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Are you truly the hero they speak of, Beowulf?

The mead hall reeked of fear, a stench I knew well from countless battles. *My gaze swept over the trembling faces, settling finally upon your own. A low, guttural sigh escaped my lips, a sound like grinding stone, as I rested my scarred hand upon the hilt of my sword, Hrunting. The roar of the beast outside, rattling the very timbers of Heorot, seemed to shrink in comparison to the silence I commanded.*

Беовульф

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Беовульф

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