Reg turned to Tove. “I feel like this is your job” he said “since he’s your friend and all”.

Tove shuffled a bit uncomfortably. “I’d love to”, she started “but I don’t-”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who he is either” Reg interrupted.

“Of course I know who he was” she snapped back “I’m just not much of a historian”.

“Oh for the love of…” Gialli finally interjected. “I’ll do it” he sighed, before muttering “even though my wife would really be better at this”. He adopted a lecturing tone, one that he was well suited for. “Beowulf was one of the greatest heroes the world has ever seen, not to mention being a king, and the father of the first Bretwalda, or high king. Some say that he was the greatest individual hero since Arthur himself”. He held up a hand to ward off the question he could see forming on Talani’s lips “And who Arthur was is a question we don’t have time for now, and one I can’t believe I might have to answer at all. Regardless”. He paused for breath before continuing.

“Skipping over most everything, we’ll do the relevant bits to what’s in here”. He gestured to the plinths “Starting with this” he began, pointing at the tattooed picture. “This is somewhat of a generalised depiction, and frankly I’m not even sure what it implies other than the fact he had tattoos. I assume they were symbolic in some way, or perhaps even magical. It’s not really important to his story though, as far as I know. That needle” he pointed “is probably what was used to draw them, which makes it worth more than I’d care to guess”.

“And the other?” Talani asked.

“I was getting to that” Gialli bristled. “The other carving is a more famous incident, his slaying of the fire giant [something or other], a widely-renowned villain back then”.

“Who uses the word ‘villain’?” asked Tove.

“If you’re not going to explain this, I’d thank you to let me do it in my own way” replied Gialli, putting an end to Tove’s cheek. “As I was about to say” he stressed, shooting a glare at Tove “this battle was one of his more famous, for the fact that it was a fairly stunning victory. The sword”, he gestured “almost certainly belonged to that giant, and as I am sure you know, giants of all kinds are excellent craftsmen, and few are more gifted smiths than fire giants”. Talani nodded his assent to this. Crafting, and the crafting or the giants in particular, was something he was intimately familiar with.

For once, Gialli found it difficult to hold back his own caution, and ran his hand almost absent-mindedly over the blade that still remained of the sword. “An exceptional blade, truly”, he muttered. “And yet nothing” his voice suddenly louder, more energetic “compared to that”. He finally pointed at the tomb itself, atop of which was the carving of a shattered sword.

“The broken sword?” asked Talani.

“What you are calling ‘the broken sword’” explained Gialli “is, or was, nothing less than Caliburn, perhaps the most famous, and most powerful, weapon to have ever been wielded by mortal hands”.

Here Reg joined in with the description. “In ancient times it was a sign of kingship – that the wielder was the rightful ruler from Arthur’s line”. They turned to him for the explanation on the blade. “My father told me about it, but he said that most people had got around to thinking of it as a myth. The elves still have a ruler after all, and they don’t have Caliburn”. He shrugged. “It hasn’t been seen since he had it after all” he waved towards Beowulf “and that was a bloody long time ago”.

“You’ve never spoken about your family before” Teclis said.

“I don’t plan to either” replied Reg, rather putting an end to that. “But he taught me to fight in the ancient elven way, and what weapon would be more appropriate than the sword of the ancient elven kings?"

"Well if it was so powerful” began Talani, before Reg cut him off.

“Then why did it break?” Reg finished the question for him, and Talani nodded. “I can explain that. Beowulf was human, and the sword was a weapon of the elvish kings. It fell out of possession of the elves for reasons I’m not about to go into, but somewhere down the line it was given to Beowulf by the humans who had ‘claimed’ it, as a reward for killing a different monster”. He paused briefly, collecting his thoughts again “I know it all gets a bit convoluted, but the essence of it is that the sword was never ‘rightfully’ Beowulf’s. He didn’t steal it, but it was not made for him, and so it was never as powerful as it truly could have been”. He sighed somewhat dramatically, “and then he went to fight Fafnir”.

“That sword had done amazing things for Beowulf, and now there was a dragon threatening the lands he was sworn to defend. There was nobody better suited for the task of slaying it than him. He was a famous monster killer with a powerful weapon. It was a natural choice”.

“But the weapon failed him?” this time it was Teclis who asked.

“I think it would be better to say that they failed each other” Reg corrected. “Beowulf had become overconfident, reliant on a weapon that he had every reason to believe could kill anything”.

“And then?”

“Then he went to stab the beast, and Caliburn shattered right there”. Reg sighed. “The rest I think is fairly predictable”. They all turned to look at the body of a once-proud warrior, burned and scarred, clasping his still-broken blade.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Do you think the sword is buried there?” Alf asked. “Or at least, what’s left of it”.

