Ðèvóñ ÐrâkäñÇø-Öwñër øf .Ðrâkäñ Œñ†êrprìšé§. - Çø-Öwñër øf .Ðärk P᧧ìøñ.Toreador ~Artiste~°»†«° Príñçè øf Ñëw Ør£êäñ§ °»†«°~~Çämäríllä Háñd~~ ~~Çràzý óvèr Mïk ðä Mâlk~~


...Click for Ðèvóñ Ðrâkäñ's Character Sheet...


Bio
Born soon after the great floods that swept over and ravaged the earth, as a young human growing up in a dark and dreary time, he searched far and wide for what could possibly bring him some sort of joy in his life. Most certainly, the scad women that flocked to his natural good looks were fun… but none of them seemed to want anything permanent...their enjoyment...short-lived. He continued searching for many years until he stumbled upon a small theatre, nestled upon the small stage were a group of 5 musicians, playing such delightfully sweet music. The sounds he heard that day would forever foretell his eternity…a smile drifted across his face as he soon found what he was looking for. A love for music. From that point on, it was his life...
Over the many years that followed, he was able to grasp an amazing singing voice, a mid range baritone that made him the talk of the town, plus picking up various instruments and playing many with equal perfection. His one true gift was playing the piano, which garnered him even more acclaim.
It was one of his backup singers that changed his life forever. A beautiful young woman named Anabella Castillo took a particular shine to him, enthralled by his abilities. One night, after a wonderful performance, she coaxed Devon back onto the stage in the empty theatre, but this performance was different. Intoxicated by her wicked ways, he never saw the fangs that slammed into his neck…quicker then he could ever imagine. She overcame him so quickly, draining him almost completely. He thought himself dead, for what seemed the last 5 minutes of his life, the minutes ticked away like years, awaiting the final end of his life…until those numbingly sweet drops of her vitae spilled onto his lips...
"Welcome to Clan Toreador, Devon" she said with a warm purr in her voice.
Later spending many years of his unlife in decadence and degeneracy, living his musical life to the absolute fullest. Seemingly VERY aloof, not bothering with learning his already innate vampiric abilities, even though his Sire was constantly prodding him to learn his powers.
Hundreds of years it took him to finally realize just what he could do, after witnessing so many other Vampire perform curiously unique and spectacular displays of differing power...he knew he was behind in his lessons. He struggled with many ideas and options, until he came to one conclusion that would help him acquire more disciplines. Track down those that had bloodhunts called upon them and diablerize the guilty party. This proved worthwhile for him, as he quickly gained many new disciplines, some quite extraordinary, especially for a Toreador. One fatal night, that he thought was his crowning achievement, turned out to be his biggest downfall. A discordant piece of misinformation of a diablerie upon a Tremere by the name of Templeton. He quickly accepted the bounty and went to seek out the power of Thaumaturgy. He soon found the Warlock and was able to diablerise him quickly. Satisfied with this, he returned to his Sire, only to find out that there was no such hunt placed upon this Warlock Templeton. Pleading with his Sire and communicating with the Father of the Bloodline, Arikel himself, he was able to garner a different punishment. Stripping him of four of his disciplines that he had worked so very hard for, and commanded to partake in regular torture sessions from his Sire. This continued for hundreds more years....the barrage of highly powerful Psychic Assaults from his Sire seared his brain every time the torture occurred.
Soon afterwards, Devon wanted to raise a family of Toreador himself, settling down with his wife Leila in their Estate in the outskirts of New Orleans. He soon became Prince of the City with the help and support of a thriving family of gifted Toreador chylder. Tragedy struck years later when his wife Leila disappeared totally from his life. He vowed to never love one again, as difficult a task as that is....he learned later that she perished in an ambush of Garou as she wandered alone and virtually unprotected. From then on, his love is driven through his chylder and his City.....ruling both with care and total devotion....alone...forever...
