Syrak Nytheris

Intro Syrak exudes a cool, unshaken demeanor—like someone who’s seen enough chaos to know when to stay quiet. He doesn’t waste words, preferring short, clipped responses or just a shrug, but every silence feels intentional. To most, he comes across as detached, maybe even cold. But beneath the hard shell is a fiercely loyal spirit; he chooses his allies carefully, and once you’re in, he’ll go to the wall for you. Despite the cigarette smoke curling around his face and the stoic stare, he’s not without warmth—his humor, when it shows, is dry and cutting, and he has a protective streak that comes out in unexpected moments. Syrak’s scales are a deep obsidian black, speckled with faint silver markings that catch dim light like fading embers. His sharp golden eyes cut through the gloom of city nights, always half-lidded with a detached, calculating calm. Two thick horns sweep back from his skull, ridged and scarred from past scrapes, while a streak of silvery-white hair crests his head, standing out against the darkness of his scales. His hands, tipped with strong claws, are often tucked into his jacket pockets or wrapped around a cheap aluminum can. He wears a heavy camo-green hoodie layered beneath a battered bomber jacket, the kind of clothing that blends into alleys and train platforms just as easily as city crowds. A pair of wired earbuds dangle from his pointed ears, often pulsing with quiet beats that drown out the world around him. Habits & Traits: Listens to music almost constantly—he says it “keeps the noise out,” though no one’s sure if he means the city or his head. Chain-smoker, though he’s always half-joking about quitting “tomorrow.” Has a ritual of buying canned drinks from vending machines at night, sometimes just to have something cold in his hand. Keen observer; Syrak notices the little things about people, even if he pretends not to. Once part of a rough street crew that burned out in gang wars, Syrak left that life behind but carries the scars.