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"O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt. Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew."

0 · 542 views · located in Khaol

a character in “Borrowed Strength”, as played by coricidinForte


Age: "My existence does not conform to the laws of time and space, leaving me simultaneously young and old."

Gender: ”Being without a proper body could spark debate whether I am theoretically male or female minded, however I will assert that I am significantly more masculine than feminine and will insist that you address me accordingly.”

Sexual Orientation: ”Do not develop any foolish ideas, I have no such compulsion to engage in acts sexual or romantic. Regardless, it has been centuries since the last time I shared compassion with another, and something as petty as sex or gender does not influence me.”

Type: Parasite, Heat/Fire


"Naberius [Naberus], alias Cerberus, is a valiant marquesse, shewing himselfe in the forme of a crowe, when he speaketh with a hoarse voice: he maketh a man amiable and cunning in all arts, and speciallie in rhetorike, he procureth the losse of prelacies and dignities: nineteene legions heare (and obeie) him."
- Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, Johann Wier (1583)

Neberius and Rory's personalities are very different, but on the surface this might not seem so. Neberius is eloquent and amiable, he speaks with charisma in a pleasant manner, often acting more polite than anything. It's a simple task for him to be able to blend in with humans, aside from the fact that he always smells like a campfire. Emotions are nearly foreign to him, the most common of his being light frustration or annoyance. Mature and disimpassioned, his composure is nearly unwavering; to say it was rare for him to become thrown off is an understatement, such an occurrences could be counted on a single human hand. It takes a lot to shake Neberius off his guard, let alone surprise or upset him. He's always calculating something, studying people and situations, moving pieces to keep him three steps ahead. He predicts possible outcomes in his head, preparing himself for various complications to allow himself to react swiftly and without hesitation. While he often comes across as a refined gentleman with seasoned war tactics, in reality his personality truly matches his species.

Rhetoric /ˈretərik/
1. The art of effective or persuasive speaking or writing, esp. the use of figures of speech and other compositional techniques
2. Language designed to have a persuasive or impressive effect on its audience, but is often regarded as lacking in sincerity or meaningful content.

Neberius has a way with words and uses them to entice and brainwash others, it's his largest and more reliable tool of manipulation. It's to be said that his speech isn't his only skill, as he can find other means to act as a leverage. Twisting situations to benefit himself is his profession, creating insurance for himself and making deals with powerful allies, he's a conniving snake with several cards stashed under his sleeves. He spends a lot of time possessing Rory's body, an easy task for him, given that the boy's mental state is so unstable. When he's not possessing Rory's body he is observing, thinking, his mind crunching away at possibilities and ideas. Then, when he is in control, he takes action. He goes throughout transforming situations to aid him, trapping hunters that are after them, linking Rory's murders to lead to another contractor he's been wishing to get rid of. Neberius always has a plan B, and a plan C, as he creates back-up after back-up to prevent his failure. In addition, he has forced his way into various systems, making deals to gain business partners to benefit him. A life in exchange for having the head of a corporation, an enforcer of the law, a duke of crime, even politicians have become his puppets due to the debt they owe him. So many humans seem eager to do anything, so long as the one in their way is eliminated first.

He's ruthless, but not brash, nor is his bloodthirsty. Even if it wasn't planned Neberius will kill people if he has to, though he often avoids it, seeing it was a waste of time and a bore. It's only something he has to put up with, in order to achieve no liabilities. His goal is to eliminate all hunters, which is why he allows Rory to behave so erratically, leaving a trail of bodies behind them wherever they go. He is not running from them, rather, he's leading them towards him. This is why he spends his time with manipulation, so he can trap hunters in his web. He sends them to the way of other contractors and demons, hoping that they will die in the process. But the ones he sends them to are those he wouldn't mind seeing dead, and the outcome with benefit him either way. Neberius uses police forces to his advantage when too many of them get to close, and members of criminal organizations are at his disposal when men and women of the law will not do. When there's a number of hunters after him he can handle, that's when he allows them to get close to him, often having them believe that he was ignorant to their trailing of him and feigns consternation until he has them exactly where he wants them - then he'll eliminate them without a hint of mercy. The demon seeks knowledge and wants to make sure society can continue to grow, both for existence and observations sake. Hunters are only getting in the way.

