Desad

"Hill of the Wind”, or “Weathertop” as it was called by Breelanders, was rightly named, but even its howling gusts couldn’t deter her from her task this night. Why she felt that it had to be here, under the careful watch of the full moon, was still unknown to her. It was a gut feeling that she couldn’t explain, nor did she care to think about it too much as her pale-green eyes watched the red drip from the bright silver steel of the ceremonial blade and her newly slashed palm into a melted pool of wax.