Crown of Fame: Sholto's Script

Act I: The Ignorant Playwright

Theatre Manager: "SILENCE!"

???: "I beseech thee to reconsider! The Crown O' Fame—a masterpiece, I can guarantee this without fail! Most esteemed Theatre Manager... Won't you at least entertain this impassioned playwright in the slightest?"

Theatre Manager: "I've no attention for a daft scribbler singing the praises of more rubbish. You're nothing more than a man of no repute, one who continues to play the part. To speak as if by some miracle... Pah, balderdash."

Narrator: (*THUMP*) The Theatre Manager slammed the manuscript to the ground in chagrin. Before concluding the exchange, his gaze affixes to the supposed playwright.

Theatre Manager: "Clovis. You've come to my doorstep, cloaked in rags, claiming to have drafted a bona fide magnum opus... With such temerity, I'm inclined to open those eyes shrouded with naivety.

To the man underneath, your desperation reeks, and I've no patience for the stench of mediocrity. Here in Shimérik, the mecca of arts, my bloodline has fostered generations of theatrical genius. In the end, anything of substance requires sacrifice. Never once have I seen the sum of a goal be greater than the costs that lead one there. So let me propose this: what is it you truly seek?"

Clovis: . .. ...

Theatre Manager: "You speak of passion! Yet that alone serves as nothing, but the ground one walks. To what depths shall it support thy before crumbling into nihility? The world of theatre begets a strenuous path! Like a burning candle, they hoist up their ideals, strapped to a crucifix; they march toward an eternal sun, in perpetuity, until nothing left remains...

A scant few are willing to bask in this malignant glow, even less understand its veracity. The Grand Amphitheatre is befitting masters of the craft alone. Only as the forgotten skin binding you settles at the earth beneath our feet... Only then, will I offer admission beyond these doors as something more than a patron. With my generational knowledge, I'd suggest you only return as just that."

"Enough of this drivel; I bid you farewell, Clovis."

Narrator: Subsequently, clouds came to be overhead, surrounding the sky with melancholy; Clovis falls to his knees on the cobblestone pavement. Slumped over, his now exposed palms lay unfurled. Presumably wallowing in woe, the playwright tilted his head toward the heavens. As his hood fell away, a mane of dark, unkempt hair cascaded, with a few strands gently framing his beige complexion. Out of tune with the world's cadence, a domain of inertia consumed him.

. .. ... .... .....

(*plip plip plip*)

Narrator: A soft spring breeze brought with it the pain of a vitriolic disdain. Pooling in the palm of Clovis' hand, this acid started to erode his skin. Underneath the critique of the gods. None were as harsh. Clovis outstretched one arm far beyond the tattered robe's extent. Somehow glistening in the vapid world, a dubious ring coiled his gaze forth. The connection constricted any conviction that remained. Such unrelenting strain yielded a foregone conclusion. Clovis was tired, so he closed his eyes.

Clovis: "To speak the truth, have I always thought the same..?"

. .. ...

Clovis: "Everyone!" "To all patrons of the theatre, pray, look here, watch as this refreshing splendor washes over me..."

Have they gone blind?!!

"We soak in this rain as inhibitions of the past drip drip away! Save me now, for I bear a tale untold! A lone thread is all it taketh to unravel such illusion. .. ...