Info
Name: Synfael
Alias: "Dark Enchanter", "Syn", "Midnight Alchemist"
Sexual orientation: Gay
Gender: Male
Family: Ezeel Arrius (Twin)
Age: Mid 30's
Race: Xaela
Relationship: Single
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Occupation: Necromancer | Alchemist
Languages: Auri, Common, Garlean, Ancient Allagan, Huntspeak, Dragonspeak.
Weapon of choice: Scythe and Magic
Quirks: Absorbed in his own thoughts, Smoking (Often enjoys savoring the burn and it grounds him), Wine (Helps focus his mind. Often chooses a darker and richer red with complex flavors), Dark Humor, Unnerving calmness in battle, Sporadic rage (Prone to breaking things), Personal space (He does not like being touched unless he initiates it.), Fiddling with vials, tapping his fingernails.
Personality: A bit of a stone faced Aura beguiled by expansive magic. He prefers to be spoken to not the other way around. While he may seem flirtatious most of it is a ruse.
Quotes: "Do not fear the reaper, fear the one who commands him."
Dislikes:
Garleans – He harbors a deep, burning hatred for them due to the invasion that destroyed his tribe, the loss of his family, and the torture his twin endured. He doesn’t just dislike them—he fantasizes about their slow, painful demise.Holy Magic & Clerics – Their very presence grates on his soul; their light magic burns him, metaphorically and sometimes literally. He finds their preaching insufferable.Being Touched – Due to the constant pain caused by his corruption and the sensitive nature of his living tendrils, Syn despises physical contact unless he initiates it—and even then, it's rare.Naïve Idealists – Those who spout hope, unity, or "believing in people" get under his skin quickly. He sees such ideals as foolish delusions.Being Compared to His Past – Whether it’s his old name (Xangai), his former life, or his ex-lover, Syn loathes being reminded of who he was before he embraced power.Sloppy Alchemy or Magic – Syn is an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to his craft. Watching someone botch a potion or misuse a spell is like nails on a chalkboard.Bright, Cheerful Environments – Sun-drenched meadows, happy chirping birds, or pastel color palettes make his eye twitch. He prefers gloom, swamps, and places where even shadows fear to linger.Excessive Noise – Loud, chaotic environments filled with shouting or pointless chatter annoy him, especially when he’s working.Being Vulnerable – Whether emotionally or physically, Syn despises feeling exposed. He hides pain behind sarcasm, power, and control.Failure – His own, or others’. It’s one of the few things that can truly shake his composure. He reacts with cold fury or seething silence.
Likes:
Aetheric Experimentation – Pushing the boundaries of magic, life, and death is his favorite pastime. The thrill of discovering something forbidden or dangerous is intoxicating.Fine Wine – He has an expensive and particular palate. The deeper the vintage, the more likely he is to hoard it in his personal collection. He treats it like alchemical treasure.Smoking – A ritual he finds calming. Whether it’s an exotic herbal blend or something more pungent and arcane, the act of smoking offers him focus… and a bit of dramatic flair.Control – Whether over his surroundings, the people around him, or his own corrupted magic, Syn thrives on being the one in power. He’s uncomfortable when he’s not.Stormy Weather – Thunder, lightning, and relentless downpours soothe him more than sunshine ever could. He finds beauty in nature's wrath.Unusual Companions – Voidsent, undead pets, cursed dolls, talking skulls, he’s drawn to the strange, the broken, and the overlooked. They amuse him…and don’t judge him.Dark Fashion – Capes, tailored coats, fine gloves, intricate jewelry, always in a palette of red, black, or poison green. He dresses like a man who knows he’s being watched.Manipulation & Wordplay – Few things are more satisfying to Syn than watching someone walk willingly into his web, thinking they were in control.Forbidden Tomes – Ancient texts, cursed scrolls, and grimoires soaked in blood and secrecy are his idea of a good time. He guards them jealously.Ezeel’s Music – Though he’d never admit it aloud, he has a soft spot for his twin’s singing or humming. It reminds him of the only warmth left in his shattered heart.Soft Touches in Secret – Despite his hatred of being touched, there’s a part of him that craves gentle affection, only from very specific people, and only in moments when the corruption isn't raging.
