From the wanderer's robe two sheaths peaked out, each one holding a blade, the blades of the unraveler. At his left hung Whispered death, tormentor of the physical body, reaper of the material world. At his right hung Whispered Life, Tormentor of the soul, trapper of life's essence, Ravager of the spirit. For now they where still hidden within their sheaths, yet they already radiated with power and hatred, amplifying that which the feline himself poured into it. Both blades where given to him, together with the title of the unraveler, and once his time ended the blades would seek a new owner... a new creature that was worthy to bear them.
Slowly on the feline's paws crossed, his left reaching for whispered life, his right reaching for whispered death, and soon the closed around the hilts of the blades. As they where drawn out the moon reflected onto their surfaces, casting darkened light from them, driving away that which was pure and good...