script of the most Genius movie ever made.

Elevate form over function to get at less easily articulable truths.

script of the most Genius movie ever made.

Postby Ultimate Philosophy 1001 » Fri Nov 18, 2016 3:38 am

Long story short, in the Genius forums they want to make the Wisest movie ever made, They aint gonna make it, their lazy, all of them on welfare, they dont have the hollywood connections like i do.
But in honor of them i will make the most Genius movie ever made, if they like it, they can make the sequal, most Wisest movie ever made.

Goes like this.
Its the CS GO map trixie standing on the gaurd rails with a desert eagle.
guy says why are you doing this, why are you doing this, why are you siding with satyr.
and i say to him...a man's gotta have dreams, if a man aint got dreams what does he got. i respect that, and im gonna help him accomplish his dreams. besides, u and i got nothing in common. i know what you did to me back at that city, you liberals thought i never knew.

then the opening credits begin
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Re: script of the most Genius movie ever made.

Postby Erik_ » Sat Nov 19, 2016 5:24 pm

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Re: script of the most Genius movie ever made.

Postby Ultimate Philosophy 1001 » Sat Nov 19, 2016 5:35 pm

Erik_ wrote:D/P

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Re: script of the most Genius movie ever made.

Postby Erik_ » Sat Nov 19, 2016 6:06 pm

Ultimate Philosophy 1001 wrote:
Erik_ wrote:D/P


It means deleted post.

I initially asked for a link to the Genius Forums, but subsequently managed to find it.
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Re: script of the most Genius movie ever made.

Postby barbarianhorde » Wed Nov 23, 2016 8:02 am

Kinda disappointed here Trixl what. What is the skript.

Here let me show you.
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Re: script of the most Genius movie ever made.