For what seemed like a millennium, he stood proud, and alone…atop the city he loved so much. Wondrously partaking in every facet of finery the city had to offer. Aloof and carefree to a point, he always made sure that things were to seem…in order and well placed, for he upheld the Masquerade to the fullest. Yet, it was steadily time to repay an old debt…for additional combat training by whom he could hire so long ago...The Sabbat.
What he owed was astronomical, to much to put into mere words. It was then that the Sabbat simply enlisted him into the devilish world of The Black Hand, a sect of assassins and bounty hunters within the ranks of the Sabbat. He was most useful for sources of information…all the while he had appeared to be in league with the Camarilla, the Sabbat were behind the scenes…pulling the strings.
His comradery never faltered with the ones he worked with, to help achieve the order within New Orleans. Tilanis, “Daddy Dark” as Devon has called him, had rule over the Dark family that thrived within New Orleans. Jules Dimona, charming fellow that once was head of the Sinzuli Mob and the demon family of Nitruit. Interesting lot they were. Devon, along with Tilanis and Jules, were knows collectively as “The Triad”, keeping the City under control in their respective fields.
It was about that time that Drakan Enterprises went ahead with it’s first business venture, Dark Passion. “Dark Passion: The Club, The Experience” it was billed all over town, a clear assign of Devon’s indulgence into hedonism and decadence. His stature solidified his reputation whilst the expensive strip club / concert hall drew people and tourists from all over, bands toured frequently, the large club provided plenty of room for the hottest acts on the tour scene.
Yet Devon felt alone in his indulgence. Sure, the women of the club were fantastic…to feed upon, but he truly yearned for a companion that meant everything to him. A mate, someone that could love him, just for him.
Enter Evil Blyss, a charming vixen from the Solurex family. Having always had good relations with them, it didn’t seem odd to anyone that the pair would hook up at some point. Albeit, the relationship was short lived, it was definitely one hell of a rush for Devon. Evil Blyss, in more ways then one, was very adept in bringing out the more…devilish sinister side of the Toreador.
Also vying for Devon’s affections was a long time friend, Mik da Malk. A small Malkavian that, oddly enough intrigued the heck out of him. She seemed almost magical in the way she would talk…her actions seemed almost childlike, yet so honed and skilled, she was defiantly no slouch. Both of them almost went “toe to toe” several times, while Devon tried to keep the peace between them.
Alas, it was Mik that swept him off of his feet, finding that she aided in bringing out the youthful side of his demeanor…and it was fun. He had lived a long life, and now he could be “kids again” with someone he truly loved…forever. The two were a rather famous pair, Mik helping in small ways in the club, she charmed everyone with her ways. For clear over a year, the two were rapturously entwined with one another, everything new and fascinating for each of them, but it was time for the next step. At a gala party for the both of them, Devon and Mik shocked the world when they announced the surprise wedding ceremony about to take place!
Leaving Evil Desires, his Senschal, behind in charge until his return, the two whisked off on an extended honeymoon of sorts, an “R & R” trip back to Mik’s homeland, Ireland. Really as much of an escape then anything else, they went gleefully away to Ireland, only keeping tabs with Evil Desires on important information about New Orleans. This continued for years upon years…granted he wasn’t in New Orleans, but he most certainly still running things. Even making a few trips home every once in a great while, to rectify things.
Over time however…the calling to “his home” always beckoned him to return to New Orleans. For the magic of his very city always held such a special place for him. It was time to return...
Drakan Enterprises still thrives financially with an ever expanding array of varying products to promote, sale or distribute. At the center of it all, the Headquarters, if you will, was the club, Dark Passion. Once again, Devon resumes control of the main office, the one with the immense long window, overlooking the club down below.
A near pale hand slips onto the railing of the window, a smile stretching along his face...
“Ahhhhh...it is so good...to be home..."


Çø-Öwñër øf .Ðrâkäñ Œñ†êrprìšé§. - Çø-Öwñër øf .Ðärk P᧧ìøñ.Toreador ~Artiste~°»†«° Príñçè øf Ñëw Ør£êäñ§ °»†«°~~Çämäríllä Háñd~~ ~~Çràzý óvèr Mïk ðä Mâlk~~





...R.I.P. My Love...