One has to be very clever to counter him, only the most intelligent has been able to thwart him in the past. Of course, showing the ability to be crafty, cunning and insidious will excite him, but it can impede him as well, since it will take longer for him to respond to someone who is closer to being his equal in intellect. Actions that increase his anger will also prove to be beneficial. While he is calm and collected, Neberius does have a terrible, dreadful temper that has been nailed down and sealed shut. If you are able to unleash this rage, then his composure will crack and he will begin acting impetuously, rather than acting with care and thought. On the other hand it will bring out extreme violence, yet it will stunt his mental prowess. He is also arrogant, though, not in a way that is significantly hindering. Breaking the connections he has made will also aid you in facing off against him, though the hold he has on these people are strong, demons are very good at persuading people at keeping their mouths shut. If you have no way of getting ahead of him, then it may be best to meet him in an area without any oxygen, for at least it will prevent him from starting a fire.

♠ Rhetoric. ”The art of discourse, it’s my specialty.”
♠ Art. ”Paintings, poetry, the finer things are beyond your understanding.”
♠ Sciences. ”Knowledge is your most valuable resource, yet you humans throw it away on petty, materialistic desires and diaphanous faith.”
♠ Fire. ”For the flames that eat away at everything in their path is an art in itself.”
♠ Puzzles "I'm continuously disappointed with your inability to weave intricate plans that unfold into a formidable climax, I suppose you'll have to leave that to me."
♠ Humans "Do not confuse me with my host, I gain no pleasure from extinguishing the lives of humans, the process is much to dull and predictable. However, a handful have proved themselves fascinating and even genius, those are the ones worth my time."
♠ Devices of Communication "They certainly are convenient. Even I have taken a liking to these cellular phones. Pushing a mere button can cause your downfall, thanks to this."

♠ Touch. ”The sensation of your skin against that of my hosts’ is repugnant, if you continue on I will be forced to reduce your body into that of smoldering ash.”
♠ Television "How any of you could waste the little time you have on programs that only kill your braincells is beyond me."
♠ Histrionics "Kindly keep your emotions to yourself, I have no tolerance for your lamentation."
♠ Cigarettes "If my host and I agree on anything, it's that the smoke from those revolting rolls of tobacco are insulting to the beauty of smoke."
♠ Vapidity "Honesty, I'm sure you could have tried harder than that."
♠ Begging "I will never take pity on you, groveling won't save your life."

"I do not plan on keeping my host alive, his corpse will be just as useful to me. I'm only waiting until his behavior gets him killed."

"The only thing I fear, is fear itself."

Crush: "Do not belittle me, I am no human child."

Boyfriend/Girlfriend: "So that's what they call it these days.."

Do you have a contractor?: Rory Chamberlain, I always enjoy studying those with psychopathic natures.”

Contract Details: "I am not generous in nature, my services do not go without a price. There is only one thing that will satisfy me enough to bond myself to such an ignorant creatures, I ask of you to give me lives. Is your mind so corroded that you will act as the executioner in exchange of power?" "It is." In exchange for four lives Neberius shares with Rory the power of heat and fire. Their body is no longer effected by heat or fire, instead it can spark and create both, even to the point of manipulating large flames. Rory's control over these abilities do not match up to Neberius' control over them, as he can even create large, detailed moving pictures out of the flames. They're just as beautiful as they are deadly, his power enough to burn down cities if nothing stops him. In addition Neberius takes over Rory's body quite often, even as much as eight or more hours a day. He enjoys using his body for his own purposes, and usually prevents his host from acting too rashly. However, the demon does nothing to prevent his murderous habit, and is indifferent to how many bodies Rory drops. He also keeps his communication with Rory to a minimum, hardly ever acknowledging or talking to him even when he's not possessing the body. When he is in control of the body he is very secretive and blocks Rory out, often leaving him in the dark.

Other: Whenever Neberius possesses Rory the body with smell like smoke and his voice will become lower and hoarser.

So begins...

Neberius's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius
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Rory Chamberlain

"From fairest creatures we desire increase, that thereby beauty's rose might never die. But as the riper should by time decease, his tender heir might bear his memory."

The cacophonous voice in the back of his head recited a sonnet with ease. The voice was spinning smooth silk that led into beautiful disarray, metaphorical fingers hitting the deepest piano keys which reverberated against the auditorium of his mind. It made the movement under his skin turn, an acid stuck in his throat burned with the desire to continue on. Rory's hand tightened around a decorated metal handle, the dark, solidified shadows twisted to create vines from the Garden of Eden. He smiled, his vocal cords vibrating until a demented laugh split past his lips and into the room before him; his stage to preform a resplendent art.

"But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, making a famine where abundance lies. Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel."

