Erron Black (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
erron_black) wrote2026-03-20 11:34 am
erron_black) wrote2026-03-20 11:34 am
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Papa Black was largely absent for most of his son's infancy, but the money that came funneling through to his wife was good enough to buy her and their son a farmhouse on a decent patch of land. What he lacked in presence, he more than made up for with generosity; they wanted for nothing in those early years. Mama Black, however, was still not living the life she'd envisioned for herself when she'd shacked up with him. It'd been her dream to leave that dusty old town behind and accompany her man on his adventures; not waste away on property being used to launder his money with a kid she neither knew what to do with nor cared much for. Papa Black mollified her with expensive gifts, sweet words, and stories whenever he came around.
All of which were undercut by the series of brutal miscarriages he left her with when he'd leave, especially after she'd taken to the bottom of a bottle to drown out the sound of Erron pleading for her love and attention. Her drinking eventually culminated in the first of a great many incidents where Papa Black would come back to an empty, unkempt farmhouse with no indication of where her or their son had gone. He would always find her sooner or later though, owing to his connections all throughout the state, and drag her back out from whatever watering hole she'd languished in this time. Erron would invariably be half-starved, bruised and battered, and so exhausted as to have been sleeping in the backseat of the car in the bar parking lot.
Papa Black, to his credit, tried everything he knew to do to get her to clean herself up — up to and including hog-tying and caring for her while she howled, sobbed, and shook her way through the alcohol withdrawal. It never took, though, and sooner or later it came down to a savage and very public beating punctuated by one of his revolvers in her face after she drew the attention of the police to their son — and by extension his criminal father — on one of her drunken escapades. At which point, he turned his attention to their son. It wasn't the life he'd intended for Erron, but nobody knew quite like Papa Black just how hard life could be and no son of his was going to wink out an unnoticed victim of circumstance like so many other children on milk cartons. No way, no how.
Erron had already begun acting out and drawing yet more attention to himself with his near constant misbehavior; the apple hadn't fallen very far from the tree at all and it was only a matter of time before he found himself in a juvenile delinquent facility (or worse.) He'd also come to openly hate his mother and only just barely tolerated his father, who taught his son everything he knew over the course of several excruciatingly long years, but Papa Black was a hard man and a brutal teacher characterized by a near total lack of affection. Erron was rarely spared the harshest of his father's lessons, from leaving him to find his way back home in the middle of nowhere, to being placed in dangerous situations where he would be attacked and sometimes even shot at by complete strangers.
The unfortunate circumstances of Erron's life would ultimately prove deadly.
Now, nobody quite knows what happened that night out on the plains, and nobody particularly cared to. Not after seeing the eerily vacant look in Erron's eye when he walked back into town all on his lonesome with one of his father's revolvers in hand anyway. Authorities never found the body, and weren't terribly inclined to go too far out of their way for a man they'd been trying to nail for as long as anyone could remember. Besides, hadn't the boy been punished enough already? It was bad enough that he was the man of the house now, what with his mama's "condition" and all that. And just like that the Black family became a subject the townsfolk wouldn't dare speak of in polite company, and even then only under the barest of breaths lest the poor boy hear.
Erron, however, was not content to let that be the end of it.
He would eventually come to surpass his father in both infamy and reputation, working himself to the bone climbing up the criminal underworld one rung at a time, from the very bottom all the way to the top. The townsfolk hated to see it, but no doubt about it he came by it honest and there are some things in life you just can't change. Erron still finds occasion to mosey on through that dusty old place from time to time, if for no other reason than to remind himself how far he's come, and exactly how far he has to fall.
Extended canonical information about Erron Black's life beyond this can be found over here.
As if this wasn't quite enough to ward off the average person (and then some), the rest of him ain't much friendlier. His professional garb consists of leathers and occasionally a poncho, with a variable number of bandoliers strapped to his torso, multiple munitions belts, and about as many holstered firearms as can be reasonably and relatively comfortably stored on a single human body. Erron comes to work like he's fixin' to rob Fort Knox — and that's terrifying!
