Beowulf: The Next Heroes

Chapter 1

Marius

Marius's stomach lurched as the ship did. His insides twisted and churned with the rolling of the waves against the ship, the piercing of the waves. Curse these storms! He thought I swear, it's as if these pagan gods are trying to prevent my travel! Which could very well have been true, for every day since he'd gotten onto this woody old boat it had been nothing but fierce storms.

But I must continue my mission he though resolutely. He stayed on his meager blanket, rolling over to try to settle his stomach. Finally, recognizing that he would be getting little sleep, and with another big roll by the ship, Marius had enough. He got up, gowned in his thick brown robes. Stretching, he felt his way in the dark hull, and began to move around.

First, he checked on the twins. Still sleeping. Good. Then, for a moment, he paused and listened. It was getting quiet. The wind was calming down, and the it sounded like the storm was letting loose. Clutching his hand-made cross, he headed up to the top of the deck.

Outside the rain was still coming down, though it was more of a drizzle, but the wind had died down. Although Marius wasn't much for boats or travel by ship, but he did enjoy feeling the breeze and smelling the salty air. He headed over to the side of the deck, leaning over and took in a big whiff of the salty ocean wind.

"Enjoying the view?" laughed a deep and hearty voice.

Marius looked over to his side and saw it came from a man standing nearby. Although Marius did not have much interaction with this pagan people, could tell that this was a true Norseman. The man was huge, with a short beard with the standard braids of his people. His arms and legs were like well-toned from the hard work of labors winters and summers. The man was clad in light mail and small armor plates and held at his side a large sword. Judging by his size, Marius estimated the man to be in his late twenties or early thirties.

"I suppose so." Replied Marius, turning back to look as the sea, and leaning against rail. The man leaned against the wooden railing as well.

"You are not from here." Said the man, quite frankly.

"No, I am not." Marius turned to look at the man and said, "My name is Marius."

"Hm. I am Regin." Replied the Norseman, "So, what do you think of our weather?" He gestured to the black night, where the rain was beginning to fall harder.

"I confess that I am not much for boats or rolling seas, but a storm's a storm wherever you go."

"Ha-ha!" laughed Regin heartily, "I like you! But tell me, what business do you have you here, in our lands friend? Please, I entreat you, what is your story?"

Marius began, "I am from southern lands, from a land once rule by a powerful empire. I have lived my entire life as a monk, raised by other such as I in a small town. I served in a small village for many years. However, it seems some of my brothers have established a foothold in this land and built a monastery in a nearby city. I have been sent, along with some aids, there in service of my fellow brothers. But now, where are you travelling, and why?"

"Well," began Regin, speaking with great pride, "I am Regin, the son of Bor. I live as a warrior, and hunter, and I take great pride in my skill of sword and combat. I travel these lands, for the glory of my family and name, vanquishing what All-Father Odin challenges me with." Regin began to rant more boastfully and with more energy. "I travel to the king's capitol of Denmark, where word spreads that the great king Beowulf has died, and his friend Wiglaf now stands as king."

"I've heard of this too. A shame, for I hear the king was great indeed." Said Marius.

"Yes, but even more, the king is said to have been killed! Whispers speak of an old dame, a sorcerous demon or witch which killed the king! I intend to go there, and slay the beast with my great sword, the weapon of my family, Gram." At this, Regin lifted the sword from his side and placed it on the ship's side. Marius could not but help but be moderately impressed. The sword was cast in the mold of the swords of the Norsemen, sharpened to a tip, with markings of strange creatures and beings on its helm. "My father's sword, and his father's, said to be forged by the dwarf smiths and able to slay dragons, it has never failed in battle or war." Regin stared at his sword with a reverent gaze, something Marius knew well.