Untouchable
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Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Jun 11, 2012 13:12:52 GMT -6
A gentle wind whispered through the pastel green fields, combing the locks of the natural green grass like a brush though hair. Lilies of the valley swayed back and forth in the warm breeze, their hanging flower buds ripe with a sweet floral scent that filled the air and resonated deep within the observing man's chest. No wonder these gentle blossoms were the national flower of Finland. Tino could stand here forever, watching the beauty of his country before him.
The summer afternoon left the sweet air warm and inviting as Tino inhaled the fragrant scents Songbirds danced through the breeze, gifting Tino's ears with their melodic tunes. The Finnish man could not be anywhere else. This was Finland. This, the beautiful scenery and atmosphere, was why he worked so hard. To come back to a place like this kept him going, no matter what happened. Tino sighed dreamily as the wind buffeted his loose clothing. He'd have to mark this spot so he could return to it later when times were hard. Just the few moments that he had been here rekindled his energy, his spirit. Paperwork would fly by after being graced by his homeland's beauty. Though, his duties could be procrastinated for now. There was always work to do. For now, he just wanted to imprint this moment to his memory. Press the images of the flowers, the scents, and the sounds to his mind. Tino longed for a camera, but even that couldn't really capture this moment. This place was his home and no papered picture could replicate that.
Breathing in once more, Tino smiled, completely at ease. That is, until something shot up in front of him.
There was no way to see it coming. The sweeping blades of grass were as tall as Tino's knees, and the constant breeze kept the leafy strings in motion. Tino only saw a flash of movement as he involuntarily jerked backwards. The scream escaped his lips before his mind could even process what had happened. Instinct snapped up the joyous calm feelings before as a thick bodied reptile hissed before him, its diameter just as large as Tino's.
Fear sapped the moisture from Tino's mouth as he scrambled backwards, or at least tried to. Beady yellow eyes, the flicking forked tongue, the scaly hide, the venomous fangs exposed and dripping with poison... Snake. Tino hated snakes. He was utterly terrified of the beasts. They weren't plentiful in his country, which only housed three species of them. Regardless, the irrational fear suddenly became rational as Tino lurched backwards.
He had tried to flee back a few steps from the hissing, terrifying animal, but lost his footing as he began to fall. The calmness of the air shifted as the baby blue skies darkened, clouds appearing out of no where. The sun was soon swallowed up... wait, no... Tino was just falling. Why hadn't he hit the ground yet? He was falling down... down... stone tiles plastered together in a circular ring soon brought a new fear out of Tino's mind as his eyes widened.
He was falling down a well.
Finland didn't have much time to register the horror as he landed, the air coming out of his body in a great whoosh. Stunned, Tino tried to jerk his body up. No! NO NO NO! He couldn't be back. No! Not back in this hell pit! Not back with the corpses that wanted his living, breathing body buried among them! Sitting up in time to suck a desperate breath into his starving lungs, he felt the hands. Goddamn, the bony hands that plastered his mind and made his skin shiver, even though they weren't there. But that was when he was awake! They were certainly real now. Hollering, Tino twisted sharply as a new grip lashed out to latch onto the scruff of his shift. Hoisted forward, within centimetres of the body's rotting face, Tino paled.
“Why'd you leave me for that Swede, Tino?” the voice hissed, spilling the scents of rotting flesh and maggots into Tino's face. The Fin barely repressed a gag. Even though the decaying gray skin and missing chunks of wiry blond hair, Finland recognized him immediately. Denmark.
“I-I..” Tino stammered, still trying to get his head in order before something else grabbed him harshly, twisting him to face a new direction. Tino choked back a sob at the sight of the youngest Nordic, beyond dead with his pale, lifeless purple eyes and dirtied silver hair.
“You just left me there to die in that Manor. Because of you, brother never got to me in time!” Emil's bony hand slapped Tino's cheek, hard. The Fin stumbled backwards, seeing stars before he bumped into something else. At first, he though it was the well wall because the space was so enclosed, but hands spun him round as a pair of dark blue eyes froze Tino to the core. The cross-pin gleamed in the dim lighting, but Tino knew from the face, as mangled as it was, that Norway was the one holding him now.
“I should have left you to the Well the first time. Then Ice and I could have gotten out. Look what you've done...” the navy eyes narrowed as the grip on Tino's shoulders tightened, enough that blood was beginning to seep through Tino's pale blue jacket. “It's all your fault.”
Tino was thrown before he could try to explain, crashing against the masonry awkwardly as a muffled gasp, followed by a round of horse coughing erupted from his body. This couldn't be real. This wasn't happening. This had to be some sort of trick. A nightmare. Anything!
Before Tino could pursue the thoughts any further, he was hoisted up, his feet dangling in the air as his back was pressed against the grimy stone wall. Hands were around his neck, squeezing the life out of him as his violet eyes met a pair of icy blue ones. Words weren't needed for Tino to feel the horror and hurt well up in his chest. Those eyes, that glare. Tino had never been on the bad side of that glare and had never wanted to. To have Berwald, the personification of the nation that Tino had spent the most time with, glare at him with so much hate and anger crushed Tino's mentality. Tears spiked his vision as they streamed down his face.
“Hope y'go straight t' hell.”
The hands tightened as Tino involuntarily struggled. His eyesight began to blur as he tried to choke, but was pinned by not only the Swede, but all the other Nordics as well. Vengeance tinged their dead eyes as the life slowly leached from the Fin. His vision began to tunnel, leaving Berwald's hateful gaze as the last thing that he saw before everything went black.
Tino gasped as his eyes shot open, his body clamped and pinned awkwardly. Tino didn't realize that the screams reaching his ears were his, until he was forced to recall another breath of oxygen in. Where was he? Why couldn't he move? Why was it hard to breath? Tino frantically writhed against his restraints, rolling along the ground until he finally loosened the cocoon of red velvet. Skittish like a frightened animal, Tino ripped the material from his form and darted about ten steps back in a matter of seconds, face pale and eyes as wide as saucers.
The curtain. Somehow, he had been caught in the curtain and torn it from the window, then twisted in it and been ensnared in his fitful slumber. Tino, unable to shop shaking, rubbed his hands up and down his arms as he tried to shake the fright that had pierced his mindset. The wounds from the words were still fresh, making Tino's head pound as he clasped two hands on his forehead.
“Just a dream... just a dream...” he quietly murmured, rocking back and forth on his heels and he tried to sooth himself. It wasn't real. Nothing had happened. It was the cursed Manor, making him imagine such foul images. Everything was okay. It had to be. The Nordics were family. Brothers. Friends. The Manor couldn't change that. No. That was impossible.
Exhaling slowly, Tino discontinued the frightful wheezing sound that he had been making and wiped the tear stains from his cheeks. Looking around to survey his surroundings, he swallowed and stood. Ballroom. He had seen the room once before when exploring the Manor. It creeped him out before, with all the ornate mirrors and billowing red velvet upholstery, and it creeped him out now. There were too many places for monster and ghouls to lurk. Too many. Tino swept his violet gaze around, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. He needed to get out of here. Turning to look for an exit, Tino heard footsteps and turned sharply, the kitchen knife that he had previously found tight in his hand.
“Who's there?”
