Fantasy Audiobook Audition Sample Voice Over Script
The moon was full, but it was completely hidden behind the ominous, dark clouds that covered the nighttime sky. As such, it did nothing to aid the small band of travelers as they slowly made their way along King’s Road – the dark, muddy track that wound its way northward from the squalid town of Ravenhill through miles of dense forest to their ultimate destination – Shadowfall. Along the way, the road would edge close to the mysterious, ancient Citadel at the forest’s eastern edge.
Shifting in his saddle, Garin Minori adjusted his cloak to better block the cold, biting wind that had blown steadily since they had left Ravenhill and entered the forest, and he thought back to the few townsfolk they had encountered earlier that day. A brooding, superstitious lot, they had repeatedly warned against traveling through the forest at night, and they had punctuated any mention of the Citadel with quickly muttered prayers. Sitting at the tavern’s rough-hewn table, Garin had put forth to his companions that they should take their chances with the unknown (and likely exaggerated) dangers lurking within the nighttime forest. This would allow them to avoid an almost certain daytime confrontation with the marauding packs of bandits who preyed on travelers within the forest with increasing frequency and violence. Bazil Wyze had expressed some concern over attempting to navigate the road through the forest in the dark, but they all understood the evil that would be unleashed if the ancient relic hidden within Garin’s pack were to be discovered before they could deliver it to Shadowfall. Garin and his companions had ridden out of Ravenhill through the ramshackle North Gate just after sundown.
Since entering the forest, the group had traveled in tense silence and near complete darkness – their feeble, flickering torches doing little to light their way. It hadn’t taken long for them to become accustomed to the steady thrum of the wind through the branches of the bare trees, but Gwendolyn Wolfchant – the only woman in the party – had cried out when a dead branch suddenly screeched in protest at losing its battle with the incessant wind and crashed to the ground somewhere just to their left. The mild ribbing she received – mostly from her twin brother Allister – lightened the mood for a few moments, but the tension and disquiet quickly returned under the ever-present press of the trees and the looming darkness.
At the bottom of a long hill, Bazil raised his right hand and silently brought the group to a halt. Ahead of them was a crossroad – a crossroad that appeared to be well-traveled but that did not exist on his map or any map he had seen. To their left, the unknown road made its way back into the trees, winding away westward to some unknown destination. To their right, the road appeared to lead eastward towards the Citadel, which could be made out as a hulking black shape in the distance, silhouetted against the dark gray of the clouds. Sirion Marku grumbled about demons and devils dwelling at crossroads. Gwendolyn looked briefly skyward and said a silent prayer while Allister shifted nervously in his saddle. Garin glanced left…then right… then impatiently nudged his horse forward, fully intent on continuing northward to Shadowfall. His horse snorted and hesitated, but a reassuring word – and a little extra pressure on the spurs – coaxed the animal forward.
Just as Garin’s horse reached the center of the intersection, the wind – which had blown steadily since they left Ravenhill – came to a complete and sudden stop. The silence that remained in the wind’s absence was nearly deafening. Garin quickly pulled back on the reins and brought his horse to a stop. He turned and looked back at his companions, but before anyone could speak a single word…
TOP-10 Scripts from Edge Studio's Voice Over Script Library
[Skyrim opens with an Imperial wagon driving four prisoners down a snowy mountain pass. All are seated and bound; the one dressed in finery is gagged.]
Ralof: Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.
Lokir: D**n you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell. You there. You and me — we should be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.
Ralof: We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.
Imperial Soldier: Shut up back there!
[Lokir looks at the gagged man.]
Lokir: And what’s wrong with him?
Ralof: Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.
Lokir: Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?
Ralof: I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.
Lokir: No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.
Ralof: Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?
Lokir: Why do you care?
Ralof: A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.
Lokir: Rorikstead. I’m…I’m from Rorikstead.
[They approach the village of Helgen. A soldier calls out to the lead wagon.]
Imperial Soldier: General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!
General Tullius: Good. Let’s get this over with.
Lokir: Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me.
Ralof: Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. D**n elves. I bet they had something to do with this. This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny…when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.
[A man and son watch the prisoners pull into town.]
Haming: Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?
Torolf: You need to go inside, little cub.
Haming: Why? I want to watch the soldiers.
Torolf: Inside the house. Now.
Galadriel: (speaking partly in Elvish)
(I amar prestar aen.)
The world is changed.
(Han matho ne nen.)
I feel it in the water.
(Han mathon ned cae.)
I feel it in the earth.
(A han noston ned gwilith.)
I smell it in the air.
Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.
It began with the forging of the Great Rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf-Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and the will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. Deep in the land of Mordor, in the Fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged a master ring, and into this ring he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life.
One ring to rule them all.
One by one, the free lands of Middle-Earth fell to the power of the Ring, but there were some who resisted. A last alliance of men and elves marched against the armies of Mordor, and on the very slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth. Victory was near, but the power of the ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father’s sword.
Sauron, enemy of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, was defeated. The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, but the hearts of men are easily corrupted. And the ring of power has a will of its own. It betrayed Isildur, to his death.
And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, it ensnared another bearer.
It came to the creature Gollum, who took it deep into the tunnels of the Misty Mountains. And there it consumed him. The ring gave to Gollum unnatural long life. For five hundred years it poisoned his mind, and in the gloom of Gollum’s cave, it waited. Darkness crept back into the forests of the world. Rumor grew of a shadow in the East, whispers of a nameless fear, and the Ring of Power perceived its time had come. It abandoned Gollum, but then something happened that the Ring did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable: a hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.
For the time will soon come when hobbits will shape the fortunes of all.
To sit in solemn silence in a dull, dark, dock,
In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock,
Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp, shock,
From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block!
Do I really look like a guy with a plan, Harvey?
I don’t have a plan …
The mob has plans. The cops have plans.
You know what I am, Harvey? I am a dog chasing cars… I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it.
I just do things. I am just the wrench in the gears. I hate plans.
Yours, theirs, everyone’s. Maroni has plans. Gordon has plans.
Schemers trying to control their worlds.
I am not a schemer. I show the schemer how pathetic their attempts to control things really are.
So when I say that you and your girlfriend was nothing personal, you know I am telling the truth.
I just did what I do best. I took your plan and turned it on itself.
Look what I have done to this city with a few drums of gas and a couple of bullets.
Nobody panics when the expected people gets killed. Nobody panics when things go according to plan, even if the plan is horrifying.
If I tell the press that tomorrow a gangbanger will get shot or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up, nobody panics. – because it’s all part of the plan.
But when I say that one little old mayor will die, everybody lose their minds.
Introduce a little anarchy, you upset the established order and everything becomes chaos.
I am agent of chaos.
And you know the thing about chaos Harvey?
“IT is FAIR.”
Hello, ladies, look at your man, now back to me, now back at your man, now back to me. Sadly, he isn’t me, but if he stopped using ladies scented body wash and switched to Old Spice, he could smell like he’s me. Look down, back up, where are you? You’re on a boat with the man your man could smell like. What’s in your hand, back at me. I have it, it’s an oyster with two tickets to that thing you love. Look again, the tickets are now diamonds. Anything is possible when your man smells like Old Spice and not a lady. I’m on a horse.
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