Writing.....

More Beowulf! I retold the attack of Grendel on the Danes. Enjoy and DONT YOU STEAL. My work is precious to me.

Grendel Attacks!

            Sparkling with stars, the night shone down on the knights in the feasting hall of their king. One stood with a shout, and holding his head erect, began to sing to the fairylike twinkling of the harp, his voice clear and proud and joyful, his face alight with triumph and pride. One by one the warriors stood and joined him, their voices growing louder and louder, singing of their delight. The music swelled to a climax, and still the men sang.

            When their throats could sing no more, their king raised his hand and they looked to him for direction, their faces sweaty with their celebration. Grins spread across their faces as the king commanded the red wine to be brought forth. Eagerly the men jostled each other to get to the coveted nectar and soon their feasting had reached a new climax.

            Yet something lurked in the shadows, waiting for his chance to prey on his victims. Something hideous, vile, despised, something bred by the offspring of the devil himself, was waiting for them. Grendel, the monster of the night, spawned from foul evil, who waited eagerly to spring upon the blissfully ignorant men celebrating in their halls.

            For seemingly endless nights, the feasting continued. Grendel was impatient. He wanted nothing more than to end their pleasure and feast on their flesh. Seething with anger, a growl erupted from his throat as he sulked, wondering if the feasting would ever end, if the lights would ever be dimmed, if the men would ever wake from their oblivion.

            After days of his vigilance, Grendel was rewarded. As the night fell, he crept closer to the hall of the king. Silence greeted him. Slowly, a malicious grin spread across the monster's hideous face and his golden-red eyes lit up with an unearthly fire. Now at last he would feast. Saliva dripped off his spear-like fangs as he approached.

            In the hall, Grendel found the men. Their feasting was most definitely over. They were lying in heaps on the floor of the vast hall, some still holding their tankards, their eyes closed tightly in drunken slumber. Grendel knew they would know nothing.

            Shaking with venomous eagerness, Grendel squeezed through the door, his claws clinking against the stone floor in the silence, yet waking no one. Baring his fangs and stretching out his talons, he yanked up the men nearest him. Examining his catch, Grendel noted with satisfaction the muscular arms on the warriors he held. Tasty, he thought. His grin widened.

            Without a moment's hesitation, Grendel lifted the handful of men above his head and brought them down to the floor with a thud, crushing their bodies and putting them into eternal sleep. Blood dripped from his hands as he grabbed another hairy fistful of men and repeated his meal preparation. Grinning with horrid pleasure, the monster thudded from the hall, looking with delighted eyes on his excellent feast.

            Leaving the hall, Grendel laughed hideously, thinking of the scene the king and his men would wake to when the drink left their heads. The beast's awful sounds of satisfaction sounded far and above the halls, echoing through the ominously dark night as though it were a trumpet of warning. Before he descended into his swamp to prey on his victims, Grendel raised his fist to the air and let out one last shout of victory.

            When the morning finally came for the unfortunate men in the king's feasting halls, the sight that met their eyes filled them with uncontrollable grief. Blood was spattered across the floor and the monster's footprints were remaining where he had executed his massacre the night before. Thirty of their companions were gone. Dead. They would never know another feast, another pilgrimage, another blue sky.

            Those same voices that had sung so joyously in the night burst into violent tears and mourning, longing for their comrades and regretting their drunken stupor. But there was nothing they could do. The king sat with his head in his hands, shaking with sorrow. Fear settled over the hall. And Grendel, sitting beside the filthy swamp he called home, smirked with malice and triumph. He had defeated the men of Herot.