When one is easily uptight, quick to anger, and just plain in a cranky mood, it was easy for them to resolve to violence. It was one thing, one person who pushed her here. At this point, betrayal was a common occurrence in Ayleth's life. What was it though about this one, however, that had caused tears to fall from her mismatched eyes? It was her apprentice. She left so suddenly, unable to take the changes in Ayleth's personality. Why though? Was she not just doing what seemed for the best? Was she not doing these things for the sake of the world?

Ayleth was doing the right things... right?

None the less, sorrow grew into bitterness. Bitterness transformed into a deep anger. She needed to let it go. Unable to hold it back anymore, she stepped into the one place in Corone where it was legal to kill. It was the Citadel. The arena itself, which's name could mean less to Ayleth, was a tower. She was inside it, and the crumbled ruins seemed nothing new to someone who watched an entire country wither and die. The bland building, lacking of life, was so void and empty. The halfling herself could see it, she had been teleported inside by the monks, but outside the ancient tower was nothing short of magnificent, even in the pouring rain. It was actually a realistic image of how many people could be. Outside, how many people could be fine when inside... it was a storm.

Ayleth's storm was a blizzard. The freezing winds, oh how they swirled so beautifully - only to cause so much damage. The winds would roar loud as a lion, causing all to wrap up inside for cover. As layer upon layer of white formed, those caught inside became trapped. Isolated. Numb. Ayleth was caught inside. What telling was there of when it would let her out. Or did Ayleth have to dig out herself? To become Ashla once more? What did it take for cloudy skies to turn back to blue, and for hills of snow to retreat once again?

Ayleth just shrugged at the question.

In this tower, Ayleth was in a small room amongst the higher floors. It was dusty, had turned over tables, and had massive cobwebs forming in the corners. This scenery, it reminded her of what she wished was not home, but was. A little known land called Eiskalt. It reminded her of the land of the elves, which to that day was overun with the undead. It was the home of her mother, who had died so young giving birth to her.

But for what cause? Ayleth asked silently, Was I worth such a sacrifice?

Then, sounds steadily grew. Random noises increasing as it got closer. A hint of a smile appeared on Ayleth's face - it was her opponent. She reached for the single sword located at her hip. She pulled it about an inch away from her sheath, the blue damascus blade coming into view. Her simple black shirt barely rippled, even with her steel chainmail beneath. Her black shorts were slightly wrinkled. Her boots, which had steel plates on them, reached up to her knees. The black, thin stockings that were beneath though ran to where they almost met her shorts. Ayleth slowly crept up to the walls, where the shadows roamed. She placed her sword in its sheath, reaching for her dagger, Deadpetal, instead. The knife was a beautiful steel, the carving of a rose engraved into the blade with masterwork quality. How many times was this grey blade turned red like roses with blood as well? She lay low, close the door, and went silent. She held her knife in a reversed grip, perfect for sneak attack assassinations, as she waited.