Briarwood Family/Gwendolyn/From Askileon, to Glory

Roleplay from Gwendolyn Briarwood

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Gwendolyn: From Askileon, To Glory

In the heart of Askileon, a city of opulence and influence, Gwendolyn traversed the labyrinthine alleys, her steps a measured cadence in a world alive with bustling energy. The echoes of voices, a symphony of vendors and pedestrians, swirled around her as she glided through the maze of life. The city exhaled an orchestra of sound. The symphony of voices blended with the melodic barks of street-haunting canines and the ceaseless chirps of birds perched above. The rhythmic clatter of carts rumbled beneath, a percussive dance punctuated by the measured cadence of the city guard's march. The air was an aromatic tapestry woven with the tang of the sea, a reminder of Askileon's proximity to the ocean. Smoke curled lazily from nearby alleyways, casting a musky allure upon the wind. Amidst the vibrant symphony of the capital, Gwendolyn moved, a figure of stark contrast in her black attire, her piercing sapphire eyes seemingly untouched by the swirl of life surrounding her.

In one quiet, shadowy alley, a drunkard, emboldened by his spirits, stumbled forth to accost Gwendolyn. His intent was robbery, his demeanor brash and predatory. Yet, as his fingers brushed against her cloak, her gaze met his with an unsettling intensity. A strange stillness emanated from her as she countered his aggression with cryptic menace, her voice devoid of inflection.

"Thy path is ill-chosen, for shadows do not yield what you seek."

His eyes widened, his bravado wilting before her enigmatic presence. He backed away, stuttering apologies, and Gwendolyn resumed her journey to the recruitment centers nestled nearby.

Hood lowered, her sapphire gaze swept the hall, assessing the elite soldiers present, their auras of authority palpable. Unit commanders conversed, adorned in heraldic splendor, yet Gwendolyn remained unmoved, unsure of her choice. She approached unit commanders, her inquiries concise and probing, searching for an allegiance that matched her unspoken design.

Unit after unit, their leaders paraded their merits before her, each vying for her patronage. Gwendolyn's gaze held a discerning cold as she observed them.

Ultimately, her path led her to the outskirts of the hall, where a woman named Elvira stood. Clad in bronze lamellar, wielding a long spear, Elvira's presence exuded strength. Gwendolyn's words were calculated, her conversation with Elvira a delicate dance of words meant to ensnare allegiance. In the midst of their discourse, a presence intruded—the insolent figure of Theo, captain of the neighboring unit. Ego dripped from him, his eyes lingering on Gwendolyn with a flirtatious spark.

"Ah, the fair Dame of Giask has graced us with her presence," Theo purred, flexing his arm for emphasis. "My men, the Margarethan Axemasters, are more than worthy of your attention."

Gwendolyn's reply was as curt as it was cutting. "Ego blazes as an inferno, yet ego doesn't bring victory." Their conversation unveiled the potential of the Sallowtown Spearmen, but Theo persisted. Gwendolyn's patience waned, and her attention turned back to Elvira, the decision solidifying as they exchanged words, uninterrupted by Theo's muttered objections.

"Theo, thy display lacks substance," Gwendolyn remarked, her words piercing his facade. An unspoken tension lingered as the rejected captain sulked away, his wounded pride trailing behind him.

The choice was made, allegiance sealed in gold. With the agreement reached, time flowed like a river, carrying them to the cusp of dawn as they left Askileon. The first light of day kissed the horizon as Gwendolyn strode ahead of her men, an ethereal figure cutting through the encroaching light, her countenance fixed and unyielding, unfazed by the march's exertions.

In the shadows of early morning, a Blackshield stepped forward, breaking her reverie. "Milady, some horses have been replaced with lame ones. Speed may falter."

Gwendolyn's flat tone betrayed no surprise. "Negligence shadows us like a hawk. Halt. Rest. Correct the sabotage."

A plan formed, and her orders were dispatched. Able horses would be ridden back to Askileon, their replacements procured. She observed the signpost that pointed the way to Ciarin Tut, her destination set. Once the camp was established, her tent erected, she turned her attention to the men by her side.

"Efficiency merits acknowledgment. Gratitude."

As twilight blended into daybreak, Gwendolyn reclined in her tent, settling onto a fur blanket, her gaze traced the canopy that mimicked the night sky. As the sun's tendrils painted the world anew, Gwendolyn's eyes slipped shut, her visage a mask of serene calm amidst the dawn's embrace.