(Prelude)

The world crumbles
Author: Beowulf Scylding - Date: Aug 18, 2004 - 19:55

The days are dark and cold. I cannot remember when last I saw the sun, and I am saddened to think that I do not miss it. My eyes have learned to see without it. My hide has grown accustomed to the harsh wind, and the cracks in my chapped flesh no longer bleed. My teeth know only the brittle and bitter fare of the empty woods and rocky earth. I no longer walk forward without looking behind me, and rage moreso than skill guides my sword-arm. My world has become grim.

I swallow down the last of my stale bread and hunker down in the ruins of the queen's chamber. Heorot is little more than a tomb, with the king and the survivors of his retinue fled. Like me, my sword Hrunting is honed and hungry for the monster Grendel.


The domain of Hrothgar
Author: Amleth Yngling - Date: Oct 25, 2004 - 02:28

This story continues from The Sea.

The Geat, the Goth and myself stand upon the rocky, white beach of the unknown country, staring inland. Beowulf is the first of us to speak: "The land of King Niduth. The same king smote by Witege the Waetling. This country is cursed." He lazily throws a stone across the shoreline, and the flicker of the weathered, battered soldier's fiery spirit vanishes at once. The Geat continues, "We've landed on little more than a marshy wasteland. There is only one hall here that still stands...I believe." Beowulf clutches the pommel of his sword, Hrunting, as though it were about to leap from its scabbard. "Hrothgar's domain is at Heorot. There is little left of it, if I recall. My memories are so splintered, my friends, I've difficulty separating the events of my life from the fantasies of Walheall. If Hrothgar lives yet, he will have us at his table, I've no doubt."

Beowulf's wan countenance and horror-stricken expression betray his statement. We find little comfort in this prospect, and I notice Hildibrands hanging on the last of the Geat's words, as though he expected more to follow. I know how Beowulf feels. I, too, have found myself of limited memory since Ragnarok, and I am reluctant to discover the missing fragments for fear that my past may uncover a horror I would sooner forget. What greater horror than the murder of Balder? Could there be anything worse? And yet when I look upon my lord Hildibrands, I see a thegn who may be one of those missing fragments. Did I know him before he stepped into Widsith's hall? I distract myself from such maddening thoughts with the task that lay ahead. We travel southeast, on foot, to Heorot.

Skidblaðnir's planks and beams shift, rotate and compact upon themselves, and I draw up the small, sled-like contraption from the surf at my feet.


A name that rings a bell
Author: Hildibrands Amaligg - Date: Oct 26, 2004 - 06:24

"Witege?" I frown. I bite my lip, and tarry a while checking my ribs and my numerous cuts, while I think of an answer. They all seem to have disappeared. I run a hand through my hair still caked with dried blood. I cannot hide my identity any longer; and after what we have been through together, I trust these two young men.

"Witege was a friend of my liege Thidrek," I begin heavily, as we start towards the palace, or what is left of it. Memories seem to come to me as through a veil. "They were like brothers. Then things got sour..." I shrug. "They were too similar, I am afraid. Too proud. Witege ended up on the side of Thidrek's enemies, and he..." It is still hard to remember. "He killed Atli's sons in battle, and Thidrek's little brother. Some say he tried to get out of the challenge... but they were all hot-headed lads..."

I shake my head, as my eyes fill with tears. "Thidrek never ceased to feel responsible for what happened. I think that is why he left, to find a way to make peace with himself. I only wish he had taken me with him. I am all that he has left... his father died years ago, of course, making him King of Bern, and though they say it was a natural death, some hinted that it was some devilish plot of his enemies..."


An uncomfortable journey
Author: Amleth Yngling - Date: Oct 27, 2004 - 18:10

Our journey across Niduth's country is not a pleasant one. Travelling the marshy plains in the this fog, wearing iron mail and woolen haceles, makes the Winterfylleth season almost unbearably warm. I have made many journeys by foot in my life, most of them much longer and more arduous. Why is it this one should make an old man of me?

If the physical discomfort isn't bad enough, I find myself facing spiritual unrest. Hildibrands' tale of Witege - my own cousin - tears at my heart and tears away veils of confusion and forgetfulness that have plagued me since Ragnarok. Is Lord Thidrek, the Goth, somehow connected with the usurper of Ydalir? ...And now I do not recall his name. It seems an age ago, nearly an eternity. But the villain's face is yet branded in my memory, a still-life splinter of history, like a lingering vision from a dream. I ran him through with Baldersbane, the Mistilteinn.

Who was the usurper? Nothing more than Atli's seneschal, I expect. I fought his son, but I could not bring myself to kill him, just as Witege could not. Why is that? His father slew my father; surely that was enough to justify his death. How might he be connected with Lord Hildibrands and King Thidrek? Why can I not remember?

