Once there was a forest that housed a terrible monster.  This champion of beasts was so terrible that nobody set foot in these woods for fear of encoutering their demise.  A town even sprung up at the edge of the woods, to warn the wise and to tend to the wounds of the hapless souls who did not heed the warnings.

  This town was also a launching point for many hunting parties.  The tavern in this town, naturally, was very successful.  Heroes would brag over pints of ale and tankards of wine, each claiming to have inflicted the most damage to this invincible monster.  None believed this beast could be beaten, naturally.  A rouge happened across the bar one night, listening well to the tales of the powerful and elite heroes that filled the bar with drunken boasts.

  The concensus seemed to fall upon the fact that the burliest of warriors, with the aid of his conjuror friend, had done the most to the beast, for their power was unparalleled.  The group raised a toast to the severed toe that the powerful pair had claimed from the beast.  The rouge laughed out loud, hearing this.  The entire eyes of the tavern turned and fixed upon him.

  The rouge continued his laugh.  How could these "mighty" heroes boast so highly when they had done naught more than deprive this beast of a single toe?  The burly warrior and his magical friend smirked.  They told the rouge that this monster of the woods could not be beaten.

  The pair regaled him of the tale of the powerful magics and mighty blows the pair had to use to even get so far as a single scratch against this juggernaught.  Finally, as had been done so often before, they issued the challenge to the rogue to do better if he thought them so weak.

  The rogue chugged the remainder of his ale, and told them that they were poor excuses for heroes, that he would return with no less than the head of the beast.  The entire tavern exploded in laughter as the rouge made his exit and headed into the woods.

  The rogue did not take long to find the beast, or rather, the beast did not take long to find him.  The monster was some sort of Fomorian Champion, huge and very powerful.  It held a club, one of immense proportion.

  Seeing the rogue, the champion let out a mighty bellow and swung its weapon.  The rogue deftly jumped back, but was sent flying further than he expected by the sheer force of the blow.  The Fomorian Champion raised is club in anger, shouting some bizarre curse.  The rogue smiled once again.  It was as he expected.

  Turning from the battle, the rogue ran as swiftly as he could.  The champion gave chase.  The rouge rounded a tree, vanishing from the champion's view.  The champion continued to chase the rogue, rounding the tree.  As the beast turned the corner, he was met with a mighty bough of the tree, flying straight at its eyes.

  The impact left the beast temporarily blinded, seeing painful stars.  Suddenly it felt a sharp pain in its back.  Howling with rage and pain, the champion grabbed the tree and ripped it from the ground.

  The monster swung the tree around and around until its eyes clearned.  When they did, the champion saw the rogue, standing a short distance away, holding a pile of soori in his hands.

  Looking down, the champion saw both the tree and its body were perforated with dozens of throwing weapons.  The champion threw the tree into the ground, which exploded in a shower of splinters.

  The rogue was unable to dodge all the exploded tree, he took quite a few hits.  The champion smiled as he smelled the blood of its victim.  The beast started to lumber forward to face the rogue, when the rogue started to do something.. odd.  The rogue took his blade in hand and began to... dance.

  The champion was perplexed.  Every time he lunged for where the rogue was, that blade stung it and the rouge was spinning or jumping or twirling out of the way.  This blade dance went on for a while.  The Fomorian Champion was sure he could find a way to hit this slippery prey... but it could not seem to do so...

  Growing weary from the loss of blood, the Fomorian champion decided to end this farce.  Instead of aiming for the rogue, the mighty beast pummeled the very ground itsself, sending up a mighty upheaval of dirt and stones.

  The rogue, seeing the mighty lunge, had taken advantage of the slow bulk of the bulging and bleeding Fomorian Champion to tuck into a ball and roll between its legs, taking care to slice at the inner thighs on his way to the monster's backside.

  The explosion of earth hit only the mighty beast, for the rogue was shielded by the beast itsself.  From behind, the rogue took out another soori and plunged it deep into the monster's back.

  The champion was hurting very badly.  It couldn't understand how it was this prey fought.  It turned around to try to fight this prey as it had so many before, toe to toe and might to might, but there was no prey to be seen when it turned around.

  Groggy from all the damage, the beast looked around until it was sure the rogue must have fled from fear... then lay down to rest.. and recover.. and just.. sleep... As the champion drifted off, its eyes noticed something odd... That prey it had been fighting was standing over it, bearing its teeth in a grin and waving a bottle with a skull and crossbones upon it.

  The Champion was beyond the cares of this world by this time.  So badly poisoned by the rouge's numerous strikes, it was unable to put up any fight as the rogue sliced off its head and carried it back to the town.

  The rogue held the head over his own as he entered the tavern.  The noise of the busy tavern died instantly.  The patrons of the tavern were agape.. some muttered... "How?"

  The rogue smiled his grin, and told the heroes the tale of his battle, and the lesson to be learned thereby:

  Combat is much more skill than strength.