[Past] Murderous Impulses

Helena's face slowly contorted with disgust at the stolen thought of an Antivan party in this very cell. Against her will, she saw prisoner's bent on all fours like broodmares, coin exchanged for magic, and suddenly the stewing of her gut climaxed, and she broke away from the solemn stare. The rush of her vomit hit the center of the chamber, and she quickly clamped her sleeve to her mouth to settle herself down as the chained one beheld her.

Filthy, but I believe it, she managed with a restrained gag. The templar listened to the prisoner's summation of this country, and, in that moment, head cocked to the side, hearing her own thoughts voiced aloud by this strange, warped being, she knew what she would do. Like a street of lamposts flicking on one after another to reveal a pathway, she saw it as clearly as if she could read the future in starlight.

Antiva was utterly and completely lost. Their light was extinguished.

The Antivan Chantry's circle was indisposed and futile, and all that was left was to salvage what she could. 

Starting with this one, whose inebriation with magic had so obviously twisted her.

Helena snapped her fingers, and the woman's collar began to glow, the inscriptions illuminating in the moist darkness that pressed in around them. It was a small trick to read her branding. And for a spell, Helena thought the collar looked regal on this woman, scratched with her golden light, and so detailed was the script, but logic soon settled in that this collar was so meticulously written because this woman had so much toxic magic in her to be nullified. Necromancy, it appeared. How shameless.

Weak as a lamb... Helena repeated, Is that so? Do you know what I think? I think you are a dirty little animal with a grubby little addiction. I think you would burn this whole country down to gobble up the Maker's gift like a starved cannibal without a lick of civility.  And whoever this 'death' is, I will certainly fuck him back behind the veil where demon scum belong. As a friend. Did her sneer flit into something like a smile? Though I'm sure the term doesn't mean much to someone like you. Definitely not a smile now.

She kept her face shrouded in a dark veil with natural, elegant curves, while the other woman's collar blazed with light, reflecting her sweat. 

Little lamb, you are all bleat and no horn. To suckle on what little magic you are able to through the dam of that collar, so desperately - it is a sickness in your dark heart. Helena lessened the dagger-light of the warded collar, looking towards the door now. But you are right about one thing, and I won't allow you to remain here. 

She flicked a finger all around her.

This is a violation.