Descriptive Narrative Of Beowulf

The night of my capture started out like any other night here in Herot. I was seated next to my dear friend King Hrothgar, toasting to Beowulf’s victory over the monster Grendel. Royalty from all over the world had gathered here to hear his wonderful tale. After a night full of toasts and festivities, we grew weary and retired to our beds. We had not known of the danger lurking in the shadows. A few short hours after drifting off into a peaceful sleep, a shrill scream of terror ripped me from my slumber, and I quickly jumped out of the bed. A brisk breeze swept through the air, bringing the smell of blood and death along with it. I glanced around my empty quarters, and found my sword propped against the wall. I grabbed it quickly and headed down the hall to check out the scream. I had made it halfway down the hall when another gut wrenching scream was heard. I sprinted to the end of

King Hrothgar had sent the Geat Beowulf to rescue me, fitting since he was the reason I was here. He was the only man in Herot strong and brave enough to successfully take on such a devilish beast. Then, I heard a loud snarl, and the sound of a body being slammed to the ground. Beowulf was not winning this fight and my chance of freedom had begun to fade, much like an evening sun. My thoughts became grim, and I was consumed by the thoughts of how I would die. All of the sudden, I heard a loud scream, only to be described as the cry of a banshee. The witch was dead, and Beowulf let out a loud victory cheer. I called out for Beowulf to lead him to my location, and when I saw him walk by the room I believed all my prayers had been answered. He then passed by, and had not even so much as glanced in my direction. I continued to shout for what felt like hours, until my throat felt like sandpaper and my voice had become hoarse. Exhaustion eventually overtook my mind, and once more I passed