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[color=gray][sub][right][color=white][b]Location:[/b][/color] Uhladein, Eastern Marches
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The large silhouette was dwarfed by the shadow of the void, and yet it stood firm as the latter reared its ugly head. The rain was a blessing for the hunter, mixing among the sweat that beaded down her face and soaked the clothes she wore--a cool relief against the flames licking at her body from within the Forge. The Forge was covered in the void's cursed black blood, its heftiness making for one hell of a weapon. At least until now, Lexann realized as she stared grimly up at the void before her. 

Grim, but cool, as she exhaled and rolled her left shoulder, it aching from carrying most of the Forge's weight. The fingers on her opposite hand flexed and closed as she drew in another breath, the woman otherwise silent. Lexann's jaw tightened as she braced against the pain and plunged her arm into the flames of the shield. Not a noise she made, but it was a wonder her teeth didn't crack against each other as the smell of seared flesh filled her nose. The fire chewed on her flesh, blinding her senses--she could never discern exactly what happened within the Forge. She could only wait until she felt something solid pressing against her flesh and bone as her nerves lost their sense for anything but pain in the fire.

Finally, she yelled as she withdrew her toasted arm-- gripped in what was left of her hand was the color red. Red, bloody flames that survived against the rain that fell, fueled by the blood sacrificed. The fire flared dramatically, bright against the storm before dulling slightly and taking on its final form: a farmer's tool.

Stunned out of the pain, Lexann stared at the sickle in her hand. She gave it a twirl, testing its weight. It danced deftly about her fingers even as they healed against the damage the Forge had inflicted. It was small and awkwardly shaped for the job ahead, but it would have to do. Lexann planted her shield into the ground where she stood and stepped forward to meet the Void as its appendages lunged at her. 

Behind her, her hair danced liked ribbons--almost graceful for her size--and she slashed the little sickle up and down, left to right against the void. Not a movement was unnecessary, too wide, or slow. Each twitch of her muscles was deliberate and controlled, perfected by her years as a warrior. The strange weapon moved like a short extension of her arm, and each attack was fast and strong. The burning blade turned the rain to steam and the void to ash-- the confrontation over in moments. 

Lexann's head tilted up toward the wall, green eyes squinting against flashes of lightning that illuminated the work still cut out for her and the other hunters. She did not smile, and she did not release the blood and flames in her palm.