My name is Grendle. I'm conceived of the pair of monsters born of Cain, one of the murderous creatures banned by god for the crime of Abels death. I live in the deepest depths of a dreary swampland trying to escape the joy and happiness of the monsters in Herot.
             One night, I snuck into Herot to see what the warriors would do. I crept quietly into the hall where the drinking was done, when I walked in there, I saw all the warriors undisturbed in their silent slumber. I began to hear their song dancing in my head, and I got an Idea. I grabbed up 30 of the sleeping men, and smashed in their skulls. I dragged the bodies back to my cave, having a strange satisfaction with the night's spontaneous slaughter.
             The next night I went back to Herot. I was so set on murder that no savage assault could quench my lust for evil. I searched every inch of Herot for those lucky survivors that had overlooked. The only warriors that survived are those fled. I ruled, fought against the righteous, and won. Herot stood empty, and stayed so for years. I kept the streets of Herot empty for 12 years. Meanwhile Hrothgar heaped at his door by hell forged hands.
             I killed as often as I could. Every time I saw an innocent soul wondering the street, I would snatch it up and pull every last breath out of its dying lungs. I would strike alone, bloodthirsty, and horrible. The only soul I dare not touch was Hrothgar, whose glorious throne was protected by god.
             One night, when I snuck from the misty marsh of hills and bogs, I crept up from up from my filthy swampland up to the gold shining hall. Never had I found Herot so firmly, my reception so harsh. I journeyed forever joyless straight to the door, and tore it open.
             To my surprise, warriors with iron torches rushed over the threshold. I hurried across the inland fl...