FreeLance
Jan 19, 2003, 09:11 AM
Okay, before people start saying this rips off Beowulf, I hadn't read Beowulf when I wrote this. Yet now that I've read it, and reread this, I find the simularities uncanny.
Anyway, here it goes:
Beoden, the father of Eodor, was nothing more than the local tanner, and though he was the best tanner in the county, his coffers were none the fuller for it. So it was that Eodor was of an impoverished family, not of royalty nor any line of Heroes. Yet in deed he was as brave or valiant or just as the One King himself had been, for he was perhaps the bravest of all Men, a Hero of Heroes - not just in his life-time but also to this day.
Some say he killed a few fiends, others say he killed an hundred. There was one beast, however, that he did in deed slay. This beast was called Felgoch, and it was for sure the most vile and destructive of all the beasts that roamed the world in those days. He was as tall as any oak tree and as strong as fifty of the most powerful warriors combined. His back was covered in a thick red fur, while his chest and stomach were covered with skin as strong as a dragon’s scale. Great bloodstained tusks jutted out from either side of his great jaw and a horn sat between his black eyes. There was a foul and constant fume flowing from his great nostrils. His arms were long and wide; his hands were large and more powerful than any other beast’s were.
It was on the Night of Thodir that the great beast Felgoch became restless and his hunger drove him unto wrath. He had wandered around in the wild land, for fear he may meet his fate at the hands of this Hero Eodor, of whom news had travelled far and fast. Eodor travelled abroad, slaying beasts for little or no price until he became known by titles such as the Saviour and Eodor the Valiant. So it was that Felgoch could not live off of mutton and cows any longer, he needed a meal. A feast, and no less. In his wanderings, he came upon a seemingly peaceful and unguarded town. For six days and a half he waited at the edge of the forest that covered the hills around the village.
Eodor had returned home for the Night of Thodir, which was the first day of the second week of Blotmonath in accordance with the great king’s victory against the south-foes that invaded the country some five hundred years ago. The tanner’s son sat at the head of the great table in the mead-hall. His father sat at his right hand and his cousin, Olin, at his left. At the other end of the table was Thunor, a direct descendent of Thodir, and the chieftain of the town. Much to the dismay of Eodor, Thunor was the father of his betrothed bride, Beyla. He feared Thunor’s power and position, and the contrast of his humble father to her father of legend and power left him wanting. Yet on this night he was sat at the end opposite of Thunor, a position of honour and dignity. Unlike most Feasts of Thodir, the night was filled with stories and songs of Eodor’s great deeds. Gone were the tales of Thodir and his descendants or the battles Thunor had won. When Eodor spoke of how he defeated the Trele, a most wretched and foul beast who had plagued the mountain-towns in the north, everyone sat quietly. When he would say something particularly exciting, however, they would all hold their cups high and shout ‘Eodor, son of Beoden, may the god’s give you strength!’ or something equally as praising and uplifting.
It was during this tale that Felgoch walked into the town. The women and children were sleeping soundly in their beds, except for the most beautiful women who were pouring mead and waiting on the men, while they listened intently to the tales of Eodor. Now it should go without saying that Felgoch hated Eodor as much as he feared him. He had heard all of the stories of how brave Eodor was and how he could plunge a butter-knife through a dragon’s stomach. This made Felgoch particularly uneasy, for it was the thickness of his skin that had saved him from many swords and arrows and spears. Being a beast as he was he did not understand the exaggerations of man. He understood simple things, and the idea of legends and myths never entered his small mind. Now you may be wondering how it is that a beast his size could enter a town unnoticed, even when the town was either sleeping or preoccupied with song and merriment. Years of hunting and town-killing had given Felgoch much experience in catching Men unprepared and off their guard. This came in handy most of all on nights of celebration, when all of the men in town were gathered in one place and even the town guards were not on duty.
He stepped right up to the great wooden doors which opened into the greatest of all mead-halls, and was about to smash it in with one fell swipe of his mighty hands. In that instant, however, as he drew his hand back to crush the door, he heard them all yell in unison. ‘Hail Eodor, son of Beoden, sent from the gods to save us from the devilries that roam this land!’
Felgoch reeled back at the name of Eodor then burst through the doors with every bit of hate and malice raging in him. His eyes lit up like an evil fire and his growl rumbled and shook the entire hall. Within a half-second the men were standing to face him with their swords and axes readied for battle. Flanked by his father and cousin, Eodor stood directly in front of the beast. Thunor was making his way through the crowded hall, shouting for the others to make way for him and shouting curses and warnings at Felgoch.
