"Your clan, yes, yes. I have not worked with the orcs from the north just yet. There has been so much activity in Valak, as you can see there," he nodded to the maps, "that I simply cannot keep up with my home, let alone branch out into other societies. And but of course, I would not have brought you down here if I had anything to hide. Then again, shorthand and tengu are an... odd mix, even if you are a linguist. Which, you know... If you are, I might need some help deciphering some of the notes I made about a month ago. I think I had a bit too much irep and ah... things got a little wonky. Right ah..." He pointed vaguely to a mass of black scrawls, "to the right... right there. Yeah, that's... that's ink on an irreplaceable map. Aha..." Tsillu trailed off.

Tengu were no better off. Oriental in nature, their presence on the mainland meant they were immigrants. Like many immigrant groups, they congregated and formed ghettos and formed their own slums. It had been that way for over two hundred years. Rogues, thieves, and con artists seemed to be the norm from an outsider's perspective. But from the inside, one could watch each of the hundreds of nested families existing while mother or father struck out to make a pittance a day, doing what they could. Tsillu's family had retained their oriental ways, sending their firsthatched back east for training. Best to save one family member rather than doom them all to exist in squalor for their drastically shortened lives.

"But alas. Drunk Tsillu cares not." Tsillu finished, frowning wistfully at the black scrawlings.