Remember me?
I am everything
you could not control
S Y N O V A
M O R T I F E R A
S h a d o w F o x || O l d G e r m a n i a n O r i g i n || ~500 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 5'10", 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
- - -
> 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.
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Comments
Yo mom
“Lord Dracula? Or just Dracula; you haven’t heard of him? Huh. Well, blimey.” Robin blinked, brows rising sharply in sudden curiosity whilst nails scraped across hastily inserted bricks in the wall behind him. His tongue danced nervously across his lower and upper lips, tasting some slight residue of blood there that the rain hadn’t wiped; it comforted him. He didn’t like being backed up into a corner. It usually led to him lashing out, embracing his darker tendencies. Yet despite his discomfort, he couldn’t help but ponder in his head what manner of supernatural creature, one intelligent enough to conduct a conversation, would have managed to circumvent knowing about the ‘King Vampire’, because it felt improbable. Robin smelled the acrid, unmistakable scent of deceit; the shadow was trying to play a trick. He was somewhat confident, though, that it did not intend to cause him any harm, at least for the moment. And since he couldn’t keep backing into the wall, he’d need to take a stand either way.
He relaxed his posture and demeanour, but his guard remained up, and he was ever vigilant for the off chance that the shadow would strike. He stepped away slowly from the wall behind me, approaching the one known now as Synova.
“Well,” Robin asserted in response to the question posed to him, moving forward, his leather jacket creaking, “I can leave no trace before I go, return to my mission. I must, um. I must remove the evidence.”
What had to be done wasn’t pretty, but it’d be a lie to say that he didn’t take some little enjoyment in what was about to happen. He’d never admit to that openly, however, or to himself—just another repressed part of his greater self.
Moving closer towards Synova and the now dead man whom he sat perched upon, Robin crouched down. His arm stretched, hovering above the body until the hand was about level with the face and throat. Fingers then swooped down, sharp claws rupturing skin like soft tissue paper, digging effortlessly into flesh and sinking through muscle and tendons like soft dough, eliciting a sickeningly moist, sloshing sound. Robin mangled meat, and severed muscle, then retreated his hand once his work was done. Now no one may suspect the bite of a vampire.
He placed his hand in the gutter, in the deepest water-filled pothole he could find, rinsing off the blood that he was so eager to taste, to simply lick the crimson liquid right off his fingers. He managed self-control, this time.
“So you wish to follow?” Robin asked, observing the fox. He thought about it, and he figured just perhaps that appearances could be deceiving. Against his better judgment, he made the decision. “I suppose you can come if you can keep up….” A little challenge?
His form seemed to delay for a second, a rough imprint of a shadow lingering before it vanished. A trail of shadow and smoke, not unlike what Synova would appear as, went up along the brick wall, far up to the very roof several stories above, where Robin now stood awaiting.
"Who's a good puperrrrr. You areeee!" Wiggles puppy bone.
Wooow! You accepted meeee!
*Boops snoot, pets floof & scurries away!*
That's all byeeeee
Robin watched with ardent, unwavering fascination, examining the creature carefully through quick dashes, dots of rain, which fell across his vision. And as he studied it, the way that it moved, looked, and how it sounded, it reminded him of something. And at first he couldn’t quite remember just what that ‘something’ was - but then it came to him, creeping out the darkened shadows of repressed memories like an overly bloated maggot, one that he thought he’d long since managed to squash. An especially horrific memory from his childhood.
He was six, maybe seven, and the flu season had struck London with its full, devastating viral might, and Robin was one of those unfortunates taken ill.
Luckily though, and evidently by his presence, he had managed to survive, but only just, or so it had felt.
He remembered being bedridden, and perceiving his reality as if the Grim Reaper himself was at the threshold of his home, knocking at the door. This even before he had a complete and full concept of what death even was, he was only a child.
He recollects his muscles being weak, doughy, like overcooked pasta, aching with every motion of his little body. And he remembers how his skin gave off heat like a furnace, his head feeling as if split in two pieces; and having to fight tooth and nail simply to stay awake.
Oh, and his mother, he couldn’t forget, God bless her soul, how she time and time again put a dampened rag to his forehead and sang to him, whenever he was awake.
Mostly, however, he remembered the vivid fever dreams, which had twisted and turned his mind in all sorts of cruel unthinkable ways, making his brain feel like a wet piece of cloth through a mangle.
And in these dreams of his, and his states of delirious, feverish consciousness, were a creature, or creatures, which danced around his bed, or slithered their blackened forms across the walls and ceilings. They even peeked their horrific shapes out from behind his mom’s gentle face. And they all looked like, and to a certain degree even spoke like what stood before him.