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Post by Fear on Jun 25, 2012 20:45:36 GMT -6
You know that feeling that someone is watching you? That just beyond some bushes or from behind a corner, there is someone or something out there waiting for no one but you and are patiently waiting for you to foolishly come nearer for them to strike, or how about the sensation of the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as you enter a dark room, hear a strange noise, or hear a distant scream. Fear is in each and every one of us, even in those who claim to be immune, Fear stakes a claim in all hearts of all creatures. While usually Fear remains simply a feeling, a heightening of senses, the freezing of blood, or a jolt in pulse, within the silent halls and dark grounds of the Baudeau Manor, Fear existed with ferocity and form. As a servant to the Great Master, the manor itself, Fear had taken a substantial form of a dark mist or fog and covered a vast territory for the fears of humans ranged infinitely with their own imaginations working against them and fueling Fear’s ambitions.
This day however, Fear had been given an actual task from its Master: find those whom the Master targeted and unleash their utmost fears against them in a Trial of Fear to the death. Fear knew that its Master enjoyed tormented its guests and pushing and fraying their sanities with various games and events, and Fear could only grin wickedly in its formless fog to be given a specified event and task. Drifting down endless halls, directed towards its next target with assistance form the Master’s influence, Fear slithered between the doors of the Ballroom and crept towards a lone figure have covered by one of the floor-to-wall curtains and slumped unconsciously in sleep. Hindering not, Fear reached the blonde and if it took the form of a head, it would have grinned maliciously as it slipped into the sleeping man’s mouth and entered the boy’s mind.
The boy, whom Fear downloaded as Finland, or Tino Väinämöinen from the man’s intelligence, was currently happily dreaming away, and Fear gazed about at a vast field of green and loveliness, with a great blue sky, and the Finnish man gaily enjoying every moment of it. The form of Fear remained unseen, watching the pathetic dream, and continued to download all of what it could from the Fin’s unguarded man. The Trial would happen in reality but while it was here in the dimension of dreams, Fear decided to play with this ‘nation’ in order to help it decide what fear it should unleash upon Tino to kill him. Already being it the Fin’s mind, Fear held complete control over his imagination and the Servant could only feel nothing but excitement.
‘Let’s try this out for size, big boy’…
The snake was massive, a larger than life version of a cobra, exaggerating with poison dripping and menacing hissing Fear could barely contain itself as the Fin’s fear levels rose exponentially, which only opened more possibilities for Fear to play around in. Tino’s dream-body fell back into the dark abyss of the Puppeteer’s Well where Fear had awaiting him his oh-so-beloved family, who were all dead of course and seeking nothing but revenge. Fear was beyond giddy as he watched Tino struggle against Sweden’s grip, the words of the Nordics ringing through his dream-body’s mind. It was all so wonderful and perfect… Fear already had a solid feeling that he had this Trial in the bag.
‘This guy is already terrified to wet his pants… and I’ve barely begun’.
Fear jumped from Finland’s mind, releasing him, and from the darkness of the Ballroom, observed the nation squirm and thrash about from the grip of the curtain. Smug was all Fear felt, that and anticipation, for it knew what had to be done, what fear would kill Finland. Slipping unnoticed from the room, back through the space between the double-set doors of the room, to manifest into the top fear that would ultimately be the death of Finland. Fear’s true form within the Manor’s estate was that of black mist, but truthfully it could take whatever shape it wished, strengthen by the shear force of the terror emanated from its victims. As long as it was fed a steady, strong flow of fright, Fear could do whatever it wished and be whomever it wished. Black fog stabilized into flesh and clothes, every detail perfected from the extensive memories from Tino’s own mind. Fear, already strong from its escapades through the nation’s dream, decided to include a weapon in its arsenal and within its form’s new hand, a massive double-edged sword. Black boots echoed through the Ballroom once the Fear reentered the room, this time actually opening the door, before closing it behind him. The click of the lock resonated throughout the entire room.
The figure of Tino stood opposite Fear, looking up at alarm at the new presence, and even in the dim light, Fear could see the relief brighten the Fin’s violet eyes upon seeing who had entered. Fear knew its form would tone down the levels of terror from Tino’s being, it had anticipated it, which is exactly why it decided to have so much fun in Tino’s dream. The dream turned nightmare fueled the extensive detail in Fear’s form to withstand Tino’s drop in fear levels, though they were not to remain low for long. Standing still, taking in slow breaths of air in its new set of lungs, Fear opened its eyes to reveal deadly ice blue, locked on to Tino. Black leather gloves flexed their strong grip on the cold metal of the single hilt of the huge sword in its hand, or rather his hand. A deep almost growl emanated from the broad chest, stranger’s eyes narrowed in silence, the man studied Tino, watching his face change from joy to confusion. Fear could feel the physical strength of this form and could see why Tino felt so safe with him.
“Säker ... inte längre,” growled Sweden and without warning, the Swede shot forward directly at Tino, sword poised to run Finland through, and his face was one of true deadliness.
~~~ Translation: Safe... no longer
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Untouchable
Offline.
Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Jun 27, 2012 21:12:44 GMT -6
The hairs on the back of Tino's neck remained erect as he stared into the darkness, trying his best to hold his meagre weapon steady. What was coming now? This feeling of unease wasn't exactly convincing Tino that the footsteps were human. Maybe a demon? A ghoul? Something that could wear shoes? Tino swallowed, before tightly clenching the small knife with both hands. The action didn't fix the fact that he was trembling.
Tino could see the dark outline of the creature move in. Glossy violet eyes formulated a glare as Tino took a retreating step backwards, ready for the beast to lurch. But... wait. Tino knew that familiar shadow. That gait, the posture, the familiar way that the body trudged onward. Tino's white knuckles began to loosen as the man, not the monster, emerged from the shadows.
Finland's glare immediately cracked as a wide smile broke out onto his face. The Fin could have cried! It was Sweden, being his usual silent and stoic self! Not some horrible monster or some deranged zombie! It was Berwald! He was alive! Alive and well! The memories from the night terror were utterly wrong! Berwald had survived the Manor's clutches so far! Tino suppressed a fresh set of tears. He had been so worried that the Nordic had been murdered or captured. Tino's weapon fell to his side as he took a few eager steps forward. His mouth began to motor as relief wiped away the fear from before.
“Oh Berwald, you have no idea how glad I am to see yo-...”
Tino cut himself off as the older Nordic stopped as stared at him. Ice trickled through Tino's veins as he stared in somewhat confusion. Berwald always looked... well, scary, but not like this. Tino had honestly expected to see relief from Berwald as well. Didn't Berwald care about him? Had the Swedish nation forgotten about him while fighting for his own life? While Tino was glad to see Berwald safe and well, he was hurt. Did Sweden no longer care about Tino's well being or something? Confusion began to grow deep within Tino's stomach. This wasn't right... Berwald was the type to immediately approach him and pull him into a tight, enveloping hug. To voice his worries with caring actions. Why was Berwald keeping his distance? The Swede had to be aware of their situation, right? Hopefully he hadn't gone through what Tino had, but he had to have seen the horrible powers that the haunted house possessed. There was no question there, so why was Berwald looking at him like that?
It looked... like a replica of Tino's nightmare. Tino took an involuntary step backwards as he began to speak quickly. “Ber...wald?” he questioned, unease slipping into his tone. Why though? He had just had a bad dream. A seed that the mansion had planted into his mind. He had to be seeing things. Yeah. The Manor was trying to deceive him into turning on his most trusted friend and ally. Tino shook his head lightly, moving to smile up at the man before he growled.
