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Message: <blockquote data-quote="MacConnell" data-source="post: 9753453" data-attributes="member: 6855223">Elsewhere…Magister Karef Gyenin sat in his favorite wicker chair under the fabric pergola, on the flat roof of his official building in the Artisan District. As he lounged and sipped some tea, he was fanned by two scantily clad servants on each side of him. The servant on the Magister’s left was a Centrin boy, on the right was an Ansylin girl. The Centrin boy was kept away from the Burning Sun as much as possible. His skin was almost as pale as milk. The Ansylin girl had a perfectly smooth complexion but she was as dark as a night without the silver moon. The Magister was waiting on a scheduled meeting, a meeting that he hated to take but was necessary, for the Magister wanted someone to be killed.A thin, elderly, Ansylin man soon topped the stairs to the roof and bowed a formal greeting toward the Magister, before proceeding further. If he ever chose to cut off his earlobes, he would quite readily pass for a Sioliri. Ansylins and Sioliri were often confused when an individual in question was still a child. The man moved, with a slight limp, to a distance that would be comfortable for speaking but not all that close. “Dobrogo vam dnya, milord.”It grated on the Magister that the man spoke Sioliri, but he was not surprised. He and the others of his species, who had integrated with the Aedamans, were secretive about their own language. Everyone in the region commonly spoke, Ansylin, though very few could read, much less write, since they were not taught.</blockquote>

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