CLAYMORE QUEEN

Screenplay draft

Title: CLAYMORE QUEEN
Credit: Written by
Author: Working Screenwriter
Draft date: Current Draft
Contact: 

FADE IN:

EXT. MUDDY BATTLEFIELD - DAY

Rain streaks the frame in thin gray lines. Thick smoke drifts low across churned brown earth pocked with craters and littered with shattered spears. Distant burning siege engines crackle orange through the haze.

ELOWEN THE RED steps out of the smoke. Her long fiery red hair is matted with mud and blood. Black leather armor streaked with enemy gore clings to her athletic frame. Engraved steel plates catch the dull overcast light. Scars cross her fair skin along the jaw and collarbone. The massive claymore rests across her right shoulder, its edge nicked and dark.

She walks forward without hurry. Boots sink deep with each deliberate step, sucking free from the mud. Her piercing green eyes fix straight ahead on the distant ranks of armored invaders. No expression shifts across her high cheekbones.

Rain patters against steel and leather. Wind howls across the open ground, carrying the iron smell of blood and wet earth. Shattered banners flap limply on broken poles. The handheld camera tracks her low and close, boots filling frame, then pulls back to reveal the vast field stretching toward the enemy lines.

Elowen does not slow. Her scarred hand adjusts its grip on the claymore's hilt, the leather wrap creaking. Mud splatters up her calves with every heavy footfall. In the far distance, armored figures shift, forming tighter ranks around the burning engines. She keeps the same measured pace, shoulders squared, claymore steady on her shoulder.

The smoke thins around her as she moves deeper into the open. Thunder rumbles once, low and distant. Her breath shows faint in the cold air but remains even. Green eyes never waver from the front line ahead.

She walks alone across the vast muddy ground.

EXT. MUDDY BATTLEFIELD - DAY

Rain streaks the frame in steady gray lines. Thick smoke drifts low across churned brown earth pocked with craters. The handheld camera tracks tight on ELOWEN THE RED's boots as they sink deep into the mud with every measured step, water and filth sucking at the leather.

Her long fiery red hair hangs matted and heavy, streaked with drying blood and dirt. Black leather armor clings to her athletic frame, the engraved steel plates dull under overcast light. Scars cross her fair skin at the collar and wrists. The massive claymore rests across her right shoulder, its weight shifting only slightly with her stride.

Distant burning siege engines crackle and pop, orange glow bleeding through the haze. Shattered banners flap in the wind, their torn edges snapping against broken poles. Elowen advances alone, boots tracking fresh prints through the mire. She does not pause or glance aside.

The camera rises slowly with her, revealing the full line of armored invaders forming ranks ahead. Spears and shields glint wet in the dull light. She keeps her pace, green eyes locked forward, cold and unblinking. Mud splatters up her calves. Thunder rolls once, low and distant.

Elowen reaches the edge of a shallow crater and steps through without breaking rhythm. The claymore's hilt rests steady against her palm. Rain runs down her jawline and drips from her chin. She moves closer to the enemy front, each footfall heavy and deliberate.

EXT. MUDDY BATTLEFIELD - DAY

Rain streaks across the churned brown earth. Thick smoke drifts low over craters and broken weapons. ELOWEN THE RED emerges from the haze, her long fiery red hair matted and streaked with mud. Black leather armor clings to her athletic frame, reinforced steel plates engraved and dented from prior fights. Enemy blood dries in dark streaks across the leather and her fair skin. Scars mark her arms and jawline. The massive claymore rests across her right shoulder, its edge already dark with gore.

She walks forward without hurry. Each boot sinks into the thick mud and pulls free with a wet sound. Her piercing green eyes stay locked on the distant enemy lines. No deviation in her stride. Wind whips at her hair but she does not blink or turn her head.

Burning siege engines crackle in the distance, orange glow barely cutting through the overcast daylight. Shattered banners flap and drag in the mud. Ranks of armored invaders form ahead, shields locked, spears angled. She closes the gap at the same deliberate pace, claymore shifting only slightly in her grip as her shoulder rolls with the weight.

Mud spatters higher on her greaves with every step. Rain runs down her face and mixes with the blood on her cheeks. Her breath stays even, visible only in faint clouds that vanish into the smoke. The field stretches empty between her and the front line. She does not slow. Her eyes never leave the shields ahead.

The claymore's pommel taps once against her back plate as she adjusts her hold. Thunder rolls far off. She keeps walking.

EXT. MUDDY BATTLEFIELD - DAY

Rain streaks across the lens in steady gray sheets. Thick smoke drifts low over churned brown earth pocked with craters. A slow handheld tracking shot glides forward through the haze, closing on ELOWEN THE RED from behind.

The camera drifts along her right side. Engraved steel plates catch the dull overcast light, water beading on the etched patterns of wolves and crossed swords. Black leather beneath the plates is streaked with drying blood. Mud spatters the edges of her armor where boots have sunk deep with each deliberate step. Her athletic frame moves without hurry, shoulders rolling under the weight.

The massive claymore rests across her right shoulder, its broad blade dark with enemy gore. Rain runs in rivulets down the fuller. Her long fiery red hair whips in the wind, matted with mud and plastered to fair skin marked by old scars across her jaw and collarbone.

The tracking shot holds on her profile as she advances. Piercing green eyes stay fixed ahead. Distant ranks of armored invaders shift into formation around burning siege engines that crackle and pop. Shattered banners flap in the wind. Elowen does not slow. Her boots sink and pull free with heavy, rhythmic sounds. The claymore shifts slightly in her grip, steel whispering against leather.

Smoke parts around her as she presses onward.

EXT. MUDDY BATTLEFIELD - DAY

Rain falls in steady sheets across the crater-pocked ground. Brown water pools in the ruts left by wheels and hooves. Smoke drifts low, mixing with the iron scent of wet earth. Elowen the Red walks through the middle of it, boots sinking ankle-deep with each step. Her long fiery red hair whips across her face, matted with mud and blood. Scars cut pale lines across her fair skin where the black leather armor fails to cover. Engraved steel plates on her shoulders and chest catch the dull overcast light. The massive claymore rests across her right shoulder, its edge already nicked from earlier work.

Her gravelly breath cuts through the rain, low and even. Distant thunder rolls once, then fades. She does not adjust her grip on the hilt. The claymore shifts only with the roll of her stride. Shattered banners lie half-buried in the mud ahead, their colors bled into the brown. A burning siege engine smolders fifty yards to her left, orange embers hissing under the downpour. She passes it without turning her head.

Wind gusts across the open ground and carries the faint crackle of more distant fires. Her piercing green eyes stay fixed forward. Mud spatters higher on her leather greaves with every heavy footfall. The athletic frame beneath the armor moves with the same deliberate weight it carried from the first step onto the field. Rain streams down the steel plates and drips from the claymore's crossguard. She exhales once, a short gravel sound, and keeps walking.

EXT. MUDDY BATTLEFIELD - DAY

Handheld camera orbits Elowen the Red in a slow, low circle. Rain streaks her face. Mud and drying blood cake the high cheekbones and fair skin along her athletic jawline. Scars trace pale

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