บท 69: Arthur had done it again
(Dianne James POV)
The newly formed Fellowship of the Ring set off on their perilous journey. I couldn't help but notice Boromir, another half-demon, half-human like Aragorn, eyeing the One Ring with barely concealed desire. Thank the stars for Aragorn, ever vigilant in his protection of Frodo.
Their path was fraught with danger from the start. When they reached the Misty Mountains, Saruman's attack left me slack-jawed. The sheer magical might on display was staggering.
Around me, the audience buzzed with excitement and speculation:
"By the gods, such power!" gasped an elf to my left.
A dwarf stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Must be some legendary spell, that. Not your everyday magic, that's for certain."
"Forbidden magic, perhaps?" a human whispered, a mix of fear and awe in his voice.
I found myself nodding along, equally curious. What kind of magic could have such a devastating effect from miles away? Saruman was clearly a force to be reckoned with, possibly surpassing even the old elves I've known in my life.
The Fellowship's journey led them into the Mines of Moria, an ancient dwarven city that Gimli hoped to reclaim. The actor portraying Gimli delivered a heart-wrenching performance at Balin's tomb, his grief palpable.
Just as I thought I had the measure of this film, just as I believed I knew what challenges the Fellowship would face next, everything changed. They encountered a being called a "Balrog."
The collective gasp that rippled through the theater mirrored my own shock. The Balrog was a terrifying sight to behold - a massive creature of shadow and flame, with eyes that burned like the depths of hell itself. Its very presence seemed to darken the screen, radiating malevolence.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "How in the name of the elven gods did they manage to cast such a being?"
The critic beside me shook his head in wonder. "I've never seen anything like it in all my years."
"Could it be an illusion?" I asked, genuinely baffled.
Another critic chimed in, his voice filled with uncertainty. "It feels too real for mere illusion... but then again, this is a film. It's hard to tell."
My mind raced with possibilities. Did Hellfire Studios somehow pay an astronomical sum to feature some unknown, terrifying creature? Is this where their millions of dollars in budget went? The more I pondered, the more questions I had.
The tension in the theater was palpable as we watched the Balrog chase after the Fellowship. My heart raced when Gandalf stayed behind to confront the beast, while Aragorn held back a distraught Frodo.
A chill ran down my spine as a thought struck me. I couldn't help but flash back to Sonny's death in "The Demonfather." Surely the ex-prince wouldn't... But even as I silently pleaded for a different outcome, that telltale melancholy theme began to play. You know the one - it might as well scream, "Someone's about to bite the dust!"
Gandalf's defiant shout echoed through the theater: "You shall not pass!"
And just like that, before our disbelieving eyes, Gandalf plummeted into the abyss with the Balrog. The collective gasp from the audience was deafening.
"No!" An elderly mage a few rows ahead cried out. Surprisingly, not a single person shushed him. His outburst merely vocalized what we all felt.
As the Fellowship pressed on without their wise guide, I found myself still reeling from the loss. But the film allowed no time for mourning. Before I knew it, we were thrust into a scene where Boromir, overcome by the ring's influence, tried to take it from Frodo.
The audience's reaction was swift and harsh.
"What a piece of shit," someone hissed behind me.
Another voice chimed in, "Aragorn should've just killed him right there."
The animosity only intensified when Frodo, left with no choice, put on the ring. Boromir's subsequent regret and desperate calls did little to sway the audience's opinion.
I shook my head, listening to the whispers of hate directed at Boromir. While I understood their anger, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the character. The ring's corruption was a powerful force, after all.
But there was no time to dwell on it. The moment Frodo donned the ring, I knew trouble was coming. Sure enough, the enemy sensed his presence, and soon a horde of orcs descended upon the group.
As the battle unfolded, I found myself oddly impressed by the orcs' performances. Their commitment to their roles was unexpected, to say the least. It made me wonder about the behind-the-scenes story of their involvement.
The fight scenes were intense, each frame filled with action and emotion. Despite my years of watching and critiquing films, I found myself completely engrossed.
The battle raged on, with Frodo desperately trying to hide from the orcs. But his friends, bless their hearts, seemed determined to give away his position. Sam and Pippin kept calling out for Frodo at the top of their lungs.