Postby barbarianhorde » Wed Nov 23, 2016 8:04 am

Code: Select all
          In the darkness, we hear the solitary sound of a HEARTBEAT,
          resounding like a drum.
           NARRATOR (V.O)
           In between the years when the
           oceans drank Atlantis and the rise
           of the Sons of Aryas, there was an
           age undreamed of, when shining
           kingdoms lay spread across the
           world like blue mantles under the
           stars. Hither came Conan, the
           Cimmerian: a thief, a slayer, a
           king born of battle.
          Muffled sounds, as if underwater, echo: CLANGING swords, the
          guttural CRIES of combat.
                         UNBORN BABY
          Eyes closed, floating at peace within red glow of the womb.
          Suddenly, a flash of steel, as a sword pierces the womb, its
          tip not an inch from the baby's head.
          As the sword is ripped out, light streams in from outside, we
          travel with it, into the DIN of BATTLE.
          A blonde-haired, armored AESIR RAIDER withdraws the bloody
          sword from the stomach of ISLENE, a wild-maned Cimmerian
          beauty, many months pregnant, now clutching her bloody
          Across a muddy battlefield, the air a maelstrom of falling
          snowflakes and embers from trees aflame, the powerfully built
          CORIN rallies his fellow CIMMERIANS, until he spots Islene.
          Wielding a broadsword, runes etched into its surface, Corin
          cuts a bloody path through his enemies, his eyes never
          leaving Islene.
          The Aesir standing over Islene LAUGHS as she claws at the
          earth behind her, trying to pull herself away.
           Now, now little whore. Did I get
           you or your little one?
          Islene's hand reaches back once again -- and it finds a
          fallen warrior's SWORD. In one fluid motion she swings the
          sword around her body and drives it into the gap in the
          Aesir's armor -- at his groin.
           I'd ask you the same.
          The Aesir HOWLS in agony, raising his sword to deliver the
          killing blow -- when another sword pierces his chest. The
          Aesir falls, revealing Corin standing behind him.
          Corin throws aside his horned helmet, and falls to his knees
          beside Islene, checking her wound. When he pulls his hands
          back they are coated in blood.
          Their eyes meet. Torment. Loss. They both know. She pulls a
          knife from the folds of her pelts, puts it in his hand.
                          ISLENE (CONT'D)
           Take your child.
           I cannot.
          Islene looks to her naked belly. The baby inside presses
          against its womb, a visible impression on her flesh.
           There is no time, husband. I would
           see my child's face.
          Islene's eyes flutter as she struggles. Corin lowers the
          knife. Islene's eyes lock with Corin's as he puts the knife
          to use. Never once does she scream.
          A moment later, Corin lifts the crying, blood-covered BOY up
          through the falling snowflakes to Islene's lap.
                          ISLENE (CONT'D)
           A boy. He will be strong. A warrior
           with no equal.
           Do not speak, love.
           You have never been able to still
           my tongue, and you will not this
           day. He will be wild, Corin. You
           must temper him.
          She shares one kiss with her child, its first taste not of
          mother's milk, but of her blood.
                          ISLENE (CONT'D)
           Conan. His--name--is--Conan.
          The boy's eyes are as deep and blue as the Eastern Sea.
                          CUT TO:
          A small Cimmerian village lies in a heavily forested valley,
          a redoubt from the icy mountains surrounding it.
          Round wooden huts surround a stone-lined pit, where young
          CIMMERIAN BOYS, ages 12-15 stand. Pollen drifts through the
          air, giving it an ethereal haze.
          At the center of the pit URAN, an elder Cimmerian warrior
           A Cimmerian warrior is like any
           other man. A Cimmerian warrior
           feels hunger. He feels cold. Like
           other men he may lie and cheat.
           (stares the boys down)
           But when a Cimmerian warrior
           hungers, he hungers only for the
           blood of his enemy. When he feels
           cold, it is the cold steel of his
           sword. When he lies, he lies in
           wait for his enemy. And when he
           cheats, he cheats death itself!
          Uran stops at the end of the line, where a boy stands a good
          two heads smaller than the rest. He is no more than eight,
          but his face is as stoic, driven.
                          URAN (CONT'D)
           Conan! You are too young to be
           here. Withdraw.
          CONAN, determined, doesn't move an inch. The LARGEST TEEN
          menacingly steps up to the smaller boy.
                          LARGEST TEEN
           He said leave, motherless whelp.
          The hulking teen goes to shove Conan, but Conan pulls his arm
          towards him, lashing out with his other hand, punching the
          teen in the throat.
          The large boy goes down hard, hands and knees, gasping for
          A smattering of LAUGHS erupt from the boys, quickly silenced
          by Uran's stare. Uran hands out RIVER STONES to each boy,
          ending with Conan. The boys know what to do: they put the
          large stones in their mouths.
           In the black crag in the high pass
           stands a wooden training sword. The
           one who claims it, with stone still
           in his mouth, will have earned the
           right to train with the warriors.
          The boys look at each other, sizing up the competition.
                          URAN (CONT'D)
           Well? What are you waiting for?!
