Demon Realm

May 2017 Featured RPG

Honora Bennett-Jones

Fortis est ut mors dilectio
Content Restrictions

Ellie OOC Information

IC Posts
No drug in roleplay, please. Mentions are fine.

Character Information

Character Type
Face Claim
Human with Civil Demon
Sara Fabel
Human Pronouns
Human Age
Demon Pronouns
Demon Age
Spirit Detectives
Tattoo Artist/Sword

Character Summary

Name: Honora Faith Justice Mercy Bennett-Jones
Nickname: Nora. Just Nora.
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Height: 5'10"
Sexuality: She likes pretty people.
Quirks: Cannot sit properly in chairs, zones out when she's thinking or planning, lives in a orderly chaos.
Habits: Hums whatever song is in her head, collects stuffed animals.
Important Notes: Has a huge soft spot for kids, volunteers at the hospital in the children's ward. Has the tattoo Fortis est ut mors dilectio across her lower back, not depicted by her face claim. Fluent in ASL.

Justice Tier 1. Ascension to "THE BATMAN"
They are vengeance. They are the night. The Batman upholds justice and truth, but unfortunately is limited to black-and-white thinking. The Batman maintains a conscious awareness that their decisions and actions have long-term consequences.
You feel new possibilities within you. You can now have increased persuasion. You have gained sharper senses, eyesight, and hearing. The dominions superior senses, fire, telepathy, and weather are now augmented. Your character may show unusual command of those dominions for their mastery.





Superior Speed


Character In-Depth

Your Mama doesn't stay in the picture after your little brother is born. Some people say she just wasn't meant to be a mother. You won't argue that, but you know better. You were old enough to remember the guys that snuck in and out of the window when your Papa was away for work. You knew she had other lovers. Hell, you knew there was a good chance none of you were actually your Papa's kids--not that you'd ever admit it. It was fine, though. Mama was never really much of a mother anyway. It was still kind of shitty for her to saddle Papa with five kids, though.

Times were rough. Money was tight, and even when your older brothers got old enough to work for some pocket change to help out, there was only so much they could do. Your Papa busted his ass, though, and there were nights where he went without just to make sure that all of the kids ate. Your younger brothers didn't get it, but you and the two eldest understood without question that your Papa was a superhero.

The world isn't kind to superheroes.

Growing up, you knew you loved art. But not just any art. Papa had lots of tattoos. He said each one told a story, and that was something he and you did, just the two of you. You would sit in his lap--or by his side when you got too big to fit--and you would ask about each story, each tattoo. His big hands would be moving, signing, and you eventually got to the point that you knew the stories even better than he did.

You always thought it was neat, the way he spoke without ever speaking. Nana said that Papa lost his voice in a bad accident. You knew Papa could speak,, though. You'd heard him, and you knew how much it hurt him to speak. His voice always sounded like someone was dragging nails down his throat. It was why you never said anything when he chose to sign, and why you fought tooth and nail whenever someone said something about it or treated Papa like he was stupid. You knew it was a hassle whenever you got sent home for fighting, but seeing the quiet pride in your Papa's eyes made it okay.

Your tendency to fight tooth and nail to protect people who were different would eventually gain you a best friend you could trust your life too. He was deaf and he was too used to people using that to push him down... until the day you knocked out Joey Trainer's two front teeth for picking on him. You got in big trouble for that one, but your Papa took both you and your new platonic life mate to get pizza as a reward. You even got to get one of those giant brownies to share.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

When you were in high school you met the first woman who ever turned your brain to mush. She was pretty and petite and you wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and carry her around everywhere with you--but especially to secluded places where you could make her scream. She never gave you the time of day, but her very closeted best friend was more than happy to roll around with you to take both of your minds off of beautiful and unattainable women. You remember those few weeks with Monica very fondly.

You started working as soon as you could, because you wanted to help your father out. It was easier, with your older brothers out of the house, but also harder. Not as many mouths to feed, but without their incomes it was a little tight for a while. You got a job as a receptionist at a tattoo parlor, and it set your path very effectively. Watching people write stories on their skin, like your Papa, made you smile. It made you want to be a part of that process, and it was why you started your apprenticeship as soon as you could.

For a while, things were good. Great, even. You had a family that loved you and a job you liked, that let you work on getting the job you wanted more than anything else. You didn't have a girlfriend, but there were plenty of ladies--and one or two very pretty boys--who you enjoyed spending time with. But the day after you turned eighteen, you came home and found the police on your doorstep. Your father had been hurt, attacked on the side of the street. No one had heard him, and he bled out before anyone could help him. It broke your heart, and now you were suddenly saddled with raising your two younger brothers.

You didn't mind that. You took care of them and fed them, and when rent got too high your boss was cool as shit and let you and your brothers move into the dingy little apartment above the shop. It wasn't much, but it was home and it was close to work. But something stirred in you, and you hated the little voice in your head that told you to take it out on other people. You probably would have kept on ignoring it, if you hadn't seen the bastard who killed your father out and about. You heard him talking about the mute fucker he offed last month, mentioned the tattoos you knew all too well.

You followed him, that night. You pulled your hood tight and you covered your face. You tapped into the powers you had, and the powers your father used to show you. And when he tried to hurt someone else?

You broke his neck before he could even begin to sense you.

What happened next was a blur. The woman you save fled, screaming. She hadn't seen you, invisible as you were. But looking at the body on the ground gave you no satisfaction, and actually made you feel sick. You'd stooped too far. You became like him. Your father would be ashamed of your. And so you decided to make amends. You would do anything in your power to protect people, to make the world a little safer. But you wouldn't take a life again if you could help it.

Your brothers have long since moved out, but you've been doing your thing quietly in the shadows ever since. And when you aren't protecting the streets, you're writing out people's stories on their skin.

Demon Information

Marie, as her demon chooses to go by, considers herself an elegant, classy lady. She nags her host into trying to look as classy as possible. She was the demon of a certain Marquise who poisoned her father, brothers, and countless servants in her time, before she was eventually caught after her lover accidentally poisoned himself and implicated her. She is quite fond of her host, though she does wish the woman would use her poison for more entertaining things than simply paralyzing her targets. When she isn't taking on the form of the late Marquise, she is found hanging around Nora's neck as an empty vial, which can be used to store poison.

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