Tino's eyes went wide. Berwald only resorted to grumblings like that with Denmark or when his temper flared. What had Tino done now? Had he upset him or something? What could he have done?! Tino took another step backwards, feeling the ominous worry from the dream coming back. No. That was just a delusion. Was there something lurking behind Tino? The Fin stole a glance over his shoulder, finding nothing but a red plush couch. Besides, Berwald's glare was burning holes into him. Not the couch, not the non-existent monster behind him, but Tino himself. Why? Tino cast a wide-eyed glance back to the Swede as he finally uttered a sentence.
“Säker ... inte längre.”
Tino stumbled over the meaning, confused as to why Berwald was making a statement on Tino's safety. He might have stopped to correct him, adding the fact that Tino had never been safe in the Manor, but was cut off by the fact that the great nation lunged at him with a sword that was nearly half as tall as Tino. Tino let out a screech as his body reacted before his mind did. Thank god the Manor had pounded instinct back into his subconscious, because he would have just stood there dumbfounded if he had to actually think about dodging the lunge.
Unfortunately, Tino's 'dodge' was not the most orthodox, as he leaped to the side. Now sprawled on all fours with his butt resting on the old carpet, he stared in shock at the paralysing glare that Sweden was treating him with. Those eyes... they were the exact same as his dream. Filled to the brim with hate and tinged with anger. The truth left Tino frozen.
Berwald had tried to stab him. Berwald... was trying to kill him! Tino scrambled backwards as his brain suddenly caught onto the evident threat. “W-What are you doing?!” Tino managed to yammer out as he clung to the feeble butter knife in his right hand.
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Post by Fear on Jul 4, 2012 16:14:53 GMT -6
Oh this was too good to be true… the fool stood there, confusion vandalized all over his former expression of relief. Fear could barely restrain itself from grinning, though in truth a wicked grin would probably make its Swedish form even more terrifying, but Fear knew from Tino’s countless memories of Berwald that the Swede didn’t really smile. Shame… oh well, Fear pushed aside its giddiness from the re-strengthened flow of fear emanating from Finland’s weak and small form. Fear’s presumptions had been right on the money: Finland had been so happy to see Sweden but Fear knew that a deadly, vengeful Berwald was actually the Fin’s greatest fear.
‘Awe how sweet…. and pathetic and so funny’.
Fear was really rather enjoying its new form. Strengthened from Finland’s acute memories and his fear, Fear relished the radiating power of the Swedish nation, the muscle, and the might, which was all tripled by Fear itself, a force much stronger than pure muscle. Feeling as if he could easily crush through a wall, Fear stared down at Finland’s trembling form upon the carpet through the narrowed, dangerous ice blue eyes of Berwald. The cold hilt of the huge broadsword in his hand felt good in the Swede’s hand. The weapon was real, not conjured by Fear, but supplied by the Manor and its vast collection of weapons hidden down in the Basement. It was truly amazing what sorts of weapons this mansion housed and had composed over the years; weapons from different eras from firearms to swords… humans were so weak in the sense that they needed to rely on objects to protect themselves.
Towering over the Fin’s figure felt good and the terrified image of the punt man wavered in the reflection casted by the gleaming metal of the sword. Standing still and simply burrowing his angry glare down at Finland was enough to send the feeble man scurrying backwards in fear, his face one of disbelief and terror. Fear allowed the fin to escape a few feet before walking forward slowly, taking menacing strides with Sweden’s long legs, and leaving a resounding echo from the thus of his bots against the wooden floors of the Ballroom. The only object to be seen that could protect Finland, was a tiny butter knife-looking blade clenched tightly and uselessly in his hand. That was supposed to save his life? Fear couldn’t help but feel triumph. Oh his Master would be pleased… Finland was soon to be dead… but the real question was: how long would Fear play its game before actually dealing the fatal blow?
Fear pondered this as it stopped its Nordic form and moved its arm wielding the sword directly over Finland’s heart. Fear only would have to strike in order to run Finland through, but the entity wished to feed off of the Fin’s fear for just a little longer. Imposing as could be, the Sweden doppelganger narrowed his eyes even further, further setting his expression into one of hate, anger, and intimidation. Standing at full eight, Finland looked nothing but a terrified child moments away from wetting his pants but as still able to manage to utter words, questioning as to his best-buddy Sweden was doing this. Fear filtered through possible answers, some more menacing than others, but it chose one which that suited the Swede’s disposition and character.
Scoffing a bit that turned into a sort of a growl, Fear twisted its lips into a scowl and in Sweden’s deep, grumbled voice, hissed, “What does’t look like, Tino? ‘Cause’f you…’m here. You’re pathetic ‘nd ‘m tired of protectin’ s’meone as weak as you. I should’ve done this years ‘go…”
With a motion of his wrist, the dark Sweden lashed his sword across Finland’s chest, only enough for the tip to make contact, but enough to watch a satisfying line of red appear across the chest of Tino. First blood had been blood, a teaser as to what was to come. The gash was clean, deep enough to bleed, and Fear nearly shivered at the pleasure of the sight of it, however Fear was annoyed with the Swede’s awkward speech. ‘What moron talks like that anyways?’ Mentally shaking its head, Fear repositioned the tip of its now blood-tipped sword against the forehead of Tino and once more in then painful sounding voice of Sweden spoke, “Any l’st words?”
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Untouchable
Offline.
Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Aug 1, 2012 12:01:10 GMT -6
Sprawled out on the cold tiled floor, Tino's wide eyes were glued on the terrifying figure that loomed above, recovering from the sword lunge. Tino's mouth felt like sand as that piercing turquoise gaze flicked to his own, nearly freezing his blood in his veins. Tino's throat tightened as he managed to paw himself backwards, trying to flee from the brooding man. That frightening gaze lingered on him for a breathless second before Berwald's thick boots began to click towards him.
As hard as Tino frantically scrambled to put distance between the Swede and himself, the gap was quickly closed. The burly man's strides were just to large and covered too much distance. Tino had issues keeping up to the man when he was walking alongside him, not crawling along the floor. Tino's breath hitched as the sword was held inches away from his chest. Sweat trickled down Tino's brow as the colour drained from his previously-pale skin. This wasn't happening. This honestly wasn't happening! Tino's pupils were the size of pinheads as he froze, save for the trembling that shook his frail-looking form.
Tino honestly couldn't process anything. Berwald was holding a sword over his frame, poised to kill. Berwald had lashed out and tried to cleave him into two halves merely seconds before. Tino's insides were beyond knotted and he felt like he was going to throw up. He still couldn't breath, even as Berwald's growl of a statement echoed through the ballroom, resonating within Finland's ears. H-How was this Tino's fault?! This was a damn near repeat of his dream! B-But Tino... he didn't... always need protection...
Was he really that weak? That much of a nuisance that Berwald wanted to extinguish his candle of life? The Swede had always said that taking care of the Fin had been something that he wanted, not needed. Tino had been concerned about it before, but had proven his worth to Sweden in the many wars that they both partook in. Tino was no pushover when it came to fighting and could pull his own weight. Had Berwald forgotten that?
Tino was quickly drawn back into reality as pain flashed across his radar, causing him to involuntarily suck a breath of oxygen into his starved lungs. His breath soon sputtered out with a withheld yelp as the shallow cut burned along his skin like fire. The cut hadn't been deep enough to reach his rib cage and puncture the cavity, but it did slice through the pectoral muscles that the Fin (despite his thin form) did possess. That was the real damage, as Tino would have issues lifting anything now. That was, if he survived long enough to do so.
