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2 mos ago
Current "The human eye is a wonderful device. With a little effort, it can fail to see even the most glaring injustice."
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2 mos ago
"People are predictable. That's what makes them easy to kill."
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“I see the look in your eyes it makes me go blind.”


The whimsical vocals of Ruelle dance graciously through the void of silence, shattering it. She had a pleasantly melodic voice and a way in which she could conduct a crescendo that was simply marvellous and impactful to the song in its entirety. Syn had allowed such music to float through the stiffened air as his form reclined into the softened leather couch, left hand digits curled around a glass of Irish whiskey made by yours truly. With accents of oak, red wine and smoke and the undertones of plasma cascading through the amber liquid, he was quite proud of his creations and its taste.

Relaxed, calm contemplation expressed upon his visage as his eyes fell towards the ornate brass chandeliers and the ornate filigree that wove between each outward stem that was alight with softened amber hues, cascading light across the myriad of items in the bar. But he saw further, he focused on the shadows cast in opposition to the light, the constant cold touch of darkness that befell his innermost desires. He watched the shapes noticing the shadows touch upon every crevice creating a home for itself. A realisation bought forth a soft chuckle as his idle mind contemplated the metaphorical connection between Sabbat and their actions to that of the darkness in the crevices. They spread across this planet, finding corruptible spots and slowly from there they expand, a plague upon the planet.

Contemplative thoughts and relative silence were broken when the sound of heavy footfalls collide across smooth wooden steps, ascending. “Markus, was not expecting you.” Syn’s visage never pivoted from it’s position to see the violent canine as he ascended the steps. “You reek of blood and sulphur.” Syn spoke as the scent assaulted his nostrils, Markus had been in the throes of combat and yet the beast said nothing in response, not yet. Having finally ascended the steps, Markus Matthews relieved himself of his thick coat revealing black tactical vest and torn black button down. Black cargo pants and 511 tactical boots finished the attire of an imposing beast. Born not of kindred blood but that of Garou and danced the nine levels of hell Markus was a ‘fallen.’ With a grunt the brute ignored all sense of refinement and dragged a wooden chair to sit opposite the refined Lasombra Kindred. Straddling it front-to-back, Markus allowed his bulk to collapse upon the wood causing a hushed groan in protest from the wood. “I’ve been busy, The Sabbat have been busy.” He responded, accent thick with the articulations of a Scottish accent.

In response, Syn released a soft sigh before placing his drink down upon a drink stand beside him and rose from his position. “Drink?” He asks out of politeness; however, he knew the Scottish dog couldn’t say no to a single malt whiskey. Syn descended the stairs and towards the bar where sat upon the top due to his prior actions earlier in the evening sat a bottle of his small batch single malt. Taking the bottle and a Riedel crystal glass. Ascending the stairs once more, Syn’s voice rolled across the stifled silence. “What brings you here Markus.” Leaning forward upon the chair, Markus’ mahogany eyes shifted from art piece to art piece before returning towards Syn. “Every time I come here it seems as if your vanity grows, this whole business is a personal fuck fest to your ego.” He said with a wolfish grin revealing the wickedness that lay within. “Starting to think that you’d be better suited as a Sabbat bishop with the way you indulge.” The Garou continued to mock only to receive a narrowing of Syn’s eyes in return.

“I should tear out your tongue.” Syn responded with malice oozing from his mouth before placing the glass and bottle down upon a coffee table before Markus. Shifting to seat himself once more into his seat, more alert however than relaxed. “Now, why are you here Markus.” Markus who had taken the time to pour himself a reasonable glass of single malt felt it. The vitae infused dominance that exuded from Syn, a manipulation that was as subtle or as blunt as the man wielding it wished to be. “You can stop with that.” Markus responded coldly as mahogany eyes shifted to Syn’s own. “Word is that the Sabbat is encroaching on the territories here while they continue to war over San Francisco. I hear they are buying up blue collar businesses like butchers, deli’s and coffee shops.” He paused to inhale a large portion of the amber liquid in the glass which threatened to shatter in his inhumanely large hands. “Why are you telling me this?” Syn responded, fingers knitting together subconsciously within his lap. “They cannot afford a war here as they have in San Francisco.” Markus’ eyes shift towards his glass as a soft grin spreads across his lips. “No, but our Hive is looking to expand here, and you know our ties to the Sabbat.”