If he's not on the clock, he'll be stripped down to relatively ordinary civilian western wear with only the two pistols holstered at his hips, with neither masks nor bandanas nor eye black. Erron is classically handsome with a broad face, strong brow, square jaw, long aquiline nose, and a subtle divot on his chin. He's quite particular about shaving his face whenever he happens to be anywhere near anything remotely approaching civilization, but when he's out on the field he tends to just let it grow until it bothers him enough to motivate him to set aside the time for it. His beard is coarse and primarily brown with errant strands of salt and pepper here and there.
His face is somewhat weathered from the elements and wrinkled with time — most noticeably around the eyes and mouth. A little experience never hurt a face like his though, and he wears it with a sense of pride verging on vanity. Erron surely is handsome, and he knows it. Acts like it, too.
closer inspection Erron is remarkably physically fit for someone who prefers a range of powerful long-ranged weapons, therefore ending almost all disputes and potential altercations before they've even begun. This is the first and last clue that he's no slouch when it comes to hand-to-hand combat either and should never be underestimated. Furthermore, under certain conditions, one might also catch a glimpse of multiple rows of tally mark scars lining his left bicep, most of which are completed and silvery. Some, however, are fresher than others. The rest are far less deliberate; knicks and scrapes and burns and other vicious, gnarled things from battles long since past can be discovered all over his body. Some of which Erron just might recall having acquired.
The parts of his body which rarely see the sun are paler than the rest of him, and he sports a fair amount of hair across his chest and down from his navel. As with his face, he is particular about keeping himself clean and trim and tidy whenever time and locale permits though. If he's in town, he tends to smell most strongly of aftershave and soap, with hints of whiskey, leather, cigars and / or tobacco. Out on the field, he begins to smell increasingly like his gun oil, metal from his pistols, and discharged gunpowder the further he wanders from civilization.
romantically Erron is very much a product of his placement, having been raised in an extremely insular, isolated, and impoverished small town with precious little in the way of interaction with the outside world until he managed to crawl his way out from underneath his father's shadow (see backstory for more details.) He went through a protracted length of culture shock and hard lessons learned with no one to guide him just to get to where he is now, and while he still holds to a great many old fashioned views, he is much more worldly now than he was when he started.
Erron holds to what he considers gentlemanly conduct such as the removal of his hat, refraining from swearing and other rude behavior, and referencing women in his company politely and / or affectionately (i.e. miss, ma'am, dear, honey, sugar, darling.) He considers it beyond rude to expect the women in his company to pay for anything, and rudest of all to complain about or expect anything in return for it. Erron already derives a great deal of enjoyment out of being generous with his ill-gotten gains, specifically with women he fancies. It makes no difference to him whether or not they "reciprocate." A thrill is a thrill is a thrill, and there's nothing quite so thrilling as spending his hard earned money.
One thing Erron will never pay for with his hard earned money is sex, though; he thinks men who do must be pathetically lacking. The seduction and pleasuring of a woman is a thrill unto itself, after all, and Erron is nothing if not a red-blooded ladies' man through and through. That being said, however, his preferred relationship model is friends with benefits rather than a truly devoted romantically monogamous one. This is because he viscerally fears what falling in love might mean, and will sever ties the moment he suspects he might be under the guise of having merely lost interest.
The most backward and perhaps rawest of his views would be the internalized homophobia and resultant repressed sexual desire he's wrestled with for most of his life. Erron isn't homosexual, that much is for damn sure, but deep down he's always known he's not precisely straight either. Eventually, over the course of his life, he learned to square it by rendering his encounters with other men meaningless bursts of bottled up sexual tension when there were no women around. A perfunctory bodily function and little else. Erron doesn't like to think too deeply about his encounters with other men, and resents any attempt to overcomplicate his simplistic point of view. A man has urges, and that's that for that.
