[OPEN] upon my grave i stare

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.