<div class="floatright">(http://www.vixenrose.com/hosting/files/253/stuff%20for%20rp/wiz.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Na'ima Rabd-Al-Rashida bint Omar ibn Khalid al-Fulan</span>(http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=590302)<br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Gauntlet<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Nys, Mel and Ellen<br/><br/>Na'ima watches the room with a frown on her face, not bothering to turn around to address Nys. "You are continuously insulting me and my heritage by refusing to use my name, you presumed to order me around when we first met. And of course you daring to comment on something as personal as if I am pure or not. So who said we are friends? Now, shall we focus on actually getting out of this hellish place?"<br/><br/>She walks over to the table and runs a hand slowly over the surface, her face filled with sadness. "Why didn't you let me die Father?" She mumbles so very softly so no one will hear her, she didn't expect to have to put all her thorns out so to speak to make sure the elf won't get close to her. She has no desire to be friends, she can't have  that on her already tainted soul.<br/><br/>"Looks like we need to get out up there, somehow. I for one lack any..." she pauses and her nails grate against the table surface "spells... to help us. Unless you got a corpse that needs to rot."