It goes back further than my kin can remember.  We have always been outsiders- just like our ultimate grandfather, Cain.  When he was exiled for the execution of his traitorous brother, he had no idea how long that exile would last.  He had no idea that all who carried his blood would continue to walk in the shadows of night, wanting what they cannot have.  As they say: “The sins of the father are visited upon the sons.” 

            At least we have abilities that others, especially those cruel humans, do not have.  That is, quite possibly, the only way that my line has existed for as long as it has.  I have an enormous amount of strength, that of a hundred pathetic men.  I also have learned the art of magic from my mother, using it in the demeaning task of catching food, most often travelers in my forsaken swampy home.  I have other assets as well, my sharp fangs and claws, my thick skin, and my charming good looks, which my mother says will surely find me a mate once we finish taking back this world from those men.

            I awoke one night to a horrible noise from that new mead-hall built by those brutish Danes.  It sounded like something that lives even deeper in the swamp than I had caught a goat or something.  I crept closer and realized that it was singing.  Singing!  There is nothing more horrible to the ears of a well-brought-up swamp creature.  It is known that only evil races can sing, and so I went about my task of liberating the land of those evil men.  They cried out to their God as I spilt their blood on the ground, but this only caused me to be angry with them, for they worship the same evil God that banished my people into the land of Nod, the shadows of caves and the nightmares of children.  After I finished the holy massacre, I retreated back to the depths of my home for night of restful sleep, knowing my mission had been a success.

            I continued on this course of righteousness for over twelve years, seemingly no time considering my family’s tendency to live long into our years.  I would go into their home, their very sanctum, where they felt safest, and rip their souls and cast them into the abyss, eating their carcasses to make my own body stronger.  Finally, one afternoon, I heard rumors buzzing through the swamp.  Some hero among the humans had come to attempt to rid the countryside of me.  Can you imagine that?  A human attempting to take on the likes of me?  I would have to make this human, whom they called Beowulf, an example that nothing could stop this crusade against those who carry the black art of music and celebration to all corners of this land.