Syn understood now, Markus was alerting of a possible war between Garou and his kin bought about by the manipulations of the Sabbat. Perhaps there was still a reason he kept the fallen on his retainer. Leaning forward Syn looked Markus up and down. “I have sent my greeting cards to the Baron and a respected member of the Camarilla. I shall see what they know because I will not allow my new home to be accosted by the doomsday fanatics. If your kin arrive, then so be it but not under the manipulative hands of the Sabbat.” Syn snarled the final worlds as anger gave way from his usual stoic controlled dominance. “Find out what you can for me, look after yourself Markus.”

Finishing his drink, the bulking mass of muscle and ferocity that was the black spiral dancer rose from the seat quietly. “My life is not for living carefully but I will report once I know more.” With a two finger wave the goliath of a man descended the stairs, coat in hand and headed towards the rear exit of the Gallery.

Syn's first NPC character sheet has been added to Syn's character Sheet.

Going to be updating character sheet with an NPC later today.




Name: Syn De Rais
Age: Resembling the age of twenty-six years of age by humanities standards, Syn’s actual age is long forgotten having been turned at the turn of the 13th century.
Species: Seventh Generation Cainite of Clan Lasombra.
Disciplines: Obtenebration, Dominate and Potence

Personality:

Beneath the façade of even temperament and intellectual resides the inner workings of a Machiavellian with sadistic desires. A firm belief in the theory of social Darwinism, Syn views himself as the apex of evolution and all creatures are beneath the feet of kindred, thus deserve to die – Horribly – and for his pleasure. Considered an Alpha personality, he conducts himself with a supernatural dominance and control. Considerable in his lifespan, He cared little for other clans often only caring to protect his own clan and bring glory to the Camarilla by any means necessary.

However, Syn has shown a softer countenance to those he would allow close enough to be considered friends and not food. Often providing advice through cryptic or intellectual puzzles and entering frays to protect them should he have too.
Syn’s bloodlust has ascended above those of the socially accepted norm. As such he has conducted acts of diablerie multiple times without remorse or care for the rules. Kindred, Human and Garou alike were all food sources.

Considering his dominant, sadistic and malicious personality traits, oddities have formed over his life in the form of obsessions. For kindred unable to bestow a cursory glance upon his own reflection, Syn spends considerable time and wealth to ensure that he is presentable to all audiences of Kindred and human populace at all moments of the day. His shirts must always be pressed, coat’s always neat and ties square with bronze pin and cuffs. Pedantic in the way he dresses reveals his biggest flaw – vanity.


Biography:

Turned one undesirable night, the kiss was intoxicating as much as the woman that relinquished his morality. Syn took her last name – De Rais. Under the cold, manipulative touch of Lady Vanessa, Syn, a humble vintner from the southern landscapes of France shed the radiance of humanity only to consume and be consumed by the loving caress of darkness. Lady Vanessa would be the first to show him a world of delight, desire of the macabre kind but would certainly not be the last.

Moving from estate to estate, Syn studied the lore of his new family. The histories of the kindred and their beliefs, it consumed him as much as the hunger did. At first, he hated it, the idea of kill or be killed remained steadfast in his core beliefs resulting in him often falling into ravenous starvation before he would begin to feed. Over time however he would begin to relish in the hunt – hand picking his victims like he would the grapes to make his wines.

The consummation of sanguine delicacies consumed him, the hunger controlled him and held its vice grip strong. A master of his silver tongue, manipulation and vanity his allure. His brand of intoxicating lust allowed him to sate his addiction, first with human women, then men, then children before it turned to the supernatural. Spiralling, he plummeted towards ground zero in which all addicts found themselves except when a helping hand reached out to save him from his personal hell he didn’t take it, instead he sunk his teeth in and drank it dry.
Lady Vanessa was the first, his first taste of kindred blood and its orgasmic taste bringing euphoria and for the first time in a long-time satisfaction to his desires. Faced with the repercussions of his actions Syn left France and circumnavigated his way across various countries. Settling only briefly, leaving destruction in his wake.

At current, Syn has settled into Los Angeles where he has returned to his youthful occupation after centuries except for making boutique small batch scotch instead of wine, which has bought him some form of fame and fortune for his skills. With a small bar called Gallery 66 which is where he conducts his business and sales of his small batches of scotch. On occasion he opens Gallery 66 to the larger populace for parties and upper-class raves in which he can conduct his empire’s expansion.




Chewing subconsciously upon his pen cap, Alexander remained in intense focus not even noticing his rough top knot had fallen to pieces allowing strands of his smooth onyx locks to cascade upon his face. He was lost to another dimension – He called it Pripyat – where the city was taken by the trees and no one else lived there. It was when he was there that he could focus on The Beat and his work. The idle pulsations of electronic music surging through his system. Back in the real world, Nicole his colleague had spent the last thirty seconds clicking her fingers next to Alexander’s ear to get his attention until finally she dips her fingers in his now disgustingly cold coffee before flicking the wet substance into his face. It caused Alexander Mitchells to startle from his thoughts, vision returning to the real world where he had idly been drawing on his pad rather than working on what he was meant too.

