Briarwood Family/Gwendolyn/Training in Giask

Roleplay from Gwendolyn Briarwood

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Gwendoly: Training in Giask.

The afternoon sun cast its warm embrace upon the empty training hall, illuminating the elegant figure of Lady Gwendolyn. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, contrasting sharply with the sapphire brilliance of her unwavering gaze. She stood with an aura of quiet intensity, dressed in a simple black fencing shirt and black hose, ready for her daily training session with the old and seasoned sword trainer from Under Darfix, Master Eamon. He was a weathered man with a long scar running across his left cheek, but his eyes still held a glimmer of wisdom.

The hall seemed to hold its breath as Gwendolyn and Master Eamon began their slow and deliberate dance of blades. Each movement was deliberate, precise, and measured. The sounds of their training echoed through the vast space, resonating like a symphony of steel. The gentle clang of swords meeting, the shuffle of their feet, and the rhythmic flow of their breath created an ethereal harmony that filled the emptiness.

Gwendolyn's strikes were slow yet calculated, a testament to her disciplined training. Though her progress might seem measured, there was an unmistakable approval in her unyielding eyes as she parried and countered Master Eamon's attacks. The trainer's years of experience honed his skills, but Gwendolyn's innate talent and keen mind proved a formidable match.

"Your movements are becoming fluid, my lady," Master Eamon observed, his voice tinged with admiration. "You have an eye for precision."

"Precision unveils the path to success," Gwendolyn replied in her characteristic cryptic manner, her voice flat and blunt. There was an absence of emotion that left Master Eamon both intrigued and perplexed. The training continued, each step taken with profound intent. Gwendolyn's strikes grew swifter, and she deftly landed a hit on Master Eamon's shoulder. He grinned, sensing her satisfaction, and called a brief halt to the session.

"Well struck, my lady. Your prowess improves with each passing day," he commended.

"Prowess is the reflection of the soul upon the blade. Mine offers little, for now," Gwendolyn retorted, offering no hint of elation. She held her composure with the poise of a well-taught warrior, though she lacked the scars or marks of one who had seen battle.

At that moment, a servant timidly entered the hall, bowing with trepidation. "My lady, forgive the intrusion," the servant pleaded, "but I bear news for you. A response to your letters from the Heliacal and the Lord Quebel has arrived." Gwendolyn's reaction was imperceptible, and she simply nodded in acknowledgment to the interruption. "You are dismissed," she stated, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

As the servant withdrew, Gwendolyn turned her attention back to Master Eamon. He regarded her with a mixture of respect and bewilderment, noting the curious detachment she displayed even in the face of news."You possess a rare clarity of mind, my lady," Master Eamon remarked, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. "Yet, beneath that facade, I can tell emotions lie dormant."

"Emotions are a storm within, best navigated in silence," she stated matter-of-factly, her voice as flat and blunt as ever. Her sapphire eyes flicked to his own with an inscrutable emotion.

"And alone," Gwendolyn added, her voice flat and blunt.

Master Eamon raised an eyebrow but nodded respectfully. He knew better than to probe further into the enigmatic nature of his talented pupil. Nobility did not oft appreciate those who pried. Instead, he offered a respectful bow.

"Until tomorrow, my lady," he said with a warm smile.

"Until we next meet," Gwendolyn replied, returning the faintest hint of a nod before she turned gracefully, sheathed her sword and turned to leave the echoing hall.

As the heavy doors closed behind her, Master Eamon let out a sigh and shook his head.

"Such a strange girl," he muttered to himself, his voice faintly tinged with bewilderment as he settled onto a worn wooden bench in the training hall.

"Strange indeed," he muttered to himself with a wry smile.