That said, he is very much of the school of thought that what others are, or what they aren't; what they do, or what they don't do is none of his business. The only business Erron is interested in is the sort that cashes out at the end of the day, and that makes him surprisingly open-minded and accepting of others' peculiarities. Much more so, even, than his own.
professionally Erron is a stone cold killer if there ever was one and he's damn proud of it to boot. There is nothing in this world (nor indeed any other as it turned out) that he takes more seriously than his career. A career built from the bottom up on a relentless drive to do whatever it took to get the job done, no matter what his personal feelings might have been nor whom got hurt in the process. Erron will tear down anyone and / or anything that happens to be in his way to or from a job without a second thought, up to and including his own co-workers if they present a threat or complication. He's not, however, inclined to be mindlessly destructive for no reason; his preference has always been precision over collateral damage. Erron prides himself on clean outcomes with minimal complications, but anyone caught crosswise ought to move out the way the first and only time he asks nice-like.
His loyalty to a client begins and ends with a paycheck though, and he's not above accepting a better offer from the competition, provided they pay him upfront and on the spot. Erron will also abandon a client if it becomes clear to him that they won't be in any position to pay (or continue paying) him for his services for much longer. Hypocritically, he does demand a certain loyalty from his clients with respect to the agreed upon sum and / or conditions of the job he's accepted. Erron occasionally hunts and savagely punishes clients who decide to go back on their agreements whenever he's between jobs — whether or not they did this to him personally.
Erron generally prefers to work alone for the most part, but he's capable of being a team player if the job calls for it. While he sharply declines to take orders from anyone that isn't actively paying him, he will do whatever is necessary to complete his task, and if that means coordinating with co-workers he'll do it (whether anyone involved likes it or not.) He is most certainly not team leader in any case though; he prefers to quietly hang back and offer his expertise only when strictly relevant and / or necessary. He's loath to involve himself in petty disputes, disagreements, or workplace politicking he considers to be outside the scope of his usually fairly narrow role.
Generally speaking, I'm an extremely mellow player when it comes to whatever your characters are wanting to do in a tag, whether that's full on punching my character in his stupid face or kissing it. Whatever your character does to mine, I can do to yours, and vice versa. I just prefer the consistency and progression of assumed permissions (when they're in character and within reason, of course) over a character "trying" to do anything. If you're angling for a protracted fight, some other such negative CR, or just have a hankering for something more elaborate that might require me to be in the know to go off right, please feel free to DM me! I adore helping out with plotting and coming up with ideas for our characters to shine!
* I, personally, might not have any triggers, but Erron's characterization occasionally deals with potentially triggering subject matter that other players might find uncomfortable (e.g. child abuse, alcoholism, poverty, graphic violence and cruelty, internalized homo and biphobia, occasionally dated views on men and women, etc.) Please feel free to slide into my DMs if you have any questions or concerns.
** I don't mind playing across from whatever makes you most comfortable, mind. It's just that I've always written in prose and once your back starts sounding like rice krispy treat cereal when you get outta bed in the morning, it might actually be too late to change now.
*** My life is a raging dumpster fire of interpersonal responsibilities, so I deeply apologize if I'm slow to tag, but rest assured it's never out of disinterest. It's much more likely that I'm simply swamped with work, or the town in which I live has been ravaged by a seasonal flood and / or tornado, both of which have actually happened to me before. Send help.
scenario b Erron has accepted a lucrative offer of some sort, ranging anywhere from a bounty to smuggling to a request for protection. Now, he might not come with a money-back guarantee, but who needs one when he's got a big fucking gun and the skill and wherewithal to use it? Assumed CR may include having paid or seeking to pay him for any number of services, having to work alongside him for the same employer, or having already been under his protection for quite some time.
scenario c Even someone as driven as Erron eventually requires some downtime to get and keep their head on straight, and all that ill-gotten money ain't gonna spend itself besides. Sometimes, all a hard working boy really wants to do is kick back and have some fun for a while. Assumed CR may include him being a mysteriously handsome regular at a particular establishment, providing or participating in a luxury service (not sex), or witnessing instances of his showboating for fun.