It’s almost six o’clock Alex, go home.” Nicole, a youthful personal assistant always made sure Alexander looked after himself. He was always careless when it came to himself only work and making every opportunity his own mattered, it was his drive. A merit and a flaw. Sighing softly, he looked down at the completely ruined pen cap riddled with his teeth marks before picking it up and throwing it towards his trash can which comically had a basketball hoop attached to it – always the child. Standing upright he felt multiple joints crack and adjust to new weight applied to them once more directly causing a satisfied groan of pleasure to part his lips. Folding his notepad over and throwing it into his drawer before picking up his keys, key card and phone he began to leave.

Taking one last look over his office, the centre of his empire as he called it looked beautiful and clean. Nicole had done well to train him out of his messy habits, his mother would be oh so proud. Satisfied with his achievements today Alex would flick his wrist causing all lights to shut off simultaneously while all doors would lock themselves with magnet technology. “I need a drink.” He says to the resounding ‘silence’ around him. He hadn’t heard true silence in months, not with the constant music playing within his cranium. He felt at first, he was at an unrelenting cacophonous rave, but he noticed that depending on mood and motion, the soundtrack to his day would shift slightly to coincide. He was the star of his own movie with his own soundtrack.

Deciding he needed a drink, he knew of only one place to go. It was a boutique borderline dive bar in the lower part of the metro wedged between two apartment complexes. Oddly enough these complexes were uniquely different one for the wealthy and one for the well… poor. It amused him to see the dynamic there and honestly, he preferred the relaxed atmosphere comparable to the upmarket sophisticated shark tanks he was socially required to attend every now and then. He hated the upper class, loved the money but hated the people. He contemplated all of these thoughts as he casually exited the building, stopping briefly to grasp his full face matte black helmet with tinted visor and black protective jacket.

Exiting the building, almond coloured iris’ cast across the underground carpark to find only his prized vehicle left in its place. The Yamaha YZF-R1 in custom onyx with metallic Byzantium purple tint stood proud and clean. He hoped it was a lovely night to ride.

The sound of his modified exhaust rumbled loudly echoing across buildings as he let his baby run as she was intended too. A cursory glance at his speedometer would reveal he was rushing through empty streets at 120 MP/H and he loved it. He loved the sound that rumbled through the engine between his legs while it amalgamated with the Beat. It psyched him up. Taking a left turn, Alex decreased his speed as he approached the carpark of the cheaper apartment block. Ignoring the spots, he rode his bike up the pathway and parked it across from the unkept excuse for a garden. He was here every so often to visit Glenn. His weed was some of the best he had toked and occasionally he had some fucking rock solid MDMA tabs. Was also talented in the arts too, perhaps he would commission a peace for his office.

Turning off his bike with but a look at the ignition switch he kicked the stand and locked her in place. Taking off his helmet slowly before placing it upon his seat. His hair was slightly damp, and it clung to his face, but that ride was worth it. Unzipping his protective coat as he walked across the garden path that was overrun with grass and weeds towards the bar. Removing his coat, Alexander’s attire looked rather plain. He preferred conventional over extravagant. He wore a three-quarter sleeved black button down into black slacks and black oxford shoes. A brown leather banded watch with a patina upon it’s face resided on his left wrist – a gift from his father. Pushing open the door slowly allowing his eyes to adjust while a smile crept upon his lips. She was here. “Hello munchkin.” He calls out coolly towards the bartender – Jennie Yates. They knew each other from collage but hadn’t seen each other since she dropped out. Taking a seat at the bar, fingertips patting Glenn’s shoulder in greeting as he does so. “I’ll take a pale ale if you’ve got any and your number.” He said with a wink, obviously falling into previously jovial jokes. “Kidding, it’s nice to see you though.”

Melrose Avenue is pretty close to the Museum of Death.


It is! It is also a very industrialist new wave contemporary side of Hollywood. These reasons are why I chose there.


Los Angeles – The city of fuckin’ angels. How quaint of a name for a city that is filled with more sin than a Nevada whore house. None the less it’s intoxicating allure of unrestricted sexual and mental desires had called to his ancient heart, six weeks to the day Syn had arrived into the warm embrace of Los Angeles and Hollywood in general. It smelt of cocaine, sex, abuse and alcohol all things exploitable to attract the human populace. Beyond the allures of all things sinful the city that had become home to internet sensations, vloggers and Hollywood stars alike bought of serene sense of classism that would benefit his vanity.

