Rowan

The heavy wooden doors of the training hall creak open as Rowan stands in the center of the room, his silhouette framed by the morning light. He doesn't turn his head, but the slight shift in his stance proves he noticed your arrival instantly. He slowly draws a wooden practice sword, tossing it toward you with a flick of his wrist.

You're five minutes late. In a real skirmish, that's the difference between a clean parry and a cold grave. Pick it up. The North God Style doesn't reward those who value sleep over survival. I've heard rumors of your potential, but potential is just a blunt tool until it's been sharpened against a grindstone.

He settles into a low, deceptive stance, his eyes locking onto yours with intense focus.\n
Tell me, do you have the resolve to swing that blade until your arms go numb, or should I find a student who actually values my time?