#endiro

You never could decide which face was the “real” one. The mask caused you the same feeling of dysphoria, with the eyes and mouth being so monstrously big, and the nose not even being part of the image. 

Originally, the idea had been that the mask would be for when you socialized with subjugglators, but that had eventually fallen to the wayside. You kept being caught in public and chastised for not wearing the paint, not just by other members of the Dark Carnival, but imperial officials, legislacerators and the like. For a time, it brought into question if you were really a member at all, or just a lackey. A mere lackey would never get the influence you hoped for, so the paint became part of your every-night image.

Problem was, with a scant few exceptions, your friends off the clock preferred your plain face. You refused, for a time, treating the thing as a part of your identity - the identity of a person who had high hopes for the subjugglators - but with every sweep, you’ve become more familiar with the trauma and pain the facepaint evokes. Sure, that made for a dirty advantage against an enemy, having them freeze at the worst moment, but with friends? With quadrants? It didn’t work.

It’s put you at a frustrating crossroads. Having your loyalties questioned again would halt, if not outright remove, your progress. In addition, you are so used to seeing your reflection caked in white paint that it feels odd to be plain-faced any time besides 5 minutes out of the coon. On the other, people outside of that carnival mess are so much more enjoyable to spend time with, and you deeply care for a lot of them. 

B A S I C S

full name: Endiro Scurra

gender: male

sexuality: Pansexual

pronouns: He/him

O T H E R S

family: Enforcer Gorerain (ancestor), Fenrok (future descendant), Badger-dad (lusus)

birthplace: Raised in a small hill hollow by a forest

job: Subjugglator, legislacerator-collaborator, bounty hunter

phobias: Betrayal, being killed in bed

guilty pleasures: Has started getting kinda guilty about his promiscousness due to previous partners and some people pushing him about it being pretty unprofessional

M O R A L S

morality alignment?: Lawful neutral who tries to be lawful good

sins - lust/greed/gluttony/sloth/pride/envy/wrath

virtues - chastity/charity/diligence/humility/kindness/patience/justice

T H I S - O R - T H A T

introvert/extrovert: Extrovert

organized/disorganized: Organized

close minded/open-minded: Open-minded

calm/anxious: Calm

disagreeable/agreeable: Agreeable

cautious/reckless: Cautious

patient/impatient: Patient

outspoken/reserved: Reserved

leader/follower: Leader

empathetic/unemphatic: Unemphatic

optimistic/pessimistic: Optimistic

traditional/modern: Modern

hard-working/lazy: Hard-working

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

otp:

ot3:

brotp:

ey wtf does “DD 38″ even fucking mean like what the hell are tit sizes i dont get it

hey cutie i was thinking we could meet up at 5 <3<3<- wait this is dae lmao

idk what your fucking issue is with the carnival but you’d make a great laughassassin

oh shit your friend thiiiiiiiicc

A cold morning wind breezed through the thicket of trees, carrying the small flakes of spring snow, falling to thicken the thin film of white that covered the thawing earth. It would surely melt come morrow. Now, though, it provided a hunter with easy game.

Erik Scurra followed a trail of paw prints in the snow, left behind by a quite large bear. A quite tantalizing prey to the huntsman; Bear pelts were worth a pretty coin further down south, and bear meat wasn’t the least palpable thing he had eaten in his life. Even the teeth could be of some use for carvings or even something sharp to use for a trap. And then there were those northern priests, who supposedly would use the teeth and bones for queer rituals and fortune telling. The purpose did not matter to him - Erik had never believed such superstitious traditions - but the coin they offered did.

He had not been following this trail for long. Rather, he had been lucky enough to come upon it fresh, his prey having only passed recently, and with a limp at that. He even thought he had spotted smears of blood against some trees, but of that, he could not be certain.

About half an hour later, he sighted the bear through the trees; A big, lumbering beast, black and brown. It truly was enormous, most likely tens of years old. Upon closer inspection, it seemed like he had been right about the blood, a red gash running from the side down to a limping back leg. The scar was large, but did not seem to run too deep. Maybe some soldier cut at it with a sword until it ran away, he thought to himself, stringing his bow. Whatever the case, the bear was easy prey, and that was something Erik always welcomed. He held his breath, as quiet as the wind, then raised his bow. All it took was a well-aimed arrow through the eye, and the beast fell over with a frightened groan.

