I dare you... to hit paste in the replies.

[WorshipTiria]

hhhaaaaaaahd

[Ally046]

   Please explain?

[WorshipTiria]

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[Flib Bigboat]

 I dumped this here just to annoy y'all, because it's so long

...But within one heart
Sorrow welled up: in a man of worth
The claims of kinship cannot be denied.
His name was Wiglaf, a son of Weohstan's,
A well-regarded Scylfing warrior
Related to Aelfhere. When he saw his lord
Tormented by the heat of his scalding helmet,
He remember the bountiful gifts he bestowed on him,
How well he lived among the Waegmundings,
The freehold he inherited from his father before him.
He could not hold back: one hand brandished
The yellow-timbered shield, the other drew his sword--
An ancient blade that was said to have belonged
To Eanmund, the son of Ohthere, the one
Weohstan had slain when he was in exile without friends.
He carried the arms to the victim's kinfolk,
The burnished helmet, the webbed chain-mail
And that relic of the giants. But Onela returned
The weapons to him, rewarded Weohstan
With Eadmund's war-gear. He ignored the blood-feud,
The fact that Eadmund was his brother's son.
Weohstan kept that war-gear for a lifetime,
The sword and the mail-shirt, until it was the son's turn
To follow his father and perform his part.
Then, in old age, at the end of his days
Among the Weather-Geats, he bequeathed to Wiglaf
Innumerable weapons. And now the youth
Was to enter the line of battle with his lord,
His first time to be tested as a fighter.
His spirit did not break and the ancestral blade
Would keep its edge, as the dragon discovered
As soon as they came together in combat.
Sad at heart, addressing his companions,
Wiglaf spoke wise and fluent words:
"I remember that time when the mead was flowing,
How we pledged loyalty to our lord in the hall,
Promised our ring-giver we would be worth our price,
Make good the gift of the war-gear,
Those swords and helmets, as and when
His need required it. He picked us out
From the army deliberately, honored us and judged us
Fit for this action, made me these lavish gifts--
And all because he considered us the best
Of his arms-bearing thanes. And now, although
He wanted this challenge to be the one he'd face
By himself alone--the shepherd of our land,
A man unequalled in the quest for glory
And a name for daring--now the day has come
When this lord we serve needs sound men
To give him their support. Let us go to him,
Help our leader through the hot flame
And dread of the fire. As God is my witness,
I would rather my body were robbed in the same
Burning blaze as my gold-giver's body
Than go back home bearing arms.
That is unthinkable, unless we have first
Slain the foe and defended the life
Of the prince of the Weather-Geats. I well know
That things he has done for us deserve better.
Should he alone be left exposed
To fall in battle? We must bond together,
Shield and helmet, mail-shirt and sword."
Then he waded the dangerous creek and went
Under arms to his lord, saying only:
"Go on, dear Beowulf, do everything
You said you would when you were still young
And vowed you would never let your name and fame
Be dimmed while you lived. Your deeds are famous,
So stay resolute, my lord, defend your life now
With the whole of your strength. I shall stand by you."
After those word, a wildness rose
In the dragon again and drove it to attack,
Heaving up fire, hunting for enemies,
The humans it loathed. Flames lapped the shield,
Charred it to the boss, and the body armor
On the young warrior was useless to him.
But Wiglaf did well under the wide rim
Beowulf shared with him once his own had shattered
In sparks and ashes. Inspired again
By the thought of glory, the war-king threw
His whole strength behind a sword-stroke
And connected with the skull. And Naegling snapped.
Beowulf's ancient iron-gray sword
Let him down in the fight. It was never his fortune
To be helped in combat by the cutting-edge
Of weapons made of iron. When he yielded a sword,
No matter how blooded and hard-edged the blade
His hand was too strong, the stroke he dealt
(I have heard) would ruin it. He could reap no advantage.
Then the bane of that people, the fire-breathing dragon,
Was mad to attack for a third time.
When a chance came, he caught the hero
In a rush of flame and clamped sharp fangs
Into his neck. Beowulf's body
Ran wet with his life-blood: it came welling out.
Next thing, they say, the noble son of Weohstan
Saw the king in danger at his side
And displayed his inborn bravery and strength.
He left the head alone, but his fighting hand
Was burned when he came to his kinsman's aid.
He lunged at the enemy lower down
So that his decorated sword sank into its belly
And the flames grew weaker.
