<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/>His gloved hands clenched, and he resisted the urge to reach for his book. Those words were important, and worth remembering before they were worth writing down. Clairvoyance was not so different from poetry, and Ilhan could walk away as if unimpressed by her performance. But the dark slave queen did impress. If she guessed, then that, too, was a talent of its own. Rather than defensively fold his arms he instead hooked a thumb into his belt and retained his strong posture, not so easily intimidated by her refined speech. She was on display proudly, even if unwilling, and Ilhan did not disrespect her by turning away ashamed or in contemplation. His eyes were faintly visible through the slits of his mask, and his lips too from casting his own tall shadow on himself and N'ebthe.<br/><br/><div align="center"><em>"To will forgetting friends is not<br/>The same as having friends forgot; <br/>"I can, but I decline to do" <br/>Is not" I am unable to."</em></div><br/>His diction was clear, his accent high class, as though he was every bit her equal and not to be looked down upon. Chains had nothing to do with that, nor who was buying or selling whom. He looked up at the man behind her, his eyes and lips disappearing into shadow again. "Blessings... upon you," he said, deciding against invoking Upuaut's name before a slaver at a slave auction. "And you," he added, tipping his chin just slightly to let the Nefasi know he spoke to her as well. "I am Ilhan alim-Aricanli," he introduced, raising the other Djaffir's attention slightly from the way his shoulders braced while speaking with the other merchant.