Eodor lifted his sword at Felgoch and taunted him. ‘Tell us your name, devil, that we may write it among the others I have put to rest!’
Felgoch slashed down at Eodor, but that was the oldest move in the books, and Eodor easily evaded the large and slow hand. Thunor finally made his way to the front and stepped in front of Eodor as Felgoch swept his other hand around. It sent Thunor off his feet and slammed him against the wall. Eodor pushed his father behind him and told him to move back with the rest of the soldiers. Olin stood firm beside his cousin and would not take cover as Eodor commanded. The son of Beoden stabbed at the demon, but his sword was knocked away by Felgoch’s massive hands. Eodor fell back with the great beast looming over him. It seemed in that moment that he had met his final opponent. In deed he had, yet all hope was not lost. For it was in that moment that Olin filled with a mighty wrath and he lifted his sword above his head and cut the beast’s arm asunder. But the might of Felgoch would not be stopped so easily. He backed away slowly, and the hall was hushed in anticipation of his next move. They could see it in his eyes, they could see his evil plan and yet were unable to stop him, for it was already too late. He lunged forward, and his massive horn pierced through Eodor’s cousin with the ease of an arrow through an apple. Olin’s sword fell from his limp hand and stabbed into the pressed-dirt floor next to Eodor. With his cousin’s blood sprinkling down like rain, Eodor pulled Olin’s sword from the ground and lunged forward. Felgoch bellowed in pain as the blade bit deep into his leg, his head tossed back in reflex and Olin fell from his tusk onto the ground below.
Felgoch kicked Eodor aside, and it so happened that he lay beside Thunor, who was unconscious and dying. The beast was in a berserk rage and he came down upon Thunor to gore him with his tusks. But Eodor was not about to give up to defeat and although doing otherwise seemed futile, he took up Olin’s sword once again. With all of his remaining energy welling up within him, he leaped forth at Felgoch. As if by some work of magic or miracle, the sword sliced clean through the neck of the great beast. In an instant, the room was filled with shouts of joy and disbelief. Beoden and Eodor rushed to the side of Olin, who lay in a great pool of blood and stared at them with empty eyes. Eodor’s tears mingled with his cousin’s blood as he knelt down and wept.
So it was that Eodor defeated the Master of Beasts, the foul Felgoch.
Anyway, here it goes:
Beoden, the father of Eodor, was nothing more than the local tanner, and though he was the best tanner in the county, his coffers were none the fuller for it. So it was that Eodor was of an impoverished family, not of royalty nor any line of Heroes. Yet in deed he was as brave or valiant or just as the One King himself had been, for he was perhaps the bravest of all Men, a Hero of Heroes - not just in his life-time but also to this day.
Some say he killed a few fiends, others say he killed an hundred. There was one beast, however, that he did in deed slay. This beast was called Felgoch, and it was for sure the most vile and destructive of all the beasts that roamed the world in those days. He was as tall as any oak tree and as strong as fifty of the most powerful warriors combined. His back was covered in a thick red fur, while his chest and stomach were covered with skin as strong as a dragon’s scale. Great bloodstained tusks jutted out from either side of his great jaw and a horn sat between his black eyes. There was a foul and constant fume flowing from his great nostrils. His arms were long and wide; his hands were large and more powerful than any other beast’s were.
It was on the Night of Thodir that the great beast Felgoch became restless and his hunger drove him unto wrath. He had wandered around in the wild land, for fear he may meet his fate at the hands of this Hero Eodor, of whom news had travelled far and fast. Eodor travelled abroad, slaying beasts for little or no price until he became known by titles such as the Saviour and Eodor the Valiant. So it was that Felgoch could not live off of mutton and cows any longer, he needed a meal. A feast, and no less. In his wanderings, he came upon a seemingly peaceful and unguarded town. For six days and a half he waited at the edge of the forest that covered the hills around the village.
Eodor had returned home for the Night of Thodir, which was the first day of the second week of Blotmonath in accordance with the great king’s victory against the south-foes that invaded the country some five hundred years ago. The tanner’s son sat at the head of the great table in the mead-hall. His father sat at his right hand and his cousin, Olin, at his left. At the other end of the table was Thunor, a direct descendent of Thodir, and the chieftain of the town. Much to the dismay of Eodor, Thunor was the father of his betrothed bride, Beyla. He feared Thunor’s power and position, and the contrast of his humble father to her father of legend and power left him wanting. Yet on this night he was sat at the end opposite of Thunor, a position of honour and dignity. Unlike most Feasts of Thodir, the night was filled with stories and songs of Eodor’s great deeds. Gone were the tales of Thodir and his descendants or the battles Thunor had won. When Eodor spoke of how he defeated the Trele, a most wretched and foul beast who had plagued the mountain-towns in the north, everyone sat quietly. When he would say something particularly exciting, however, they would all hold their cups high and shout ‘Eodor, son of Beoden, may the god’s give you strength!’ or something equally as praising and uplifting.