The tip of the broadsword soon found Tino's forehead, resting almost gently above his eyebrows. The blood, his blood, soon oozed down his face as Tino's wide, terrified eyes still couldn't believe that this was actually transpiring. Berwald was going to kill him.
“Any l’st words?”
Tino eyes shifted from the sword tip to Berwald's own as something within the Fin snapped. Perhaps it was the last of his sanity, or maybe his reserves of patience. It could have been both. All that Tino felt was a vast amount of anger. Anger at the Manor, anger at himself, but mostly anger at Berwald. Sweden had helped him, sheltered him, and grown up with him without any signs of betrayal. They had always been friends, even when they argued and fought. They had been through thick and thin, the Kalmar, and even the World Wars and now Sweden decided to back stab? No. Enough with this shit.
“Yeah... just a few...” Tino said with a swallow, tilting his head forward slightly as a shadow fell over his violet eyes. Said orbs hardened over like ice freezing. The gentle summer waters had slowed into Autumn before freezing over with the harshness of winter.
“Remember when we said... time wouldn't ravage our friendship?” Tino said quietly, allowing the statement to sit for a moment before he sprung unexpectedly. The hand clenching the butter knife surged upward, catching the tip of the sword to push it up and away from Tino's face. At the same time, Tino kicked against the ground with his legs, surging his lower body up as he aimed his foot carefully in the split second that the action had taken. Nailing the hild of the heavy sword with the toe of his boot, Tino rammed in as hard as he could manage, which successfully launched it from Berwald's grip. The action had to have caught him by surprise.
With the momentum of the kick, Tino's legs swung over his head as he flipped backwards onto his feet. As soon as his black boots touched the ground, he was running. Away from Berwald and towards the weapon that had just clattered on the floor.
If Tino had one advantage over the Swede, it was speed. Berwald was much stronger than Tino, but the Fin was dangerously fast and swift. If Tino had any chance of surviving, he'd have to be quick. “Time ends now!” he roared as he practically flew after the sword. Tino had not intentions of actually harming Berwald with it. Just getting his hands on it and telling Berwald to back off before Tino made a run for safety. Even if Berwald hated Tino and wanted to kill him, the Finn would not hate the Swede in return. He had the right to feel hurt and angry, but that would not justify hatred.
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Post by Fear on Aug 8, 2012 14:33:19 GMT -6
Fear felt the shift in Tino’s emotional levels before the nation even reacted to the sword resting treacherously against his forehead, or in other words, Finland’s choice of actions were no surprise. This image of Sweden was by far stronger that compared to the real thing, so in comparison the Finnish man was as strong as a moth, and if it chose, Fear could’ve kept his grip upon the sword even with Finland’s kick and even may ave broken the Fin’s toe. But where was the fun in that? Fear was impressed, or at least it felt something near being impressed to the Fin’s little verbal charade, it was cute it admitted, and the entity grinned internally to see that this little pipsqueak of a nation was actually going to put up some sort of resistance, though of course he was still going to die.
So, Fear kept his Swedish body still as the sword flew through the air, the Finnish man a gymnastics routine or something, but Fear shivered in anticipation. It could read Tino’s emotional levels easier than a book for it had solidified a very good position in his mind when it had been mulling around in the Fin’s head before it had allowed him to waken. The black mass of terror could ave cocked it’s head, if had one for real, at the level of adrenaline and sureness in Tino’s actions that he could possibly escape or even beat the Berwald in front of him, by a few kicks and some touchy words. The fool…
The little Fin scampered around the room, retrieving the rather heavy sword, and Fear had to really fight off the urge to laugh when it saw the size comparison between Tino and the sword; it had to remind itself that this Sweden guy apparently did not laugh, even Fear admitted that its form’s personality was weird. The Sweden doppelganger blinked, Fear’s only given tell that it had agreed with Finland, Tino was quite faster than Sweden, the only downfall Fear supposed for its stoic, awkward, strong body. However, there was a big factor the Finland did not know about his beloved Sweden, well besides the fact this the man before him wasn’t his beloved Sweden…
This Berwald had the power of the Manor on his side. The pair were in the Ballroom after all, a room large than others, that was true, but at a simple thought, Fear could have the entire swarm of creatures fill the room, or the curtains turn into huge snakes, one of Finland’s fears, of the Mirrored walls shattered and impale the fin a thousand times over. Fear considered these possible in a brief millisecond or two, but a smack upon its entity from its Master assured the Manor wanted a show, not a cheap death.
‘Fine… But it’s going to be rather dry if this little mouse just runs around in a dumb game of Catch Me if You Can… There’s only so much speed I can give this stupid, landmass form...’
Suddenly, there came the sound of scratching at one pair of doors of the Ballroom, the sounds echoing with the grand room suspenseful. Fear and all of its evilness, smirked, though Berwald did not. Instead, the Scandinavian further narrowed his intimidating glare and bent his giant form into defensive position, blue eyes glued upon Finland. The scratching at the doors increased, along with the dreaded sounds of some horrid growling and hissing; sounds like something was trying to join the party. Fear flexed its strong hands into fists and began to step backward, towards the vast curtains spanning the entire vertical length of the wall to floors.
“L’ke I said… m’not going t’protect you no more. Y’on your own…”
With those words, Sweden did his own version of a back flip, though with one had, to e facing the walls and without missing a stride, the tall nation leapt into the air too grapple the folds of one of the velvet curtains, just as the sounds of splintering wood filled the room. Fear climbed up the curtain, using its strength to easily increase its height, and smugly it looked over its shoulder to see none other than Sabel-kass Bellezza to leap through the hole it had ripped out from the door and land upon the floor of the Ballroom, the creature’s claws scrapping the marble as it steadied itself. Fear could have laughed when it saw that the torn through Ballroom door flowed back into repair, seamlessly becoming whole again without any trace that a large cat had just immerged form a huge gaping hole.
If this Tino were afraid of his beloved pal Sweden betraying him, well this would be it. Fear had no intention of having its body try to save the vulnerable Fin against the cat. Actually, Sweden smirked as Fear did; soon enough, when the time was right, Sweden was going to help the cat kill the Finnish man, but until then Berwald secured his position high up the curtain and settled to watch the show, the lights of the Ballroom all coming on. The party had started.
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Untouchable
Offline.
Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Aug 14, 2012 17:38:54 GMT -6
Nimble feet barely contacted the floor as Tino shot across the room, diving for the sword as he snatched it within his palms and tried to turn as fast as he could. Thankfully, Berwald wasn't right on his tail. No... the Swede was just standing there, watching him. Tino pressed his lips together tightly, exerting his lean body as he rose the blade and poised the tip at the stoic Swede, just in case he tried to rush the Fin and reclaim his weapon. The task didn't go without consequence though, as Tino felt a warmth trickle down his chest. Though he wore a black muscle shirt, the material had already darkened around the gaping slice that spread across the front. The action of merely holding the blade was painful enough without injury. Tino needed to get out of here.
