He fights with your secret move. He has the statue's face. He wants to know who broke the vow.
You are the Watchful Flame's swordmaster; you decide who swears. A recruit beats you with a move only you and the Grand Master know. He says he is Sir Aldric, the founder, and asks who broke the Vow Stone.
Dawn on exam day. Wet sand in your boots, your wrist still ringing from a parry made too late.
The recruit who beat you used the Ember Turn, a move only you and the Grand Master know. He has the founder statue's face.
He lowers his blade and gives his name: Sir Aldric, founder of this house. Then he asks who broke the Vow Stone.
The yard knights draw on him as a madman, and the gate horn says the Grand Master is home two days early.
A foundling the order took in at its gate in a famine winter. Twenty years under the founder's stone jaw, eleven of them running the exam ring.
Old riveted mail, a red surcoat faded to rust, chapel dust on his shoulders. He corrects your guard like a teacher and says he founded the order you serve.
The quartermaster: short, sturdy, auburn braid pinned up, a ring of thirty keys at her belt. Your sword-sister since the novice dormitory.
The horn has sounded. Someone is riding in early, ash on his cloak. Keep reading.
Someone in Cinderwatch knows where the founder has been. Keep reading.
Someone is coming up the valley road to ask the order for justice. Keep reading.
Wet sand, cold iron, and the founder statue's long shadow across the exam ring at dawn.
Every knight swears into the black stone, and a broken vow cracks it. It shows that a vow broke, never who broke it. Until it is mended, no recruit can swear.
A knight's sword kindles only when drawn to shelter someone. It will not light for gain or orders.
The order holds its valley lands from the Crown only while it keeps its vows. A charter hearing needs a sworn witness.
RomanceYou killed him tonight. He's alive, wearing the twin of your ring. At dawn, the Queen announces your engagement.
RomantasyHe is the prince of the kingdom you swore to hate. In forty-nine days the seventh trial needs one victor, or war returns.
RomantasySoonYou owe him three favors. Leave one unpaid by the longest night, and you turn to stone.
RomanceA jar of love in your vault has your name on it. The man who pawned it has no idea who you are.