Tach started out as a scryptkiddie, pulling packaged cants off the flood for pranks and petty larceny. Before long he was tinkering with his own dead linguistics; vintage parchment isn’t cheap, so he took jobs off a slist of indeterminate legality. That was where he met Ashlock.
Their shared spark wasn’t attraction: it was ambition. Two days later they’d burned their employer for fifty bills and walked away to scrounge copper for a hacking den.
Tach has no regrets, because dealing with the unspeakable screws with your memory. Considering the circumstances, he’s wondering if it gives you a death wish too.