Gwenna has the laughing-eyed allure of dynamic expressiveness to go with her dimpled cheeks, a pleasant whimsy frequently lighting that warm brown gaze beneath her saucy eyebrows. The dewy softness of her bowed mouth beneath her snub nose is full enough and shaped with a downward pull enough to suggest a resting pout, but the moment she smiles, her dimples manifest in the apples of her cheeks. Her hair is a shade between gold and brown, splitting the difference between the two and falling like a cascade to the midst of her back when it's down, but more often than not it rings and loops her head in intricate braiding with a few escaped strands to curl around her cleanly angled jaw and slightly prominent rounded ears.
In a world of extremes, Gwenna prefers to avoid them. Averse to butting heads but not to friendly debate, she approaches life in a slightly wry way, and she has learned to tilt and skew and weave her way around many clashes of strong personalities, declawing nastiness before it gets too sharp. She'd rather a chilled white wine than a whiskey and she'd prefer a book and a hot cocoa to a bar fight. Some roar and swing an axe, or sing out loud with passion and verve; Gwenna would like to crack jokes by the fire while she does a little light tapestry and shares local gossip. Warm, compassionate, pleasant, affectionate, tolerantly appalled by political disaster: she is a quietly clever woman with a warm smile, a muting foil to the brash and the bombastic. Open-hearted and open-minded, she is interested in the world around her, open to the Faith of the Pantheon and to shamanism, to mystery and to legend -- not a staunch believer, but a suspecter, willing to entertain most possibilities.
The North breeds hardy stock, and there are ways that Gwenna's life was no exception to this. A child in Farhaven, running in the snows, building snow forts, climbing trees, scraping her knees, failing dismally with spear and shield only to get up again and try again with grim determination in the set of her young jaw, nothing about these things made of Gwenna something unique among her brothers, sisters, cousins. But the lure of finer things and her mother's brewing hobby and knitting and crochet drew her back indoors for a loving seat by a crackling fire among their enormous dogs more often than not. Her strongest memories are of learning the needle, of matching bright colors and coming up with silly rhymes with her mother. She was never a wilting flower, but she always loved aesthetics, and art, and preferred the homely warmth of indoors to out, and of listening to song and story rather than trying to invent them herself.
Gwenna learned an open heart and an open mind from her family. She listened to the stories of the spirits from a laughing shaman and the stories of the Faith from a smiling seraph. She learned the strength of diplomacy and subtlety from her mother and the stories of war and conquest and wildness from her father. While her older brother was close to her in age and heart, a wild hellion running madly about the woods and stones, she learned drawing and sewing and drank home-brewed ale from her mother's casks and wondered about a future where she might be the center of her own beautiful domestic picture.
Politics are the doom of many a northener and it was her mother's machinations that sent her softer hands south, believing in her potential to aid Redrain, in all, maybe even to apprentice with Princess Donella and learn from her the lessons of the Southlands. It was with wide open eyes that she set out.