- Scaramuccia (Hunter)
- Opera Glasses (Frontier 73C Marksman)
- Macchinista (Sparks Pistol)
- Spaccagambe (Concertina Trip Mines)
Scaramuccia
Theater twisted this proud performer into a freak show. Now, after a bloody emancipation, he feels at home amidst the monsters of the Bayou, where he can kill for coin instead of begging and pleading for it with a song and a dance.
Macchinista
A prop and relic from successful street theatre days, this Sparks Pistol has been taken apart and put back together as an elegant weapon -- one that’s put to good use burying old memories.
Opera Glasses
Spying; seeing without being seen and knowing without being known. Such is the shared nature of theatre and hunting alike. And this graceful, precise Winfield M1873C Marksman separates the two with the pull of a trigger.
Spaccagambe
The stage is set, and it is set with malice. For attack or defense, this powerfully haphazard Concertina Trip Mine is a tool of ownership over many battlefields, and none more so than the mind.
Scaramuccia’s trinity mask intimidates any audience, but the many faces behind the mask are quick to perform the fool, the friend, or the villain. Whichever he senses will put a room at ease, or compel it to serve his will. The three-faced mask always conceals which way he looks, confusing predator and prey alike until his next move.
It’s a mask that has only been seen once before: worn by a gifted harlequin, who was the leading act of a renowned three-man troupe. The troupe’s director kept the harlequin caged between shows, spreading rumors of grotesque disfigurement and urging people to join the audience for a glimpse beneath the mask. The third of the troupe was the bard, who drew people in with songs of sorrow and sympathy for the harlequin’s disfigurement, before entrancing that same crowd with accompaniments to the troupe’s one-man shows. Many who came to see the plays clamored for a chance to peek at the harlequin’s face, trying to confirm the irresistibly horrifying descriptions the rumors spoke of. But no such chance came, and none could ever find what lair the troupe held the harlequin in between shows.
With the show’s success, the director’s clothing grew more lavish and the bard’s guitar more ornate, yet the harlequin’s single costume tore new holes every day. Poverty only added to both the spectacle and pity for the alleged freak, and a freak show proved to draw a greater paying audience than theatre. Then at the peak of the show’s success, the director, bard, and harlequin all vanished without trace. Some weeks later, two bodies were found in the canal stripped of their clothes and with faces too grotesque to identify.
Now, amongst the torment of the Bayou, the troupe’s sole survivor christens himself “Scaramuccia”. On the hunt, his finely crafted demeanor shifts and relaxes: relishing not the hunt, but the accursed swamps themselves. Perhaps peeling away the mask would reveal a face less akin to his fellow hunters, and more like what he hunts.
