Finn stood opposite a Paladin, and knew he was done for. At nineteen Finn was no small weakling, and indeed he was not untrained in combat, but he knew the stories of the Paladins. The fiercest fighters, backed by the blessings of the gods. He didn’t stand a chance. He should back down. He should drop his sword, raise his hands and accept whatever punishment was coming his way. He squeezed the grip on his sword, held in both hands, pummel before his face. He couldn’t do it. Not just because this sword was the only thing he still had of his mothers, but because he had done nothing wrong, and Paladin or no he would not be punished over something he didn’t do. Continue reading