The battle between Beowulf and the dragon, in the eyes of the dragon
I was awakened by a thunderous voice that rung in my earsss like a banshee's call challenging me to come forth and fight. Filled with curiousity, I went out to see what creature had the nerve to wake me out of my peaceful sslumber. The sssight that beheld my eyes was an amusing one, filled with the images of a group of humans. To think, humansss, daring to challenge me, the mightiest of my brethren. Although normally I would pay no heed towards these creatures, I decided otherwise because of the gnawing in my stomach, since I had not fed for quite some time, telling me to replenish my bodiesss nutrients. This turned out to be a grave mistake in my prodigious life. It first seemed that the days dealings would be uneventful, although a little entertaining due to leader of the group, a man named Beowulf, and his cowardly followers; but in the end the days occurences would only bring dishonor to me.
The leader of this group, an opposing sight to any creature not as magnificent asss myself, decided that the best route of destroying his foe was a straight charge. Thiss thought proved to be wrong as my fiery breath cut him down, melting his armor and scorching his back. He then tried to strike with his ancient sword and found, again, that fate was against him because although the sword did end up scratching me it, too, meet its demise, along with many other things on this day. Oh, how could a warrior so mighty but so unprepared hope to destroy me?
Another thing that brought a sssmirk to my maul was the look of terror on this puny human's cowardly followers. Not only during this battle did the warrior's equipment fail him, but so did hisss servantss. These men he brought with him were supposedly the bravest of hisss kin, yet when their leader was in need, instead of coming to his aid, the flew to the hills were they thought they would be safe. Only one of hisss men came to his aid. Though the appearence of this man was nothing compared to the visage of his master, the sparkle of courage gleamed in his eye. He started muttering something about being loyal to this man that was to be my next meal at my feet, but I didn't pay attention. Instead, I was entrapped by his glare, and later I realized, this is when my luck was sssoon to turn against me.
I thought at the time that victory would be mine, in which I had no doubt of since the beginning. With the mighty mans sword broken to the hilt and his armor protecting him from not even the tiniest scratch, I thought victory was obvious. I thought incorrectly. All of a sudden the remaining servant and Beowulf sprung into action, pulling a dagger, and mortally piercing me. How the tidesss turn. One minute I'm desimating his force and the next I am having my life rapidly flowing out of me through the puncture of his dirk. This was an outrage. How could a mere mortal man destroy me, a being who saw the mountains formed, with the prick of a needle? The dishonor this brought to me, knowing that I, supposedly the mightiest of my family, died due to the scratch of a dying warriors foot long blade.
Through all this dishonor that was brought forth from me losing this battle, I did have one consolation: I killed the legendary Beowulf. The man that destroyed the evil being Grendel, who taunted the Danish king Hrothgar by devouring his soldiersss, and Grendel's mother had fallen to me, the mightiest dragon to ever exissst.