"The Lost Balance: Old English Etymology, the Werewolf, and Being Maidenless"
Let’s open the linguistic history books for a moment and look at how time completely dismantles the original architecture of our language.
"I now pronounce you man... and wifman."
It sounds like a terrible pun—and it is—but it is also a historically accurate representation of how our ancestors spoke a millennium ago.
In the days of Old English, the root word mann did not possess a male gender assignment. It was entirely, completely neutral. It simply meant "human being" or "person." Because mann wrapped itself around the entire species, the language required specific prefixes to denote biological sex.
If you wanted to specify an adult female human, you added the prefix wīf (which originally just meant female, independent of marriage). This gave you wīfmann.
If you wanted to specify an adult male human, you added the prefix wer (cognate to the Latin vir). This gave you werman.
But human speech is governed by the law of least effort. Over centuries of rapid, everyday conversation, the harsh consonants of wīfmann naturally began to soften. The phonetic drift shifted the word from wīfmann to wimman, which the Middle English period eventually baked into the modern word "woman."
The masculine counterpart, however, suffered a completely different linguistic fate. The prefix wer dropped out of the daily lexicon entirely, leaving the historically neutral mann to be lazily adopted as the default word for males.
In fact, the ancient word wer only managed to survive the passage of time by hiding in the shadows of our folklore. It lives exclusively within the name of one of humanity's oldest legendary monsters: the werewolf. When you break it down etymologically, a werewolf is not a "wolf that turns into a man." It is, quite literally, a "man-wolf."
I am fully aware that dropping this much linguistic nerddom alongside a barrage of unrepentant puns has likely scared off a significant portion of the crowd. But to those of you who stuck it out to the end of the page, you have my genuine appreciation. As a dad, stepping into the realm of mandatory, terrible humor is a sacred duty.
I am just profoundly grateful for the lady who runs this tavern alongside me. Because without her, I would find myself completely out of luck, out of options, and—much like our favorite greatsword-wielding Ranni loyalist, Blaidd the Half-Wolf—entirely Maidenless.
Keep drawing the thread, traveler.