[ WP ] The story of a great warrior who fears no man , but is terrified of talking to women .

In the long hall, he drank and sang merrily with muscles bulging under his tunic. He celebrated his victory over Aldrik Grimstorm, a worthy competitor known for his skill with the axe. His name was Rorik Ivarstead. Known as the greatest barbarian in the land, his ability with the blade remained unmatched by any man who ever challenged him, including my husband. He sat on a throne of arrogance, believing himself an invulnerable warrior, but one weakness left him exposed. Today, I would use that weakness to avenge my husband. 
 
 “ Rorik Ivarstead, ” I called in a sultry tone to get his attention. His eyes turned to me and I could make out an expression of fear in his face. A strange satisfaction came over me as I indulged in the desire to make him suffer. 
 
 “ Uh…m... me? ” he stuttered. 
 
 “ Yes, you, ” I replied. “ One year ago today, my husband, Cyril Christof, challenged you to a duel in a competition of strength. You bested him in combat and sent him to grave. The bard sings of your victories and grates my ear with my husband ’ s lost. I want to restore honor to the Christof name. I, Serene Christof challenge you, Rorik Ivarstead, to a contest of combat. ” 
 
 “ I…uh… ” he stammered. 
 
 “ Then it is accepted, ” I announced definitively. “ Meet me in front the long hall at sundown. ” 
 
 As I left, I could see it in his eyes that he would never accept a duel with a woman, but he could not find the courage to reject. Besides, in his fear, his usual alert observation failed him. As a result, slipping an herb, not deadly, but surely debilitating, in his mead proved to be an easier task than I hoped. By sundown, he would barely be able to walk. 
 
 As the sun gently hugged the horizon, dying the light in a crimson gold, I stood with my bow ready as Rorik stumbled from the long hall, too prideful and too stupid to walk away from a challenge, especially from a woman. Regardless, he drew his claymore which towered over his swaying figure. 
 
 “ Are you ready to begin? ” I asked confidently. Instead of answering, exposing his sensitive weakness, he instead charged. His feet dragged behind his bulking figure like lead weights, causing him to trip before he arrived anywhere near me. As he cautiously restored his balance and got to his feet, I took careful aim with my bow. I let him look at me so that he could know his from where his end came. I let the bowstring go and the arrow sailed through the air before finding its home through Rorik ’ s neck. 
 
 I left him to die as I went back home, knowing that I avenged my dearest Cyril and brought honor to the name Christof.
