as scream, her throat was slit.
All she remembered was the stinging sensation, the pain, and the darkness.
Even in the far reaches of Nornheim, the queen of Norns was no stranger to the dangers that threaten Asgard. Standing at her balcony, she watched and though the Golden Realm laid far from her eyes, it was her mind's eye that recognized the danger. The Wolf has escaped. Asgard was threatened.
"Oh, Loki. What have you done?" she whispered under her breath.
It should have been of no concern to her. Let Asgard fall for all the Norn Queen cared. But it was caring that stayed her heart. Balder was of Asgard. And should Balder fall... I shall ne'er see the light again.
The very thought of it crushed her.
Turning swiftly, Karnilla made her way into the halls of her castle, eyeing her servants who immediately followed her. "Send my strongest underlings to Asgard's aid. Karnilla shall show naught but mercy towards their lot for now," she ordered sharply under her tongue. As her thoughts turned to Balder, she created a portal that was take her to Asgard and to him. Oh, how could she possibly allow Asgard to fall now? It was impossible now. Karnilla's eyes flickered ever so slightly before she entered the portal.
It is the howling of the wolf that awakens Nanna from her slumber. Her sisters hear it too, and she takes care to comfort all of them. Something stirs in Asgard. Something is dreadfully out of place. She reassures each one of her sisters and nearly speaks the name of her youngest of kin when she remembers that Sigyn is no longer there. Her heart pangs with pain, but she is also glad; Sigyn is not here, so she will not face what Nanna shall face.
Summoned by the court, the lady goddess heals the wounded that she comes across, her horse's hooves clashing against dirt and cobblestone as she makes her way to the palace's keep. It is there that she instructs her fellow handmaidens to look after the All-Mother--and as much as she would wish to say by the queen's side and defend her, she still has ties to the Valkyries. Oh, how she is needed everywhere. She has a mind to see Balder, to make sure he is all right, to see his face and be reassured--but she cannot. She has a duty. She has to abide by it.
And so the lady goddess leaves the golden palace, shining and glimmering with gold. The Valkyries have need of her, so the Lady Nanna fashions her blade. Ragnarok descends towards them, but she masks her fear.
