Lommy Greenhands Narrative

          "....He meant to kill this monster himself, our mighty king, fight this battle alone               and unaided, as in the days when his strength and daring dazzled men's eyes. But               those days are over and gone and our lord must lean on younger arms. And we               must go to him, while angry flames burn at his flesh, help our glorious king! By               almighty God I'd rather burn myself than see flames swirling around my lord.               And who are we to carry home our shields before we've slain his enemy and ours,               to run back to our homes with Beowulf so hard pressed here? I swear that                    nothing he ever did deserved an end like this, dying miserable and alone,                    butchered by this savage beast: we swore that these swords and armor were each               for us all!..."

I awoke from my nap with a jolt. There was a man stabbing his sword over and over again into my belly. What is with these people and swords? He yelled out that his name was Beowulf but all I could do was howl in pain. “Please stop!” I screamed but he didn’t stop. That made me very angry and so I pushed him off and prepared to fight. We fought for a long time before he finally defeated me and as my world slowly went black all I could hear was the tapping off claws and then my mother’s

Salvation came in the form of a silver elven blade, launched into the forehead of Thorin's attacker. Backed against the frozen waterfall's edge, the dwarf king could see that the projectile came from the blond elf, Legolas, Gemma had called him, who battled Azog's spawn on the collapsed tower below. The elven prince had also provided him cover fire as he battled Azog's minions. Thorin caught the elf's eye and gave a sharp nod of appreciation, which was returned. The orc above him staggered slightly, and Thorin barely managed to catch the sword's hilt before the body pitched over the edge. Thorin raised the blade and grinned in recognition. Orcrist felt comfortable and reassuring in his hand.

“I have seen what the Peacemaker can do. I will tell you why I believe in him and want him to succeed.” His audience waited. Red Hair gestured to his own braids. “Long ago, but within old people’s memory, people from my world came to Turtle Island. They were Norse. They looked like me, with red hair like the setting sun, and yellow hair like the daytime sun. They used weapons you did not know, weapons like this knife.”

I wanted to say I'm sorry for the Instagram pages and all of the rude stuff that I had said. I realize that it was stupid and ignorant and that I had gone too far as soon as I made the page. Yeah, we had our issues, but that was over until I had brought it up again and dragged you back into it and I'm sorry for that. I admit that the whole idea was out of anger and stupidity and I acted on it instead of just letting it go or even talking to you if it had really bothered me to the point of all of this. I honestly regret ever making the account and ruining your morning, I'm sorry. If this bothers you after, then if you feel comfortable, we can talk, no drama, no pages, no talking behind backs just talk. If not I am okay with that,

“Yes, it is. I’m giving it to you.” I took the sword from him. It felt unreasonably heavy. “This cannot, under any circumstances, fall into the enemy’s hands. Do you know why?” I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I completely understood. I had been told about this sword, one that had been passed down through our family for generations, and that it had two identical sibling swords. One of these belonged to the elves, and one to the wizards. It was a powerful sword, and the one who bore such a sword could only be killed by one of the other two. That was as far as my knowledge reached.

/ The iron blade with its ill-boding patterns / Had been tempered in blood. It had never failed / The hand of anyone who hefted it in battle” (Beowulf 1455-1459). Despite Hrunting’s incredible power, however, the sword fails against the water witch, leaving Beowulf defenseless. However, Beowulf picks up another, larger sword, engraved with intricate engravings alluding to its creators, the giants.

My adrenaline started to accelerate; the blood in my body flowed quickly through my veins making them become thicker and prominent. I looked all around me for the slightest movement. Time and space seemed frozen in motion, no one in sight. I softly moved my feet one in front of the other. Then I stopped, motionless. I heard the sound of footsteps and I quickly turned around to find someone plunging upon me. It was an Inquisitor. He swung his sword at me. I dodged it and quickly grabbed his arm. Then it happened so fast, my heart started pounding, and I took his arm and broke it as if it was a frail twig snapping. The sound of the bone breaking was completely obstructed by his scream of pain. He stumbled to the ground. I slowly picked up his sword. I started swinging it, and finally I brought it down, killing him. I ripped it away from his bloody body. Attentively I looked at myself in the clear white reflection of the sharp sword. The blood streamed down it until it reached my sanguinary hands. I fell down to my knees, my ankle was definitely broken. Then gruesome war cries obstructed my hearing. I looked behind me and saw a horde of men running towards me. I tried getting up there was no way I could even walk. I knew they would chase me until justice has been served. I thought, “Should I live to be tortured atrociously, or should I put an end to this torture?” This question went through my mind many times. After only a couple of minutes, I

