I met a boy in an inn once. Let me tell you about him! He was an import from Magincia and he still had the smell of sea salt and coconut milk on him though our moon is arid and doesn't even have an ocean. He came strutting on into that inn like he owned the place. Legs for miles and a look on his face as if we were a pack of caged tigers performing for his amusement. Disgusting! I refuse to be objectified. I'm a strong modern man. I'm an individual. Leave me alone! Stop looking at me! Well, long story short we got to talking and he told me that he was a student of physiological reconstructive magic and I said that perhaps he could reconstruct himself a better pair of balls, he could use some of our famous Umbran dates if he liked, they are plump and syrupy. Then we had a fight. I don't remember much about it but I did win. I don't remember where this story was meant to be going, but if you must know, we went back to my family's manor and made love in the lemon grove and he was not good at it, though he was extremely good looking and his physique was sublime. Some men have abdominals like carved marble and a manhood like a dirty sock. He was a self-centred lover too. Absolute rubbish. Well, that was my first experience with a Magincian and the encounters I've had since then have only confirmed my opinion that they are a disastrous people who deserve to sink into the ocean - I was very excited when the daemons laid waste to their awful humid outcrop of sand and malaria but somehow the daemons didn't manage to kill them all, which in the long run was a grave loss for Sosaria and for me. I'm trying to recall why I started this story and I'm rather struggling to so I shall cap it off with a moral and be done. The moral is: a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.