Her screaming tickled his eardrums, filling him with ecstasy that soaked into his brain, a pleasure that only few would truly understand. Steps forward followed the rhythm of hands banging on a chestnut door, the woman's hair was clumped together with blood and her skin pale, reflecting the whites of his eyes. He pulled the fire from his marrow, traveling through his veins and infecting the metal in his hand - turning black into bright, excited orange and red. "My lady, my contorted lady of thorns and rotten petals, is it right for you to be deny this fate?" She gave no proper response, only the continuation of begging, pleading for her life as she yelled with vigor, reaching to grab the attention of those that walked the streets above.

"Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, and only herald to the gaudy spring. Within thine own bud buriest thy content, and, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding."

No, this woman had no right to live, not after she displayed herself to be so willing to abandoned her children. Rory turned the fire poker in his hands, calescent from the fire of vengeance and deformed justice, he didn't move from his spot inches behind her until she looked back. It was taken as an acceptance of punishment, and his swings of assailment dyed her skin in not only purples, but blistering, thick, peeling red burns. A stench filled the room, familiar and welcome was the smell of searing human flesh, paired with the song of dying agony. Wounds were opened and cauterize simultaneously, pointed edges pierced into fragile organs and spilled blood onto the wooden floor. Flames licked at the body as her last cry echoed against his soul, and they died with her; leaving traces in the blackened wood, the mutilated flesh.

"Pity the world, or else this glutton be. To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee."

Rory smiled, dilated eyes admiring his work as waves of relief and joy washed down his spine. The quiet the followed the final act was just as beautiful as the performance itself, only being interrupted by his uneven breathing and squeals of delight. What glorious radiance he was blessed with seeing today, every molded smile and practiced word had given him the ultimate reward; a conniving rat atoning for her sins against her own kin. "Such a fan of Shakespeare, are you so sure that your repugnance towards mankind is so definite?" His body lead him away from the crude corpse, taking him up the stairs towards the ground floor of her own home, a building on a a lower mid-level, where no one cared for the dying last words of others.

Neberius wasn't going to answer him, he had only played the part of a dutiful narrator, giving his maniacal orchestra a hint of class. That was fine by him, he could stay silent, Rory had gotten what he wanted regardless if the demon acknowledged him or not. His body was shaking, vibrating with adrenaline that moved from his head to his toes, yet he knew better to linger around a scene of a murder, and let himself out the backdoor. What would become of her family? Where would become of her children, who had no father? There was no care or concern about them, instead he melted the weapon used to put a stop to her excessive breathing, coating her back stairs with thick, black pools until his hands were liberated from lugging the object around.

His records weren't deleted though, he couldn't let a house where his fingerprints and DNA lied to stay standing, he would leave his business card instead. A flick of the wrist and a bright flame, it grew in his hand and flew towards the building, latching on and devouring the exterior in a fast, mad frenzy. A chuckle and a last look back would end this tale, another chapter was finished, and he would move onto the next section. All he had to do was walk down the street as the house fire grew in size behind him, oozing heated rage. Would he make headlines again? The voice in his head would handle everything, reassured by his whispers of 'Leave it to me', giving those that actually wished to hunt down a serial killer with a contract only a thin path to follow. They were moving up, leaving behind fires and dead bodies; leading those that got too close too soon in capable, ruthless hands.

"What a day, I wonder if it'll be put in history books?" It wasn't until he had traveled the distance of forty five minutes that he spoke again, musing his thoughts out loud after triggering a ring in a small cafe. Music played in the background, a violin accompanied by ivory and licorice keys, accented by the smells of pastries and liquified coffee beans. Today had been near perfect, if only he had something to remember it by. A photo maybe, but the taste of a dark beverage would have to do, and he sat not far off from the other patrons that rested with ther hands clasped around plastic cups. He sent the girl next to him a friendly, make-believe smile and he realized, that his day had hardly even begun.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: .Murmur
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Brown thread cascading down the sides of a bone structure sculpted into a heart - or was it an oval? Her lips pulled into an expression that reminded him of a statement of equivocation, neither wrong nor right; hesitant, reluctant. The bag by her side was dilapidated, and he pondered whether it was a reflection of the owner's psyche or from a state of economical distress. He guessed it could of been either, this wasn't exactly the wealthier part of the city, nor did the majority of it's tenants uphold a level of sanity and stability. She could even be some sort of thief, a beautiful girl who wove together fairytale lies to lure in chumps, saps and stooges. A millions archetypes existed on this particular level, and a trillion more clotted together when you mashed the entire city together, let a lone the world.

