Hello, hello

Remember me?

I am everything

you could not control







S h a d o w F o x                        M a l e                            ~400 y e a r s


"Syn" || "The Shade" || "That Damned Fox"

The Mortifera's Shadow

Bouncer of the Sanctum Café



 THE FOX varies in size: he is able to increase and decrease in size at will depending on the amount of darkness cast over the area. His figure can range from a small, ghost-like silhouette upon the wall, to a seemingly normal vupine, to a monstrous amalgam of eyes and teeth. 


    The shadow swirls and flicks like smoke every time the fox moves, not unlike a candle freshly blown out.

 The darker the area and the thicker the shadow, the stronger and larger Synova can become. 

> MILKY WHITE irises lack a pupil and to throw a white, lantern-like glow, which highlights a wry grin that remains a prominent feature etched across his carefully-chiseled features. 


That grin,

that damned G R I N is hardly quick to fade


- - - - - - - - - -





- The fox has a f a c e -










> There is not much to say of his "Dweller" form, or "Stolen Skin" as he calls it, for it was taken in a time of dire need. Synova snuffed out the life, the very soul that inhabited the body and claimed the shell as his own. 


This humanoid shell stands at a height of approximately 5'9",  and bares ink-black hair against pale physiognomy. 


     He has the EYES of a Fox: they are Striking gold in color with vertical pupils when he wishes them to be.  










Charismatic ✔  Meticulous ✔  Bold ✔  Determined ✔

Egocentric X Presumptuous X Blatant X Audacious X

- - -

1054937?profile=original > IT IS needless to say that Synova is an incredibly sly, cunning, and quick creature. He will use his sharp skills to his advantage, and is known to manipulate others to his will. 

     He is a rather arrogant and oftentimes presumptuous individual who tends to prod at other people’s nerves using discreet tricks and sarcastic snaps to push his company to the limit. These are usually mere tests to see if they are "worthy" of his company, or could possibly be useful to him in some way, shape or form. Either that, or he simply finds you interesting

Synova is not the sort who will easily resort to physical violence, and takes little pleasure in blood-drenched rampages. However, If one succeeds in crossing him, Syn will be more than willing to stoop to the lowest of lows to get back at them, using dirty tricks and debouched strategies to make the offender suffer sevenfold.


He enjoys the occasional cold-blooded hunt, but prefers to not waste the effort on needless activity

Synova is very intelligent and has a talent for strategic planning. Yet surprisingly, he is oftentimes incredibly lazy and bears a lack of moral motivation. He chooses to scheme, hunt, and "work" on his own, unless he knows he will be able to get something out of working with others. Never before has he helped another out of the "goodness of his heart." The Fox always has reasons behind everything he does. He lacks empathy for the most part, so he cares little for taking lives or putting others in danger to meet his own goals. 


However, there are a few... particular, and exceedingly rare exceptions to this. 





May 2

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Character Gender


Character History/Story

Synova is by far my oldest and most well-developed character. His background, his story, his relationships, abilities/powers, and any interactions and other characters mentioned in RP have been thoroughly constructed through years of role-play. However, I still consider him a Work-In-Progress, and he will continue being a work-in-progress for as long as he is around. Any significant plotline and / or character interactions WILL become part of his main story, and will potentially influence any future roleplays to come.

Writer's Writing Style (OOC)

Paragraph, Multi-Para, Novella

Writer's Favored Genres (OOC)

Fantasy, Violence, Realistic, Rated R, 18+, Gore, Action

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  • Leaping ahead as with the cat’s sprightly and agile grace, the leech moves with an unnatural and continuous series of quick and fluent motions such as no human body could conceivably replicate, owing his extra speed to a hurry spurned from hell. And whereto he goes, propelled forth by that haste and traversing in his stride from rooftop to rooftop with laughable ease, so too does the dark spectre, who follows close in tow abaft and even so mischievously dances around his feet. Of course, this tests the young vampire’s patience immensely, yet he still partakes in the playful interaction nonetheless and gives the strange stranger an as-of-yet unearned benefit of the doubt and entertains whatever queer game is being played on him. Still, Robin does not trust the so-called fox Synova enough to lower his guard, which is probably very wise. But as he saw no clever and diplomatic way of ridding himself of this apparent eidolon without offending it, he allowed it, for now, to eel around him in any way it so wished, persevering the dance no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel. Robin wondered, as well, while in unbroken running, what it could possibly want from him, a lowly ranked vampire. Surely there was more to this than what seemed to him like just plain-old curiosity? Hmm.

