⸻ ɴᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇɴᴛ ɴᴏʀ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ．{hawke x rilika}

[paperdoll]

❛...shall purge our land of dark arts!❜

The thick blanket of silence and darkness surrounding her dissolves into the flat voice of a well-aged man, whose words are awarded by cheers from the gathered crowd. Her skull throbs with pain and as she tries to move, she realizes that something is constricting her movements. Her eyelids flutter open, revealing her catastrophic blue irises. Finally, she raises her head, taking in her surroundings.

❛Before you, stand witches, practitioners of necromancy, blood magic, and other unspeakable arts! Before you, stand servants of the Devil. himself!❜

At first, the world is a blur of dull coloration, but as her focus returns, she finds herself tied to a wooden stake next to a pair of bound women. And though they are women, they're odd on the eyes, with their reptilian skin and distorted faces, constantly hissing and screaming at the gathering crowd.

❛They will not be allowed to corrupt the godly ways of our people!❜

Cloaked men and women stand around them, listening to the old man – who holds a torch in his hand – with unflinching devotion. It doesn't take much wit to guess what was happening, but if she did have any doubts, the old executioner rids her of them.

❛And thus, these unnatural abominations shall be put to the flames!❜

The mage rolls her eyes at the announcement of punishment. Realms away from her own world, and she still encounters only fear and hate for magic. Such utter nescience, she thinks. But they'd messed with the wrong mage this time, as there were no restraints in the universe that could hold Hawke captive. Sheer confidence is evident in her azure oculars, even a lack of care, one might think. And the small curl to her painted lips, a prelude to devilish intentions.

The torch is brought toward the first of the restrained witches. The hay piled around the woman quickly catches on to the fire, and as the flames begin to lick away at her, she begins to screech; the sound almost inhuman.

Hawke wills her magic to lash out, to freeze the chains binding her and the others but as she tugs to break herself free, she finds them still intact, untouched by her frost. The mage tries again and is met with the same result. She attempts different spells, some meant to create a barrier around her, some to shatter the stake, and some to cause harm to the executioner—

but none work.

Well, shit.

Panic begins to coil in her chest. That's when she feels it, the enchantment blanketing her body, emanating from the bloodstained pendant tied to the lithe structure of her neck. It is because if it, that she feels so confined as if she's caged; a prisoner within her own body with a nearly non-existent will. The pendant isn't hers, and she has no memory of donning it – in fact, no memory of how she ended up here in the first place.

Who put it on her?

How did these people know that she was a mage?

Why did she not remember being brought here?

Ignoring the lingering pain in her shoulder, she begins to tug at the chains wildly, the bladed talons of her gauntlet clawing at the chain to loosen the grip around her wrists, but once again, her struggles are in vain. All forms of magic fail her; she knows the reason; the pendant is laced with the blood of something powerful, enough to suppress her magic.

❛In the name of all that is Holy, die, you foul creatures!❜

The second stake is now on fire. Screams of agony rise in the air along with the black smoke, and the foul odor of burning flesh. The man steps towards Hawke now, a crazed sneer plastered upon his masked visage, his beady eyes glaring at her with liquid hatred. Her struggles don't stop, and she keeps trying to overcome the power of the pendant—

even as the fire of the torch is brought upon her.

[Akkas]

One of the cloaked women in the crowd was watching the burning, like she had done often before. She was not here to be joyful about the vanquish of evil, although she did pretended to be. She was here, curious and hoping for that one special so-called evil witch that had true and useful abilities, though that hope grew fainter with each one that couldn't spark her interest.
She noticed one of the women on the stakes rolling her eyes as the man announces their upcoming terrible faith. She feels a hint of interest. Is that woman just stupid, or does she have a reason to be so cocky? The look in her remarkable eyes shows that at least she believed in herself and the cloaked woman wonders why. If she's careless enough to get captured, how can she think to escape?
She smiled bittersweet and shook her head. Clearly that woman doesn't have the ability to escape, despite her wild struggling. Her curiosity should grow weaker, but it doesn't. Why does she keep trying so desperately, and why does she seem legitimately surprised in her failure?
Something about her is different. The cloaked woman, better known as Rilika, felt interested. Interested enough to save that woman's life.
She used magic to make herself able to move freely. She threw off her hood to widen her vision, which revealed her light, almost white shoulder length hair. As she had her hand up to push the hood off, a white whip appeared in her hand and she swung it. It wrapped around the nasty man and his torch, pulling them together, and she gave a strong pull to get him away from the stake.
Rilika stood steadily on both feet. She wore many rings around her fingers, each of them was a yellowish gold that faintly glowed. She felt the adrenaline rush, as she was in a hurry. That angelic energy she just used on herself wouldn't last forever. It was only a matter of time before it would wear off and she could no longer run.
She dropped the stick she held in her other hand and conjured a white sword. She swung it around to scare people away. Her reflexes were on high alert, as she hadn't done anything like this in a while. She tugged the whip once more to get more distance between the torch and the burnable hay. She let go of the whip and ran - oh how she loved to move - towards the stake. She glared at the woman once or twice, but her attention was with everyone else. She was well aware that she was now a target too.

[paperdoll]

The display of magic within the crowd is gone unnoticed by the mage—with her eyes already fixated on the burning torch about to spell her doom—until the whip grasps onto the executioner and pulls him away with the torch in tow. Though her struggle doesn't quite ease, she takes in the source of the disruption; a white-haired woman with a face she marks as unfamiliar.

The fanatics panic at the sight of her magic, gasping and screaming disgraceful terms at her as they scurry back, quickly arming themselves with pitchforks, harvesting hooks, and whatever they can get their hands on.

As the woman reaches Hawke, she might hear the tied mage grumble something beneath her breath. Her first few words are barely audible, and then . . .

❛ I am going to go ahead and assume you're about to untie me. Better do it quickly, though, burning at the stake wasn't really on my to-do-list today~ ❜

[Akkas]

"Yeah, yeah, and blowing my cover wasn't on my list..." Rilika mutters back. She hurries around the stake and transforms the sword into a dagger. She slashes and cuts through the bounds.
She notices the crowd get armed. She would be able to win in a battle against each of them, but she might not have that much time. She shifted her weight between her legs. So far all good, but for how long? Maybe running was a better option, but then they'd have to outrun them quickly.
"Fight or flight?" she asked Hawke. She held a hand on the metal dagger on her belt, and she readied herself to run, so she was ready for whichever option.