<div align="center">(https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/002/912/664/large/andreas-rocha-thegathering.jpg?1467190275)<br/></div><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;">❛...shall purge our land of dark arts!❜</span></span></div><br/><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;">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. <br/><br/>❛Before you, stand witches, practitioners of necromancy, blood magic, and other unspeakable arts! Before you, stand servants of the Devil. himself!❜<br/><br/>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. <br/><br/>❛They will not be allowed to corrupt the godly ways of our people!❜<br/><br/>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. <br/><br/>❛And thus, these unnatural abominations shall be put to the flames!❜<br/><br/>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.<br/><br/>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.<br/><br/>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—<br/><br/>but none work.<br/><br/>Well, shit. <br/><br/>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. <br/><br/>Who put it on her? <br/><br/>How did these people know that she was a mage?<br/><br/>Why did she not remember being brought here? <br/><br/>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. <br/><br/>❛In the name of all that is Holy, die, you foul creatures!❜<br/><br/>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—<br/><br/>even as the fire of the torch is brought upon her.</span></span></div>