I am Grendel’s Mother They say when you have been someplace for a long time you acquire the ability to be practically invisible. That is what I have been for the last hundred years, a self contained being who abides to a heartless race of men. I can only be accounted for simply existing. My only tranquil home has now been contaminated. Instead of hearing the gentle melodic tunes of the currents I hear the disturbing screams of my only son. All we had was eachother both knowing we had been predestined to an eternity of hell. At this very moment I can feel the irregular ripples through the waters of an uninvited guest. I can only assume it is that narrow minded self indulgent mercenary that they call Beowulf. What he has taken from me can never be repaid; I will make sure he suffers for it. As Beowulf dives to the bottom of the lake I plan a tactic prosperous enough to avenge my son’s death. I approach Beowulf swiftly and silently, I want him to be afraid this time. First I constrict Beowulf using all my anguish and hatred to fuel my strength, and then an error occurs. His war-garb can withstand even my strongest force; surely it has been blessed. A change of plan will have to occur; I am a better fighter on dry land than I am in the closed waters. I drag him to an underwater cave and allow him to stand; I want his defeat to be memorable. Beowulf stands and begins to unsheathe his battle-serpent; I welcome a smirk knowing that no blade can pierce through my scales. We both unleash our battle cries in hopes of increasing our strength; this will be a memorable fight. Beowulf unleashes a series of blows and I parry every one of them except the death strike. I allow
