A/N: This was written for my English class last semester, and actually I'm quite proud of it. ^_^ It's supposed to be set before Grendal knew that Beowulf was coming to get him hehe...and also, I don't actually know many specific details on how Grendal looks, so I had fun making some up. Hope you like it! ^_~
Title: Murderous Repetition
Rating: PG-13 for blood...ew, lotsa blood...
Disclaimer: uh...I don't own Grendal...or Herot Hall...some monk dude came up with it. ^_^ more power to him.
Grendal crawls easily from the dense marsh, breath coming out in thick rasps, hissing in his chest. Filthy water slides from dark iridescent scales and drops at his feet as he steps through mud soft ground, thick talons sinking into the earth with every step. He peers around, the night sky is filled with dark clouds, hiding the half moon underneath threats of rain and tossing shadows around him, darker and more foreboding than usual. His gleaming green eyes flick with a cruel amusement as Herot Hall comes into view. He moves with an inhuman speed, walking on two feet but stooping to four every few strides.
The door is nothing to him, it splinters with a single swipe of his paw, tearing away from its weak hinges and clattering to the floor. Razor sharp shards of wood dig into the rough flesh of his palm, but do not penetrate, merely an annoyance. He grins maliciously, showing jagged rows of gleaming white teeth, his canines drooping low over his lower lip, ending in a sharp point. He fills the entire doorway, broad shoulders and rippling muscles bulky but sleek, giving him an animalistic grace that is terrifying.
The humans were asleep, he noted, dropping onto all fours, prowling between their still forms. His thick mane of fur that surrounds his neck falls forward and ruffles as he moves, crusted bangs drooping into his face and giving him the appearance much like a wolf crazed from rabies, starving...murderous. The fur is a deep gray color, a single row sliding down his spine and to the tip of his reptilian tail, spiking down his back as he hunches, ready for the attack. He vaguely wonders how he hasn't woken the humans up yet, why his heavy breathing intermingled with rumbling growls hasn't caused any of the drunken fools to stir in the least.
Sliding a massive paw around the middle of the nearest form he lifts the alcohol-bloated body from the dirt-covered ground. The human finally wakes, stirring ever so slightly, a slight groan of confusion tumbling from his chapped lips as he fights to open his eyes fully. He feels as if he is floating, an unpleasant pressure crushing him around the middle, and something sharp digs into the fleshy part of his side as the pressure tightens, sending a quick bolt of pain up his back.
Grendal hears bones protesting against his powerful grip, the man's spine starting to crack from the pressure, ribs caving in on themselves, puncturing lungs. The human's cries quickly grow from confusion to anguish, gurgling horribly as blood fills his lungs and throat, a long stream pouring from the corner of his opened mouth, dripping onto the ground. Everything was growing dark for the man, he couldn't breath, he felt as if he was being torn in half, and indeed he was.
Grendal saw the blood pouring from the man, he could hear it gushing up his windpipe and splattering against the ground as it bubbled up and fell. He felt a wave of pleasure ripple down his spine as the scent of it reached his flared nostrils, sweet and metallic, twisted with the vague scent of the alcohol the man had just consumed. His vision blurred with his hunger and he dove upon the dieing human, putting him out of his misery with one snap of his teeth. He gouged the man's throat out, blood splattering fur, scales and the dirt below, gushing as the man fell limp in Grendal's paw.
Grendal let the human's now still form crumple to the ground, his spine crunching finally and head thumping against the ground with a sickening thud. He turned from the dead body, eyeing the other motionless inhabitants; blood dripped down his chin and stained his teeth, mixed with thick saliva. With another low growl that rumbled menacingly in his chest and an evil chuckle to himself he finished the rest of them off, enjoying their screams and savoring the sweet taste of their blood as it slid down his throat, burning slightly, a pleasant and familiar sensation.
He left blood in his tracks as he made his way back to the marsh, the humans' blood wiping away from his paws and sticking to the muddy ground. The freezing water was refreshing as he dove into it, feeling relaxed under the dark waves. He swam straight down, moving in rhythm with the pull of the water, muscles in his legs, arms and back tightening and relaxing repeatedly, like a well-built machine. He continued straight down until he could no longer see the smallest hint of the oncoming day through the water, where sunlight had never reached since the beginning of time.
The water was even colder down there, burning his face and slightly numbing his great paws, it was also a pleasant sensation to him, and just as familiar as the screams he enjoyed so much. Grendal found a small cave opening at the bottom of the marsh and swam into it, following the short pathway back up until he emerged into air, bursting out of the small pond like formation in the cavern he had come upon.
He lifted himself from the water, looking around the familiar area of his lair, tail swaying behind him, and adrenaline from his kill still coursing through his body...and yet he craved more. With heavy thumping steps that echoed against the high ceilings of the lair he moved across the way and fell into the corner where his bed made of water-softened weeds and mold lay.
He closed his brilliant eyes and allowed himself to fall into a comfortable slumber, with the reminder that tomorrow he would just do it all again. He would rise from the marsh and come upon Herot Hall, and they would be there, drunk and asleep. They were always there. And he would feed upon them, like he always did. Nothing could stop him.
