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@damiennorrell
misguidedghostsrp:
Damien Norell ‖ 26 ‖ Returned ‖ FC: Daniel Sharman ‖ TAKEN
________________ AUTOPSY REPORT ________________
CAUSE OF DEATH: Blunt force trauma to the parietal lobe.
SCENE OF THE CRIME: The abandoned Norrell Mansion.
DATE OF DEATH: DECEMBER 14, 1998
From the moment of his birth, Damien was considered a tragic mistake. Having unwittingly taken the life of his mother because of child birthing complications, he was fated to be seen as a harbinger of death by his father and brother.
One may say that it’s best be raised around by your own flesh and blood instead of being given to strangers, but anyone that knew Damien personally would disagree. Although family friends and fellow classmates would often notice the bruises that covered the boy’s body, no one spoke up, believing it the Norrell’s business, and their business alone.
After years of being told he was useless and that he was at fault for his mother’s death, something in Damien snapped. The constant verbal and physical abuse from his father and brother had taken a toll on the young man’s mental health, causing him to completely detach himself from all pain in an effort to kill the family that should have protected him.
One night after finishing his bartending shift at Harry’s Pub, his father tried to attack him once again. For the first time in Damien’s life, he fought back, throwing the man who had tormented him onto the ground with such force that it cracked his skull. It would have been considered a victory if it weren’t for his brother sneaking up behind him, hitting him over the head with a fire poker.
DATE OF RETURN: SEPTEMBER 10, 2011
The abuse had planted a seed of hatred deep within the boy; once he returned, it grew to control him. Any hope for a normal life filled with happiness and love had been beaten out of him by his own flesh and blood.
With every passing day, Damien seems to inch farther away from his humanity, increasing the chance that he will never be happy again. He has come to enjoy inflicting pain on others, as well as possessing human bodies in order to carry out his dirty work and strike fear into certain Bentley residents. With each day, his ability to possess people grows stronger, and he finds that it’s becoming increasingly easier to take control of both body and mind at will.
The newest vessel he’s found has piqued a strange amount of interest within him. Though he isn’t sure why he’s so intrigued, Damien believes it to have something do to with the fact that this girl — Litha Petrova — “murdered” her own mother and has started down a path to darkness. Whatever his reasons, it’s very clear to himself that he’ll be keeping an eye on this particular vessel for safekeeping.
CONNECTIONS
◆ Murdered by his brother, Rowan Norrell. (coming soon) ◆ Uses Litha Petrova as a living vessel, possessing her often.
Roleplay | Plot | Characters | Follow | Rules | Application | RFTR
Distant Echo || Damien & Litha
Fuck. Litha.
Collapsing in exhaustion in front of the fresh corpse before him, Damien dug his blood coated fingers into the dirt in a futile attempt for support as his knees hit the ground. 'Drained' was the word he would have used to describe his state if he had the strength to do so. Unfortunately, he wasn't afforded that luxury, denied the ability to think let alone speak in his regrettable condition, the only thought allowed access to his cognitive in this moment being that of her. He was in trouble, depleted of all power and vulnerably exposed, but he didn't have time to dwell on it, self-preservation fueling him to reach out and summon her. In desperate need of a vessel.
This far out in the woods, he wouldn't find one, which had been it's initial appeal. He hadn't wanted an audience for the act he had committed. He couldn't risk potential interference. Had he the energy, he might have cursed this short-sided decision, but there were more important matters at hand. His immediate concern being that of escaping this predicament unscathed. Focusing his attention on opening the line of communication, he called out to her, signaling her to his location.
Eyes falling to the body before him, Damien found himself drawn to the open gash decorating the man's throat. Forcing his limbs to comply, he withdrew his hand from the soil, lifting it with effort toward the gaping wound. He traced his fingers lightly against the torn flesh, allowing them to familiarize themselves with the length of the cut, mesmerized by his artwork. It was a shame he couldn't share it with her.
....
… The hell do you want?
More than you could offer.
How's the muse? Is she here?
....
Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise.
Sorry… what?
I asked if you happened to have the time.
Ah, this is beginning to make more sense. Looks like we have similar opinions of the people that inhabit this place. It could be an extraordinarily long fuse or apathy developed over a depressing amount of time spent here. It’s inconsequential, I don’t care what you’re up to.
Depending on which option it is, you may. If we truly do share correlative outlooks. Because while well-groomed apathy may pardon you, every fuse-- irregardless of it's length-- has a limit.
[She simply raises an eyebrow.] Promising for what, exactly?
Well, let's find out, shall we?
Yours as well, Damien. No, not exactly. Do most people here mutter on street corners often, or is that specific to just you?
People? No, you're definitely not from here. If you're referring to the parasites plaguing this bottomless pit, I take it you haven't been here long. Either that or you have an impressively long fuse. Irregardless, I wasn't aware prying ears were in my vicinity. How much exactly did you hear?
I don’t even know what to think about this town any more. Can all of this be real?
It's like a nightmare bred from the darkest portal of hell. I'm not entirely convinced that Bentley didn't in fact spawn from the depths of the underworld.
I think not. Gabriel Salinger. & you are?
Pleased to make your acquaintance. Damien. You're not from around here, are you, Salinger?
Uh, excuse me?
I could. Or.. I could allow you the opportunity to experience liberation in it's purest form.
I’m going to need you to tone down on the optimism there Johnny-boy! You’re a little too happy.
I was only looking out for his best interest. It'd be cruel to let him believe he's actually doing himself any favors. Wouldn't want him to continue to work himself up and put even more strain on that deteriorating corpse in a naive attempt to delay the inescapable.
What was that?
I don't believe we've met.