A human in the row ahead of me grumbled, "Damn these hobbits, I want to smack some sense into them."
"They've been pretty useless so far," his companion agreed.
I couldn't help but chuckle at their frustration. But just when I thought Frodo was done for, the hobbits surprised us all by effectively distracting the orcs. Maybe they weren't so useless after all.
The intensity of the scenes kept building. Aragorn fought the orcs with a grace that belied the desperation of the situation. Even so, he was clearly overwhelmed by the sheer number of attackers.
Then came a twist I didn't see coming. Boromir, the character we'd all grown to despise, suddenly appeared to defend Frodo.
"Run, Frodo!" he shouted, facing down the horde of orcs.
I felt my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Was this... redemption? I could sense the shift in the audience's mood, their hatred for Boromir softening as they watched him fight to protect Frodo.
But then the arrows started to hit Boromir, and my heart sank. Oh no. That ex-prince was at it again, sacrificing another character. I braced myself for what I knew was coming.
Boromir fought on valiantly, even as the arrows pierced him. When he finally fell to his knees, the orc leader - Lurtz, I think his name was - moved in for the kill. But Aragorn arrived just in time, engaging Lurtz in a fierce duel that ended with the orc's beheading.
As Aragorn knelt beside the fallen Boromir, the theater fell silent. We all leaned in, hanging on every word of their exchange.
Boromir, his voice weak but urgent, spoke of his fears for his home. "The White City... what will happen to my people?"
Aragorn clasped Boromir's hand, his voice steady and reassuring. "I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail."
Boromir's next words hit me like a punch to the gut: "I would have followed you, my brother... my captain... my king."
I felt a lump form in my throat. It was beautifully done, I had to admit. Though I couldn't help but notice how Arthur was positioning his character as the linchpin of the story. Clever, if a bit self-aggrandizing.
"I failed you all," Boromir whispered, his last words tinged with regret.
Aragorn's response was immediate and heartfelt: "No, Boromir, you fought bravely. You have kept your honor."
As Boromir breathed his last, I found myself blinking back unexpected tears. Despite my initial skepticism, I had to hand it to Arthur - he knew how to craft a powerful, emotional scene. The ex-prince had done it again, turning a character we initially despised into someone whose death we genuinely mourned.
As the battle's aftermath unfolded, I sensed the film drawing to a close. Frodo bid a poignant farewell to his companions, setting off alone in a boat. But just as I thought we'd seen the last surprise, the camera panned to reveal Gollum's twisted figure, his eyes fixed hungrily on Frodo's retreating form.
Before I could fully process the implications, the scene shifted dramatically. Ancient trees filled the screen, their branches swaying as they communicated in an unknown, mournful language. The sudden change left me reeling, but nothing could have prepared me for what came next.
A dragon, majestic and terrifying, soared across the sky before landing with surprising grace. My eyes widened, my mind racing with questions. But before I could even begin to fathom what this meant for the story, the screen faded to black and the credits began to roll.
"Did we just experience a cliff hanger?" the critic beside me gasped, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.
I nodded, still processing what we'd just seen. "Seems like it," I managed to reply.
The term 'cliff hanger' originated from a popular novel series a few decades back, where the author consistently ended chapters with the protagonist in perilous situations - often literally hanging from cliffs. The term caught on, becoming shorthand for any abrupt, suspenseful ending that leaves the audience craving more.
As the implications of this ending sank in, a thought struck me. "Wait, I forget something. How did they manage to get an actor drag-" But before I could finish my question, a thunderous applause erupted around me, drowning out my words.
Swept up in the moment, I found myself on my feet, my hands coming together almost of their own accord. My unfinished question faded from my mind as I joined in the standing ovation, the energy in the theater electric.
As I clapped, I couldn't help but marvel at what I'd just witnessed. Arthur Morningstar had done it again, crafting a film that not only lived up to the hype of "The Demonfather" but in many ways surpassed it.
บท 70: Aroma of Jealousy
(Arthur POV)
As the credits rolled and the applause thundered through the theater, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. Firfel, Imkrag, Kurt, and I made our way to the stage, basking in the glow of our success.
