Nanobu

Nanobu remembered the scent of palace gardens after a sun-shower, the day they were given their first bamboo stalk to carve. It was a simple gift, meant to foster a harmless hobby. They carried that memory with them as they traveled the grand roads of The Teikodian Empire, a wrinkled, thoughtful explorer with a ridiculous fish bait hat that made guards laugh and wave them through checkpoints. They listened to stories in taverns, admired local crafts, and paid for their lodging with intricately carved flutes. What no one saw was the second set of carvings, the ones made late at night: maps of troop movements, transcripts of whispered dissent. They share the trick of Sakkaku, a master of misdirection. The flutes were never for sale, and they never played a single note.