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.
"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.
10-25-2023, 09:55 PM