Once again the king
Gathered his strength and drew a stabbing knife
He carried on his belt, sharpened for battle.
He stuck it deep into the dragon's flank.
Beowulf dealt it a deadly wound.
They had killed the enemy, courage quelled his life;
That pair of kinsmen, partners in nobility,
Had destroyed the foe. So every man should act,
Be at hand when needed; but now, for the king,
This would be the last of his many labors
And triumphs in the world.
Then the wound
Dealt by the ground-burner earlier began
To scald and swell; Beowulf discovered
Deadly poison suppurating inside him,
Surges of nausea, and so, in his wisdom,
The prince realized his state and struggled
Towards a seat on the rampart. He steadied his gazed
On those gigantic stones, saw how the earthwork
Was braced with arches built over columns.
And now that thane, unequalled for goodness
With his own hands washed his lord's wounds,
Swabbed the weary prince with water,
Bathed him clean, unbuckled his helmet.
Beowulf spoke: in spite of his wounds,
Mortal wounds, he still spoke
For he well knew his days in the world
Had been lived out to the end: his allotted time
Was drawing to a close, death was very near.
"Now is the time when I would have wanted
To bestow this armor on my own son,
Had it been my fortune to have fathered an heir
And live on in his flesh. For fifty years
I ruled this nation. No king
Of any neighboring clan would dare
Face me with troops, none had the power
To intimidate me. I took what came,
Cared for and stood by things in my keeping,
Never fomented quarrels, never
Swore to a lie. All this consoles me,
Doomed as I am and sickening for death;
Because of my right way, the Ruler of Mankind
Need never blame me when the breath leaves my body
For murder of kinsmen. Go now quickly,
Dearest Wiglaf, under the gray stone
Where the dragon is laid out, lost to his treasure;
Hurry to feast your eyes on the hoard.
Away you go: I want to examine
That ancient gold, gaze my fill
On those garnered jewels; my going will be easier
For having seen the treasure, a less troubled letting-go
Of the life and lordship I have long maintained."
And so, I have heard, the son of Weohstan
Quickly obeyed the command of his languishing
War-weary lord; he went in his chain-mail
Under the rock-piled roof of the barrow,
Exulting in his triumph, and saw beyond the seat
A treasure-trove of astonishing richness,
Wall-hangings that were a wonder to behold,
Glittering gold spread across the ground,
The old dawn-scorching serpent's den
Packed with goblets and vessels of the past,
Tarnished and corroding. Rusty helmets
All eaten away. Armbands everywhere,
Artfully wrought. How easily treasure
Buried in the ground, gold hidden
However skillfully, can escape from any man!
And he saw too a standard, entirely of gold,
Hanging high over the hoard,
A masterpiece of filigree; it glowed with light
So he could make out the ground at his feet
And inspect the valuables. Of the dragon there was no
Remaining sign: the sword had dispatched him.
Then, the story goes, a certain man
Plundered the hoard in the immemorial howe,
Filled his arms with flagons and plates,
Anything he wanted; and took the standard also,
Most brilliant of banners.
Already the blade
Of the old king's sharp killing-sword
Had done its worst: the one who had for long
Minded the hoard, hovering over gold,
Unleashing fire, surging forth
Midnight after midnight, had been mown down.
Wiglaf went quickly, keen to get back,
Excited by the treasure. Anxiety weighed
On his brave heart--he was hoping he would find
The leader of the Geats alive where he had left him
Helpless, earlier, on the open ground.
So he came to the place, carrying the treasure,
And found his lord bleeding profusely,
His life at an end. The old lord gazed sadly at the gold.
"To the everlasting Lord of All,
To the King of Glory, I give thanks
That I beheld this treasure here in front of me,
That I have been allowed to leave my people
So well endowed on the day I die.
Now that I have bartered my last breath
To own this fortune, it is up to you
To look after their needs. I can hold out no longer.
Order my troop to construct a barrow
On a headland on the coast, after my pyre has cooled.
It will loom in the horizon at Hronesness
And be a reminder among my people--
So that in coming times crews under sail
Will call it Beowulf's barrow, as they steer
Ships across the wide and shrouded waters."
Then the king in his great-heartedness unclasped
The collar of gold from his neck and gave it
To the young thane, telling him to use
It and the war shirt and the gilded helmet well.
"You are the last of us, the only one left
Of the Waegmundings. Fate swept us away,
Sent my whole brave high-born clan
To their final doom. Now I must follow them."