"It's advised that you don't underestimate this girl, she's a mirror image of yourself, holding promises to a tenebrous being not unlike myself." The coarse voice spoke inside his head, prying his attention away from the girl and his musing to the half full coffee cup in his hands, which his fingers starting picking at. Rory's mind ventured to the mark of his own contract, black and on the back of his neck, a place that was too vulnerable to make him feel comfortable. The seal of Neberius was easily revealed, even if his hair and the hood of his jacket did a fine job at hiding it, he could only consider himself lucky that other people didn't make a habit of looking at one anothers necks.

Right now his hood was down, lying in a layered heap of navy blue material sewn together by factory workers that got paid with nickles and dimes. He would have to be more cautious in the presence of another demon contractor, they could be ever so unpredictable. "Do not insinuate that we're so similar. There is not one person out there that is like me." His mind echoed his reply, irritated if nothing else. The voice known as Neberius went silent, but Rory knew it wasn't because he had won some sort of petty argument, nor was he the victor of a battle of wits. This demon simply didn't care, he treated mankind like science experiments, wooden pawns on a chessboard. It wasn't that Rory had a problem with it, since he was given great power thanks to this domineering individual, he just knew enough that if he stayed out of his way that Neberius would do the same - even if he mocked him in both shadows and light.

At least the marquis had told him of the girl's connection to a separate entity, if he hadn't than he wouldn't have been able to figure it out so easily. Did all demons have the ability to sense their own kind like that? He wasn't exactly sure, and disregarded the thought, it wouldn't mean anything to think over something that couldn't be changed. It'd be a cold day in Hell if he was to ask Neberius about it too; he could handle himself against a Demon, he didn't need to go running in the opposite direction like some wounded animal. The girl had seized his interest, and resisting wasn't something Rory was good at. In fact, you could almost call him infamous solely on his near inability to deny desire and hunger.

So he turned towards her, a charming smile in place; the same glorified, false expression that has been practiced many times before today "Sorry to bother you Miss, I'm Rory." His voice did not shake, so unlike the words he spoke to the woman he killed only hours ago, which was filled with poetic malice and abhorrence. To many the transformation between a monster and a normal, teenage boy would be uncanny, but those types no nothing of the minds of killers. There wasn't even the evidence of blood marred on his skin, nor a hint of regret reflected in his fibrovascular tissues. His lips pulled into a thin line and he looked downwards for a moment, as if he was thinking something over and was weary of speaking those thoughts aloud. This was only an act, his praxis that Neberius helped him achieve, the cheese at the center of a mousetrap. He look back at her, meeting the dark color of her eyes with his own. "It's just, you seem familiar, have we met before?"


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: .Murmur
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The name lifted off of the tip of her tongue, escaping the confines of her lips as she stared at him, wide-set eyes trying to remember anything about the strange boy. Murmur would have told her anything before he wandered off if he was important - or perhaps she had met this 'Rory' before she had formed a contract with the other being. With a clumsy movement, Chriselle dug into her tattered bag, pulling out the neatly-kept notebook and unclasping the strap attached to it. Her fingertips met the crisp pages, delicately though hurried, and her eyes scanned the chicken-scratch writing on the parchment. After a moment's time, she turned to him, shaking her head in response.

"I...don't think we have..." Chriselle responded, her voice soft and filled with obvious nerves. She had been practicing on interacting with other people, a trait she lacked, and one that Murmur had told her was an important aspect in her 'new life.' A recluse, inverted young girl, communicating never was one of her virtues from the start, anyways. "Ah, I apologize, I'm...Chriselle." Her movements were a bit sloppy, nervousness wracking through her body as she held out a pale hand for him to shake. Did people still do that, she wondered. It had been a while since she had engaged in conversation with anyone. With the other hand, she grasped her book, tucking it quickly into her messenger bag with a nervous glance. The boy was someone she couldn't trust, it felt that way at least, and she pondered if forgetting about him would be a good thing. Nonetheless, she made a mental note to add his name and information into her notebook as soon as she got time.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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The sensation of skin against skin, hardly there, but enough to throw him off guard. His breathing ceased, stuck in his throat, or maybe his lungs had collapsed because of the contact. Her fingers against the back of her neck was gentle, not like the hands of people that had dared to get this close before. For a fleeting moment, Rory had thought it hadn't happened at all, just a trick of his mind. Rory turned and faced her, facial language surprised in parted lips, that sealed together in a thin line when he noticed her embarrassed reaction.