The audience settled into their seats as I stepped up to the microphone. I took a deep breath, savoring the moment before speaking.
"Well, folks," I began, my voice warm with genuine emotion, "it seems we've managed to keep you entertained this evening."
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"It was more than entertainment, it was an experience!" someone shouted.
Another voice chimed in, "You've outdone yourself, Morningstar!"
I chuckled, enjoying their enthusiasm. Glancing at my co-stars, I could see the nervousness radiating off Imkrag and Kurt. Poor guys looked like they might bolt at any second. Even Firfel, usually so composed, had a hint of excitement in her eyes.
Turning back to the audience, I continued, "My film has indeed spoken for itself this evening. And despite not preparing a speech at all - rookie mistake, I know - I can only say that I'm incredibly grateful for how well it's been received."
I paused, allowing a hint of genuine emotion to creep into my voice. It wasn't just the film's success that moved me, but also the {System} rewards I'd received for completing my mission. Not that I could tell them that, of course.
The audience quieted, picking up on my change in tone. I seized the moment to add, "Creating this film was no small feat. My team and I faced numerous challenges, from budget constraints to logistical nightmares. It took us over a few months of intense work to bring this vision to life."
I glanced around the room, making eye contact with as many people as I could. "While my crew couldn't be here tonight, I want to emphasize that this film's greatness isn't just down to my admittedly brilliant directing," I said with a self-deprecating chuckle. "It's the result of an incredible team effort."
As I wrapped up my speech a few minutes later, the audience broke into applause once more. I caught snippets of conversation from nearby:
"Who knew demons could be so sentimental?"
"Hey, they've got feelings too, you know."
I smiled to myself. If only they knew the real reason behind my emotions - the {System} rewards waiting for me. But that was my little secret.
For now, I was content to bask in the afterglow of our success, surrounded by the warmth of the audience's appreciation and the pride of a job well done.
"Here with me tonight are some of the talented actors who brought this story to life. First, we have Kurt Vault, who played Frodo."
Kurt stepped forward, bowing nervously to the crowd. Someone in the back shouted, "You've gotta protect the ring, Frodo!" eliciting laughter from the audience.
The crowd's energy was infectious. Someone called out, "How much for the One Ring, Frodo?" eliciting chuckles from the audience.
I couldn't help but grin as another voice piped up, "Don't listen to them, Lady Frodo!"
That last comment set off a wave of laughter that swept through the theater. Even I found myself chuckling softly.
"Alright, alright," I said, trying to regain control of the situation. "I think Kurt's had enough of the spotlight for now." I turned to introduce the next cast member. "Ladies and gentlemen, the actor who brought Gollum to life - Imkrag!"
Imkrag stepped onto the stage, his hair once again a wild afro now that filming was over. He gave a nervous bow and an awkward wave to the audience.
Suddenly, a shrill voice cut through the applause: "Creep!"
The shout opened the floodgates, and more playful jabs followed:
"My precious! Give it to us!"
"Did you brush your teeth today, Gollum?"
"He wants fish, yes he does!"
I watched Imkrag's face fall, his initial nervousness giving way to genuine hurt. Feeling a pang of guilt, I quickly moved to intervene.
As I gently pulled Imkrag back, he looked up at me with worried eyes. "Did I do something wrong, boss?"
The vulnerability in his voice made my heart clench. I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and turned back to the microphone.
Seeing Imkrag's crestfallen expression, I felt a pang of guilt. I leaned in close, speaking softly so only he could hear. "Hey, don't take it to heart, buddy. They're just joking around."
Imkrag's eyes met mine, still uncertain. I continued, trying to inject some encouragement into my voice. "Look, you played a villain, and a damn good one at that. They're reacting to Gollum, not you. It means you nailed the role. That's something to be proud of, yeah?"
A small smile tugged at the corners of Imkrag's mouth. "You really think so, boss?"
I nodded firmly. "I know so. Now chin up, you're a star."
With Imkrag looking a bit more cheerful, I turned back to the microphone. "And last but certainly not least, the talented and beautiful Firfel, our Arwen!"
As Firfel stepped forward, the audience erupted into cheers and whistles. Then the comments started:
"Hey Arthur, when's the wedding?"
