Become a paladin.

When you explained your intentions to the guards and the robed woman at the gates, you were quickly escorted through marble halls and into the sanctum of a positively ancient man.

"Sir Verheart," the lady calls out to him. For addressing a paladin esteemed enough to have his own space in the temple, she doesn't sound terribly reverent in her address.

"Bwah!" he splutters, springing to his feet with alarming speed. "Whozz'ere? Who be intrudin' on- oh. Greetin's to yuh, Anna."

"Good morning, Sir. This young lad seeks assistance in becoming an adventurer. It is his wish to follow the courses of a paladin."

Verheart's bald head gleams as he looks down at you over his crazed beard. "This runt? Whatchu you let him in fo'?"

You bristle at the insult, but the priestess replies before you can. "Matron Boifelle commanded we refuse entry to nobody, Sir. You know that."

"Bah. Not me point," he wheezes before rounding back on you with a snap. "You! See tha' shield?"

You turn to see a massive slab of metal you'd thought had been an ornate table when you first walked in. "Y-yes?"

"'Yes?'" he mocks. "Ya got bad eyes or somefin'? If ya be seein' proper, go and pick 'er up."

You gulp, confused and daunted by the request, but you nod and approach. How much does that thing weigh, anyhow? You're measuring it up and reaching out to grab the rim when you feel something cool and sharp at your neck. A sword!?

"Didja hear me draw?" the knight asks, his voice suddenly serious.

You think better of shaking your head and mumble a weak, "No."

"Then ya won't be hearin' a proper fighter whose got all 'ees joints workin' proper, would ya?" The sword falls away and Verheart slumps back into his cushioned chair. "You'd be dyin' right quick no matter whatcha do. Go home, lad."

You hear the priestess awkwardly shuffle out as you stare at the shield, stunned and a little ashamed. Shame turns to anger, and anger turns into strength. You ignore him and step forward, bend at the knee, and heave the huge shield into your arms. Your eyes bug out a little under the strain as you turn around to look at Verheart.

"I'm not... going home!" you gasp. "I'm done... working... a farm!"

The old man struggles to hide his surprise as he watches you tremble. On and on he stares until you're almost ready to collapse under the weight. Then he reaches out and - with one hand - pulls it from your grasp and straps it to free arm.

"Be stubborn then, if it suits ya," he sighs. "But dontcha say I never warned ya. After me, boy."