          And off they run. They knock each other down, punching the
          other's stomachs, each trying to force the other to expel
          their stones. One or two succeed.
          Most of the remaining boys run for the trail that winds high
          into the mountains. But a few head right for the sheer cliff
          Conan follows the ones headed to the cliff.
                         CLIFF FACE
          And when the Cimmerian boys climb, it is a sight to behold.
          They find cracks we can barely see and scale the smooth rock
          face as though it were a ladder.
          The hulking teen reaches for the same handhold as Conan,
          trying to knock him off. Conan swings with one hand and finds
          another path. In moments he is ahead.
          EXT. FOREST - DAY
          Conan is in the lead as he crests the cliff top, the bigger
          boys right behind him.
          They race through the forest, heading uphill --
          When Conan spots movement ahead. He pauses --
          And the largest teen elbows past Conan, into the lead. The
          boy runs two paces more and suddenly flies off his feet, an
          AXE lodged squarely in his forehead.
          All the boys stop. Out of the dense forest come
          Covered with fearsome war paint and armed with dual hand
          axes, the rotting heads of their enemies are slung at their
          The boys spit out the rocks in their mouths and YELL. They
          turn and run in the opposite direction.
          Only Conan doesn't move, even as another boy pulls at him.
                          CIMMERIAN BOY
           Conan! Run!
          But Conan simply pulls the axe from his large boy's skull. He
          turns to face the Picts, his eyes burning.
          The Picts LAUGH and CHARGE CONAN.
                          CUT TO:
          Corin arrives with Uran and other armed CIMMERIAN WARRIORS.
          They get a brief glimpse of a single PICT, escaping in the
          other direction. One of the Cimmerians takes off in pursuit.
          Corin desperately searches for his son.
           Conan? Conan?!
          Conan steps forward from out of a thicket, his body covered
          in Pict blood. Three PICTS lie massacred, the bodies hacked
          to pieces.
                          CORIN (CONT'D)
           What have you done, boy?
          Conan walks past the other stunned Cimmerians, up to his
          father. Conan SPITS OUT the bloody stone from his mouth.
           They killed one. I killed three. I
           am a warrior now.
          Uran and the other Cimmerian men exchange worried glances.
          Looking at the carved up bodies of the Picts, they are
          aghast. Conan looks confused. Why aren't they happy?
           A warrior? What you have done a
           jackal would do. Never a warrior.
           They would have done the same --
           As I said, jackals.
                          (TO URAN)
           He is not ready. I will forge him
                          CUT TO:
                         TRAINING MONTAGE:
          Conan is tested under Corin's watchful eye:
          - Forced to sleep in the snow, while his father keeps warm
          - A heavy boulder on his shoulder blades while he balances on
          wet river rocks.
          - Climbing a cliff face, his bare hands leaving blood behind
          on the jagged rocks.
          Flames reflect in the blue eyes of Conan as he works the
          bellows of the forge. Sparks buzz like angry fireflies as he
          stokes the blaze.
          Corin sharpens a sword, perfecting it. Conan cannot take his
          eyes off it, stepping away from the bellows.
           Stoke your fire, boy.
          Conan slams the bellows closed, anger rising.
           "Stoke your fire, chop your wood."
           I have slept where wolves dare not.
           I have balanced a thousand river
           stones. When will you teach me the
          Corin stares his son in the eyes. Judging.
           Think you're ready? Then tell me:
           what is a sword's purpose?
           To slay ones enemies.
           No. That is what it does. Its
           purpose is why you use it.
          He tosses Conan two lumps of ore.
                          CORIN (CONT'D)
           Tell me, which makes the best
          Conan takes the two lumps, testing them. He hands his father
          back one.
                          CORIN (CONT'D)
           The stronger ore, eh? Then we shall
           make a sword of it, and tomorrow
           you will show me what brute
           strength yields.
                          CUT TO:
          EXT. FIELD - DUSK
          With a setting sun silhouetting the two, Conan attacks Corin.
          Conan attacks with fury. Corin defends with grace. Until the
          boy overextends and Corin slashes down a counterattack that
          Corin simply turns and walks away, leaving Conan to puzzle
          what happened.
          Corin lowers his sword and walks away, leaving Conan to
          puzzle what happened.
          Conan works the bellows, putting his back into it. Corin
          places both ores in the furnace where they begin to melt.
           Why did it break?
           Because it had no life.
                          CUT TO:
          Sparks fly as Corin pounds on the glowing edge of the sword
          with hammer. Corin nods at Conan, who sprinkles the glowing
          blade with ash.
           CORIN (O.S.) (CONT'D)
           The strongest blade isn't made of
           the hardest steel, boy. The hardest
           ore is what a man will die for. It
           is strong and unyielding. It
           neither cowers nor concedes. But
           without the softer ore, it can be
           shattered like glass.
                          CUT TO:
          Steam rises as Corin lowers the blade into a freezing slack
          tub, only to place it right back into the flames.
                          CORIN (CONT'D)
           The softer ore is what a man lives
