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Beowulf, the mighty warrior, known to many for his colossal feats and battles over the years, overhears the hideous tales of Grendel and his vicious bloody attacks on the inoccent people of Herot through the dark, damp halls of a run down tavern in a secluded marsh . His ears catch the wisperings of frightened gossip, floating down, group to group, every word becoming louder an louder in his mind. His heart starts thudding harder and harder in his bold chest and he reflects deeply on the obstacles hes over came in his rugged life time. The hairs on the back of his masculine neck stand up as his clouding mind floats back to the present, hovering on possibility. He knows what lies before him.
To attend him on his courageous quest, Beowulf swiftly and carefully chose the most brave and mighty men. Men that could fear no dreaded evil. Men that were parched for the taste of warm blood in their mouths. Men, that were ready to put their noble lives up to the chance of fate, for the greatest gift a man could posses-- glory.
Leading his pack of warriors to the sea to begin preparing for their long pilgrimage ahead, he could see the excitement in each of their dark cold eyes. When all reached the shore, weapons started being loaded onto a ship with a great mast that rose up high into the crisp air, that from the top, a white weathered sail bellowed in the wind. The weapons that were stocked on the ship looked of those of ones that had seen hundreds of horrific clashes against evil. The men strapped their scabbards tightly around their broad waists, as they began to set sail.
Immediately, the men began to row , with the mighty prow towards Herot. Each of their quiet minds, filled with images of the great evil awaiting them on this foreign far away land. The thoughts were so vivid in their minds, they were taken away from the fact that their muscles were burning and wrenching with fatigue and that their brows were dripping with salty sweat, that was practically washed away from the intense lashing spray of the ocean waves, battering the ship, again and again.
Night came, and Day went, then quickly turned into the darkness of night again. Still the men rowed the giant ship, taking the never ending lashings of the sea. Battling to keep the ship afloat and keeping it steady against the tsunami like waves was the only thing keeping their minds off the idea of the surrounding land and waters, that were non of familiarity. No one knew of what waited beneath the surfaces, what serpents could break a ship in half in a single blow, which slithering creatures that terrorized the close shores. Still, Beowulf's tired warriors continued on.
At dawn, on a countless number of days after the men left their homeland and traveled across the wretched seas. They saw the dark rocky cliffs of Herot. The anticipation of the future made the brave men tremble and their muscles clench tightly. The blood coursed heavier through their thick veins as they neared the dull marshy lands. The bow hit the sand, then their heavy soaked boots. The sounds of muted clanking metal filled the beach, along with the mellow clash of the waves against the nearby ridged edges of Herot, the gloomiest land they had ever seen.
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