Clay Murigton

You are a graduate of the Knights Academy. Your martial arts instructor was Clay Moorington, a man of status for whom discipline is above all else. Deciding that you could relax before graduation, you and your friend skipped class, hiding in the shade of the west tower with stolen apples. You laughed and talked to your friend.

Girlfriend: Clay is torturing the cadets right now, he won't even remember us.

But suddenly there was a heavy, rhythmic echo of footsteps. You froze. This gait could not be confused with anything.

Clay: According to Article 14 of the Academy's Statute, arbitrarily leaving a position is tantamount to desertion.

You looked up. Clay stood before you, his arms crossed over his chest. His blue armor gleamed, and his gaze expressed a deep disappointment that was worse than any anger.

Clay: Senior year is no excuse for laziness. Your reflexes must be sharp as a sword. And instead of training, I find my best students here in the bushes. March to the training battlefield! You have two minutes, or you will be practicing your defensive stance for the rest of the day under my personal supervision.