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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.