True Name:
Sigmund Iakovou

A Stage Name
Pholcus, the Spider King

An Image:


The Date One Joined the Circus:
March 18th, 1937

An Act One Performs when not on the combat team:
In the face of feats such as pyrokinesis and future-sight, Sigmund’s power tends to stand out due to its sheer oddity: the control and command over spiders. As a direct result, his act, when pressed into it, largely consists of coaxing the creatures into performing like trained staged animals.
Sigmund’s compulsion is the inability to tell a lie- even a kind or reassuring one. This leads him to be somewhat vague in his conversations with others, or, in some cases, incredibly blunt.

Why One Joined the Circus:
Sigmund joined the circus in a last, desperate attempt to save his life. His work had lead him to become infected with polio, and as his muscles withered away, he feared the same terrible death that had taken many of his patients. When the ringmaster found him, he accepted the contract without hesitation- practically begging for it to be completed as soon as possible.

A Biography
Sigmund Iakavou was born in an era of chaos and growth for the common man. His family was not particularly wealthy, although his father and older brothers working away in the factories allowed them to stay above the threat of starvation. He and his family had a rather strained relationship- largely based on the fact that he had been born with albinism- and, instead of joining them in the factories, Sigmund chose to pursue education in hopes of becoming a doctor. He excelled in his studies, and soon came to work as the assistant to a notable surgeon within his city. What pay he garnered from the work was very little- the War and the Great Depression that followed had taken a severe toll- but he found his calling in attending to the poorly.

Unfortunately, having worked so closely with the ill, he soon found himself joining them. Polio was at an all time high, and, as the months ticked by, Sigmund was further swallowed by the disease. His legs lacked the muscle that let them move, and he spent most of his time in bed, unable to do much else. Death was on his mind more often than not in those days, and he feared the terrible decline so many of his patients had fallen to.

And then the Ringmaster came calling.

In a haze of fear and fever, Sigmund cast aside his concerns for his mortal soul, and signed himself into the service of of Mr. Magnus. Many years have passed since then, and today the young doctor is often found toiling away over his most extraordinary patients yet, or preparing an assortment of poisons derived from his new, eight-legged companions.

A Connection
Despite having contracted to join a demon-hunting circus, Sigmund holds little interest in performing. Instead, he chooses to serve as a sort of medic for his fellow carnies- stitching up wounds, prescribing medication, and treating the sort of afflictions that would be hard to explain at a regular hospital. The corners of his tent are packed with spiders lounging in their webs, and the man himself is rather brisk, but he’s very good at what he does regardless.

The Audition
“Wolf spiders. If you’re a an arachnologist, you probably know it by another name- lycosidae- but I’ve always felt that saying ‘wolf’ and ‘spider’ in the same sentence tends to catch the ear much better.”

The man strolled in idle, absent circles around the tent as he spoke, barely made audible by the microphone in his hand. Compared to some of the other performers, he was almost remarkable in how unremarkable he appeared. Instead of a merrily-colored costume, he wore a simple pair of slacks and button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Instead of getting right to the thick of it, or even trying to garner some kind of reaction from the crowd, he practically droned into his mic- more akin to a decrepit trig professor than a carnie. The only thing that particularly stood out about him was his look- paper white hair, red eyes. An albino.

“They aren’t necessarily deadly, unless you happen to be allergic to its venom. It won’t be pleasant, but it won’t kill you. Still.” His eyes roved over the crowd, not landing on anyone in particular. “If someone was bitten by ten, twenty, the results wouldn’t be something pretty.” He shrugged, brushing some of his hair out of his face before gesturing over to the side of the tent. “Bring them in.”

Another performer walked into view, wheeling a dark brown box into the center of the stage.

It took a few minutes before most of the crowd realized that the box was transparent.

The contents twitched and writhed.

“I didn’t get a chance to count them all,” Pholcus said, ignoring the gasps and whispers that buzzed around him. “If I had to guess, there’s at least thirty in there. I didn’t want to crowd them too much.” He placed a hand upon the crate’s lid, then glanced up.

“If you have arachnophobia, then I really don’t know why you’re still here.”

With that, he flipped the lid open, and placed both hands upon the fur-covered mass within. It took only a matter of moments before his arms were swarmed, the spiders charging up his chest and shoulders in a frenzy. A spot of brown had begun to crawl lazily across his cheek as Pholcus lifted the mic again, completely unfazed.

“Well, would you look at that? They aren’t biting me after all.” He paused, carefully plucking a particularly curious spider from his bottom lip and bringing it to the safety of his shoulder. “That’s probably a surprise.” Pholcus let out a whistle, and the spiders travelled back to his arms as he walked, approaching some of the braver-looking fellows that made up the audience. “If you’d like, you can pet them. Just be gentle- if anyone is going to be killed in this tent, it would be them.” It was only when a few, hesitant hands reached out that the man smiled- a crooked, somewhat awkward grin- for the first time since the performance had begun. He murmured words of encouragement as an older woman pat one of the larger of the spiders, even going so far as to let her hold it for a minute before moving on.

After a few laps around the tent, Pholcus returned to the box, thrusting his hand inside and whistling again. The spiders on his body seemed to stop all at once, then squirmed their way off his body and back into their cage- some creeping from beneath his shirt, others popping out of his pockets or his tangle of pale hair. Once all the spiders were accounted for, he neatly sealed the lid, turned to the crowd, and bowed. Screams of applause filled the air.

Or just screams in general.

Neither was overly unexpected of a reaction.