Time moves, withering the world as only the unseen forces of existence can do. It is not only the living that notice time, but the dead play a part as well. The wheel weaves paths out for everybody, and in one age where a memory survives, the next sees it fade, with the third age the memory is a distant speck in the Creators eye. The living are the only ones that can put a meaning to time, and the meaning comes from the surroundings that are affected, with this we weep for the passing of loved ones and mourn their absence. Love here can cause a hole in your being that is comparable to the pit of doom, but given time this pit can be sealed, sealed to keep the Dark Lord from escaping into your soul, but sometimes the seals can be broken, no matter how strong you think the material is that makes them. Sometimes, on rare occasions, this pit never gets its seal, sometimes only the most basic of emotions remain in a husk of a shell that can be called human. A shell of flesh and blood which can be bent to a purpose, bent like a horseshoe in a forge, hammered with swift blows until it is pointing in the direction of a desired purpose. Whoever wields the hammer controls the severity of the bend, but too strong a blow can ruin the shape beyond repair.

 

Tobiath wretched as he pulled his fingers from down his throat. The thick mucus that covered those fingers glistened in the moonlight. It was a new moon, full and bright, high in the sky amongst the thousands of stars. The night breeze coming off of the water was fresh and tugged gently at the cloak that was draped around his shoulders but Tobiath felt no need to clutch at it, even though goosebumps were springing up across his body, it was that he did not care about them any more. Years of training meant that only the harshest of conditions made Tobiath take heed of his bodily warnings, and that was still not guaranteed.

 

Wiping his fingers on the wall that he was leaning against he let his stomach empty itself and concentrated on the fire that erupted in his throat during this ritual. The fire spread into his chest and as Tobiath allowed his legs to support all of his weight he slipped the leather gauntlet back on and pushed back the slick black hair that was now plastered to his face. Sweat from the exertion had quickly spread across his body despite the cool breeze. Pulling out a long curved dagger, ornately decorated with red gem stones on its pommel, shaped to look like what would be a ravens Talon with two much smaller blades, more like hand guards, above and below the main blade, Tobiath cut a shallow nick into the back of each wrist and let the blood trickle into his gauntlets. Embracing the fire in his body and the pain on his wrists Tobiath’s blood felt like it began to boil. He turned to face the woman he had sworn his allegiance to, and therefore to the Great Lord of the Dark. “Lets do what we came to do.” His voice did not waver, there was no emotion in it, and there was none on his face, even his eyes showed nothing. It is hard to believe someone can be devoid of feelings, but Tobiath needed to focus his emotions in the hours to come and not flit them away on pointless inevitabilities.

 

M'bela smiled and noded, though her focus went outwards, tying off the weave of spirit, more a cricle of such, it tied togheter the air, making a solid invisble war sorounding the house. There would be no escapes to call for help before they where done. Satisfied that it stood by itself she nodded to her lover, she would follow him in this, but not risk loosing him pointlessly to the past.

 

"You lead hon, this is your night" so much had changed since thier first meeting, the argue who had gone over into sweet music. He was not the first, but one of few in her long life, the backside being she normaly outlived them, even without the added danger of their occupations.

 

The house was nice enough, and would serve well enough as yet a new base, more comfortable then her hut, but in no way as safe she imagined. Installed with loyal servants it would do though. She steped up the stairs after Tobiath, watching as he opened the door, saidar floating in her veins, ready to strike should it be needed.