Erik hurried to his kill, sliding out a knife to slit the creature’s throat to be safe, when a woman’s voice was heard, firm and strong: “STOP RIGHT THERE, POACHER!”

He froze and turned, “Me?”

“Do you see any other poachers around here?” Erik turned around just in time to see the woman spit on the white ground. The woman was tall, incredibly so. Slender, yet not. The arms beneath her chain mail were thick with muscle, but did not look freakish, and it was hard to figure out the rest of her with the chain and scales covering her features. Erik recalled a rumor they liked to spread in King’s Landing, about how all women of the north were big bear-like women, who had the same strength and temper of men. If this woman was any indication, those rumors looked to hold some truth.

His eyes stopped at her tunic, which portrayed a purple squid on a tyrian field. The herald was vaguely familiar, but he did not remember from where. Still, it marked her for some noble, or the spawn of one, which meant this would be a harrowing experience. “Drop your knife at once.” She commanded. Now he was sure she was a noble.

“Why should I? I have done nothing wrong,” he scoffed. “Or do you mean to tell me this bear belonged to your oh-so-noble squid house?”

“It’s an octopus,” she replied sourly, pushing a lock of brown hair out of her face. “And the bear DOES belong to me. All game in these woods are the property of house Renata.” She said her house name with that great pride that always made Erik grimace.

“’s that so?” Erik mused, toying with the knife in his hand, “Well, you should put up signs, so people know. Otherwise, people might stroll in and claim your beasts.”

“That bear was mine either way. It took the entire morning to track it-”

“Then work on your tracking,” he snapped. “If hunters had their kills stolen by someone who poked it with a sharp stick hours ago, they’d all starve while sword-swinging fools would be rich enough to make Casterly Rock looks like a pile of yellow pebbles!”

“How dare you!” She bristled and drew a long sword from its sheet. Despite its length, she managed to point it at him accusingly with only one hand. Judging by the ripples dancing across the blade, it seemed to be valyrian steel. It made Erik’s steel dagger look woefully unimpressive. “Surrender your arms and my kill at once, poacher, or I will strike you down where you stand.”

“Tch...” he made a face. Perhaps he could kill her - armor meant little when you know where to stick the knife - but he was not certain enough to want to try. A blade of valyrian steel pointed against you did not do much for bravery.

Still, he had another weapon, softer, but just as sharp. “My lady,” he began, giving her a playful smile, running a hand through his soft curls of hair, black as raven feathers. “I would never mean to wound such a beautiful woman, not on her honor nor he body. In fact, to show I would mean you no harm...” he dropped his knife into the snow and held up his now empty hands and threaded forward.

“Not so fast, poacher.” Lady Renata raised her sword once more, “Not another step closer.”

“My lady wounds me.” He faked a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “I would never dream to hurt a noble lady, may the Stranger take me now if I lie... Especially not one so beautiful.” His smirk grew coy. It wasn’t untrue. While they were scrunched into an ugly, angry expression, her features were still quite beautiful, from her fair skin, to her full red lips, to her deep, if queerly shaped, blue eyes. She paused for but a second, but Erik needed only one. He nudged her blade aside so he could be less than an arm’s length away from her, almost surprising even himself when she did not raise it again. “Tell me, my fair lady Renata, who would be blessed enough to have you as wife?”

“No-one,” she hissed, yet still would not try to push him away.

“Hmm... A pity, and a blessing,” He chuckled, “A pity your beauty goes unappreciated, but a blessing that I may perhaps...” A hand reached up to cup her reddened cheek, warm to the touch. Surprisingly, she still did not lash out. Am I more charming than I thought, or does she truly want me? He thought, wetting his lips. “My lady... If you would allow it, I would wish to make you the happiest woman in Westeros for tonight. I would please you in any carnal way your heart might desire, if you would only let me...” Emboldened by her silence, he dared come closer yet, his lips inches away from hers. He could feel her warm breath on his lips now, oh so very close...

And then she struck him.

It was violent, a gauntlet right into his gut with such force, Erik keeled over gasping. He dropped to his knees in the snow, coughing in pain. “You dare try to kiss me, poacher?” she hissed furiously, “What others think of my beauty does not concern me, least of all if it is appreciated by some filthy poacher!” She backhanded him, sending him onto his back on the cold, snowy ground. “You should grovel for my forgiveness, not my bedchambers!” The sword was in the air again, poised at his throat.