Liam remained on one knee for several seconds, his hand still buried beneath the hilt of the sword as though the weapon had somehow decided that this was where it belonged. His arm was trembling now, not because he was exhausted but because he was putting an absurd amount of strength into trying to move the damn thing. Every muscle in his shoulder and forearm had tightened, yet the sword remained completely unmoved. It was humiliating, confusing and, most of all, irritating. Liam had faced creatures that could tear through flesh like paper, had punched a Gargoyle hard enough to send it crashing into a mountain and had walked away from situations that should have killed him, but somehow an ugly old sword hanging on the wall of a drunk dwarf's miserable shop had forced him onto one knee. He stared at the weapon for another few seconds before finally accepting the obvious. There was no point pretending otherwise.
Liam slowly lifted his head and looked at the dwarf.
