(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/02/cc/7d/02cc7dd8e0d76469ac60fd12421d4095.jpg)[/floatleft]<hr/><strong>N’ebthe:</strong><br/><strong>Race/Culture:</strong>Nefasi<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Slave piers<br/><strong>Day/Time:</strong>Yaus al-Niwt (Day of Houses), Amt (first month) of Alak Paret (Harvest Season), Mid-Morning<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Zidir, Ilhan<br/><hr/><br/>The removal of his mask was an interesting gesture, one that thoroughly stunned her at first, but settled her with an odd curious respect for him after. Many believed that the true reason these Djaffir wore their masks was to conceal their identity not because of their aversion to malevolent magics but because they intended to relieve you of something valuable... In theft.<br/><br/><i>"It is as he says."</i>She confirmed for both men, not pausing to step forward and reach for the skin he would bare to her. Strangely clean and smooth fingers sought the strong jawline of this strange Djaffir, her nimble touch examining his features in ways her hazed amethyst hues could not.<i>"Such strong convictions."</i>She spoke in a hush,<i>"Why would you bare yourself to something as lowly as a slave and her trader?"</i><br/><br/>Why, indeed. For as fogged over as her eyes were they studied him in great detail, tenderly tracing along the lines, wrinkles and scars he had elected to show her - each a telling scripture of the life he had lived.<br/><br/><br/><br/>