The truth will make itself known in time, and when that time comes, I pray to Nerthus that it will not bring my lord Hildibrands and myself into battle.


Slowly remembering
Author: Hildibrands Amaligg - Date: Oct 30, 2004 - 06:27

I stop in the middle of the road.

My companions turn to face me. I shake my head, I am all right, but I am just thinking, and thinking so hard that walking at the same time is quite a feat for a simple Goth like me.

I start again, and try to collect the thoughts that suddenly crowded my mind. Thoughts about Thetmar, Thidrek's father. The perfect family man, the famous and respected king - so much that I wanted to be in his service. I met him when Thidrek was five years old, and both of them quickly gained my loyalty.

Then Thetmar died - a hunting incident, therefore a natural death for the likes of us. But nobody was with him at the time, not even I, only young Thidrek. Something happened during that hunt. The lad came back carrying his father's body and his horse and never said a word about it. But he himself was full of cuts and bruises, as though they had fought a wild animal... or a wild enemy?

But if he had fought someone who had killed his father... why did he keep it secret? Why didn't he raise the kingdom and exact revenge? Why did he let us believe it was a hunting accident? There were rumours that it was a plot, but also that Thetmar had only received his due. Thidrek had anybody who spread these rumours executed.

I had mulled these questions very often in my mind, following Thetmar's funeral. Then we had other problems to take care of, and as I said, my brain is not all that roomy. Other cares were cast off.

And now they come back to haunt me. Witege, once a friend, is now our enemy. This young man Amleth comes from the Waetling family, who once was close to the Amelungs... but that was before I joined king Thetmar. Yet he speaks with familiarity of Witege. He is helping me find Thidrek, so he should be an ally... should he not?


Here there be Grendel
Author: Amleth Yngling - Date: Nov 2, 2004 - 19:47

Upon Beowulf's request, we camp a ways from the Hall of Heorot. "Its dark windows are an ill omen," he thinks aloud. "This castle was once Midgard's very own Waelheall - a feast every night with hundreds of thegns in Hrothgar's company. He dressed us in the finest of fur and mail. It is too dark and cold for there to be no fire, and I expect more noise from a tomb."

The Geat stokes our fire with his sword and breaks a long silence with a tale of the legendary beast Grendel. As he weaves his tale...I remember...

Beowulf was our Cempa, the head of Wulder's Fyrd. He left Ydalir for Heorot to slay the wretched Grendel, who had been bringing death to Scylding lands. Had he succeeded?

"Cempa!" I interrupt suddenly, addressing Beowulf. "While we mindlessly sailed in the mists, the vile beast of which you speak--"

Beowulf calmly picks up where I leave off. "Has unleashed doom upon Heorot. Yes, I know, Waetling. Now please lower your voice and relax. Grendel has good ears, and he can feel your anxiety."

"What of the fire?" Hildibrands asks, matching Beowulf's composure. The Geat thinks for moment, acutely gazing at the hall, in the distance. He finally nods and the three of us douse the flames with boots and shields.

"Follow my lead," Beowulf commands, and the Goth and I obey.


The Shadow Wanderer
Author: Hildibrands Amaligg - Date: Nov 5, 2004 - 20:39

As we approach the darkened palace, I can feel its presence out there. I cannot explain how it is, but in moments like this I am glad to be a rough hard-headed warrior and not a more sensitive soul. It is like a pall that descends on us, a darkness darker than death. In a flash of insight I realize that this monster preys upon feelings of fear, horror and pain, fanning their cold black flames to drink them up as its most delicious pleasure.

No wonder that the presence of the court of Hrothgar was so hateful to it. Lights, and laughter, and the sound of harps... poison for it! Oh, how much better, how much more rewarding to inflict pain, and to revel in it, than to create, build, share! How much easier to hate than to love!

"Let us kill it already," I growl. I turn to Amleth and Beowulf. "Why do you hesitate? Do you doubt yourselves? I can go at this alone, I do not need the help of children!!!"

What have I said? Why such an unfair, cruel thing? I shake my head in horror. "No. No, forgive me. It is its shadow... its shadow crawling over this place."


The Tomb of Heorot
Author: Amleth Yngling - Date: Nov 8, 2004 - 17:22

Hildibrands is checking his anger. We all are. We know the sting in our tongues is not of our own malice. But what if it were to go further than words? In the deep shadows of Heorot's courtyard, thegns lie dead around us. Some are savagely mutilated by an inhuman hand. Others are run through by the sword of a fellow thegn. It appears Grendel has killed many by turning countrymen against one another.

Beowulf sheathes his sword and asks us to do the same. "A weapon we put into our hands now is a weapon against ourselves. Trust in the strength of our brotherhood until we face the true enemy," the Geat advises.

Hildibrands and I are left in the courtyard, watching Beowulf pass into a corridor blacker than pitch. My eyes have not yet learned to see in such places, but for a hunter of the Grendel it is a valuable skill.