Forward the axe flew like lightning through the air, it’s spinning vortex leering at me as it seeks to cull my life. I raise my shield, a thundering THOOM! echoing across the battle as the axe sinks it’s teeth into the bulwark of my defense. I step forward my arm of sixty seven years wielding my broadsword like one would hold a lover’s hand and then the hymn of Asgard fills my soul. The gods accept my victory as they have many times before. My foe falls to my feet, life-less in this realm, but more alive than he ever has been in another. I am Vunrdum, warrior elite to Jarl Tyrnarion and legend for shield and blade. All my life I have fought, I have stood upon the ruins of the Paris wall. I have taken a life from all of the kingdoms

The entire scene is like that of a terrible nightmare. In a fit of anger, the narrator grabs the spear from Ras’s hand and says:

How have you been? I would like to thank you for your patience, I have been working a lot on set lately and have finally got some time to devote to your project before the next show which is tomorrow. I just wanted to check in with you on my progress with the script breakdown and budget cost. I am about half way done with it so far, getting into all the characters different looks, timelines. I

The cold steel gleamed in the firelight, lonely without its brother. Forged and created as twins, made at the exact moment in the same fires, Aranethon’s father had them made before Aeson and Khidell left for their first battle together. The High Priestess had blessed them to protect their owners, and now Sariya stood with her father’s blade in her hands.

A long while ago, shortly after the birth of the first humans, a tall, demonic looking man, named Alastor, was told of a great blacksmith, named Hephaestus. Hephaestus worked under a large mountain located in Greece and could forge any sword. This was perfect for Alastor because he needed a new weapon. He stepped up to Hephaestus’s workshop and asked Hephaestus to make him a sword that would destroy anyone who dared to defy him. Hephaestus agreed to do this because he couldn’t ever turn down a challenge. He had never made a sword quite like this. “Of course! I will make you such a fine sword and no one will dare to defy you ever again!”

Much larger than him, but not one of the heavy warriors. This one was clad in hides, and carried a heavy cleaver blade. Ktonos knew he was outweighed by nearly five stone of weight, and that also meant he was likely outclassed in strength as well. Their reach was close with the longer blade Ktonos bore, so he knew he was going to have to rely on speed and skill, hoping he was the better in these regards. When the orc swung at him, it was a wide, clumsy blow, and Ktonos exploded forward, ducking under the strike, and bringing his blade up as he moved past the foe. There was a blur of motion as Ktonos whipped his blade around in a swift motion that pruned the arm off of the orc, bringing the enemy weapon out of play, and then Ktonos swung one last time, the honed edge of the sword taking his foe across the neck, slitting his throat. The beast toppled to the ground, Ktonos stared, his eyes picking out the hot flow of blood from the neck of the orc, and he leaned down without thinking, running his fingers through the liquid before stripping off his glove in annoyance. He let out a slow breath as his fingers felt the hot rush of blood on his skin. He lifted it to his tongue, tasting the bitter, acrid flavour that the orc blood contained. His head still swam at the sensation, tasting life there, the essence of a living thing, being snuffed out by his actions. This was strength, power, something that he'd discovered might be impossible to go without. What was more, the rush of sensation blotted out any other concerns from his

After I said my what could possibly be my last words to Hrothgar, I dove in the deep dark abyss and just began swimming, I swam for so long that I lost track of the amount of time I had been going for. At last I saw a glimpse of the seafloor, but little did I know that was the simplest part of my lengthy journey.As I began investigating the seafloor I finally received my first sighting of the massive behemoth of the monster that guarded the seafloor.I quickly pulled out my weapon and with all my sheer strength and might I swung my sword straight for the beasts' head. I soon realized that this sword, that had been through countless number of hand to hand combats and carved through the helmets had failed me. The sword did not scratch the powerful