<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/DcoPfKF.png)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong>Ilhan<br/><strong>Race/Culture:</strong>Djaffir<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>N’ebthe, Zidir, Open<br/><hr/><br/>Ilhan paused, and looked back over his shoulder for a moment. What she said was both fascinating and troubling for two different reasons, and to reconcile them both proved as difficult as walking away from either N'ebthe or his past. He again thought of the Sevim girl, and all the questions that made him hesitate to leave her. And while he did so, the other Djaffir fidgeted uncomfortably, wondering why Ilhan stared at him for so long.<br/><br/>Finally, unable to resist with his curiosity and indignation tearing him apart, Ilhan touched his mask and pulled it off, revealing his face in profile and a few locks of long hair framing it. He turned, set his grey eyes and unprotected face to N'ebthe, then Zidir, and asked, "born into this gift, or slavery?"