Title: Murderous Repetition
Rating: PG-13 for blood...ew, lotsa blood...
Disclaimer: uh...I don't own Grendal...or Herot Hall...some monk dude came up with it. ^_^ more power to him.
Grendal crawls easily from the dense marsh, breath coming out in thick rasps, hissing in his chest. Filthy water slides from dark iridescent scales and drops at his feet as he steps through mud soft ground, thick talons sinking into the earth with every step. He peers around, the night sky is filled with dark clouds, hiding the half moon underneath threats of rain and tossing shadows around him, darker and more foreboding than usual. His gleaming green eyes flick with a cruel amusement as Herot Hall comes into view. He moves with an inhuman speed, walking on two feet but stooping to four every few strides.
The door is nothing to him, it splinters with a single swipe of his paw, tearing away from its weak hinges and clattering to the floor. Razor sharp shards of wood dig into the rough flesh of his palm, but do not penetrate, merely an annoyance. He grins maliciously, showing jagged rows of gleaming white teeth, his canines drooping low over his lower lip, ending in a sharp point. He fills the entire doorway, broad shoulders and rippling muscles bulky but sleek, giving him an animalistic grace that is terrifying.
The humans were asleep, he noted, dropping onto all fours, prowling between their still forms. His thick mane of fur that surrounds his neck falls forward and ruffles as he moves, crusted bangs drooping into his face and giving him the appearance much like a wolf crazed from rabies, starving...murderous. The fur is a deep gray color, a single row sliding down his spine and to the tip of his reptilian tail, spiking down his back as he hunches, ready for the attack. He vaguely wonders how he hasn't woken the humans up yet, why his heavy breathing intermingled with rumbling growls hasn't caused any of the drunken fools to stir in the least.
Sliding a massive paw around the middle of the nearest form he lifts the alcohol-bloated body from the dirt-covered ground. The human finally wakes, stirring ever so slightly, a slight groan of confusion tumbling from his chapped lips as he fights to open his eyes fully. He feels as if he is floating, an unpleasant pressure crushing him around the middle, and something sharp digs into the fleshy part of his side as the pressure tightens, sending a quick bolt of pain up his back.
Grendal hears bones protesting against his powerful grip, the man's spine starting to crack from the pressure, ribs caving in on themselves, puncturing lungs. The human's cries quickly grow from confusion to anguish, gurgling horribly as blood fills his lungs and throat, a long stream pouring from the corner of his opened mouth, dripping onto the ground. Everything was growing dark for the man, he couldn't breath, he felt as if he was being torn in half, and indeed he was.
Grendal saw the blood pouring from the man, he could hear it gushing up his windpipe and splattering against the ground as it bubbled up and fell. He felt a wave of pleasure ripple down his spine as the scent of it reached his flared nostrils, sweet and metallic, twisted with the vague scent of the alcohol the man had just consumed. His vision blurred with his hunger and he dove upon the dieing human, putting him out of his misery with one snap of his teeth. He gouged the man's throat out, blood splattering fur, scales and the dirt below, gushing as the man fell limp in Grendal's paw.
Grendal let the human's now still form crumple to the ground, his spine crunching finally and head thumping against the ground with a sickening thud. He turned from the dead body, eyeing the other motionless inhabitants; blood dripped down his chin and stained his teeth, mixed with thick saliva. With another low growl that rumbled menacingly in his chest and an evil chuckle to himself he finished the rest of them off, enjoying their screams and savoring the sweet taste of their blood as it slid down his throat, burning slightly, a pleasant and familiar sensation.
He left blood in his tracks as he made his way back to the marsh, the humans' blood wiping away from his paws and sticking to the muddy ground. The freezing water was refreshing as he dove into it, feeling relaxed under the dark waves. He swam straight down, moving in rhythm with the pull of the water, muscles in his legs, arms and back tightening and relaxing repeatedly, like a well-built machine. He continued straight down until he could no longer see the smallest hint of the oncoming day through the water, where sunlight had never reached since the beginning of time.
The water was even colder down there, burning his face and slightly numbing his great paws, it was also a pleasant sensation to him, and just as familiar as the screams he enjoyed so much. Grendal found a small cave opening at the bottom of the marsh and swam into it, following the short pathway back up until he emerged into air, bursting out of the small pond like formation in the cavern he had come upon.
He lifted himself from the water, looking around the familiar area of his lair, tail swaying behind him, and adrenaline from his kill still coursing through his body...and yet he craved more. With heavy thumping steps that echoed against the high ceilings of the lair he moved across the way and fell into the corner where his bed made of water-softened weeds and mold lay.
He closed his brilliant eyes and allowed himself to fall into a comfortable slumber, with the reminder that tomorrow he would just do it all again. He would rise from the marsh and come upon Herot Hall, and they would be there, drunk and asleep. They were always there. And he would feed upon them, like he always did. Nothing could stop him.