Tino edged himself back a step, cautiously teetering away from the massive, terrifying man that he had once called his friend. Eyes sharper than the edge of the sword he held, Tino watched. He could feel his arms quivering with exertion, as the blade that he held was much to large for him. Personally, the Fin preferred a smaller dagger or some sort of projectile weapon. A bullet could be shot, an arrow could be fired, and a spear could be thrown. Tino's aim was impeccable, Berwald knew that. It just so happened to be Berwald's luck that Tino was not armed with his favourited weapons. No... instead, he had a tiny steel butter knife jammed in his belt and an oversized, heavy broadsword in his hands. The sword was almost useless to Tino, as he struggled to lift it properly, nevertheless actually wield it in combat. The Fin was strong, but weapons had to be crafted according to their owners. Tino's arms simply weren't long enough to effectively maximize his slash. The only reason that Tino held the weapon was so Berwald could not. The Swede had already shown that he could easily handle the blade like it was an extension of his body. Granted, Tino never recalled Berwald's sword being so... so heavy. In the past, when he was in immediate danger, Tino had grabbed Sweden's weapon to clash blades with an enemy soldier. At that time, Tino hadn't really taken notice of the strain. Was he feeling the tension now because of the Manor, or because of his own fright?
Tino almost allowed himself to become caught up in his own thoughts, before snapping back into reality when a hard noise fell on his ears. Scratching? Tino's eyes were still on Berwald, but his head gradually turned ever so slightly towards the door. Contemplation pounded against his skull before he finally acted and tore his gaze away from Berwald for a mere instance, glancing to the door that had seemed to quiver from whatever was opposing it. Tino's gaze didn't linger there long, as movement flickered in Tino's peripherals.
Tino expected an attack to come when he had looked away for a mere instant. The tip of the blade shot up a few inches, back to where it was before fatigue had lowered it. Violet eyes burning into the Swede's blooming blue coat, he watched. Honestly, he thought Berwald would move towards him to strike, not away. The fact in itself was alarming.
Very alarming.
“L’ke I said… m’not going t’protect you no more. Y’on your own…”
Tino didn't move or speak, despite the urge to bark something nasty at the fleeing man. Tino didn't need protection. He did damn well on his own, and half the time, it was his reputation that Berwald took as his title. When the Fin was a part of the Swedish empire, he backed Berwald up more than the Swede would like to admit. It was Tino's people that were feared. The Hakkapeliitta made their name in the 30-year war as a part of the Swedish army, but possessed enough ferocity to be recorded in history. So Berwald could suck it, because Tino wasn't some housewife that sat at home cleaning.
Still, Tino wasn't stupid. Berwald was running, and for the Swede to bite his pride and flee, then something was wrong. Tino began to treck backwards, still keeping an eye on Sweden before the thing that had been banging at the door finally got its way and literally smashed its way through. Tino didn't need to be told twice by the backstabber, so Tino turned tail and began to run. He had glimpsed what had come through and could hear it try to steady itself on the slick floors. It was some sort of lion thing with a skull for a head. Not exactly something Tino wanted to encounter. In fact, the Fin was already looking for some sort of rabbit hole to escape through. The first thing Tino saw was the mirror. It was huge, climbing the wall like a reflective fungus. The one thing that Tino saw though, was the wooden carvings that held the mirror in place. It surrounded the broad mirrorThere was a ledge up there... Berwald had chose a curtain to escape death. Tino would have to do with this.
Split second decisions were made by a mind that had lived centuries. In the few moments that the cat had landed, Tino had charged towards one of the towering mirrors, swinging the massive blade over his shoulder. As quickly as he could, Tino spun as if he were throwing a hammer-toss, rotating a quick cycle twice before letting go of the hilt and allowing the blade to soar. Tino then dove to the side, sliding on the marble as his plan took action.
As soon as the menacing weapon crashing into the glassy surface, it broke. Shards poured off the wooden canvas and flooded out onto the polished floors, jagged and ugly in comparison to the priceless masterpiece that had been composed seconds before. Tino barely waited for the cascade of glass to cease, as he was already charging through the dangerously sharp pieces of mirror in order to get to the wooden, 12 foot stand. The sword was still lodged in the heart of the wood and Tino kicked off the ground, aiming to land on the flat edge of it. Thank god it had stuck horizontally in the wood. Otherwise, the rushed decision to try to leap on it would have ended badly.
Tino somehow managed to get enough speed through the mess on the floor to leap directly at the wooden mirror. Breaking his momentum by kicking the wood, he managed to coordinate himself enough to sort of land on the sword. Granted, he almost fell and was forced to grab the blade to steady himself (and slice through to the bone of his hands), but he managed. Hearing the beast cry again, Tino wasted no time in straightening himself on the wobbly blade before leaping upwards. Tino hadn't accounted for the injuries to his hands, which made tears sting his eyes, but he also had a good deal of adrenaline coursing through his minute body. His fingers grasped the edge of the ledge and he hissed in pain as the weight of his body jarred his shoulders and arms. 'Pull yourself up or die!' he screamed mentally, biting his lip until he tasted blood. Tino squeezed his eyes shut, calling up every curse word in his language as he heaved upwards and kicked a leg over the edge. Once it caught, Tino instantly pawed himself up, cringing every time he had to rest on his gushing palms.
He honestly overlooked how much room he had up here. Ten inches of space at best. Which meant, he was still exposed. Sitting sideways, Tino kicked his feet out and crossed his ankles, trying to minimize hanging over the edge. Now, he felt okay. Looking down, Tino took a moment to marvel at his work. It had come with a price, but at the same time, he'd be very hard to get. Glass shards littered the floor and poised a threat to anyone barefoot, which the cat happened to be. If it wanted to jump and claw at the hiding Fin, then it would have to walk or land on the glass and risk slicing itself open like he had. Tino's only flaws were his hands, prominently his left. Blood was pouring from the deep gouge mark, and if Tino wanted to stay conscious then he'd have to stop the bleeding. Taking off his tattered shirt, he cast a glare over at the Swede. Berwald had obviously picked the easier location, but maybe the cat would go after him? After all, Tino was a small guy and the jagged mess below him was a lot of work for a measly meal.
As Tino embalmed his hands with the remainder of his shirt, he tipped his head off in Sweden's direction. “How's the weather over there?”
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Post by Fear on Sept 7, 2012 9:39:47 GMT -6
One of the Seven Deadly Sins of humans was Pride, and oh Fear could feel arrogance flowing from the Fin’s weak, little body and in its Swedish form, Fear almost smirked for it would have seemed that it had struck a nerve. Bemused as it was, the shade of Sweden watched he antics of the nimble little Finnish was as he displayed an interesting, quickly thought out plan that ended up with him bleeding, high upon one of the grand mirrors, with said mirror shattered about the floor below him. Now Fear was a loyal servant to his Master and it knew that the Manor probably wasn’t pleased to see a several centuries old mirror destroyed as it was, even if it could easily repaired back to perfection from the masterful power of the house. Berwald’s eyes narrowed upon the sight of Finland, who dared to protrude his overconfidence with some stupid and snide comment.
‘This little shit is really starting to irritate me…’ Sweden released his strong hold upon the curtain and dropped heavily to the floor, his he boots making the room echo from his landing. Sabel-kass flicked his ears in his direction though the blonde paid the cat no attention, it knew who he really was and to be honest it would probably scare the hell out of Tino to see the huge cat work alongside his beloved-Berwald and them both try to kill him. His long strides took him to the border of scattered glass and Sweden looked up at the pathetic, terrified figure of Finland and twisted his face into a true expression of dangerous hatred and anger. Enemies, fear learned, had fled from this such look and even Denmark, a ridiculous excuse for a nation Fear admitted, had backed away from the rare anger and power that giant and stoic Berwald rarely exhibited. The clicking of claws upon the floor told Fear that his great feline companion had come to stand next to him and Sabel-kass’ growls and hisses filled the Ballroom; the cat began to pace, wanting to rip Tino’s throat out. Fear matched the ancient cat’s ambitions and strode over glass, cracking it under his boots, and with a pull that looked all to easy due to its great strength, Sweden pulled the broadsword free from the wood backing of the mirror and stepped back to gaze once more at Finland.