           for. It is flexible and lasting. It
           survives, even against the greatest
           of foes. But too much of the soft
           ore, the blade will not cut deep
           enough when it must.
                          CUT TO:
          Corin fashions the blade's hilt, engraving the guard and
          pommel. It is a work of art.
                          CORIN (CONT'D)
           A sword must be tempered, the two
           ores united through fire and ice.
           Through its suffering the sword
           comes to hold both life and death.
          Corin hands Conan the sword.
                          CORIN (CONT'D)
           Now tell me, what is this sword's
          Conan furrows his brow, trying to puzzle the answer. He
          can't. Corin's disappointment shows. He takes the sword from
          Conan's hands.
                          CORIN (CONT'D)
           This one is not ready yet.
          Blood rushes to Conan's face but he says nothing. He rushes
          Frustrated, Conan slashes through a field of reeds, cutting
          everything within reach of him, expending his rage.
          Behind him something moves in the forest. We catch just a
          glimpse of the PICT, the same one that escaped Conan in the
          earlier scene.
          Conan's instincts cause him to spin around -- but then
          there's nothing there.
          Built into the side of a huge tree, fifty feet up, this
          wooden structure houses two CIMMERIAN SENTRIES. A BIRD CRIES
          in the woods, causing one of the sentries to investigate.
          THWICK! He suddenly stands up straight, unmoving. The one
          still sitting in the structure notices.
                          CIMMERIAN SENTRY
           See something?
          The standing sentry falls backwards, revealing an ARROW
          piercing his right eye. Shocked, the remaining sentry reaches
          for the WARNING HORN mounted on the wall.
          But as he reaches for it, his shadow becomes three
          dimensional, MORPHING into
          A SHADOW SCOUT
          A thin, feral humanoid, bodies covered in tattoos, from the
          deepest jungles of Zingara. The scout lashes out with his
          black sword and cuts straight across the sentry's throat.
          This Shadow Scout's name is REMO.
          EXT. SCOUT POST - DAY
          Remo exits and stares down at CHEREN, a BLIND ARCHER clad in
          lamellar armor and a conical sedge hat. Cheren has an arrow
          notched and ready, but somehow he knows not to fire.
          Cheren lowers his bow and lets out a BIRD WHISTLE --
          And the forest comes alive. The forces are an odd
          combination; massive KUSHITE TRIBESMEN, dark-skinned savages
          from the savannahs of Kush, and a LEGION OF AQUILONIAN
          MERCENARIES, heavily armored knights drawn from the cities of
          Their leaders, respectively, are the six foot-five Kushite
          chief UKAFA, gold-toothed, his body painted for battle, and
          the handsome, silver-armored Aquilonian LUCIUS.
           That's the last of their guard
           All this sneaking around for a
           lowly tribe of barbarians.
           KHALAR SINGH (O.S.)
           This lowly tribe of barbarians have
           buried every warrior ever to set
           foot on this land, Lucius.
          KHALAR SINGH, a warlord atop a black horse, rides through the
          fog-shrouded trees.
          He bears a nomadic visage, with tanned skin and almond-shaped
          eyes. While his voice is calm, his eyes burn with malice.
           That is only because they have
           never faced my legion.
          Khalar regards Lucius with amusement.
                          KHALAR SINGH
           Then show us. But should you fail,
           remember the plan.
          Lucius scowls as he delivers a bow to Khalar Singh.
          Corin walks out of the forge, looking around for Conan.
          Various other Cimmerians go about the daily routine, but
          Conan is nowhere to be seen.
          Corin looks to the ridge above the village, noticing a thick
          fog creeping in. The fog curls and eddies, something is out
          Suddenly, Lucius and his legion of silver-armored warriors
          burst out of the fog, attacking with speed and strength.
          But the Cimmerians are hardly caught flat footed. In seconds
          they are armed, and they counter the charge with a furious
          charge of their own.
          SLAM! Sword and bone collide as the two enemy fronts smash
          into each other. And the battle devolves into one-on-ones --
          Where the barbarians have the upper hand. Uran and Corin lead
          the main push of battle-frenzied barbarians as they swing
          their huge broadswords, extending their reach advantage over
          the Aquilonian's shorter weapons.
          And quickly, the Aquilonian's numbers are cut in half. Corin
          squares off against Lucius himself. Lucius is sweating.
          Worried. It wasn't supposed to be this hard.
          As a unit, the Aquilonians race back into the woods. In
          seconds, the Cimmerians give chase in wild pursuit.
           Wait! Hold your ground!
          But it's too late, nearly half the Cimmerian warriors are
          gone on the chase.
          EXT. CLIFF FACE - DAY
          Lucius and the Aquilonians race up to a sheer cliff face.
          Nowhere left to run. They turn to see the Cimmerians
          gathering in front of them.
           Death is in the air, invaders. Can
           you taste it?
           Indeed. I savor it.
It is true that liberty is precious; so precious that it must be carefully rationed.
~ Владимир Ильич Ульянов Ленин

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Re: script of the most Genius movie ever made.

Postby D3R7 » Wed Nov 23, 2016 9:01 am

Nice. Gotta love that Year Dot shit.
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