<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>Zidir's establishment<br/><strong>Day/Time:</strong>Yaus al-Ittrou (Day of the River), Amt (first month) of Alak Paret (Harvest Season), Late Twilight<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>N’ebthe, Zidir, Open<br/><hr/><br/>Since yesterday, from then until now, Ilhan cooled down and warmed up over deep cups of coffee and wine. Equal parts sweet and bitter, the aftertaste of his strange, chance meeting with N'ebthe and Zidir lingered for hours long after the coffee went cold. Even with the odd stranger looking to greet the masked newcomer, Ilhan wasn't lively company. His first anchor in Sha'ib and it was off the slave piers, he thought discouragingly. But maybe it was fate, a sign from Upuaut. Ilhan was not likely the chosen savior of the city's enslaved, but there was good he could do while his feet took root in this foreign land.<br/><br/>And he did not hate their company, neither the drunks of Sha'ib nor N'ebthe and Zidir. He quite liked N'ebthe, and Zidir was not distasteful as far as slavers went. Would both hold true tomorrow night? The last thing Ilhan remembered was falling into bed with an empty cup.<br/><br/>His headache had gone by midday, and after touring a few Djaffir merchant houses to introduce himself and map the city with the help of some guides, Ilhan approached Zidir's gates by sundown. With a little hesitation on the part of the doormen he was eventually let through, and escorted through the halls until he arrived, and was announced to Zidir and two women lounging together. Ilhan only allowed himself to approach a few steps shy of the opposite pillow seats, and waited with a curt nod to the pair.<br/><br/>"Hello again, ibn Hajar. N'ebthe. I'm afraid I've kept you waiting for too long."