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[color=gray][sub][right][color=white][b]Location:[/b][/color] Uhladein, Eastern Marches
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Trantascilia smiled, calmly as her eyes analyzed the entire battlefield from the rooftops as the body of a void before her feet withered into ash. 

It was a tale as old as time, full of omens and horrors; of people teetering on the edge as they gave everything they had to prevent the doom that awaited or to embrace the chaos as long as it lasted. Glorious! Magnificent! A splendor of women who had everything taken from them and given everything to take from the void. Rain was no omen, not to the cyromancer. No, no, no rain was a song, a masterpiece of timbre and tenor, of melody and harmony. To be scared of the pinnacle was foolhardy, even if oblivion awaited them should they perform with the utmost error. The Hunters of the Void were merely dancers waiting to dance, and rain often gave them one of the most suiting songs.

The howl of the void drew closer as a dancer danced their final dance and the blue-haired noble peered in the direction of the void. There were more of them coming in droves while their larger, more frightening members shambled toward the walls. The rain drew heavier. How long had it been raining? It felt like days, months! Not merely hours. Perhaps it could rain forever, so Trantascilia could dance until oblivion. What a sight to behold would that be? She imagined it with glee as her feet clicked against the tiled rooftops as each raindrop fell to earth. The rain underneath her feet turned to ice and she began to skate from rooftop to rooftop, as voidlings that could fly attempted to gnaw at her flesh. They were, as Tranta would call it, too slow and too weak to even contend with such ambitions.   

She laughed, her head ducking underneath claws of black mass. She spun her spear outward and it caught flames of cerulean and azure. The voidflesh melting into ash as the trail of ice scoured the rooftops.

[color=593FFF]“Is that all?”[/color] She taunted, [color=593FFF]“Try harder. Dance with me.”[/color]

As if emboldened by her words, the voidlings seemed to multiply and as more came upon the Prentisian Noble it only seemed to make Tranta move faster and react with more haste. The Song of Storms was in her element and while the pyromancers carried on with fear in their lungs, Tranta, a hunter, a living weapon, could only fight with glee. The pyromancers had asked her to dance in the Song of Storms and she was happy to partake. The void would be defeated and it would be sorrowful for the hunters that lost their lives during their own dance, but to her and most hunters it was a reality of their vocation. She didn’t try to think about when her dance would end, but merely how fun the dance would be.

After all, it would be her dance that was one of many in a great symphony to save the world.

As she landed on a tiled rooftop once more she looked upward and with her free hand moved a strand of hair from her face as a slight “hmph” exited her lips. That’s when she saw it. An aerial voidling four times the size of the others. Perhaps this would be a better dance partner? 

Her lips curled into a manic smile. Doubtful.
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