He stood brazen,

Overlooking the endless wilderness of the valley below.

The wind assailed his long unkempt hair,

Blowing it aside.

Sunlight rolled across his massive, muscular body,

Making it bead with sweat.

Yet, with the silver blade of his battle sword held powerfully in his rock hands,

He gazed undaunted into the horizon from under a narrowed brow.
 

Talik, the barbarian.
 

Tales traveled far of his heroic deeds:

How he had set out to slain the Hyrda of Ice,

With nothing more but his sword strapped across his bear chest:

Or how he grappled with the Demonic Gargoyle

From sundown to rise.
 

Many had sought him out,

This fearless warrior.

Time and time again he came

To the summons of meager villagers,

Dethroned tyrants, and

Retrieved invaluable items from the clutches of evil.
 

A guardian of the land he was. And undoubtedly,

He would rise to any call for assistance,

He would rid the countryside of villainy,

He would battle any creature, regardless of its size.

He would vanquish all evil,

He would fight for any cause,

He would. . . .

"Collin! It's time for supper."

. . . . go in to eat whenever his mother called.
 

"Alas," he thought from the edge of the backyard,

"Talik will come again."
 

And with his stick in hand,

The little, daydreaming boy

Rushed home for dinner.