He liked that Urudal agreed with him, against expectation, that all people were the same.  Or at least they should’ve been considered so.  Society in all places had a way of elevating some into a different value, a different worth on their lives due to wealth or fame or some arbitrary skill good for entertainment.<br/><br/>“Badaakt…?”  The word was hard to say, and he probably got it wrong.  It was a shame to him, because he was supposed to be good at mimicry.  As a spy for the Streduk, he’d had to learn a couple of languages fluently and eradicate his accent or risk being caught and executed while away on missions.  Most everyone spoke a common tongue, though, and his need to come across as a native of a specific world had diminished.  Now he was able to choose.  Playing an exotic dancer from one planet, or a young investor from another…  So long as he had something someone else wanted, that’s all he usually needed to get himself in.<br/><br/>Urudal distracted him from that by the way he puffed himself up in demonstration.  Ilion laughed at the display, drifting a little bit closer.  “Your language is interesting.  Kind of rough, but… powerful.  Powerful is good.  I wouldn’t mind learning it.”