Oh, you’re worried they’re going to put me away before the revolt comes? Why – because I’m some dirty, stupid, cheating, Wathia cow-fucker who can’t hold his money or his liquor? I may have been out in the sun too long, but you, my friend, you don’t know the half of it.
Yes, I am a cheat. I play cards against the Shirakhi guards every night. They leave thinking that one of them won everything and blew it all before morning. When I sell cattle, I count them out change and they end up owing me more.
Am I a thief? I steal cattle from one woman’s pens at night, chisel the leg-irons off, and sell them to her cousin just to see them fight. Then I paint the iron and sell it, too. If you’re Wathia and you want to buy an iron ward that looks like clay, I’m the only man for seventy miles. I’m not just a thief, I’m a fucking rich thief.
Am I stupid? Please. Who comes away with the money here. I don’t even keep the silver. You can owe me. Except for Shirakhi. They can pay cash. The revolt has been happening this whole time.
I saw how my grandparents were when I grew up. They said life had beaten them down. Life, nothing. The Shirakhi beat them down. What I do, I do for their ghosts, so they can have what they earned.
The night the star fell, I learned… so much. So many ways to make the Shirakhi pay. Things I never would even have thought of before. You want me to join you before they catch me? I tell you I cannot. Fucking. Wait.
The Shirahki can go ahead and tell me that I’m uneducated, I’m untrustworthy, I’m violent. They made me this way. Let them cross the damned street when they see me.
I’m coming for them. I’m going to be the devil they tell their children about.
Tamosh’s face is very expressive, showing those emotions he chooses to portray. Thin brown eyes constantly scrutinize the world. His neck is thin, and a bead necklace conceals a scar from when a soldier strangled him nearly to death as a young man. His black hair curls tight to his head. His skin is a dark brown with reddish undertones, commonplace in this region.
He dresses in layers, partially because he is usually outside in the cold nights, but also to hide the things he steals. His clothing is usually bright reds, blues, and purples. He typically has several necklaces, including some with copper-plated iron charms.
Tamosh puts on an act around the Shirakhi. He’s the foolish herdsman, or the lost drunkard, or the trader who just loves those Shirakhi buyers. His first priority is to be forgettable. The Shirakhi usually do forget him. In those moments, he’s just another stereotype to them. Respectful; troublesome, but not worth bothering with.
When he’s most truly relaxed is when he lets people see his innate suspicion: eyeing everyone around him, speaking freely, showing the disrespect he carries inside. Those who see the transition may get a bit of whiplash as he goes from happy, friendly, and joking to serious and angry.
In his dealings with spirits, Tamosh is still a bit new. He recognizes that he can’t just pull one over on a weather lord or the queen of the grains, so he tries to show true respect there. However, he’s still running the game. He’s likely to write checks he can’t cash.
Intimacies: Fuck the Shirakhi (defining), Separate fools from their money (major), Don’t let assholes get to you (major), They’re all assholes.
Tamosh is a smooth-talking, handsome devil who lies as easily as he walks. He’s run every sort of scam there is and is looking forward to inventing a few more. He’s not a Night caste, though – he’s Twilight. He’s a quick-thinking jack of all trades, having picked up a little bit of twenty different trades in his time.
With Larceny as his supernal ability, Tamosh is a nightmare for the Shirakhi security forces. No one thinks he’s suspicious. Locks and doors can still give him trouble, but not people. Evidence simply disappears around him. Not only can he steal things that he can’t even touch, his victims forget they ever owned what he steals. Above all else, he is a criminal mastermind. Memories from previous lives point out where his plans might fail, and suggest alternatives he never considered.
Unexpectedly, Tamosh also became a shaman on the night of the meteor. The language of the Old Realm sprang into his head unbidden. He can see spirits, talk to them, call them to manifest, make bargains with them, and even strike them. He doesn’t know where this came from, and he doesn’t trust it, but he’ll still use it. For him, spirits are just another means to the end of the Shirakhi.
Tamosh fights bare-handed. He strikes first, but most often seeks to disarm his opponent. The instant embarrassment of drawing one’s sword and having it taken away has ended many a fight in his favor.
- Selejer, a fellow grifter in Shirakh. Envious, unsympathetic, odd.
- Hevath the younger, the Shirakhi blacksmith who handles the iron for him. Optimistic, verbose, pious.
- Six Sides to Suffering, a spirit of salt that is bound to his anima. Foul-mouthed, focused, pained.
- Shaladeth, a Shirakhi captain trying to chase him down. Adaptable, professional, fussy.
- Where does Tamosh draw the line? Who would he hesitate to hurt in his quest for revenge?
- What sorts of deals does Tamosh offer the spirits he talks to?