The streets of Setal were alight with good spirits and oil lamps. Drink flowed from pitchers, smiles split every face in sight, and no foot stood still. Tonight was the festival of Aadhar's Sacrifice. In the coming month, the child that had been chosen nearly 20 years ago would make their pilgrimage to spill their blood on Broken Peak.<br/><br/>Luljeta stood still in her lavish rooms. Carpets lined the marble floors, tapestries hung from every wall. Nothing was without gold, or silver guild. It was almost too much. The eye had nowhere to focus, except a large, four poster bed and an enormous window leading out to a balcony. The balcony was decorated with beautiful flowers, a canopy of them kept most of it in shade and the balcony cool, but night had fallen. Oil lamps littered the balcony railing and hung from the canopy on long hooks. It was almost magical.<br/><br/>"I'm almost finished, Jeta." An older woman was draping clothing over the young lady. She only wore the finest silks. Tonight, they were a festive blue, dark, almost black, with silver, pink and orange. Her hair, the color of raven's feathers fell loose. Her hair would remain so, until she died. To signify that this world had no hold over her. Finally, a thin viel was placed just below her dark, almond shaped eyes. Her body was not her own. It belonged to Aaddhar.<br/><br/>A brightly colored Sadan chair, carried by bare chested, oiled men, drifted through the celebrating crowd. People parted to make room before coming back together after the men passed. A trail of flowers petals and palm trees was laid before the chair as it made its way to the banquet hall. Another chair, opposite in almost every way, came from the other direction. Both groups of men set down their chairs and their passengers exited. Luljeta looked to her guide, a respectful bend of the neck was the only indication she had seen him.<br/><br/>The banquet hall was lined with all manor of food. Linens hung from rafters and swayed in the dining light's cool breeze. Only the most important were allowed inside. Most were perusing the tables of food, and chatting of their excitement for the next 20 years. As Luljeta was hoisted onto a platform, the morning crowd quieted for the officiator's ceremonial chanting. A ceremonial bowl of water, said to come from Aaddhar, himself, was brought out, where the man chanted while washing Luljeta's hands.<br/><br/>A table for two, overlooking the crowd and draped in white linen, sat to the side of the platform. Luljeta was lead to a seat, which she took, as the officiator spoke a set of different chants over her guide. She didn't happen to catch him name. Of course, there was a chance it wasn't given. History never seemed to remember the guides. He was young. Not much older than herself. She wondered why he was taking his life. Glory? Money? Perhaps he wanted to be a part of something bigger? Luljeta quit her wondering. As long as the man was capable, she cared not for his intentions.