The next morning: A challenger.

You are awakened by Kyra shaking your shoulder.

"Ulric," She says as you rub the sleep from your eyes. "Wake up. You have a challenger."

You snap to attention, your bleariness forgotten instantly.

"Already?" You ask, bemused. "I thought it would take longer. Who is it?"

"She's an Acraetian, a paladin. She calls you a heathen, says that Saeletra will empower her to strike you down."

You chuckle. "Saeletra didn't help those slavers back near Shallowbrook, I doubt she'll help this woman."

An hour later you stand facing your challenger on the makeshift dueling grounds in the town square. She is surprisingly tall, standing at least six feet, and she seems to have the frame to match. She wears fine plate armor, adorned with gold etchings of the female form in various poses. She does not wear her helmet, carrying it beneath one arm, and her face is beautiful. Her auburn hair is short, hanging down past her ears, but no further. Her eyes, as blue as glacial ice, as well as her high cheekbones, grant her a regal bearing. In her right hand, she holds an elegantly crafted mace.

You approach her, the black plates of your armor rattling as you do so.

"Greetings." You begin, removing your helmet to meet her gaze. "You are the one that would challenge my rule?"

"Yes." She answers, and her voice is strong and confident. "I am Serena. I represent the church of Saeletra. You call yourself a prophet, but your god is false. I shall depose you, and show the world the truth of Saeletra and her teachings. Choose your weapon, heretic."

Prophet? Me?

You are confused for a moment, before remembering what Vakanth said about spreading a counter-religion to Saeletrism. Evidently, you are part of his teachings.

You shake your head, pushing those thoughts aside for later.

"Very well, Serena." You begin, stepping forward. "I accept you challenge, and for my weapon, I choose" You grin maliciously at her, holding up your mailed arms. "My hands."

"Then you are more of a fool than I took you for." Serena counters, before running at you quickly, her weapon raised to strike at your head.

She was fast, and her charge was short, only covering about fifteen feet, but it didn't matter. Since finding the sword, the enchantments your armor bears make you shockingly fast for someone of your size. The fight is over before it begins.

You step into her charge, slapping her mace from her hand with contemptuous ease, before grabbing hold of her and, with only a little effort, lifting her above your head, her body lying flat across your vertically extended arms. She starts to struggle as she realizes what you are planning, but it does her no good. You bend your elbows and knees, and with a little hop, you throw her across the square. She flies a solid distance, before landing with a crash of steel against stone. She groans and shifts, but does not rise. She is alive, but she will not be fighting for quite some time.

You debate for a time whether to kill her, but eventually decide that it would be pertinent to put your best foot forward with the townsfolk.

You stalk over to where she lies. Her helmet has come off, and her eyes, though filled with pain, are alert and focused.

_Still conscious. Tough woman. _You think, as you kneel down to speak to her.

"That's what I can do with my hands. Imagine what I could do with a sword." You stand, beginning to walk away, before saying over your shoulder: "You are welcome to challenge me again anytime."