Syn had heard of the shifting elders attempting vying for the apex seat – for control of this fine state – and all that reside within. The filthy Sabbat that ruled San Francisco with an over indulgent fist in the name of religious fanaticism and then there was his own populace – The Camarilla. While considered an elder in rank Syn acted on the contrary often residing to his own desires and needs above that of his allegiances. He remembers it, the defect from the Sabbat and the war that followed. How they were all branded treasonous bastards and yet here the night was young and the Lasombra were still strong. Finally, he had heard of the Anarch Free State declaration that was imposed and held firm by a steadfast queen with a silver tongue. Queen’s be damned, the thought of such a happening in which none of the three major clans owned this city was simply… euphoric.

Having traversed many centuries across the tainted, corrupted planet considered home and its cultures, Syn had indulged in most of earth’s finest offers. An inherent addiction to the euphoric sensations of tasting simply the best. An addiction that had bought him to this free city where under the helpful guise of Hollywood and their constant fascination in turning Vampires from destructive forces of chaos to glittery humanoid seducer of the frightfully ugly via begrudgingly disgusting love stories to the point in which vampires in their truest form simply Do. Not. Exist. Now, under the guise of a nightlight rivalling Ibiza and Germany his kind, the kindred could boldly explore the city without reprimand.

With a wealth of knowledge gathered through the centuries lived by this youthful acquisition that simply appeared beneath a streetlight one night off Melrose, Syn had acquired an old factory estate in prime location for his vision. Over time the building took its form. A tasting gallery to which he called Gallery 66. The Gallery focused on only the rarest and most expensive brown spirits from across the globe with only a small selection of various wines for those so inclined. Barrels sourced from his childhood estate and across the country of France were imported to which Syn distilled his own small batch ranges of scotch.

It took time and patience to craft such a calibre of flavour each of his batches contained, time is an infinite resource to those who carefully prepare themselves. As such, he had begun his distilling prior to settling within the city – twenty-five to thirty years prior. Carefully the barrels were stored and left to age as his unique blends and refined tastes began to envelop the liquid. Syn had become a master of his craft (As he should be, having been a vintner for most of his indulgent life) and as such clientele ranging from presidents, Saudi Arabian princes and the wealthy waited years to receive their carefully chosen and inspected bottles – labelled only as De Rais of embellished copper on black.

Gallery 66 was Syn’s pride manifested into the physical realm. Carefully chosen materials bought a contemporary feel while rustic French and industrialist motifs remained with the use of bare brick and brass. The building was divided upon two floors with the main space belonging to the bar and a small seating space while upstairs had been converted into a seating space of beautiful handcrafted leather and alcantara couches with black steel framed and mahogany tables between. Fixated to the walls were various artworks he had procured including artworks from Monet, Picasso and Warhol. Beyond that relics from various cultures and time periods rest upon custom made stands.

As much as Gallery 66 was beautiful and fitting for at least thirty comfortably beyond the three staff it was rare to see a maximum of ten people at a time inside for their private tastings. Perhaps it is of his own volition or perhaps it is because of his potent vitae driven dominance and perfected vanity that drove people to the edges of fear, not of death but of their loss of will to defy the man.

Dressed to impress, immaculate care of all his garments and fashions saw him in tailored suits of various cool colour gradients. From the standard black three piece to the more casual navy blue two piece it would always accentuate his breathtaking features. Five o’clock shadow covered his razor-sharp jawline while heavy eyebrows and matching luscious black hair are immaculately shaped and teased into position. Neither a hair nor fibre are out of place and all garments are accented accordingly. Today saw the elder dressed in a patterned monochromatic button down with a tie of soft blues to match the shirt pattern. Tied in an elegant eldridge knot it bought a break of colour with a copper tie-clip. Over top he wore a vest of soft grey accented with ebony hem and matching slacks with high-shine oxfords upon his feet.

The reasoning for his attire beyond his vanity is that his sources and careful study of the kindred that surround him. Three bottles of a six-bottle batch of single malt with accents of honey had been carefully packaged in mahogany boxes with two glasses fitted within black silk and his business card of dark grey with elegant brass lettering saying Gallery 66 placed carefully within before being sealed and sent away. Their chosen recipients would be to a man called Nicolaus and the final two were sent to the Baron – a greeting from one elder to another that has not formally met and the other a gift for them to present to someone.

Perhaps he and Gallery 66 would have visitors tonight while the night is still young.





New peoples :)

I'd recommend joining our discord server for the rp, helps with character discussions etc.


I am a part of the discord, if you mean the one linkedd in the original post. My discord name is Omen.
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