Beowulf Graphic Novels & Stories

The cold bit harshly into my skin despite the layers I'd summoned, my tapped out reservoir was focused solely on scaling the madness of the highlands and staying alive. I should have made better preparations, should have prepared better and the evidence of my lack of better analysis of the situation appeared before me when a large Beowulf appeared in my path, large and foul smelling with two full rows of jagged teeth that was just as sharp and deadly as the mountain terrain, pure white fur covered it's huge muscular frame, giving it a kind of blend in with the snow save for the piercing blue eyes that gave it away.

’ Beowulf tells me, causing apprehension to settle in the pit of my stomach. Before I have a chance to respond to Beowulf’s words, a familiar wolf comes running from the tree line a hundred feet away. When the Beta of Derrick’s wolf pack sees me standing there with Salara’s lifeless form in my arms, her blood dripping from the worsening wound on her neck, he halts in place, his eyes wide in shock.

“I need to see my kids! Take me with you!” Beowulf’s expression hardened at my demand as he said, “You may be a werewolf, but you don’t have your wolf. You’re pretty much human, and it will be very dangerous for you to come along. The people in a mafia are very dangerous and not to be messed with. You are better off at home, waiting for me to return with them.”

Cole grunted his face was red with anguish. Beowulf’s face slowly colored in a murderous rage, and he leaned forward, using one paw to tighten his hold around Cole’s neck. He raised the other paw so he could slash his throat with his sharp claws. Obviously intent on taking Cole with him to the underworld. But then Cole pulled out the knife from his side and jab it into his neck and up to his throat. Blood splashed all over Cole’s chest, face, and into his eyes, blinding him. He lashed out then in fervent desperation, stabbing and barreling blows blindly until Beowulf grew unbearably heavy and he could push his evidently lifeless body off of him.

Beowulf only severed Grendel’s left arm Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf His equal would be hard to find Though Grendel he had saddened Beowulf wasn’t gladdened And he would make up his mind Beowulf made his mind up then and there He’d **** Grendel’s mother in her watery lair Although the angry tarn-hag had put up a fight Both monsters were beheaded that very night Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf His equal would be hard to find He took a child and mother Like Cain had killed his brother But he had made up his mind Beowulf made his mind up when he was old To slay a raging dragon of whom he’d been told But Beowulf couldn’t deal with the dragon’s fire And he was later burned atop a funeral

Gareth held the flickering torch fungus aloft, its light bringing the ancient art to life. The first carvings were simple. Wolves running under a full moon. A pack hunting. Then, the style changed. A figure appeared among the wolves a human form, but with lines of power radiating from it. In the next panel, the human figure stood between two opposing packs, its hands raised. The wolves on both sides were lying down, heads lowered. “The Speaker,” Gareth breathed, tracing the carving with a reverent finger. The story grew darker. The next panels showed the human figure being hunted. Wolves with crude, slashing marks over their bodies the Red Hand symbol chased it. Then, a capture. The human fi

cried the army of elves and dwarves. Al raised his face while watching a giant Behemoth emerge from the protective magic created by the Grim Reaper. The giant creature had sharp curled horns with pointed canines, resembling a bull's, and its skin was so thick that it was difficult to penetrate. While roaring ferociously, the Behemoth charged right at where Al was. Al jumped to his feet while spinning his spear, which had the power of a magic stone until a strong wind formed that blocked the Behemoth's movement from advancing. The behemoth struggled to resist the wind pressure and advanced step by step. His tracks cracked the ground he stepped on.

Not even a single try. “What does it say?” I asked, brows furrowing as I rubbed both of my palms to create warmth. The cold had been much cruel today ever since we arrived at the healer’s cabin. I encouraged myself to look at the drawings instead; the art style is pretty much gothic, if not ancient. It wasn’t inked. Hues of black and white were embedded on the golden brown pages of the material. I saw the graphics of a human and a werewolf. They were doing something strange… some sort of a ritual. Elliot did not flip the pages further so I ended up guessing that that was it.

"Hard to argue with that." While her father was pulled into a conversation with a senior Council member, Willow wandered through the rows of art. The pieces were arresting—hyper-realistic depictions of the natural world and ancient lupine myths. One painting showed a Great Wolf with fur of liquid gold, eyes burning with a primal, ancient fire.

Ruby babbled to the crow. "Caaaww!" it answered back. "I think I look crazy. I'm talking to a bird and I can understand a cat monster. Fine, Uncle Venrir I'm coming." Ruby put on her shoes and followed the bird as he flew to the forest. The crow went off the track so she had to trail her way on the uneven and jagged ground. The bird led her deeper into the forest where the trees are thicker and the foliage is bigger allowing almost no light to pass at all to light her way. Several times she lost sight of the bird so she just paused and waited for Venrir to find her, which he always does and brought her further and further into the unknown. The forest soon lost the sound of the chirping birds