That was the warrior's last word.
He had no more to confide. The furious heat
Of the pyre would assail him. His soul fled from his body
To its destined place among the steadfast ones.
It was hard then on the young hero,
Having to watch the one he held so dear
There on the ground, going through
His death agony. The dragon from underearth,
His nightmarish destroyer, lay destroyed as well,
Utterly without life. No longer would his snake folds
Ply themselves to safeguard hidden gold.
Hard-edged blades, hammered out
And keenly filed, had finished him
So that the sky-roamer lay there rigid,
Brought low beside the treasure-lodge.
Never again would he glitter and glide
And show himself off in midnight air,
Exulting in his riches: he fell to earth
Through the battle-strength in Beowulf's arm.
There were few, indeed, as far as I have heard,
Big and brave as they may have been,
Few who would have held out if they had had to face
The outpourings of that poison-breather
Or gone foraging on the ring-hall floor
And found the deep barrow-dweller
On guard and awake.
The treasure had been won,
Bought and paid for by Beowulf's death.
Both had reached the end of the road
Through the life they had been lent.
Before long
The battle-dodgers abandoned the wood,
The ones who had let down their lord earlier,
The tail-turners, ten of them together.
When he needed them the most, they had made off.
Now they were ashamed and came behind shields,
In their battle-outfits, to where the old man lay.
They watched Wiglaf, sitting worn out,
A comrade shoulder to shoulder with his lord,
Trying in vain to bring him round with water.
Much as he wanted to, there was no way
He could preserve his lord's life on earth
Or alter in the least the Almighty's will.
What God judged right would rule what happened To every man, as it does to this day.
Then a stern rebuke was bound to come
From the young warrior to the ones who had been cowards.
Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, spoke
Disdainfully and in disappointment:
"Anyone ready to admit the truth
Will surely realize the lord of men
Who showered you with gifts and gave you the armor
You are standing in--when he would distribute
Helmets and mail-shirts to men on the mead-benches,
A prince treating his thanes in hall
To the best he could find, far or near--
Was throwing weapons uselessly away.
It would be a sad waste when the war broke out.
Beowulf had little cause to brag
About his armed guard; yet God who ordains
Who wins or loses allowed him to strike
With his own blade when bravery was needed.
There was little I could do to protect his life
In the heat of the fray, yet I found new strength
Welling up when I went to help him.
Then my sword connected and the deadly assaults
Of our foe grew weaker, the fire coursed
Less strongly from his head. But when the worst happened
Too few rallied around the prince.
"So it is goodbye now to all you know and love
On your home-ground, the open-handedness,
The giving of war-swords. Every one of you
With freeholds of land, our whole nation,
Will be dispossessed, once princes from beyond
Get tidings of how you turned and fled
And disgraced yourselves. A warrior will sooner
Die than live a life of shame."
Then he ordered the outcome of the fight to be reported
To those camped on the ridge, that crowd of retainers
Who had sat all morning, sad at heart,
Shield-bearers wondering about
The man they loved: would this day be his last
Or would he return. He told the truth
And did not balk, the rider who bore
News to the cliff-top. He addressed them all:
"Now the people's pride and love,
The lord of the Geats, is laid on his deathbed,
Brought down by the dragon's attack.
Beside him lies the bane of his life,
Dead from knife-wounds. There was no way
Beowulf could manage to get the better
Of the monster with his sword. Wiglaf sits
At Beowulf's side, the son of Weohstan,
The living warrior watching by the dead,
Keeping weary vigil, holding a wake
For the loved and the loathed.

[close]

[Ally046]

*slappy*.       *🍃🍂*

[Flib Bigboat]

Why though? It was just something from Beowulf. If you think that was long, you ought to check out the rest of it.

[Kade Rivok]

8160744984

[Ally046]

Why though? It was just something from Beowulf. If you think that was long, you ought to check out the rest of it.

(I was slapping paste)

[WorshipTiria]

[Flib Bigboat]

7

[WorshipTiria]

8160744984

That reminds me of the Episode 4 DHMIS Easter egg.

[Flib Bigboat]

antidisestablishmentarianism

[Kade Rivok]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSliaQ3a_5Y&ab_channel=Tomassively

[Booklover]

0a036686a4

[Flib Bigboat]

https://78.media.tumblr.com/327ce4f73f4c351deddc0a4416edc511/tumblr_o61swel3QT1qi8pz7o10_r1_250.gif