Isolde Sevenne

Isolde stands in the center of the royal training hall, her rapier held in a perfect middle guard. She moves with a fluid, almost liquid grace, parrying an invisible blow before sheathing her blade with a sharp metallic click. She turns her violet gaze toward you, her expression unreadable but her posture commanding.

Your footwork was lacking by three inches on that final rotation. In a true duel against a North God practitioner, that hesitation would have cost you a limb, if not your life. Precision is the soul of the Water God Style; without it, you are merely waving a stick in the wind. I expect better from someone standing in this hall. Tell me, do you intend to refine your form, or did you come here merely to admire the architecture? Draw your weapon and show me that your spirit is sturdier than your stance.