The world was an intricate tapestry of pure artistry, beyond the scope of mortal imagination or comprehension. Each soul needed to be carefully nurtured and incubated before being reborn to the world. Each one required generations of planning to ensure they would grow into their destinies at the proper time. It took years for a child to grow to adult hood, years to learn life's lessons and to discover what makes a mortal's heart beat strong in the face of adversity.
The gods were artists and the world their canvas, but like all artists, not all of the their tapestries can become master pieces. Tampering with the weave of creation and the rebirth of souls wasn't an exact science. Free will reigned supreme in the realm of the mortals. Miscalculations were prevalent all across history. Carefully laid threads could become severed, heroes could fall before their time, others still could fall from grace and turn to darker paths. Such was the way of the world and such was the story of Taima.
A fallen hero from generations past, Taima was to be reborn to the Shedinn brotherhood in the lands of Caldonia. The elders of their order had already foreseen the rebirth of the legendary draconian. They would shelter and rear the child, see that it grew into all that would be needed. With the strings of destiny carefully lain, Taima was drawn from the ether of souls.
However as carefully lain plans so rarely do, things were not to go as intended. Where before only peace and serenity had existed, darkness was now introduced to the mixture. Like a wildfire burning through the threads of destiny, Taima's soul was enveloped in a shadow of chaos. There was no fear or questioning in her, for such thoughts were beyond the capacity of a soul; there was only a vague sense of awareness before that too was gone.
The loud cries of a woman filled the bed chamber as did the deafening thunderclap that split the sky outside. The pounding of rain upon the roof dulled the distant sounds of battle, but they were drawing closer with each hour. Biri had been in labor since before the siege had begun, and she seemed no closer to delivery for the effort. Two midwives tended to her, but there was a weight of unease in the air. With a loud bang the door to the chamber burst open and a tall draconian stormed in. Rhomash was a dominating figure with the distinguished features of his highborn lines prevalent in the highly developed bony ridges along his brows and spinal ridge, as well as the scaly wings that he sported from his back. His scale mail armor, once polished to a glistening sheen was dulled by mud and spatters of darker fluids. Though he was getting along in his years, Rhomash was a blacksmith by trade and his work had kept his form muscled and toned for battle.Thava, the elder of the midwives lay a reassuring hand on Biri's shoulder before she approached to speak to Rhomash.“How is she?” Rhomash asked.“She's weak, if we move her she could lose the baby.”“If we don't, we will lose them both.” Rhomash stepped past Thava to approach his wife. Standing by her bedside he took Biri's hand in his own, worry lining his eyes. They had made their home here in the Terran village of Darsia nearly five years ago, and though the villagers were initially wary of the draconians Rhomash had quickly won over the apprehensive locals. With his strong work ethic and talent for keeping the village free of bandits, he and Biri had made a place for themselves among the peaceful villagers. “Biri, the village is lost, we must go,” Rhomash told her.“But the baby?” Biri asked. Her voice shook with the fear of losing the child.“There is no time, the strakken will overrun the village soon. We need to get to the caves. Sora and Thava will take you. I will stay behind to help man the barricades. Once the village is evacuated I will join you and the others.”A powerful contraction drew a loud cry from Biri as she gripped Rhomash's hand in her own. “Promise me you will return,” she gasped.“You have my word, now go quickly.”With the midwives to help her to her feet, Biri was led from the room.“Taima.”“Taima? It is a good strong name,” Rhomash said approvingly. “Should fortune smile upon her, her great-great grandmother will watch over her - if she doesn't already. If not for this weather, we would never have lost the strakken.”Born in the heat of a tempest storm, it seemed only fitting that the child would be named after its great-great grandmother. It is said that her namesake could wield the power of the storm, the symbol of Ahuma, patron father of the draconians.Taking the child in his arms, Rhomash lifted her up to get a good look at her. Though newborn, the child had an inquisitive sense of awareness to her and she blinked back at Rhomash without fear. “You have the blood of legends in you, Taima. If your name is of any bearing, great things lie ahead for you. Great things.” There was a strength and pride in Rhomash's words, but also the warmth of a father. “Don't let your father's dreams of grandeur go to your head,” Biri warned lightly as Rhomash returned the infant to her arms. “Glory can wait. For now you are just Taima, my dear Taima.” Pressing the infant to her chest, Biri held the child tightly in her arms and silently thanked the spirits of her ancestors for the gift of her firstborn daughter.