“Vädret? Det ser klart här nere...” Berwald said in his deep voice as he bent down and picked up a large shard of glass, his hand safe with its sheath of a leather glove. “M’thinking though… you’ave rain…” Without warning, the shard of glass was flung like a missile directly at Finland and Fear, with all of it power fueled by Finland himself, hit its target being the spot directly next to Tino’s cheek so that the great fragment disintegrated into a multitude of tiny, sharp pieces, each cutting into Tino’s face and showered dangerously close to his eyes. Berwald already had re-armed himself with another glass shard, in his other hand the sword, and at his side a huge cat that was once a god and all were tools and features in Finland’s imminent and unavoidable death.
<i>‘Mice can only hide for long before they face the cat…’ </i>Fear thought with its dark humor. This Trial was too fun and Fear knew that it would be soon be victorious and its Master would be pleased. The Fin was already bleeding pretty bad, he had literally thrown away the only weapon he had because a butter-knife was beyond pathetic, and at this point fear was simply toying with the man, sucking as much fear from his little, pale body as it could and it wouldn’t take much to make the nation fall. True the fall itself wouldn’t kill him, but not only would be falling onto glass from 12-feet in the air, but he has a sword-wielding Viking and savage lion waiting for him. Face it, Fear had this one in the bag… the body bag to be more precise.
~~ Translation- Weather? It seems clear down here...
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Untouchable
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Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Sept 10, 2012 9:32:07 GMT -6
Tino breathed a small sigh of relief, though his situation wasn't all too good. Glancing down to his hand, he grimaced at the fact that the cloth had already become saturated with blood. His blood. Tino clenched his fingers together and hissed at the amount of pain that followed. He needed to pressurize the gash though. Otherwise, he'd pass out. Passing out in this situation would only mean death. Tino looked down as his stomach tightened. At least... if he went unconscious... he wouldn't feel anything...
Tino snapped his head up, anger now filling his mind. Why? Why was he thinking such morbid thoughts? He wasn't dying here! He had to get home. Get to the others and warn them that Berwald had gone mad with some sort of mental disease. Some poison. That wasn't... it... it almost was like Berwald had been replaced with someone else. Some other mind. Tino looked over at him with a glare as he coddled himself up high on the wooden casing. Berwald had to hold himself there. He wouldn't be able to do that forever. At some point, his strength would give out and he'd fall to where the cat could reach. What surprised Tino, was how soon it happened. No. That wasn't right. Berwald would have lasted much longer than that. Eyes widening as the Swede landed hard on the ground, he glanced to the cat, fearful for his friend's life as the cat should have turned and raced after the easy meat. Berwald was unarmed too! Tino gasped, expecting to have to avert his gaze, but he did not when the cat remained focused on the Fin, not the man that was on the ground. Was Berwald going to escape into the hallway? That would be something that the Swede would do. Leave Tino for the cat to take care of.
That didn't happen though. Instead, the Swede made his way over to the edge of the shattered crystal pool, causing Tino's eyes to widen in dismay. The vicious cat that rightfully should have torn into Berwald paid him no attention. No, it did, as it walked up beside him, still hissing up in Tino's general direction. The shock was the only real emotion that blew over Tino before the Fin countered that frightful glare with one of his own as raw anger and bitterness filled his chest.
“Who are you!?” He screeched, violet eyes spitting raw venom as his mouth pulled into a snarl. This... this didn't make sense. What was going on? Even if Berwald had turned against him, he couldn't magically cast a spell over the monsters here to make them his own comrades. Something wasn't right. This whole situation wasn't right. Tino ground his teeth together sharply as Berwald reached the mirror, pulling out the broadsword that Tino had left lodged in the wood. The motion was not nearly enough to even shake the massive wooden structure. Tino hesitated, before noting that Berwald was a heavy sucker and probably could climb this height.
The Fin didn't grow cocky though. Instead, he felt edgy as Sweden backed off, leaning down to scoop a shard the the mirror in his leather palms. Tino saw the action before it happened, even as the Swede gave him a deathly forecast. The shot missed Tino by a hair as the Fin ducked, but it exploded on the wallpapered wall behind him, painfully scattering sharp little daggers of glass on the back of he neck and the out side of his face. “AHH!” he yelped, snapping his clothed hand to the pieced flesh as he steadied himself, making sure to remain level on this platform. His eyes darted to the side, noting the next projectile that the man had armed himself with. Tino glared, before spitting down on his and flinging his arm over, twisting so that he had turned onto his stomach. He still had the hooded cloak that the Manor had bestowed upon him, which was a godsend here. He had no shirt, so his stomach was bitterly exposed to being shredded by the mirror shards, but with the heavy, thick war cloak, his shoulder, back, and legs if he positioned himself right would be spared. Reaching up to grab a fistful of the hood, he ripped it over his pale blond locks and tucked himself under the white token. Pressing his underweight body as much as he could against the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to avoid the terrible 'weather' that the man had forecasted.
“O-Oh? Good thing I brought an umbrella...” Tino called shakily, his shout muffled by his position and cloak.
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Post by Fear on Sept 12, 2012 12:38:41 GMT -6
Fear didn’t much care that Finland was beginning to see that his precious Sweden was not what he seemed but and mental smack in Fear’s self from its Mast told the entity that he better rectify the situation for the grace of the Manor’s entertainment. Fear watched through narrowed eyes as Tino did some weird thing and was now awkwardly on the mirror with a lot of his cloak was showing. Didn’t the fool know that he was slowly bleeding to death? Fear knew and true it could simply remain there, throwing glass missiles at Tino’s being until either he fell or began unconscious, Fear wanted to speed things up as well as patch up its identity crisis. Glancing down at Sabel-kass, who flicked an ear at Sweden, Fear grinned wide when of the brilliant ploy it could bestow upon the Fin’s frightened little mind and truly rip his heart out.
Replacing the Swede’s grumpy, stern expression, Fear spoke out in Berwald’s deep, chopped accent. “Who’m I? I’m who I’m…. ‘nd ‘m finally r’liazing j’st who much you’ve been holdin’ m’down”. Dropping a shard on the ground to give the Swedene a pause, fr fear realaized that this was a talk for hours kind guy, when he spoke again, Berwald’s voice was louder and full of ice. “Th’s palce gave me a choice… To k’ll you or die here. I’chose to l’ve, for m’country. That’s why th’s beast is here… t’see that you die. I’was told that you cheat’d your death…”
Fear left it on that note, pausing to allow itself to flex its Swedish tongue; man this guy could not talk! The pause also allowed for Fear’s words to seep nice and deep into Finland’s mind and fear could feel the coldness of the Fin’s bleeding body grow colder and the entity forced out some memories of Tino’s happy stay in the Puppeteer’s Well. Now, those were some beautiful memories… Fear just loved them. Reaching down and picking up another large shard to whip it at Tino, the jagged edge cutting into Tino’s cloak, Sabel-kass growled and it worked perfectly as the sound morphed into Berwald’s ext few words.
