[OPEN] upon my grave i stare

Standing in a training field, in front of a training dummy, she tried to ignore memories that wanted to forcefully rush back. A sword summoned from magic slammed into the center of a dummy, handsfree. It didn't provide the same tactile control that grasping the sword would, but she needed to practice. She needed to get back to where she'd been prior to her death. Vivienne had once been a supreme arcane warrior; and she remembered everything but this body was not trained. This body was fragile, muscles untrained. She grit her teeth, ignoring the burn of weakened muscles. 

Eventually, she released the sword, and watched it dissipate into nothing. It wasn't the magic that needed to be trained; it was the physical component. She'd asked once, if Akibrus could not have saved her body. The answer had been a resounding 'no', he hadn't told her how she'd died. She'd never tried to find out. It wasn't important, since she was here... She was here and Olivia was not. How many nights had she begged and pleaded with Akibrus to do something about Olivia and he's told her no?

It was enough times to make someone insane. She lashed out at the dummy with her hands. To bystanders, there's no rhyme nor reason to her frustration; and it's certainly not how one should train their body. If anything, it's practically abuse of oneself. Parts of her wished they'd let her die; hadn't been so desperate to keep her here, to keep her knowledge. She'd scared the instructor off earlier; he'd gone scurrying back inside, and would likely avoid her for the next few days. He'd told her she was holding her sword wrong and she'd snapped at him—

The dummy in front of her was burnt to a crisp, turning to cinder and ash as she lashed out one more time. Breathing hard, she stared at the newly destroyed dummy, and sighed. She'd have to replace it. She probably should have practiced within Circle walls, where the dummies were enchanted to withstand elemental attacks...

Helena Prieskorn's lower lip was stamped with disgust, curled downward into an ugly, tense shape. Her hair was strictly assembled in a flat but humble bun, and her prim white templar's uniform and light armor were freshly shined for the ceremony today. Her fury was perceptible in how she did not blink, but stared aggressively at the solitary figure pummeling a practice dummy in a lavish display of magical talent. What fool of a mage would DARE flaunt her treachery to The Maker's gift in so cretinous a fashion? Such a transgression was not only foolish, but undermined the chantry's authority in Starkhaven when it was barely hanging on to it as it was. With the Divine dead, and the veil collapsed, Helena promised herself that this creature would not contribute to the end the world in Starkhaven if she could help it.

"Excuse me," she shouted curtly down the yard, ebony wand in hand, marching upon the woman in a heated gait. "But who in Maker's name do you think you are? Tresspassing. Destroying royal property. Profligation," she spat the last word, her voice deepening with her rage.

As far as Vivienne was concerned, she had free run of Starkhaven. She'd not asked to be brought back. She'd certainly not asked to be brought back without Olivia. She glared at the ruined dummy, panting quietly as she heard a sharp voice cut through the air.

Dark eyes left the dummy, to glare at the woman in question, and she exhaled sharply. It is not trespassing if I've permission to be here. She straightened, back firm. Composing herself, her lips pulled into a thin, fake smile.

Nobody. A short, curt response to who she was. Vivienne had not bothered picking a new name to go with; and she was not going to act as if she were a different person to appease the fools that wanted her to remain hidden, protected. Like she were some fragile thing that might shatter at the wrong touch.

Who do you think you are, to impose rules upon me? She inquired, her eyes narrowing slightly. She'd always been at the top; always the one imposing the rules. Vivienne had always moved towards the top of every organization she was in because she'd despised being told what to do.

That certainly had not changed with her revivification.

Helena laughed at the rediculous display of madness before her, but it came out more like a cough, then she ground her teeth as she chewed out a speech:

"-I am the Knight-Captain of this field you're in, young lady, and I will not be made a mockery of. I know everyone who has been granted authority to whet their spellwork. Everyone. Starkhaven is hardly a difficult place to keep track of it all, and I can scarcely say I have ever seen you in my life. So confess: Who gave you their liars license to bleed the Maker? Out with it."