"Do we risk the lighting of a torch, or do we wait for him here?" I ask my Gothic companion, trying not to inflect a frustrated, bitter edge in my tone.


Confessions
Author: Hildibrands Amaligg - Date: Nov 20, 2004 - 14:56

Beowulf goes off alone, to certain death. Why follow him? We would just be killed alongside him! Better find another way, better yet, let us go back, what is the use of us being here, why...

"No."

I say it aloud, looking into Amleth's face, which bears the same struggle that mine must show. "We cannot let him go alone. We have travelled together for so long. Three is better than one against the monster of the dark."

Before Grendel's horrible poison takes hold of me again, I search into my belt pouch with trembling hands. I find a flint stone and some dry cloth to light a fire. I take a torch from the wall and I strike a spark on a broken spear, setting the torch alight.

I lift it over my head and its light falls eerily on the faces of the dead. Not certainly a sight that can trouble me anymore. But as we move towards the corridor, I look down and se a young man lying against the wall, a sword in his heart, his face not yet ravaged by death...

I freeze, shaken by icy shivers. "No," I whisper, in a completely different tone, as memories come tumbling down on me, sharp as razors. Amleth looks at me with a question in his eyes. He reaches out to shake me.

"It will pass," I whisper, knowing it is yet another trick of this place. "That boy just reminds me of... No, not Thidrek. Though he was fiery, too, and fair, he had his mother's eyes and gentle smile. He met me on the battlefield, on the side of our enemies. I did not want to kill him. I did not mind to die at his hands..."

I cover my eyes with a trembling hand. I want to stop, but it is as though a merciless claw were dragging me back to that very spot. "But he was strong and clever, and was a threat to all our people. And he would not back down, he would NOT, stubborn and foolish like his father!" Rage almost chokes me. "So I fought him and killed him."

Tears spill from my eyes, through my fingers, down my face. "He was my son."


Compassion
Author: Amleth Yngling - Date: Nov 23, 2004 - 19:53

The bane of Grendel is compassion. I defeat the enemy now as I hear Lord Hildibrands' account. Could the forces of Grendel be at work when a father is positioned against his own son? I give the Goth my arm, steadying him, while taking the drooping torch from his other hand. There are no words that I can offer him now, even if the curse of bitterness didn't twist them. Instead, I hope that my presence will keep the light of hope from fading in the aging thegn's heart. I feel both dependent upon and responsible for the old soldier, and now, more than ever, I realize the importance of finding Prince Thidrek of Bern.

I lead the two of us through a narrowing corridor, but I no longer hear Beowulf's footfalls. Yet...there is a noise. What at first sounds like beating hooves becomes a great gust of wind that roars through the passage, extinguishing our torch. Our swords are drawn, but not by our own hands! Hildibrands is pulled away from me, and I am brought to my knees by a hard shove from behind. I look up to see new torchlight before me. A richly dressed man of roughly 60 winters stands before a throng of lords and ladies. Two beautiful young women just at his left carry the Mistilteinn and the Lagulf. He speaks: "Amleth, son of Earendil of Ydalir, and Hildibrands of Bern, I presume? Beowulf said we might expect you. Forgive our inhospitable ways; we cannot afford to take chances in such times. I am King Hrothgar. Welcome to all that remains of Heorot."


Frozen
Author: Hildibrands Amaligg - Date: Dec 3, 2004 - 05:23

Only Amleth's comfort, battling the poison of Grendel, has allowed me to go on during this journey into night. I owe a lot to this young man. As we walk through the tunnels, I tell him: "When I see Thidrek again - and I have to believe I *will* see him again - I will tell him of this voyage. I am sure that, though your families have been distant in the past, he will embrace you like a brother!"

Amleth makes no answer. His face is stern. I have no time to ask him, because, all of a sudden, it is like we were taken by a whirlwind... and around us, everything changes.

I kneel in the lighted hall, frozen, for an eternity, it seems, as I take in what I see. But I feel that the darkness of Grendel has been dispelled for a while. In this hall of stone I sense pride, defiance, strength of will. I feel like I am breathing again, and I freely, joyfully send my own warlike passions to join those of the brave men and women reunited in that hall.

I am not used to kneeling - the last time I did that, it was in front of King Thetmar, offering him my services. But Thetmar was young and hot-blooded, much like his son; this old king in front of me is all dignity and quiet power and unshaking resistence.

I drag myself up, though the warrior behind me still holds my hands behind my back. I bow my head to King Hrothgar. "My humble greetings to you, Your Majesty. It is a relief to find you here. Your warriors do not need to restrain us - as the worthy Beowulf surely has told you, we are all here for the same purpose... freeing the land of the curse of Grendel."