Appearance
Hair: White with tints of gray
Tail: long and layered in molten red scales, moves with a lethal grace, as though it holds the burning essence of fire and shadow within.
Eyes: Crimson with a predatory gaze. Scelera's are pitch black
Height: 8'7
Scent Profile:
Top Notes
Smoke and charred wood: The faint, lingering smell of incense or burnt offerings, hinting at rituals involving fire and bone.
Heart Notes
Rotting flora: A subtle but unsettling sweetness, like decaying lilies or wilted roses, symbolizing the boundary between life and death.
Base Notes
Moss and damp earth: The essence of crypts and long-forgotten graves, grounding him in the realm of the dead.
Aether Profile:
Swirling in inky tendrils, shifts in a blend of black, crimson, and venomous green, each color seething with a distinct but unhinged intensity. The black aether is dense and smoke-like, coiling up from his form in tendrils that drift and pulse as though they have a life of their own. Sharp flashes of red flicker within, like embers igniting in the dark, capturing the ferocity of his chaotic nature. The green aether is sickly, almost toxic-looking. It flows unpredictably, at times darting outward in jagged, uncontrolled spikes, like a warning of his unhinged magic ready to lash out.
Voice Claim:
Aaravos
chilling and intense as the dark aura surrounding him. His tone is low and smooth, carrying a velvety, almost hypnotic quality that draws people in despite the clear danger in his words. Each syllable is articulated with a careful, eerie precision, as though he’s savoring the weight of his every word. Beneath the smoothness, there's an undercurrent of something dark and twisted—a hint of sadistic amusement, as if he relishes in the discomfort or fear he can provoke.
When angered or unleashing the full force of his chaotic power, his voice would take on a guttural, gravelly edge, like the sound of ancient stone grinding. At those moments, his voice is a blend of feral growls and venomous whispers, laced with the uncanny resonance of someone who converses as easily with the dead as with the living. The effect is both alluring and unnerving, a voice that embodies the darkness, chaos, and power that define him.
Synfael’s appearance is a haunting vision of twisted beauty and corruption. His white hair is sleek, layered, and slicked back, giving a stark contrast to the deep, infernal colors of his scales and skin. His scales—a blend of deep red and abyssal black—run across his face and down his body, their colors interwoven like embers flickering in a dark fire. They follow the curves of his sharp jawline, down his neck, and over his arms, covering much of his form in a way that looks both organic and fiercely otherworldly.A long, muscular tail extends behind him, covered in the same red scales, but with darker patches that seem to flicker with the illusion of smoldering embers, as though an inferno lies just beneath the surface. The tail’s tip is jagged, adorned with what look like flaming scales, adding a menacing touch to his presence.Across his body and face, black, tendril-like markings snake beneath and around his scales. They twist and writhe, almost like they’re alive, giving the impression of corruption that’s seeped into his very being. These markings seem to pulse faintly, reacting to the corruption growing within, becoming more prominent when his chaotic energy flares.His hands bear signs of this corruption as well, appearing slightly warped and tainted, with the fingers elongated and his nails sharpened, as though molded by his necromantic powers. His skin there has a darkened, almost decayed look, hinting at the toll his dark magic has taken.Finally, his crimson eyes are intense, piercing, and filled with a glimmer of unsettling mischief, like he’s constantly amused by some dark, twisted joke. They glow faintly in low light, a reminder of the power he commands and the chaotic evil that defines him. Together, his appearance is a blend of allure and terror, an undeniable embodiment of death and corruption.
Short Synopsis
A Necromancer intrigued by the arts of dark magics and tomes. Syn abstains from speaking of his past remaining tight lipped about his mysterious foundations, though a little alcohol has loosened his lips before. He devotes his time in his shop creating and experimenting with various potions to scratch his devilish nature. His black taint marks are more a less the consequences of magics gone awry; best not to touch.
