<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/02/cc/7d/02cc7dd8e0d76469ac60fd12421d4095.jpg)</div><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/>Perhaps she was a pain of an investment but she stood by her own code even under threat or death or punishment. She had long ago proved to be an unyielding consort, so much so that she was rigid in her practices even now.  She refused to touch the floor with these hands of hers – they were just as every bit as clean and pure as many of her instruments had to be. Certain rituals required her to retain a degree of cleanliness in order to be successful and even if she had been captured and labeled a slave that did not mean she would release herself of the most important label she had ever<i>earned</i>. Her efforts had thus far rewarded her with both ire and reverence – much to the dismay of her previous handlers.<br/><br/>For some she’d become a beacon of hope while others looked upon her with jealousy and malice. They simply could not believe that some Nefasi barbarian would be allowed such freedom! Though while she would not clean as other slaves would she had tended too many of their wounds – spiritually and physically. At least Zidir could say his own stock had never been healthier; even if that meant her requesting a variety of plant life from him in the process. It hadn’t come without its price though because never before had she offered her services to one of her ‘owners’, but this man had not yet even attempted to lay a hand nor crop upon her and so she gifted him and those under his care for his absent cruelty thus far.<br/><br/>The gentle tap of meticulous fingers drew the woman into its guidance and allowed Zidir to turn her as he pleased. She did not shy her gaze from his prospect like any other slave would but locked lavender hues with the eyes of this mask. She said nothing, at least giving this much respect, but was not at all unhappy to see the Djaffir go. Hazy amethysts followed her would be buyer’s retreat with a sharp stare that seemed to bore into his spine.<i>”I doubt any man or woman would pay such riches for a slave they plan to destroy.”</i>The woman gifted Zidir a coy smile. Slave and stubborn she may be but weak minded? She certainly was not.<br/><br/><i>”I will not taint my spirit just to make your shoulders less heavy, Zidir. Not when you bare such weight by your own practices.”</i>And just as coolly as she ever was she dismissed the man holding the thread to her life like he merely held it by his fingertips. Even dressed in whatever wears this man gifted her with she wore it like a Queen. There was no shame in her stance, no humiliation in her present company or her status in life. She was simply there and while places may change, her spirit would not so easily.<br/><br/>Suddenly another man stood before her, his stance unyielding with confidence just as she was but there was one great difference.<i>”Your spirit lags behind you – you who keeps trudging forward – you who ignores what it tells you. It yearns for something you have left behind, something that leaves you split within. You must make up your mind or you will never feel whole…”</i>She muttered to him and while her eyes were aimed at him the fog of her near-blindness made it seem she was looking past him instead.<br/><br/>With that said and his question answered the woman inclined a somewhat unruly brow.<i>”You. I see <b>you</b>.”</i><br/>