"Aragorn and Arwen, sitting in a tree..."
"Did you write that kiss scene yourself, Arthur?"
I felt my face heat up, a mix of embarrassment and amusement washing over me. Without thinking, I reached out and pulled Firfel closer, which only elicited more laughter and catcalls from the audience.
Firfel leaned in, her voice low and amused. "Unbelievable people," she muttered, but I caught the hint of a smile on her lips.
As we made our way off the stage, the audience's enthusiastic applause following us, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. Despite the jokes and jabs, it was clear that our film had made an impact.
I glanced at Firfel, Imkrag, and Kurt as we headed backstage. They looked tired but happy, still riding the high of the audience's reaction. I knew that this was just the beginning.
***
The premiere afterglow was quickly replaced by the frenzy of the post-screening interviews. My co-stars and I found ourselves surrounded by a swarm of reporters, their eyes glinting with curiosity and hunger for a scoop. Most of them, unsurprisingly, zeroed in on me.
An elven reporter with piercing green eyes thrust her microphone towards me. "Your film's premiere is an unexpected success. How do you feel?"
I couldn't help but smirk a little. "Feels great," I said, keeping it simple.
Another reporter, a dwarf with an impressively braided beard, chimed in. "This new film of yours far surpassed 'The Demonfather' in my opinion. Can you tell us who inspired you to make such a film? Especially, what inspired those powerful ring artifacts?"
I paused for a moment, my mind racing. "Well," I began, crafting my story carefully, "I was inspired by my kingdom's ancient artifacts that contained immense power. I thought, why not make a movie about ancient artifacts? Powerful rings, maybe? And then I wrote a script for it."
Suddenly, a tall elf with sharp features and cold eyes spoke up. His voice dripped with disdain. "Really? Because I couldn't help but notice some... familiar elements in your film. The powerful artifacts, the ancient lore... It all feels rather reminiscent of elven history. Care to comment on that?"
I raised an eyebrow, sensing the trap. "History is full of tales about powerful artifacts. I drew inspiration from many sources."
The elf - whose name tag read 'Thorne Silverleaf' - pressed on, his facade of politeness slipping. "Sources, you say? But isn't it odd how closely your 'inspiration' aligns with elven lore? One might almost call it a... rip-off."
Firfel stepped forward, her eyes flashing. "That's quite an accusation, Mr. Silverleaf. Are you suggesting elves have exclusive rights to stories about magical items?"
Thorne's lip curled. "I'm merely pointing out the similarities. But while we're on the topic of questionable practices..." He pulled out a folded newspaper. "There are some interesting rumors circulating about your previous film, Mr. Morningstar."
He unfolded the paper, revealing a headline: 'The Truth Behind The Demonfather: Ghost Writers and Secret Directors?'
"Care to address these allegations?" Thorne asked, his voice dripping with faux concern. "It does seem rather... unlikely that someone with your background could suddenly produce two blockbusters."
I felt a familiar heat building behind my eyes, but before I could respond, Firfel cut in.
"Unlikely?" she scoffed. "What's unlikely is a so-called professional journalist peddling baseless gossip. Arthur's talent speaks for itself. If you can't see that, perhaps you're in the wrong profession."
Thorne's face reddened. "Now see here-"
"No, you see here," Firfel interrupted, her voice steely. "Your jealousy is showing, Mr. Silverleaf. If you have nothing of substance to contribute, I suggest you leave. There are plenty of reputable journalists here who'd love to ask some actual questions."
As Firfel and Thorne continued their heated exchange, I remained silent, a storm brewing inside me. I could feel a familiar warmth building behind my eyes, a telltale sign of what was to come. My vision started to blur slightly, and I knew that at any moment, my eyes might shift to that intimidating scarlet hue.
Just as I thought I might lose control, a new voice cut through the tension like a knife through butter.
"My, my. What an interesting fragrance in the air tonight."
"Is that... eau de sour grapes I detect?" Caedan continued, his eyes twinkling as they landed on Thorne. "Or perhaps just the pungent aroma of jealousy? It's so hard to tell sometimes."
Thorne's face paled as he recognized the legendary critic. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it. With a final glare in my direction, he turned on his heel and stalked away.
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