Full Disclosure: I'm old enough to have played the first Mortal Kombat on release all the way up to Armageddon, at which point I became far too lazy to play through any of the most recent titles yet. I also viewed the first movie on release and then subjected myself to every title that came out thereafter (aside from the comic books.) Which is to say, please don't @ me, all I want to do is have fun with this goofy ass franchise that I love in spite of everything. I'm already fully aware that I am bad and should feel bad.
| name Erron Black | age 44 (Flexible) | gender Male |
| species Human | sexuality Bisexual | alignment Neutral |
| residence Outworld | hometown Wickett, TX | occupation Mercenary |
| canon Mortal Kombat | timepoint Flexible | face model Justin Tobias Jenkins |
Backstory
Erron Black was born in a little old hideout in Wickett, TX to a career criminal father and a local girl altogether too young and enamored to know any better. If it hadn't been for a timely return trip on the part of his father, he might have been left to the elements a sneaking suspicion in the backs of the minds of the locals in town, here one moment and gone the next as if he were only a figment of their imagination. Mama Black was, after all, only a child herself and in no real good position to be looking after another. No perfectly healthy son of Papa Black's was going to waste though — not no way, not no how, and that was the end of that. They were married not too long thereafter to smooth over ruffled feathers, not the least of which being his girl on account of being saddled with an infant she didn't want.Papa Black was largely absent for most of his son's infancy, but the money that came funneling through to his wife was good enough to buy her and their son a farmhouse on a decent patch of land. What he lacked in presence, he more than made up for with generosity; they wanted for nothing in those early years. Mama Black, however, was still not living the life she'd envisioned for herself when she'd shacked up with him. It'd been her dream to leave that dusty old town behind and accompany her man on his adventures; not waste away on property being used to launder his money with a kid she neither knew what to do with nor cared much for. Papa Black mollified her with expensive gifts, sweet words, and stories whenever he came around.
All of which were undercut by the series of brutal miscarriages he left her with when he'd leave, especially after she'd taken to the bottom of a bottle to drown out the sound of Erron pleading for her love and attention. Her drinking eventually culminated in the first of a great many incidents where Papa Black would come back to an empty, unkempt farmhouse with no indication of where her or their son had gone. He would always find her sooner or later though, owing to his connections all throughout the state, and drag her back out from whatever watering hole she'd languished in this time. Erron would invariably be half-starved, bruised and battered, and so exhausted as to have been sleeping in the backseat of the car in the bar parking lot.
Papa Black, to his credit, tried everything he knew to do to get her to clean herself up — up to and including hog-tying and caring for her while she howled, sobbed, and shook her way through the alcohol withdrawal. It never took, though, and sooner or later it came down to a savage and very public beating punctuated by one of his revolvers in her face after she drew the attention of the police to their son — and by extension his criminal father — on one of her drunken escapades. At which point, he turned his attention to their son. It wasn't the life he'd intended for Erron, but nobody knew quite like Papa Black just how hard life could be and no son of his was going to wink out an unnoticed victim of circumstance like so many other children on milk cartons. No way, no how.
Erron had already begun acting out and drawing yet more attention to himself with his near constant misbehavior; the apple hadn't fallen very far from the tree at all and it was only a matter of time before he found himself in a juvenile delinquent facility (or worse.) He'd also come to openly hate his mother and only just barely tolerated his father, who taught his son everything he knew over the course of several excruciatingly long years, but Papa Black was a hard man and a brutal teacher characterized by a near total lack of affection. Erron was rarely spared the harshest of his father's lessons, from leaving him to find his way back home in the middle of nowhere, to being placed in dangerous situations where he would be attacked and sometimes even shot at by complete strangers.
