Echoes of cracking ice resonated along the abandoned halls underground. The dusty frozen halls remained silent for only a moment longer until sharp sounds of ice cracking and splitting disrupted its long silence. Deep within this ancient city stood a frozen figure, tall in stature and encased in armour of the dead which was locked in position by years of solid ice. Every inch of her body was covered in dark saronite armour that was fashioned to look like wood. A nod to her culture she held dear long ago. However her wood-like armour was adorned with carvings and imagery of the dead, damned and suffering , something she was very much used to after her time of servitude under the Lich King and then her battle against her own sanity which spilled onto those of the mortal flesh. The female Kaldorei whose face was shrouded with a dark hood and metal visor which obscured the lower half of her face, had eyes which remained wide and shone like a burning blue fire. She was ever watchful in her frozen stasis as her burning eyes of blue provided the only source of light in the dark halls as well the wicked curved blade which runes glowed eerily and flickered along the flat edge, much like the Kaldoreis burning eyes. Both her hands lay resting on the pommel of her sword with the curved edge resting slightly imbedded in the solid tiles below.
Another crack resonated through the halls. The ice along the sword began to split, its once smooth surface now marred with splintering and broken ice. The split grew aggressively and picked up pace until the ice along the Kaldorei burst forward and scattered along the dusty floor. The Kaldorei seemed to be unphased as she stepped out of the broken icy tomb with her heavy saronite boot crushing ice beneath her weight. Her wicked rune weapon scraped along behind her along the floor, introducing an ugly sounds of metal on stone which would send chills down the spines of those considered brave. She stood in silence monetarily as she grasped her sword and brought it up with both hands to gaze along it's sharp gore stained edge. She watched herself from her own reflection along the blade, showing no emotion about what she had become. She no longer was who she used to be and was no longer anyone's puppet. She was a harbinger of death, the bringer of pain and suffering. She was a weapon in which she sought to use against all those who have wronged her, shunned her and tried to put her down.
Her grip tightened around the decayed leather bound handle as she carried herself through the halls she had isolated herself within. Only until she saw the light of day peeking through a break in the roof did she stop to look up. Her gauntleted hand reached up for a small amulet around her neck, red in shape and almost looked to be made of glass. A glass sphere to be exact. She drew it up closer to inspect its contents of red swirling mist. Her words resonated through the halls even though they were nothing more than a throaty whisper. "Malice..." Behind that visor she grinned, flashing her white fanged smiled as she admired the plight of her past self. She chuckled grimly as she let the amulet hang around her neck once more. She wore it as a token of victory against her weaker self. Slyand, Malice... They were nothing more than children compared to what she is now. She was still Slyand now, at least physically, but there was nothing left of her old past self apart from the token around her neck encasing the spirits of Malice and Slyand.
She moved towards the light and exited the isolated broken halls to take her steps into the snowy wasteland that was Dragonblight. Harsh winds battered her armour and swung her torn thick cloak behind her. Her hood fluttered and flung behind her back. White hair blew in the wind instead however despite the harshness of the wind, the long strands of white hair floated as if submersed in water. Almost ghostly in nature. She made way for the nearest town. She had a hunger to sate and one that only blood could satisfy.