A set of robes laid nearby, flat as they could be on the uneven ground. Pieces of metal stuck out here and there, standing out against the blue robes and green grass. A few yards away, a lone qunari woman stood, body poised as if in preparation for a fight. A pair of pants and a bra were the only thing that covered her grey skin, other than a broken gold mask. A silver mane fell over her back, laying heavily against her shoulders and between the shattered horns that protruded from her head. Solid steel gauntlets covered her clutched fists and most over her forearms.

In one swift motion, she began to shadowbox, striking swiftly at enemies that only she could see. In her eyes, the weak enemies fell with a few punches, or were debilitated by a strong kick to the jaw. It wasn't anything special, what she was doing, but for someone who had been trained to be a mage, with little martial training, it was quite impressive. Still, it was not quite enough for her. Minutes ticked bye, and countless enemies were slain, sweat forming and falling off of her grey flesh. With a final, powerful uppercut, she let her arms fall to her sides, and allowed the first of a long line of heavy, panting breaths escape her.

Issala strolled over to where her things were, relishing the cool air of the south against her hot skin. It was so different from Seheron and Par Vollen, where it was so hot nearly all year. With a wave of her hand, a wave of cold blasted over the area just above her head, and then a few flakes of snow fell over her, gathering on her shoulders. Within seconds, the sweat had stopped, and was replaced by frozen droplets of ice that clung to her body. With a few quick brushes, she was clear of unwanted debris, and was free to redress herself.

As she did, the horn sounded in the distance. Good, it was finally time. In under a minute, she was clad in her modified robes, and was making her way back towards Ostagar. She had heard the stories, the legends of the one they only called the Warden and his companions. It was quite amazing, being at the place where it all started. A small smile formed over her face as she neared the Tower of Ishal, twirling her staff idly in her right hand. She figured she'd be the last to get there, unless that other qunari, Maas, made it first. She despised that man, but it couldn't be told by the others; she'd refused to say anything to any of them, other than the Commander, and had then gone off to train on her own while she waited.

Entering the area where the others waited, she squatted down, laying the staff on the ground in front of her, and silently waited for the Commander to proceed, ignoring the others as if they didn't even exist.