Нет, ычану безразлично, богат ты или беден. Вот тебе песенка про властителя ычана:
His smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you
His tongue sharp and silvery, as he implores you
Your wishes he grants, as he swears to adore you
Gold, silver, jewels – he lays riches before you
Dues need be repaid, and he will come for you
All to reclaim, no smile to console you
He’ll snare you in bonds, eyes glowing’, a fire
To gore and torment you, till the stars expire