Recent content by Taima

"I don't have a home right now." She said, leaning on him heavily as they neared the portal that kept flashing and bursting, sending folk all over the continent. She couldn't imagine going back to Solomon. But then again, maybe she should. Explain that she wasn't fit for the stone anymore...

By the stone's mother hearth. His grip was strong. "You concern me," she commented blandly even as other jostled by them. She could see the glow of the portal stone ahead. She was glad to see other slaves knew how to use it. Had a place to go back to. Or perhaps they were just that...

She felt the earth gnawing at her stone. Its energy wanting to twist and tug her life-force down to its core. How beautiful it would be to sleep beneath the earth. To be reunited with the one she'd lost those years ago. Cerak At'Thul's slavers square crumbled further - swallowing any slavers...

Taima felt with each pull from the rock. Each channel of earth magic, her energy began to wane. Normally, this amount of magic wouldn't have touched her reserves but because she was already acting nearly on empty she felt that raw drain. She didn't know if that was more alarming on the grin...

The rocky ground beneath their very feet began to shake. Then buck and rumble as a crack began opening between the slaver's feet who had pummeled Musah. Taima was going to wait a little longer until she got her strength back. But enough was enough. The slavers and others crowded into the...

That smile reminded her of him. The dull ache in her chest grew to a sudden, sharp pain. A quick inhale through her nose as her eyes squeezed closed before re-opening. A mouth that rarely held a smile these days lightened at his words. "I'm right where I want to be," she murmured. Fingers...

Warm chestnut eyes flickered to the young man who had just mouthed words between globs of spit and blood. Jaw clenched as her feet hit the wet, slippery docks. Something ancient and deep tugged at her senses. Whispers. use me usemeusemeusemeuseme Taima dug a shallow grave for that voice...

Cerak At'Thul Irons chaffed against the warm skin of her wrists. She shuffled forward within the lines of the other prisoners. The other slaves. Her head was ducked low. Dark hair was greasy and unwashed, clung to the curves of her jaw. Ragged clothing hung to her form. It was a long...

Taima still wore the black sash of mourning over her simple tunic and set of trousers. Work belt over her waist with various small carpenter tools. Tools for pottery. Gardening tools. Various odds and ends. She, like Mordred, had taken a bath, so she was clean. But she had never been one...

The corner of her mouth twitched upward at the exuberance she caught within Noi's hand-gestures. Taima knew she was holding back for her sake. 'Yes," she signed back and passed a small, wrapped parcel to the other girl. It would be some of the freshest and ripest blueberries Noi ever tasted...

Sunkissed and warmed skin. A faint whiff of straw, wheat, mint, and rosemary wafted from her very being. Plain and simple clothes of a traveler. Well-worn and mud-splashed boots, a dark-green tunic with sleeves rolled just past her elbows, and a set of dark-brown trousers adorned with belts...