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ow knocked him a dozen feet, but just made him
even more angry. He charged me, and I stepped aside, slamming
him on the back, but he was without feeling. He spun, and his
blow shattered my practice sword into flinders in my grasp. I
threw him to the ground, pinning him, but his strength was demon-
ic, and I could not hold him despite his poor leverage.
But just as I lost my grip, he calmed, and regained himself.
The next day, I was assigned to another knight. Perhaps I had
seen something of what makes the Templars the holy warriors of
God. I would have to be careful not to fly into such a rage
myself, lest the circumstances truly warrant the use of such
power.
My mind flicked back to the ceremony. Strangely, I did not
feel empowered by the High Mass. As I drank the wine and ate the
wafer, rather, all power seemed drained from me, and I felt
light, empty and powerless. I managed to walk to the Master for
the rest of the ceremony, receiving my blow and my knighthood. I
must have blacked out somewhere in the run to leap upon my steed,
and I do not remember making the strike, but I did, and I rode
forth from the town, clinging to my steed like a babe.
Once
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