Her mind raced at the thought of yet another unregistered mage, the fear they were trickling in from every border consuming her face with a prickling heat.

"For I swear I will hunt them down and teach them the proper channels after teaching you. Magic is not to be squandered like a toddler with a paintset."

Vivienne straightened, and stated coldly: I answer to no-one but Sebastian Vael. She would not give her name; had been instructed she should remain hidden. Of course, acting out like an upset child was anything but hiding...

Sebastian had probably heard, and there was likely guards on their way. She needed to dispose of this finicky captain and take her leave before her entourage found her.

You have no authority over me. And I daresay you should re-learn proper etiquette when addressing someone of higher status than yourself.

Higher status? Helena repeated with open disgust snarling her lips. I know all the goings-on of this circle, and I have never seen or heard of you, her chin lifted sharply. And whatever charlatan's game you are playing, name-dropping His Majesty so casually is, if anything, one more demerit. She stuck a finger at the other woman before straightening and looking around.

The Maker frowns on liars. You will come with me. You are trespassing, and Maker knows what else, Helena's eyes flicked behind the woman, studying the damage she had unleashed already with narrowed eyes.

Vivienne bit her lip, flustered when the woman stuck her finger in her face. I will go with you, if you can beat me in a fight. The woman was likely a Templar, trained. But Vivienne was also trained. And she'd bested Olivia with ease, on the times they sparred.

If I win, you leave me alone.

She was curious how far they'd get before Sebastian or his lackies found her.

Helena was about to march on off expecting the other woman to follow. She turned back, vehemently entertaining the notion.

I dare not use the Maker's magic for such a drunkard's game. Is that what you are - a drunkard? I would have not guessed, her judgemental eye flicked up and down. We are on the chantry grounds. There is no need to flex the gift for the sake of wager, and if you choose, that is one more blasphemy to your current charges. Using magic against a Templar at that. Either way, I suppose I am bound to oblige. Helena cracked her knuckles.

Yes, I will oblige you. But I would prefer our Maker not be pulled into this squabble of yours if you so respect her bounty. If you hide behind her gift, there'll be far more to answer to when this is all said and done. Helena narrowed her eyes, giving a small gesture to the nearby grand chapel, shrines, and graveyards. After all, this is not a tavern with Maker's magic on tap to fling about the table. But, I will oblige you, she growled.

Vivienne flashed a grin, as she summoned a sword from thin air. It shimmered with mana, that act alone should be enough to tip a devout member of the Chantry off. It was a skillset only taught by the Chantry to their most trusted mages became Knight-Enchanters.

I expect better of you. You wield the Maker like a shield and that is not appropriate. She moved past Helena, shoving the other woman with her shoulder as she passed.

And she made her way towards one of the many training rings in the city, away from the chapel, shrines and graveyard.

Helena sneered at the Rivaini-skinned woman. (How peculiar she did not have their accent, but instead, one that seemed almost Orlesian?) Helena followed the woman, methodically figuring out to herself what in Maker's name was happening. Where was she going? Helena clung to her duty to escort, imagining she was herding the stranger to the city's border. She hoped for such a simple end, although, the foreigner's self-possessed demeanor spoke to Helena of an unknown culture she was about to entangle herself in.

As they approached the Templar Battle Arena, Helena's mind raced for a strategy. She hardly knew her opponent enough to formulate a plan. She eyed the woman neck to ankle, scanning for old scars, but could make out nothing. Not even the color of the dirt on her sandles gave a clue.

Finally in the dusty circle, Helena stood wordlessly opposite of the intruder, staring her down. There wasn't much more to say; The were in the appropriate place for a fight, and all that was left was to spin their magic at each other. Somewhere to the side, a breeze ruffled the flag of Starkhaven, then lifted it. From her fingernails, five darts of light crackled and grew with weaponized magic, and with a quick twitch of her fingers weaving the somatic of the spell, her wrist snapped and flung the buzzing projectiles. The little bees of light bounced off of each other and curved towards her enemy with a whizz that felt wrong in her ears.