    Finally arriving at their destination, thoughts having to be put aside and whereupon landing on ground level after having scaled rooftops and façades in much a spider-like manner, they, Robin and Synova, come now upon a warehouse, or office establishment, crammed between two other buildings. Strangely enough, Robin noticed the front door was opened, which caused some noticeable concern, though more so because it was not simply ajar or opened fully, but rather it was torn asunder into a thousand tiny shreds, the bare remains of splintered wood clinging pathetically to strained iron hinges. A man now stood in lieu of the door, fidgeting in its ruined frame, clad in sumptuous black leather and slowly trailing pale claw-tipped fingers across its edge. He was of medium height, slightly shorter than Robin and much lankier, with raven dark hair, flowy, like the wind. Upon turning and facing the duo, his face was shown as rather sharp, his features well-defined and equally balanced, his eyes a brownish hazel and bearing a striking sociopathic calm. He asks, enunciating the words annoyingly clearly and dripping with condescending spite, “So, you’ve finally decided to join us, hermano?” 

    Robin’s lips strain, muscles tightening in his body like a slingshot waiting to be let loose; “Javier.” He easily matches the man’s unpleasant tone. “So they have become forlorn to send out the gutter trash, have they?” The man known now to Synova as Javier simply grins. He does not seem to have taken notice of the fox. Yet…  “Ay dios mío - how impudent we are today,” he cries out like he was stabbed with a dagger through the heart, feigning offence. “Forgotten our manners back home in our beloved Europe, have we?  And also –” A moment is taken, his intended words robbed from his tongue as Javier’s eyes, previously uninterested and dismissive, start piquing with interest. “Gloria he aquí, un zorro negro… What in the hell is that?” There it is, he has noticed.

    In response, Robin shrugs his shoulders and looks to his companion, then back to Javier. “It is Synova?”

  • As evening settled over the city, storm clouds began to roll in, bringing in its in downpour. In seconds, dry pavement was pelted by heavy raindrops that began to pool over the sidewalks. City lights flickered on one sign at a time, the gloomy atmosphere of the city transformed as reflections from vivid neon signs and the warmth of indoor lights bled together. Even the rain wouldn't deter the people that belonged to the city that never slept, as a sea of umbrellas arose above their heads. There was an intrinsic unity that the crowds moved in, that is, until someone disturbed said peace.

    A man was thrown outside a bar, Sundown Bar & Cafe the sign read on the door. He groaned in pain as he stumbled drunkenly to his feet, attempting to keep his balance as he gritted his teeth at the woman who did the deed. She wore a casual, comfortable raiment, a black tank top and grey sweat pants, her skin a ghastly pale tone with raven, wavy locks spilling over her shoulders, and metallic blue hues staring intensely at the man across from her with a furrowed brow. Her physique was that of a gymnast, yet could a girl of average height really throw a larger man like the one that just met the pavement?

    "C'mooonn, I wasn't done drinking!-" Croaked the man in a drunken stupor.

    "Yes, you fucking are. Now fuck off." The woman spoke in a low, booming voice that was enough to turn a few heads before she disappeared back into the building. The bar inside was dimly lit in a modern atmosphere, she found a seat at the bar, drenched despite what little time she spent outside.

  • Thank you for the add!ballerina-ballet-dance-girl-single-line-art-vector-illustration_720995-9.jpg?w=360

  • Sprays holy water on with tiny spray bottle N O

  • Bork.

    That is all.

    Good day

  • / Thanks for the add, love your bio and character! /

  • Not my snacks you put that back-- face-slap.gif?profile=RESIZE_400x

  • 10796493481?profile=RESIZE_400x

  • Yo mom

  • 10651118480?profile=RESIZE_400x

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