![appearance](http://i46.photobucket.com/albums/f113/son_one/Mobile%20Uploads/image-18.jpg "enter image title here")


**Name:** Thoman 

**Age:**  35

**Guild Band:** None currently, but Serpentines sounds a likely fit.

**Archtype:**  Reluctant Assassin

**Backstor**y: 

The boat rocked softly with each thrust of the ferryman's pole; the day was a beautiful one -- for the swamps, at least -- with the worst of midsummer's heat now past, and a cool wind from the east serving to ease the usually dismal humidity.  Thoman found himself lost deep in thought, one hand left to trail idly through the fetid waters, the other absently scratching at Anita's scalp.  She was already fast asleep, lulled to slumber by the gentle sway of the boat.  Sheera had curled herself up neatly in a pile at the bow, scales now an iridescent green as she basked in the sun's warmth.


But my own mind was far, far afield.  To events of the past.  To events of the night before.  The leering faces of my accusers.  The calls of 'Blood!, Blood!, death to the Kinslayer!"; at times, even now, I fancied I looked down at my hands and found them covered in blood as they were that fateful night.  Anita gave a soft sight and rolled over, sleeping still.  I saw the fires, and the ceremonial harpoon and gutting knife... I gave an involuntary shudder.  It was good fortune only, and nothing else, that had spared me such a fate -- if spared it could be called -- and thrust upon me a life such as this; a dozen times already I wondered if I might have been better off to face the knife than whatever might lay ahead.  I wondered how many times I might think the same.


The brightness of the day seemed to fade about me as a dark pall swept over my thoughts; I blinked and...


She screamed again, a look of horror frozen on her eyes that might have mirrored my own; blood seeped from wounds my fingers failed to cover, thick ribbons of red running through my hands as I tried helplessly to stop the bleeding.  It was too late, I knew.  She struggled to speak, and as I leaned closer to hear I could make out only the breathy syllables of dying words -- then she smiled, one long sigh following as her last breath escaped.  I only swore, clenched my fists before dropping my forehead against her unmoving breast.  It was finished.  Yet still I could hear the soft madness in the laughter just at the edge of consciousness; as scales sliding across slick stone, and the slithering tongue of some serpentine creature.  


I started from my dismal reveries, noted that Sheera was staring directly at me; she did not speak, her tongue only flicking slowly in and out as her eyes strayed in my direction.  I had no doubt she knew the better part of what I was thinking: perhaps the better part of what I refused to tell even myself.  I glared defiantly back until, with a final flick of her tongue, she went back to her basking.


I cursed the ill gotten spirit for the umpteenth time that day alone (cursed her as many times as I blessed her for having saved my life on so many occasions I could scarcely count... not, truly, that her actions could be considered in any way altruistic -- not with our lives so inexorably bound together, and the death of one surely to follow that of the other.)


A life of the Shaman's warnings, and boyhood stubbornness doing its best to faithfully ignore all such warnings... I often wondered if they would have taught me anything at all, had I not been such an adept student as a child.  Too much so for my own good.


And here it was I found myself, taking the ferry from the swamplands for the last time in my life, never to see home -- such as it was -- again.  The ferryman, at least, did not much seem to care one way or another why I was leaving: his face was a stoically unmoving as ever, and he spoke not a word from the moment I boarded to the moment I touched foot again on dry ground.


But that was all some ten long years in the past, and ever since it has been an endless battle to survive: in the absence of friends and companions, death has become my closest advisor.  In the absence of a home, the road has become my sanctuary.  Still, there is always talk of friendlier lands further out, of places where I might be seen less with disdain and more as a useful asset.  Perhaps there is time yet, in a life still young, to leave the past forever behind... no matter what memories I might still carry with me.


**Skills and Abilities:** Having been trained by the shamanic warriors of the swamplands (his homeland) Thoman was already rather adept in the art of poisoning, blade fighting and the use of a blowgun.  The obtaining of the Spirit Sheera while still at a rather youthful stage in his life has imparted an unfathomable deadliness to his capabilities; still, his is a skillset that thrives best when allowed to strike first, and while more than capable of holding his own in a toe-to-toe melee situation, he would much prefer to strike when the odds favour a quick victory, then to slip again into the shadows before a proper counterattack can be mounted.


Along with an array of combat oriented skills comes the wisdom of the indigenous swamp peoples -- both an innate ability to couple with and communicate to spirits (though there remain only two that Thoman has ever made a pact with.), and the practical knowledge of a life often spent in the harsh and wild hinterlands where most city dwellers would quickly meet their death.


**Equipment:**

Well traveled for many years in more civilised realms, Thoman has gradually modernized and improved upon the otherwise somewhat technologically deficient equipment of his homeland.  He most prefers to strike from a distance with a specially modified take on the blowgun -- now steam powered, and yet just as silently deadly as ever (in the right hands, anyway); set up a bit like a revolver, the gun allows him to keep various poisons separated and available at need, depending upon the task.