The unfortunate circumstances of Erron's life would ultimately prove deadly.
Now, nobody quite knows what happened that night out on the plains, and nobody particularly cared to. Not after seeing the eerily vacant look in Erron's eye when he walked back into town all on his lonesome with one of his father's revolvers in hand anyway. Authorities never found the body, and weren't terribly inclined to go too far out of their way for a man they'd been trying to nail for as long as anyone could remember. Besides, hadn't the boy been punished enough already? It was bad enough that he was the man of the house now, what with his mama's "condition" and all that. And just like that the Black family became a subject the townsfolk wouldn't dare speak of in polite company, and even then only under the barest of breaths lest the poor boy hear.
Erron, however, was not content to let that be the end of it.
He would eventually come to surpass his father in both infamy and reputation, working himself to the bone climbing up the criminal underworld one rung at a time, from the very bottom all the way to the top. The townsfolk hated to see it, but no doubt about it he came by it honest and there are some things in life you just can't change. Erron still finds occasion to mosey on through that dusty old place from time to time, if for no other reason than to remind himself how far he's come, and exactly how far he has to fall.
Extended canonical information about Erron Black's life beyond this can be found over here.
Appearance
height 6'2"
build Athletic
hair Brown
eyes Amber Brown
first impressions Erron can come off wildly different depending on what he happens to be doing at any given moment in time. If he's on the clock, so to speak, it's likely that he's wearing any number of leather masks or bandanas over his face in addition to the occasional eye black. He does this not to conceal his identity so much as to frighten and intimidate whosoever happens to lay eyes on him, as well as make it as difficult as possible to discern his facial expressions. He's also been known to use the brims of his hats to make it even harder by obscuring his eyes completely. build Athletic
hair Brown
eyes Amber Brown
As if this wasn't quite enough to ward off the average person (and then some), the rest of him ain't much friendlier. His professional garb consists of leathers and occasionally a poncho, with a variable number of bandoliers strapped to his torso, multiple munitions belts, and about as many holstered firearms as can be reasonably and relatively comfortably stored on a single human body. Erron comes to work like he's fixin' to rob Fort Knox — and that's terrifying!
If he's not on the clock, he'll be stripped down to relatively ordinary civilian western wear with only the two pistols holstered at his hips, with neither masks nor bandanas nor eye black. Erron is classically handsome with a broad face, strong brow, square jaw, long aquiline nose, and a subtle divot on his chin. He's quite particular about shaving his face whenever he happens to be anywhere near anything remotely approaching civilization, but when he's out on the field he tends to just let it grow until it bothers him enough to motivate him to set aside the time for it. His beard is coarse and primarily brown with errant strands of salt and pepper here and there.
His face is somewhat weathered from the elements and wrinkled with time — most noticeably around the eyes and mouth. A little experience never hurt a face like his though, and he wears it with a sense of pride verging on vanity. Erron surely is handsome, and he knows it. Acts like it, too.
closer inspection Erron is remarkably physically fit for someone who prefers a range of powerful long-ranged weapons, therefore ending almost all disputes and potential altercations before they've even begun. This is the first and last clue that he's no slouch when it comes to hand-to-hand combat either and should never be underestimated. Furthermore, under certain conditions, one might also catch a glimpse of multiple rows of tally mark scars lining his left bicep, most of which are completed and silvery. Some, however, are fresher than others. The rest are far less deliberate; knicks and scrapes and burns and other vicious, gnarled things from battles long since past can be discovered all over his body. Some of which Erron just might recall having acquired.
The parts of his body which rarely see the sun are paler than the rest of him, and he sports a fair amount of hair across his chest and down from his navel. As with his face, he is particular about keeping himself clean and trim and tidy whenever time and locale permits though. If he's in town, he tends to smell most strongly of aftershave and soap, with hints of whiskey, leather, cigars and / or tobacco. Out on the field, he begins to smell increasingly like his gun oil, metal from his pistols, and discharged gunpowder the further he wanders from civilization.
