As she slowly approached the spot that had been prescribed by the letter she received from The Blood Lord, Gwynedh glanced up at her raven, named Discord. The letter had been written in a strong hand, and in a defined, flowing script, in Black Speech. The seal, she knew all too well, of Morthalic.
Glancing up again upon hearing the crow of her raven, she muttered something darkly, and the black bird fluttered down, perching his sharp claws into her shoulder, but the Angmarim woman hardly seemed to notice the pain.