Haven
Author: Amleth Yngling - Date: Dec 11, 2004 - 20:10

"Your purpose?" Hrothgar replies to Hildibrands, doubtfully. "Surely a West Goth and a young Angle would not purposely make the journey all the way to Hel's domain to rid a poor king of a monster."

I cannot resist: "With all due respect, your lordship, we've actually recently been to Hel's domain and it is little like Heorot." Hildibrands gives me a stern, sideways glance. "That is, Lord Hrothgar, our purpose is to restore a lost prince to his throne. Our journey was interrupted by the Twilight of the Gods, but our happenstance meeting with the great Beowulf was a boon. Once we've rid Heorot of Grendel, we hope he will join us in our quest. I am an heir of Wate's house, and Beowulf is our Cempa, bound to the service of Ydalir."

Hrothgar raises his eyebrows. "It sounds simple enough to hear you say it, Waetling, but I fear it is more difficult than that. We are fortunate to have found a haven in this underground hall, where Grendel's heart-poison cannot reach. That is how we have survived for so long without tearing one another apart. But even if you should help Beowulf defeat Grendel, the Geat's role at Ydalir has been filled, or so my seers have said. And they are never wrong."

My heart sinks. With a replacement Cempa, Beowulf's fealty to Wulder is dissolved, and our oath-bond with the Geat is severed.

Hrothgar continues, "The man newly appointed to that station is called Hadding by his Fyrd, but he calls himself Thidrek, son of Thetmar."


"The young SCOUNDREL!"
Author: Hildibrands Amaligg - Date: Dec 13, 2004 - 12:51

My voice booms echoing from the cave walls. Then I laugh aloud. "Thidrek!" I exclaim. "Then he is alive! By all the gods, what is he doing there?"

King Hrothgar is glaring at me with impatience. "I beg your pardon, Your Lordship," I reply, barely containing my gladness, "but Thidrek is the man that I set out to look for, and it seems I have found him! But he is so far, and..." I sigh, thinking aloud while running my fingers on my beard. "What to do? My loyalty is to him, but I have also embarked in this mission, and I feel he is doing quite well on his own." I add this with a touch of regret. Could it be that I am finally getting old and useless?...

"But why would he become Cempa at Ydalir?" I muse, to take my mind off my uneasiness. "Unless it is a way to reinforce our alliance with them. But in that case, why did he go away in secret?" I shake my head, trying to clear it from this whirlwind of thoughts. I turn to Amleth. "Maybe you have an inkling about this, young man, since that is the domain of your brother and..."

My voice dies on my lips. Amleth's face is deathly pale, and he is staring into emptiness as though he had gone blind again. What do Hrothgar's words mean to him?...


Enough Idleness
Author: Amleth Yngling - Date: Feb 10, 2005 - 18:51

In Lord Hrothgar's subterranean lair Hildibrands and I test the swords Lagulf and Mistilteinn to be sure they are still foe-worthy. We clash blades and send sparks across the hall, and we may do so with immunity to Grendel's heart-venom. The old man who sportingly spars with me is good on his feet and has much vigor yet in his sword arm. I come upon him with my fiercest blows, but the thegn skillfully opposes them all.

"Remind me why we are doing this?" Hildibrands says to me quietly, when we find our blades intimately locked. "Surely there is a purpose for it beyond mealtime entertainment for Hrothgar's courtiers."

I push the old man away and rush him to answer his question. I speak low, "We must be at our peak should Beowulf not defeat the monster. Should Grendel breach these walls, we will need to be ready. I do not trust these fat old men to protect the women, do you?" My answer will have to do. How do I tell a man that I prepare to face his own lord in battle?


So that is the reason!
Author: Hildibrands Amaligg - Date: Feb 13, 2005 - 06:20

My young companion is so pale because he is worried about the cursed Grendel! He is right - I would too, if I were his age, with so much yet to live and to do and to dream. Warriors like to boast, but I have yet to meet one who really cares little about laying down his life, no matter how worthy the cause. I instead have reached the point when an honourable death is plenty of satisfaction. Of course, as long as I can still be useful to my liege, I will try to conserve my life!

So I gladly take up my sword; my muscles are becoming rusty with waiting, and I was never a patient man to stand aside when there is a monster nearby. I wonder how Beowulf is faring. But it is *his* monster; he has to defend his people and his loyalty. I trust he will not fail. It would be painful to watch a brave young man destroyed by this... this darkness.

"Alas, it is true," I whisper, "Hrothgar's warriors are painfully few and past their prime. Grendel has struck hard on this place - he likes young flesh, damn him! However, if Thidrek were here -" I parry Amleth's sudden thrust and circle around him.

"He is good, very good - I trained him," I say with pride. "But you are just as good. We would be unbeatable together! And then, when peace returns, I look forward to see you two spar as we are doing. It would be hard to tell the winner, I am sure!"


This story ends at Widsith's Meodoheall