Personality
overview Erron has lived a challenging life and that's left an indelible mark on his demeanor even at his most relaxed (see his backstory for more details.) He keeps an eye and an ear out for trouble no matter where he goes; it's not uncommon to glimpse him scanning the horizon or tilting his head in the direction of an argument across the room. His bearing tends to be that of a large ambush predator — which is to say, deceptively languid and at ease when in full view; attentive and almost imperceptibly poised when not. He can, however, also be quite the gentleman charmer whenever he feels the need and / or desire to be (see romantically for more details.) At his heart, though, he is a ruthlessly opportunistic thrill seeker with an insatiable lust for both adventure and the acquisition of vast personal wealth.romantically Erron is very much a product of his placement, having been raised in an extremely insular, isolated, and impoverished small town with precious little in the way of interaction with the outside world until he managed to crawl his way out from underneath his father's shadow (see backstory for more details.) He went through a protracted length of culture shock and hard lessons learned with no one to guide him just to get to where he is now, and while he still holds to a great many old fashioned views, he is much more worldly now than he was when he started.
Erron holds to what he considers gentlemanly conduct such as the removal of his hat, refraining from swearing and other rude behavior, and referencing women in his company politely and / or affectionately (i.e. miss, ma'am, dear, honey, sugar, darling.) He considers it beyond rude to expect the women in his company to pay for anything, and rudest of all to complain about or expect anything in return for it. Erron already derives a great deal of enjoyment out of being generous with his ill-gotten gains, specifically with women he fancies. It makes no difference to him whether or not they "reciprocate." A thrill is a thrill is a thrill, and there's nothing quite so thrilling as spending his hard earned money.
One thing Erron will never pay for with his hard earned money is sex, though; he thinks men who do must be pathetically lacking. The seduction and pleasuring of a woman is a thrill unto itself, after all, and Erron is nothing if not a red-blooded ladies' man through and through. That being said, however, his preferred relationship model is friends with benefits rather than a truly devoted romantically monogamous one. This is because he viscerally fears what falling in love might mean, and will sever ties the moment he suspects he might be under the guise of having merely lost interest.
The most backward and perhaps rawest of his views would be the internalized homophobia and resultant repressed sexual desire he's wrestled with for most of his life. Erron isn't homosexual, that much is for damn sure, but deep down he's always known he's not precisely straight either. Eventually, over the course of his life, he learned to square it by rendering his encounters with other men meaningless bursts of bottled up sexual tension when there were no women around. A perfunctory bodily function and little else. Erron doesn't like to think too deeply about his encounters with other men, and resents any attempt to overcomplicate his simplistic point of view. A man has urges, and that's that for that.
That said, he is very much of the school of thought that what others are, or what they aren't; what they do, or what they don't do is none of his business. The only business Erron is interested in is the sort that cashes out at the end of the day, and that makes him surprisingly open-minded and accepting of others' peculiarities. Much more so, even, than his own.
professionally Erron is a stone cold killer if there ever was one and he's damn proud of it to boot. There is nothing in this world (nor indeed any other as it turned out) that he takes more seriously than his career. A career built from the bottom up on a relentless drive to do whatever it took to get the job done, no matter what his personal feelings might have been nor whom got hurt in the process. Erron will tear down anyone and / or anything that happens to be in his way to or from a job without a second thought, up to and including his own co-workers if they present a threat or complication. He's not, however, inclined to be mindlessly destructive for no reason; his preference has always been precision over collateral damage. Erron prides himself on clean outcomes with minimal complications, but anyone caught crosswise ought to move out the way the first and only time he asks nice-like.
His loyalty to a client begins and ends with a paycheck though, and he's not above accepting a better offer from the competition, provided they pay him upfront and on the spot. Erron will also abandon a client if it becomes clear to him that they won't be in any position to pay (or continue paying) him for his services for much longer. Hypocritically, he does demand a certain loyalty from his clients with respect to the agreed upon sum and / or conditions of the job he's accepted. Erron occasionally hunts and savagely punishes clients who decide to go back on their agreements whenever he's between jobs — whether or not they did this to him personally.