“Tino…I’was also told that Norge’ll meet the s’me fate… b’cause he help’d you. If you c'me down ‘nd face me ‘nd your death l’ike a man, a Viking, I was t’ld he’d b’spared… “
Haha, that’s right... dangle that juicy worm in front of Finland’s pathetic conscious. Fear had been all through the Fin’s mind, it had seen more so than Fin himself the guilt he had felt and still did feel knowing that Norway had become injured and weakened from saving Finland, an the fact that the possibility of Lukas being violently killed because of Finland’s cowardice, was too enticing and perfect that Fear could barely contain its boring and awkward form.
So, what was Finland going to do? Remain where he was and send Norway to his death, or come down and meet his beloved Sweden face-to-face to meet his death? There was only one right choice of corset, one way for Finland to win his trial and the other to lose….
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Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Sept 15, 2012 19:45:28 GMT -6
Tino didn't want to listen to this Sweden anymore. He just wanted to blot out the world as he hovered on the edge of death, literally. He clung to the wood with his good hand, pressing his other against his chest to try and blot out the bleeding. He honestly didn't know what to do at this point. He could try and wait the attacks out, but he reminded himself that he was bleeding from his hand, chest, and neck from injuries that he had obtained in this wretched room. If waiting wasn't an option, what could he do? Going down there was suicide. Not only was there a savage, imposter-like Berwald weilding a massive sword, but a beast-like cat that seemed to target him and only him. If Tino had a chance by outrunning Berwald if he could possibly land and run, he knew that the cat would take him down. Now, if Tino was facing the cat alone, he might have had a chance (if he had a decent weapon), but he was not alone and was unarmed, save for his blunt knife.
The odds weren't exactly in his favour.
Swallowing as he heard 'Berwald' speak up once more, Tino's suspicions only grew more intense. If the Manor had somehow turned Berwald into a 'lone wolf', Tino had done nothing to 'hold the man back'. History showed that Berwald had never expended a lot on Tino either. The lack of reinforcement in the Winter War spoke for itself. So how had Tino rightfully been dragging the man down? He hadn't. He had done nothing but worry about the man throughout his stay in the Manor, thinking about whether he was dead, alive or dying for every living moment of the day. This wasn't right. This wasn't Berwald, and with every sentence that the imposter below uttered, Tino became more sure of that fact. In fact, he was growing angry with the lies.
Live for his country? Pah, even if Berwald had chosen that path, he would have struggled with killing Tino, as would the Fin if the Manor had presented him with the same choices. Berwald, the real one, would have apologized over and over again if he had been forced to face Finland in a death match. Tino knew that. Still hidden under his cloak, Tino burned holes into the wood with his vicious glare. Liar! You're such a liar! he thought angrily, the words nearly shooting off his tongue before another round of explanations put ice on Tino's burning fury.
Cheated death...? He hadn't... wait. Tino's scowl loosened as his eyes widened, the show of expression hidden to any onlookers. Th... There wasn't such a thing called fate. No, fate was something that you carved with your own choices. Tino had chose to live, not die. But... did the Manor have other intentions? Did this cursed place actually place tags on nations, indicators of who would live and who was sentenced to a grave? It was beyond fair, but the sudden epiphany was chilling Tino's insides.
Had the Manor placed him in that Well to ensure his death? It made sense... without any outside help, Tino would have perished a slow, aganizing death in the filth. Even when Norway came to help get him out, the Well had fought back and did a number on Tino's sanity by clawing him back, trying with all its might to keep the Fin contained. Tino shivered as he tried to forget what had happened, but the swirling philosophies in his mind kept poking at his memories. Was that supposed to be Tino's predetermined death? Had he really cheated what he was supposed to have been dealt? Tino would have continued to fuss over such facts until something sharp cut into his hip before smashing on the wall beside him. He winced, biting his lip to prevent the cry that fluttered around in his chest.
However, Berwald's next words left a much deeper gash than the shard that he had just been hit with. Liquid ice poured into his veins as his lips went cold and his hands numb. At this point, he wasn't sure if it were the blood loss or the impact of the information that had been uttered by the Swedish doppelganger. Nor...way? Tino's breath caught. Without Norway, Tino would have died. D... Did that mean... that... because of Lukas's actions, that he'd be treated the same way?
Part of Tino said that this was a trap. He didn't see Lukas being held captive anywhere and this information had only been given to him now. That was possible... but... what if it wasn't? What if Tino called this bluff and it led to the Norwegian's death? Tino was already indebted to the Nordic for saving his life... he couldn't... couldn't risk...
Sitting upwards, exposing his pale, marred skin , Tino stared down at his hand blankly. He had to make a critical decision here. Going down to the floor level... he'd die. He didn't stand a chance in this state against the man down there, nor could he best the cat (though at this point, Tino doubted that he'd be dealing with the monster). Sliding his violet gaze down to meet Berwald's icy one, the Fin sat stone still with his expression completely void of emotion. He was still processing everything internally, even if his face didn't reveal that. He was bleeding from four points on his body at this point, especially his hand... if he chose to cower up here and possibly end Lukas's life, there was little hope that he'd be able to wait out the cat and man before he fell unconscious. Closing his eyes as he tucked his hands against his body to hold himself together, he refused to cry and show tears in front of this stranger. A few seconds later saw Tino unravelling the tattered remains of his shirt from his gravely injured palm. He didn't need to staunch the bleeding anymore.
Turning and sliding from his post, Tino the twelve long feet before landing on the ground, feeling the impact resonate up from his heels through his bones. His face was hidden from his hood, but he found that the tiger-lion thing didn't instantly leap and tear into his flesh. No, he had met the demands that the fake-Swede had offered. He would face Berwald. He would face his death. Pulling his hood back to reveal his sombre expression, Tino clenched the butter knife in his good palm.