Chriselle spoke in mumbled apologies, despite them being unneeded. He reached forward and grabbed onto her right hand, moving his own fingers against the mark on her skin, barely tracing it. This was easier than telling her that he didn't mind what she had done, instead he wanted to show her that he was okay with it, even if might force her to reel away from him. Rhythmical knocking broke the scene, and Rory dropped her hand, eyes narrowed towards the door and feet hitting the ground with hostility. Flames licked at his outsoles, threatening to eat away at this building as well. They disappeared as soon as they came, leaving only burns on the floor.

He reached towards the door, heart pounding with rage and violence, prepared to waste away the present nuisance. Someone had seen them, had the audacity to follow them, comfort them. To Rory, it was clear that the owner of the voice had a death wish. If he was feeling so suicidal, then he would bless him with a homicide. "I'm not only willing but able to help you." He froze, arm outstretched, and flames disappearing. Blood that had rushed in his ears had drained away, unable to control his body anymore, paralyzed.

"I advise you to hear this man out." The voice of death and persistence spoke to him, preventing him from dropping another body so soon today. "He may be able to actually help us. Behave." Rory stumbled forward, using the door to prevent himself from falling down, knees shaking briefly before he regained his composure. He glared at the floor, the malice directed at the voice in his head. He didn't like this, but if he disobeyed, then Neberius would only take over, and he didn't want the demon to do so right now. Not when he still had some time to himself left, and he opened the door.

With narrowed eyes, Rory looked at the man, recognizing him from the street. "Then say something of use. How could you help us?" He demanded, stepping away from the door entrance, allowing some space for the man to enter the desolate apartment. He glanced over to Chriselle, and then returned his attention to the man. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now." Voice low, whispering and callous, his gaze was unrelenting. This man must be playing some sort of game, stuffing cards up his sleeves, none out of good intention. He didn't trust him at all.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rory Chamberlain Character Portrait: Neberius Character Portrait: Chriselle Edison Character Portrait: Solomon R Kitsner
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Dust hung in the air, lingering in an atmosphere thick enough to drown in. Rory inhaled his spite, biting down on the corner of his mouth in attempt to focus on building up his fragile mental wall. He could feel the curved fingernails of time and destruction; the self-interested of the demon inside him, chipping away in attempt to gain hold of the reigns. The man in front of him was perplexing, and complexity wasn't a trait often admired by him, not when it displaced itself in a way that could become hostile. Was the man planning on pulling the rug away from underneath his feet, to undermine him? His gaze glanced to Chriselle for a a split second, returning to the man who had claimed to be on his, their, side.

Or, was Chriselle on his side instead, making this out to be a constructed charade? "...You...want to help us? Why?" Rory pressed a hand to his forehead, pain splitting inside his mind, turning him numb. He had no reason to trust either of them, both too variegated, and conflicting arguments bubbled inside of him. Chriselle had claimed to be his friend, and now this man was making the same statement? He had helped her, but had done nothing for this man. What was his reason? The boy's glare faltered, and his consciousnesses slipped away in a smoke that smelt of paranoia and dangerous doubt.

Without flames came the smell of burning coals, smoke from the soul of a creature neither human nor God. Rory's eyes opened, eyebrows relaxed, smile pleasantly arrogant with straight posture. Though it was Rory Chamberlain's body, it was not the owner that was in control. Another piloted in his place, a voice who had lived too long and simultaneously not long enough. "I too am shrouded with a flicker of ambiguity, sir." His voice was course, deep and held no stutter, only confidence and eloquence. Eyelashes obscured him for a moment, stepping forward in smooth, thought out movements opposed to the behavior nature to his host; impulse, running on deceitful emotion and malice.

Neberius turned his attention to the girl that Rory was so curious of, lips curling in false fondness. "We all have our reasons, and they will reveal themselves to us at a better time. For now, let us accept his offer, and leave this repugnant hideaway." He looked away, stepping out of the building that had once housed humans with dreams, only to be crushed by the weight of reality. He stopped to stand directly in front of the man, mere inches away, eyes studying him for any sign that would warrant his execution. "Only a foolish coward would turn down the offer of who could prove to be a powerful alley." His words carried a hint of humor, mocking one that couldn't see them or hear the words spoken. The farce continued in the chuckle that exited his throat, the noise of amusement and footsteps hitting the walls between them.

He stopped beside the limo, pushing the fringe of his hair away, only for it to fall back. Neberius sighed, he would have to do something about the mess Rory had turned himself into, and get him into more respectful clothes. "I am waiting." He announced, looking to the man and woman, both that had made agreements with those like himself. His tone held no anger, or impatience, as if he could stand here waiting for all eternity. His pale hands slide inside the pockets of Rory's jacket, shoulders held back casually. This could have gone better. However, beggars cannot be choosers, and he would make do with what was presented to him.