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The twin moons witnessed a bitter cold storm in High Rock that night. The blizzard howled outside the castle's gates, as though it were a lonely beast begging for the warm lodgings within. All those who still had their wits about them were indoors, feasting, the glow of hearth washing over them. The sound of their merriment was heard by the gale, which beat against the heavy ironwood door with renewed fervor and rattled at the window panes, whining loudly. Yet, atop the lofty walls, huddled against a crenelation for warmth, hunched a lonely sentry.