Abilities
| Power | Description |
|---|---|
| Soulbind Chains | With a snap of his fingers or a whispered incantation, luminescent green aether erupts from the air, twisting into ethereal chains that snake forward and lash around his target. These chains don’t just bind the body; they constrict the soul itself, draining the victim’s life force the longer they remain ensnared. |
| Summon Scythe | A wicked, otherworldly scythe forged from crystallized aether, its blade crackling with sickly green energy. The weapon is both physical and magical, able to sever spirit as easily as flesh. In his hands, the scythe becomes a graceful extension of his form |
| Wailing Bloom | A cursed alchemical concoction, infused with his aether and tossed like a flower that blooms upon impact, exploding into a green mist of necrotic gas. This ability inflicts confusion, nausea, and hallucinations, often causing enemies to hear phantom voices or see long-dead loved ones |
| Vitae Drain | A spell that allows Syn to extend his hand and siphon raw life essence from his target, turning it into a glowing green vapor that coils into his body like a hungry serpent. The more he draws, the more his wounds knit themselves closed and his eyes burn brighter. |
| Soulglare | When Syn channels his full magical presence, his eyes ignite with intense green fire and project a wave of oppressive energy. Weak-minded enemies are stunned or paralyzed by fear, seeing visions of their own death. |
| Verdant Pyre | Green hellfire that bursts from the ground in a spiraling column. Unlike normal flames, these do not burn with heat but instead with pure aetheric corruption, searing flesh, soul, and sanity alike. The fire clings unnaturally, defying water and magical extinguishment, and often takes the shape of withered hands or screaming faces reaching out within the blaze. |
The Beginning...
Xangai Arulaq, the man who would one day become known as Synfael, was born into the proud and isolated Arulaq tribe, a people thought to have been lost to history. Nestled in the rugged, snow-covered valleys of the northern mountains, the Arulaq thrived in seclusion, guarding their secrets and traditions from the outside world. Raised in the wilds, Xangai grew up with a deep respect for nature, his culture, and his tribe’s ancestral bonds with the land and the spirits of the dead. He had a twin brother, Ezeel, who was his closest companion, and their bond was unshakable, built on years of shared history and mutual trust.However, that world was shattered when the Garleans, in their insatiable lust for conquest, invaded the valley. Xangai’s parents, revered leaders of the tribe, were slain in the ensuing conflict, their blood spilled as the Garlean forces decimated their once-thriving settlement. Xangai and Ezeel were separated in the chaos, and the devastation left Xangai orphaned, broken and grieving. His family, his home, all of it was reduced to ashes. The once-proud Arulaq tribe was in shambles leaving it's people to rebuild.Orphaned and consumed by grief, Xangai wandered the ruins of his village, desperately searching for a way to resurrect his family and reclaim what had been taken from him. But the once-innocent Xangai, faced with such a profound loss, could not find solace in prayer or nature. His grief turned to bitterness, and that bitterness festered into something far darker. His desire for vengeance and to undo the death of his parents led him down a forbidden path—the path of Necromancy.