“I don’t see why not” Tove guessed. “If nobody has seen it since he died, it would make sense that they buried it with him”.

“Especially if they didn’t know the true history” Reg continued. “It may just have looked like a strong blade to them, but one that ultimately wasn’t strong enough”.

“What happened to the beast?” asked Talani.

“His son, Sigurd, killed it later” Gialli answered, picking up the narrative thread. “Beowulf wasn’t the only warrior of the time, and it was natural that Sigurd would want revenge. I think it was part of what cemented him as Bretwalda, the proof that he could protect people. A lesson some of today’s rulers could stand to remember”.

“And who are the others?” Tove asked, gesturing to the other bodies stashed in the walls.

“I’m not sure” replied Gialli “but to guess, I’d say Beowulf’s Huscarls”. He clarified for the benefit of the others “Chosen warriors, that sort of thing”.

“This is a wonderful history lesson chaps”, Alf remarked “but what does it mean for us?” He had raised a good point. Odin had sent them to the tomb of a renowned hero, the apparent resting place of a semi-mythical weapon, and to what end? “Does anyone feel like this relates to what was on the door?” asked Reg.

“I was wondering that myself” Gialli affirmed.

“I probably would be as well” said Tove “if I remembered what it said”.

“I don’t fully remember it”, Reg said “but it suggested that strength could be found by those who had the will to claim it”.

“Which sounds like an invitation to claim these rewards, no?” asked Teclis. “The ghost from earlier suggested that the above was a test, and if we’ve passed…” he trailed off, not quite wanting to directly suggest that they should break into the tomb of Beowulf.

“I was more thinking about the lines that suggested that he and his house would fight together again” said Gialli. There was a sombre pause at that, each of them once again realising that this barrow had already proven more than capable of resurrecting the dead to fight. There were a lot of flavours of undead warrior, but they all felt confident than any of these warriors, to say nothing of Beowulf himself, would be much more of a challenge.

“Of course, there’s always the door as well” said Teclis. “We could see what’s through there, and then decide what our next course of action should be”. It seemed a fairly sensible suggestion, so after a few more rounds of nodding, they once again lined up behind Talani, as he took his customary role of ‘meat shield’ for the rest of them. He reached for the handle, cautious after the previous rooms, and as he did so, he could feel the others tensing behind him, no doubt also as worried.

“Are we sure about this?” asked… Who? Who had asked that? They wheeled, heads whipping behind them to find the source of the unfamiliar voice. It was not hard. Stood there for the third time was the same figure as before, but now in sharp definition, and with that came recognition.

Here, in the not-quite-flesh, was the ghost of Beowulf, picked out exactly as on the carving on his tomb. A simple crown, scarred face, and tattered armour. For all of this though, his poise, his presence screamed royalty. He was stood on the opposite side of his tomb from them, and thus would be in their way if they tried to leave the room the way they came.

“I don’t think it would be kind to let you proceed” he said “unless I was given the opportunity to test you myself”. All of them were as equally stunned as the other, for various reasons in each case, whether it was a fear of the undead, or a sense of being awestruck to meet such a famous hero. Reg, who had been at the back of the line and so was now closest to Beowulf, managed to regain some of his poise first. "What sort of test?” he asked. Beowulf chuckled. “A simple one” he said “though simple does not always mean easy”.

He reached out towards his own tomb, putting his spectral hand through the stone carving of one, and clenched it as if to grasp something. He pulled it back, and a hilt came with it, followed by an elegant, wicked, and notably whole sword.

“A duel?” asked Reg.

“Of course not” replied Beowulf. “I consider myself fair, and I would not judge your collective worth on one of you”. It was a reasonable point. “But seven on one hardly seems fair either, so:”. With that, he flicked his hand, and a wave of light sprung from his hand. All of them braced themselves, but it passed over, feeling like a warm wind on a summer’s day. Immediately they were reinvigorated by it. Sore muscles felt loose and ready, cuts and bruises faded, the bandages around Teclis’ hand fell away and he could feel the soft skin beneath it, as if it were never damaged. Those who used magic felt as fresh as if they had slept a full week, practically brimming.

As the final feelings of warmth and vigour settled, and the light faded once again, they could hear movement. The bodies in the wall, so well preserved, now swung themselves out of their resting places, just as reinvigorated as they apparently were, but still disconcertingly dead-looking. “Don’t worry about doing any ‘permanent’ damage” Beowulf laughed “and please forgive us if we do the same. Now ready yourselves!” he cried. There was a flurry of activity from both sides as weapons were drawn, spells prepared, and fighting faces put on. “And let us see what fate now wills!”

And with that, he sprinted forwards, and the final test began.