Erron generally prefers to work alone for the most part, but he's capable of being a team player if the job calls for it. While he sharply declines to take orders from anyone that isn't actively paying him, he will do whatever is necessary to complete his task, and if that means coordinating with co-workers he'll do it (whether anyone involved likes it or not.) He is most certainly not team leader in any case though; he prefers to quietly hang back and offer his expertise only when strictly relevant and / or necessary. He's loath to involve himself in petty disputes, disagreements, or workplace politicking he considers to be outside the scope of his usually fairly narrow role.
Skills & Abilities
Permissions
| backtagging Yes | threadhopping Ask | fourthwalling No |
| violence Yes | injury Yes | death Ask |
| romance Ask | relationships Ask | sex Yes |
| triggers None* | style Prose** | speed Variable*** |
* I, personally, might not have any triggers, but Erron's characterization occasionally deals with potentially triggering subject matter that other players might find uncomfortable (e.g. child abuse, alcoholism, poverty, graphic violence and cruelty, internalized homo and biphobia, occasionally dated views on men and women, etc.) Please feel free to slide into my DMs if you have any questions or concerns.
** I don't mind playing across from whatever makes you most comfortable, mind. It's just that I've always written in prose and once your back starts sounding like rice krispy treat cereal when you get outta bed in the morning, it might actually be too late to change now.
*** My life is a raging dumpster fire of interpersonal responsibilities, so I deeply apologize if I'm slow to tag, but rest assured it's never out of disinterest. It's much more likely that I'm simply swamped with work, or the town in which I live has been ravaged by a seasonal flood and / or tornado, both of which have actually happened to me before. Send help.
Scenarios
scenario a Just a good ol' boy from a small town in Texas who owns and maintains a gun store like any other across the nation. Except for the secret stock, that is, accessible only to the most discerning of customers. Arms dealing is big business, particularly of the extremely illegal sort, but a little thing like that's never stopped Erron from dipping his fingers in the cookie jar before. He might or might not also serve as hired muscle for the unsavory sort from time to time for the right pay, as a treat. Assumed CR may include having been sent by any number of crime syndicates, knowing of him professionally, or otherwise just a gangster in the know.scenario b Erron has accepted a lucrative offer of some sort, ranging anywhere from a bounty to smuggling to a request for protection. Now, he might not come with a money-back guarantee, but who needs one when he's got a big fucking gun and the skill and wherewithal to use it? Assumed CR may include having paid or seeking to pay him for any number of services, having to work alongside him for the same employer, or having already been under his protection for quite some time.
scenario c Even someone as driven as Erron eventually requires some downtime to get and keep their head on straight, and all that ill-gotten money ain't gonna spend itself besides. Sometimes, all a hard working boy really wants to do is kick back and have some fun for a while. Assumed CR may include him being a mysteriously handsome regular at a particular establishment, providing or participating in a luxury service (not sex), or witnessing instances of his showboating for fun.
Notes
An attempt has been made to thread the needle between his grungy, no nonsense, mongrel outlaw-bandit iteration featured in Mortal Kombat X and the hilariously ham-fisted archetypical Texas ranger iteration of him in Mortal Kombat 11. I like his character concept and have done my best to fill the gaps and flesh him into something resembling a three dimensional human being that could feasibly exist outside an ultraviolent fighting game.Full Disclosure: I'm old enough to have played the first Mortal Kombat on release all the way up to Armageddon, at which point I became far too lazy to play through any of the most recent titles yet. I also viewed the first movie on release and then subjected myself to every title that came out thereafter (aside from the comic books.) Which is to say, please don't @ me, all I want to do is have fun with this goofy ass franchise that I love in spite of everything. I'm already fully aware that I am bad and should feel bad.