In Depth
The dark arts offered Xangai the promise of power over life and death, and as he delved deeper into necromantic rituals, his humanity began to erode. His people, who had always valued the natural order and the spirits of the deceased, saw his actions as an abomination. They cast him out, calling him a heretic, a monster, and Xangai—now lost to the shadows of his own madness—embraced the name Synfael, a new identity forged in the fires of vengeance.For years, Synfael wandered the world, his powers growing as he experimented with raising the dead. His first success came when, in a desperate act of grief, he revived his parents—only to be met with horrifying results. Their forms were temporarily restored, but they did not return as they once were. They were twisted, unnatural husks, forced to walk the earth as mocking shadows of their former selves. When they looked upon him with hatred, disgust, and fear, calling him a monster, Synfael was driven to a rage so violent that he tore through the very remnants of his tribe, slaughtering every last one of them without hesitation. His anger was unrelenting, and their blood soaked the earth that had once been sacred to him.However, in the midst of his massacre, Synfael discovered something that would set him on a new path: Ezeel, his twin brother, had been captured during the Garlean invasion and was still alive. For years, Synfael hunted for his brother, driven by a single desire—to rekindle the bond that had once united them and perhaps redeem himself in the eyes of the only family he had left.After years of searching, Synfael finally located Ezeel, who had been broken by his Garlean captors. Despite the horrors Ezeel had endured, the bond between the twins was undeniable, and Synfael took him under his wing, seeking a path to restore what had been lost. However, even the return of his brother could not fill the void of Synfael’s corruption. His hunger for power, his obsession with bending death to his will, only deepened.Years passed, and Synfael’s experiments grew darker. In the heart of the Swamps of the Shroud, Synfael set up a twisted laboratory where he carried out horrendous experiments, blending the dark arts of necromancy with forbidden alchemy. His desire for knowledge and power became all-consuming, but it was during one of his most reckless experiments that everything changed.In an attempt to pierce the veil between worlds and unlock even greater forces, Synfael opened a portal in his basement—a rift to something far older and more dangerous than he could have imagined. When he reached through the portal, something reached back. The entity that touched him was not a simple spirit or demon—it was something far more primal and chaotic. The corruption of the being began to overtake his body, its dark essence seeping into his skin and soul, leaving black tendrils of twisted, living marks along his face and body.His hands became the worst affected, twisted and disfigured by the dark power, with his once-beautiful skin now marked by scars and dark corruption. The constant sensation of the corruptive power burning and scratching beneath his flesh became unbearable, as if something inside him was constantly clawing to escape. He soon discovered that in order to keep the entity at bay and maintain control, he would need to consume a reddish, alchemical concoction—a liquid that soothed the raging storm within, giving him temporary respite. But the price was high. The longer he indulged in the potion, the more the corruption took hold, the more his body twisted. His tendril marks would flare to life, writhing and crawling across his skin, signaling the growing chaos within him.Synfael, now known as the “Dark Enchanter,” has become a feared figure in the region. His home, buried deep within the swamps, is the site of countless dark rituals, experiments, and malevolent dealings. His twisted desire for power and his growing madness have left him isolated, a being who walks the razor-thin line between life and death, sanity and madness.Synfael no longer trusts anyone, his sole focus now being his experiments and his own survival. He has learned to avoid close contact with others, not only out of mistrust but also because of the immense pain the growing corruption brings him. His constant battle with the entity that possesses him is a struggle that no one can see, but its effects are evident in his every move, every word, and every breath.Despite all this, the memories of his tribe, his parents, and his brother still haunt him. He can never escape the feeling that something is missing—something irreparably broken in him. Whether he seeks redemption or simply more power, only time will tell.
Notes:
ooc
About Me:
Heyo my name is Syn
I’m 28, He/Him, and an artist with a deep love for storytelling. I’ve been roleplaying for over 10 years and have a soft spot for weaving character-driven narratives and writing little story snippets in my free time. I value immersive RP, thoughtful character development, and collaborative storytelling that respects both boundaries and creativity.
Rules
21+ Only — I only roleplay with partners who are 21 years of age or older. No exceptions.
IC ≠ OOC — My character’s actions, thoughts, and emotions are not reflective of me as a person. Please do not blur the lines between IC (in-character) and OOC (out-of-character). No character bleed.
Keep It In Character — I am here for immersive storytelling and character development. Please keep interactions IC unless otherwise agreed upon.
Not a Dating Sim — Final Fantasy XIV is not a dating game for me. Romantic or intimate RP is strictly character-based and earned through organic development, not a reflection of OOC interest.
Consent & Communication — I value respectful communication. If something makes you uncomfortable, speak up. I will do the same.