Like a bad dream sprung forth from the worst parts of a child’s imagination, to dig their sharp talons into reality itself…
Robin felt unease, terribly so, and when the creature spoke, and moved one step closer, he in turn took one back. "'What am I?' Before 'Who am I?" The little nightmare uttered with a soft laugh, one that unnerved the vampire even further.
"Don't worry, I am not offended." It reassured, and finally the shadow attempted to answer Robin’s question, though the answer, as it came, did little to calm him. The fox said, explaining itself; "I am the shadow that flutters in the corner of your eye. The beast at the foot of your bed when you wake up and cannot move."
Another step forward by the canine, with Robin following suit, though his steppings were made backwards, away from the fox.
It continued, saying; "I am an amalgam of many things, the purest and most unholy personification of the earth's primal fear of the dark."
Yet another step, and this time Robin felt his back actually bump up against the brick layered walls, and on instinct his hands went to place on either side of him, claw tipped fingers splayed out to grasp at its surface.
Any second now, he figured, the monster would lash out, like it did all those years ago in bed, when his fever spiked through the roof.
However no move was made, as far as aggression goes, as instead to Robin’s surprise, the shadowed fox creature simply laughed, almost as if at himself, and his antics. It then seats itself before him, just about right beside the corpse.
"-Just kidding about all of that.” It says. “I am but a mere imaginary friend who became a bit too real. You may call me Synova. What is your name, predator?"
He was stunned, but he managed to respond: “I’m…I’m Robin.” He says.
“You were not sent by Lord Dracula, were you? You simply wished to accompany me? Why?”
||Well Casey can be anywhere in the continental US, she wanders around with no home. She will shift in and out of animal and human form depending on what she needs. If she's living in the woods for a while, she'll mostly be a fox. If she's hiding out in a city, she'll be human but will often shift in her sleep to a fox or one of her other forms.
To be honest I'm not a huge fan of the Café, it's harder for me to keep track of storylines there.||
||Well I certainly won't turn you down. I read your profile, but I was wondering how the two of them would run into each other. Where does Syn tend to lurk?||
He ran his right hand perpendicular across his pale wet face, rubbing his eyes, then onwards in that direction as was started, with fingertips and attached razor sharp claws diving with mercy through soppy dirty blonde hair as he stared, flabbergasted and in utter disbelief, at what he saw before him.
Now there had been many strange things that he had come across throughout the many, far too many, excruciatingly long years of serving the Vampire King Dracula, much of which given little elaboration or explanation at first, as they appeared, but revealed over time like an elaborate jigsaw puzzle. But none of those had so far perhaps been as peculiar and brow-raising to him, as what was shown now by his very own two eyes. That is, if they weren’t deceiving him of course, and his mind was already compromised and at the mercy of the machinations of some unknown, unseen enemy, hiding somewhere nearby and pulling at the strings of his senses.
This was highly unlikely however, as he had long since fortified the walls of his core self and trained it to be able to easily recognize, and repel, such mental assaults.
There was another, much more soar option however, as to what he could come up with to explain what this was, that being that his sanity had finally tipped over that slippery edge of the knowing and the not knowing, of what reality really was, and that this visage was but the first taste of an unholy unlife of the unknowing, ill mind.
He considered that option, though all for but a second, as he refused to believe that he had truly now, after seeing so much horror, and becoming part of that horror, that now would finally be the breaking point for him. It just couldn’t be so.
No this thing that stood before him was real, perhaps not tangible per say, but real enough.
He realized then, as he came to that conclusion, that he had been so stunned and taken aback, that he had all but just stood there frozen atop his prey like an ice sculpture in a frozen tundra, just staring at the creature.
‘May I accompany you, predator?’ the thing asked, and Robin, upon the reminder of his predatory ways, of what he had done tonight, he looked down to see that which had been his handiwork and he wondered to himself, just who he had robbed of life tonight?
The father of two, or the gentle lover of one? Perhaps a distinguished leader of a community?
He crouched down slowly, never taking away his eyes from the shadowy fox, whatever its true nature may be, and he slowly closed the eyes of his fallen prey, that being the only shred of respect which he could perform and show.
He felt rather threatened, yet at the same time feeling now a very strange sort of kinship, like the two were but two pieces of the same cloth, ripped in half but part of one and the same.
He felt darkness, and he felt the unholy presence, like he did with any other one of his vampire brethren.
“W-what…what are you?” He asked, disregarding the question posed to him, and indeed all that the phantom had said.
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