Since the beginning, Dorian has been sensitive to southern sensibility surrounding the best practices of mages and training their magic. He has no real desire to scare and intimidate (or give in to the strong impulse to do with regards to some) and has so adjusted; magicless staves training, silent glyph casting, sparkles out of view. And with the event of the Abomination having taken place while he was away, it would be imperative now, more than ever, not to test frazzled nerves by acting like a magister who can't resist putting his talents on display.

But today is not exactly about showing off, for all that it looks exactly like it.

The sound of the staff cutting the air is drowned out by the sizzle and zap of unworldly electricity, arcing off his hands and serpentstone both. Forks of lightning seem to spring wild, but are continually funnelled towards the practice dummy lashed to its post. (The Inquisition must go through so many of these.) Black scorches are blossoming on yellowed canvas, and licks of flame gutter and flicker under the onslaught of magic.

His movements are practiced, but not stilted, flowing elegantly from one manoeuvre to the next, if more than a little unnecessarily forceful, draining himself both physically and of that elusive energy that makes a mage a mage. The air is warm, agitated in feeling, and smells of ozone.