His knives -- of which he carries several -- have been fashioned with a hollow core running through the centre of the blade, allowing toxins to be applied through an ampoule inserted into the handle.


Other equipment would include the usual oddments to be found in an assassin's arsenal: grappling hooks and light climbing implements, lock picks and basic small tools for modifying/sabotaging machinery, an array of poisons to suit any occasion, etc. 


**Spirits:** Sheera and Anita.


![enter image description here](http://i46.photobucket.com/albums/f113/son_one/Mobile%20Uploads/image-19.jpg "enter image title here")

Despite being a humanoid spirit -- or at least of the humanoid class of spirit -- Sheera most often chooses to appear as a venomous snake; either green or black, though the colours might change dependent on her mood.  When in the guise of a human, she generally takes a form of otherworldly beauty; beguiling in the extreme, her tongue is perhaps the most deadly part of her arsenal: remarkable considering her exceptional talents in the art of death.


Thoman found himself bound to Sheera at a rather young age when -- as a hotheaded acolyte amongst the Wetland Warrior Shamans, he found himself beguiled by her stare... and she, for her part, found herself intrigued by how valiant a fight he put up before finally winding up at her mercy.  It was in this fateful moment of pause that Anita burst suddenly onto the scene and -- showing a hint of a power that she has never displayed since -- managed to reflect the Serpent Woman's binding spell back on herself; the result was that the young Shaman and Spirit found their lives at once bound by a permanence beyond any normal pact... but at a price -- a price the spirit never named, as she never had a chance.


Thus, in a kind of revenge, she sees it her due to at times make Thoman's life unbearably miserable (while at the same time keeping him alive, of course!).  And while these attempts on her part are largely harmless, Thoman has come to learn that if he makes the mistake of becoming to close to anyone they meet some kind of untimely end.  Often by his own hands -- just such an incident that precipitated his exile from the swamplands, when a former tutor of his managed to intercede on his behalf, pointing out that it was the unfortunate influence of the serpent that caused him to murder, and thus in a way no true fault of his own.


**Abilities:**

**Serpent's strike:**  Permits Thoman to move with unparalleled speed and agility, at times even allowing his body to bend and contort in a manner more akin to a serpent than a human.


**Death's Embrace:**  Grants Thoman a natural affinity for poisons and toxins of all kinds; gives him near immunity to many (but of course not all!) normally deadly venoms; at times she may even permit him to milk her own fangs for an especially potent brew.


**Sheltering Scales:** Provides momentary protection from light wounding -- low caliber firearms, swords and knives, etc.


**Bewitching Smile:**  On the occasion she should choose human form, Sheera's features, grace and beguiling smile are all but impossible for even the most stout hearted men (and occasionally women...) to ensure.  On the other hand, when in human form Thoman's abilities are greatly reduced, and so Sheera can only remain humanoid for so long as there is no pressing danger to her partner.


Each of these abilities exacts both a toll on Thoman mentally and physically, as well as increasing Sheera's hunger for human flesh: left neglected for too long, she may well force Thoman to kill on her behalf.. Or simply kill in her own right, though she prefers the manipulation of others to carry out her dirty deeds.


![enter image description here](http://i46.photobucket.com/albums/f113/son_one/Mobile%20Uploads/image-20.jpg "enter image title here")


As for Anita, Thoman has only ever seen her as a rather mundane Mongoose -- only that her colour, too, at times shifts.  And though the enmity between she and Sheera is plain to see, Thoman has learned nothing due to the curse the Serpent placed on her in the last moment before her will was bound to that of his.  Since her appearance, the Mongoose has never left Thoman for long -- and even then she does not go far; as best as he can guess, something in the binding between he and Sheera caused the Mongoose to be drawn into the pact as well.  Either that, or she simply follows him to ensure his safety.  (Though, on occasion she shows spurts of unexpected intelligence, and despite being unable to communicate, has proven rather useful at retrieving small and difficult to reach objects undetected, much to Sheera's chagrin -- her own pact does not allow her to leave sight of Thoman for long.)


Anita imparts no abilities or benefits to Thoman, aside from a warm body to scratch when the mood strikes him.

It has been some fifteen long years since the aforementioned incident, and in that time Sheera and Thoman have learned to work flawlessly around one another; the former lends a speed and uncanny instinct, in addition to limited moments of protection that might otherwise kill normal humans (a protection she generally chooses not to extend if it would not kill Thoman, but rather only cause him pain.)


And, of course, there are many useful things an Assassin can accomplish with the aid of a silver-tongued serpent in the guise of a beautiful woman.