It was during this tale that Felgoch walked into the town. The women and children were sleeping soundly in their beds, except for the most beautiful women who were pouring mead and waiting on the men, while they listened intently to the tales of Eodor. Now it should go without saying that Felgoch hated Eodor as much as he feared him. He had heard all of the stories of how brave Eodor was and how he could plunge a butter-knife through a dragon’s stomach. This made Felgoch particularly uneasy, for it was the thickness of his skin that had saved him from many swords and arrows and spears. Being a beast as he was he did not understand the exaggerations of man. He understood simple things, and the idea of legends and myths never entered his small mind. Now you may be wondering how it is that a beast his size could enter a town unnoticed, even when the town was either sleeping or preoccupied with song and merriment. Years of hunting and town-killing had given Felgoch much experience in catching Men unprepared and off their guard. This came in handy most of all on nights of celebration, when all of the men in town were gathered in one place and even the town guards were not on duty.
He stepped right up to the great wooden doors which opened into the greatest of all mead-halls, and was about to smash it in with one fell swipe of his mighty hands. In that instant, however, as he drew his hand back to crush the door, he heard them all yell in unison. ‘Hail Eodor, son of Beoden, sent from the gods to save us from the devilries that roam this land!’
Felgoch reeled back at the name of Eodor then burst through the doors with every bit of hate and malice raging in him. His eyes lit up like an evil fire and his growl rumbled and shook the entire hall. Within a half-second the men were standing to face him with their swords and axes readied for battle. Flanked by his father and cousin, Eodor stood directly in front of the beast. Thunor was making his way through the crowded hall, shouting for the others to make way for him and shouting curses and warnings at Felgoch.
Eodor lifted his sword at Felgoch and taunted him. ‘Tell us your name, devil, that we may write it among the others I have put to rest!’
Felgoch slashed down at Eodor, but that was the oldest move in the books, and Eodor easily evaded the large and slow hand. Thunor finally made his way to the front and stepped in front of Eodor as Felgoch swept his other hand around. It sent Thunor off his feet and slammed him against the wall. Eodor pushed his father behind him and told him to move back with the rest of the soldiers. Olin stood firm beside his cousin and would not take cover as Eodor commanded. The son of Beoden stabbed at the demon, but his sword was knocked away by Felgoch’s massive hands. Eodor fell back with the great beast looming over him. It seemed in that moment that he had met his final opponent. In deed he had, yet all hope was not lost. For it was in that moment that Olin filled with a mighty wrath and he lifted his sword above his head and cut the beast’s arm asunder. But the might of Felgoch would not be stopped so easily. He backed away slowly, and the hall was hushed in anticipation of his next move. They could see it in his eyes, they could see his evil plan and yet were unable to stop him, for it was already too late. He lunged forward, and his massive horn pierced through Eodor’s cousin with the ease of an arrow through an apple. Olin’s sword fell from his limp hand and stabbed into the pressed-dirt floor next to Eodor. With his cousin’s blood sprinkling down like rain, Eodor pulled Olin’s sword from the ground and lunged forward. Felgoch bellowed in pain as the blade bit deep into his leg, his head tossed back in reflex and Olin fell from his tusk onto the ground below.
Felgoch kicked Eodor aside, and it so happened that he lay beside Thunor, who was unconscious and dying. The beast was in a berserk rage and he came down upon Thunor to gore him with his tusks. But Eodor was not about to give up to defeat and although doing otherwise seemed futile, he took up Olin’s sword once again. With all of his remaining energy welling up within him, he leaped forth at Felgoch. As if by some work of magic or miracle, the sword sliced clean through the neck of the great beast. In an instant, the room was filled with shouts of joy and disbelief. Beoden and Eodor rushed to the side of Olin, who lay in a great pool of blood and stared at them with empty eyes. Eodor’s tears mingled with his cousin’s blood as he knelt down and wept.
So it was that Eodor defeated the Master of Beasts, the foul Felgoch.