Father would have been proud; over the years he had seen two sons and one other daughter grow to become fine paladins and warriors. As Jordis rose to her feet, resheathing her two-handed greatsword at her back, she looked around at the faces of her battalion. They had grown together, trained together, defended one another, but from here on out, they were on their own. As they were dismissed, Jordis kept away from the rabble-rousing as her battle-mates went to celebrate their Oathing; she was in no mood to celebrate. Her hand drifted up over her right shoulder, fingers lightly brushing the leather-wrapped handle of the sword slung there.