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Post by Fear on Oct 1, 2012 12:31:50 GMT -6
A shock jolted through Fear, like a pulse that reverberated from the centre of its being, and the source was when Tino’s feet dropped down to the floor and the small nation faced whom he thought to be Berwald. Damn…. Sweden twisted his face into a contoured grimace of hatred and intense anger, Fear’s form reflecting its true feelings. How had this happened? How had fear allowed this to happen! In what calculation had it overseen for this conclusion to come to light? The being knew of course for it was Fear’s true enemy: free will. Humans and nations alike all had free will, the right of choice, and it was beyond the knowledge of many that this right was a power in itself, for this power was Fear’s downfall. It was true that the entity held power over all, but anyone could push back Fear by doing exactly what Finland had just done, by facing their fears. Tino had called Fear’s bluff and had descended from his reasonable place of safety to face eminent death by the hands of the form of his best friend, in order to assumingly save the life of another. Fear had lost…. Tino had won his Trial. A shaking from within Fear’s being informed it of the displeasure of his Master and Fear cowered inwardly, its thought becoming frantic as to what it could possible do to turn events into its favor. The eyes of Sweden never left Tino’s while Fear writhed within the borders of the false Swedish skin, as it comprehended that it had been outwitted, defeated. True Fear was still quite strong from the amount of terrified emotions revolving from Tino, but even this wasn’t enough for Fear to act any further; it could no longer touch Finland. The Terror Trial states that the participants simply have to face their fears and they would win, a seemingly easy task but how false this simplicity was. Fear was master over all but this shrimp of a man had bested Fear! The bastard! Sweden’s hand twitched on his grip of his sword, wanting to badly to hack at the soft form of the Finnish man standing so near to him, but he couldn’t. Fear felt the tug of command originating from the Master, a call to fall back, and Sabel-kass also must’ve felt this for the cat growled deeply before turning and padding back towards the door before jumping back through the hole it had recently made. The instinct the great cat’s tail disappeared through, the hole materialized together for the door to once more stand hole, unmarred, as if nothing had happened, leaving Tino with Sweden. Within itself, fear resisted against its Master, pleading for it to have once final chance to torture Tino with the solemn promise that it would not touch him. The sudden release of recall told Fear that its wish of revenge had been approved for it knew that it’s Master would enjoy the plan forming within Fear’s being. Sweden grinned wickedly, so uncharacteristic of the true Sweden but up keeping the nation’s personality had fallen out of importance to Fear for it wanted Tino to know that the Sweden standing before him wasn’t the true Sweden. This would give Tino some sense of understanding, that his beloved friend wasn’t there to kill him, that he was actually somewhere else possibly, maybe even safe. Fear could read these thoughts straight out of Tino’s head for while it could not physically touch the nation, Fear still had a grasp upon the man’s mind, it just could no longer alter his statuses. Berwald took a step forward and raised his blade, readying himself for cleaving Tino in two, and as he took yet another, he stopped. Berwald’s eyes went wide, his expression changing from one of hate to one of pain and agony. The man’s shoulder’s hunched over and it seemed that every muscle in Sweden’s body tightened as he stumbled backwards. The clang and thud of the huge broadsword dropping to the floor echoed within the Ballroom for both gloved hands of Berwald clenched at his head as the man doubled over, groans and mutterings breaking past his lips. Sweat formed on the sides of Sweden’s face as he began to rake his hair and a deep and horrific scream began to stream past his lips, filling the room with his sounds of torture. His native tongue filled these screams, curses and pleadings as Berwald convulsed and twisted from the internal pain that was gripping him. Moments ticked by slowly as Fear displayed its form’s pain, ensuring to keep note of Finland’s position so that if the man tried to come near to Berwald, Fear would make sure that he kept his distance. Finally, one last scream erupted from Berwald and his head snapped back and his spine curved in naturally. The sound was blood curdling, skin chilling, and the gruesome sight of what looked to be blackish smoke and ooze began fuming out of Sweden’s gaping mouth. The man’s eyes were wide, dilated and blood shot as the black miasma plumed out of his mouth over an excruciating ten seconds before the toiled finally passed through Sweden’s lips and shot upward to the roof of the Ballroom before it disappeared. The scream stopped. Berwald’s head lolled forward and his entire body seemed to diminish in size as he half-sagged from fatigue. His chest heaved from the depth of his breaths and he was visibly shaking. After a moment though, something seemed to awake him form his recovery for his gaze shot up and fixated upon Tino. The moment his eyes met Finland’s they once more widen, though this time tears accompanied the look and hurriedly, Sweden tried to stand as hurried, rushed, and slurred words came from his hoarse voice. “Tino! Pl’se ‘m so sorry! You’ve got’ta run! Get’outa here! Get’wy from me! ‘m so… ‘m so sorry!” Tears streamed down Sweden's face and with shaking hands he reached into his jacket and removed an odd looking bundle. In truth, the bundle had never been there but had actually just appeared from the Amory. Berwald tossed the bundled at Tino’s feet and the effect released the pack’s clasp and a few throwing knives loosened from their holdings. “T’ke’it! You’ve ta get away! I don’ know how l’ng I can…” At that sentence, the room began to shake. So violent it was that it Tino fell to his feet and Sweden began screaming once more, though this time it was a repetitious “No!” and Tino’s name. From the floor behind Berwald, erupted at least fifty black tendrils that resembled arms and all wrapped themselves violently around Sweden. His cries of help turned into terror as Tino watched his best friend be pulled straight into the floor, disappearing into shadows, and with him gone, the screams stopped, silence resumed, and the shaking stopped. The broken mirror was once more whole like the door and sometime during the abduction of Sweden the broadsword too was taken. There was no trace that Sweden had ever been in the Ballroom or that there had been any sort of fighting, for Finland’s wounds were gone, his clothes whole and without a trace of blood and beside him still lay the set of throwing knives. From the corners of the room, Fear grinned wickedly and unseen. True Finland may have won this battle, but Fear had wounded him far worse than any sword. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Congratulations Finland, you have beaten your Terror Trial and have been a set of Throwing Knives (x20) as well as complete restoration of clothing and health! For reaching to Word Minimum you receive this as well as the Glorification for October for being successful! Have fun and congratulations once more!
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Your head will collapse, but there's nothing in it and you'll ask yourself: Where is my mind?
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Post by Finland (x) on Oct 8, 2012 23:02:09 GMT -6
Violet eyes stared ahead, solemn in expression as he tried to mask his emotions. He wasn't very good at it though. Tino had never had a good poker face. When he was angry, it showed. When he was happy, it showed. And, like now, when he was terrified and looking death in the steely blue eyes, it showed. He was going to die... but he wasn't about to let this doppelganger break him. If he was to die, he would die as a nation. He personified proud people that conquered many obstacles in their history. Even if this was one barricade that Tino couldn't overcome, he'd refuse to mule, beg, or grovel at this fake-Swede's feet. Death was approaching him, and he would welcome the release from life with open arms.
The doppelganger seemed to pause, its glare so very harsh against the pale skin on the Swede's face. Tino swallowed, his hand tightening on his feeble, damn near useless weapon as he fought to hold his ground. With the cat prowling around the shards of the shattered mirror, Tino wouldn't make it far. Besides, it was his life for another. Equivalent exchange, a life for a life. He owed the Norwegian, and his debt would be paid tonight. As the imposter grinned wickedly and took an imposing step forward with the broadsword raised high above his head, Tino closed his eyes and braced himself.
'I'm sorry Lukas...'
The blow never came though. After a second of silence, Tino cracked open one eye before the other quickly followed. The violet hues widened as they stared up at the beast of a man that was poised in a battle stance, frozen just before he cleaved the Fin in two. Tino repressed the urge to take a step back, but something wasn't right. Perhaps it was the way that the muscle's in the pseudo-Swede's arm buckled and dropped the sword, or the way that the body crumpled in on itself and collapsed to the floor. Either of those two observations indicated that something was clearly amiss, but Tino wasn't really focused on either. What Tino's violet eyes were locked onto was the twisted expression that the look-alike wore. Such pain and horror was written over the whitened cheeks of the Swede as his icy eyes looked wide with shock. The expression caused uncertainty to bloom in Tino's chest as he took a few retreating steps backwards.
Fear gripped Tino's chest as a new kind of panic washed through him. Something was terribly terribly wrong. Horrible screams were now filling the air, reverberating through Tino's skull as the Fin took another slow step backwards. What was... going on? What had he done by stepping down from his perch to face the fake-Berwald? Mouth going dry as his tongue felt like sandpaper, Tino merely watched as the form before his twisted and jerked as the horrible yells of anguish rattled in his ears. This.. this had to stop. Tino said he'd face death, not this. Not this cruel mimicry of his good friend. Wincing, caught between wanting to run both to the Swede and away from him, Tino felt torn. The result was his feet transfixed to the floor in an eternal moment as his friend, or the doppelganger who was trying to pose as him, writhed and wriggled with what seemed like incomprehensible pain.
After what seemed like years, the man's head snapped back as something putrid began to pour out of his form in a ghastly black smog that whipped away from the air as soon as it was extracted from the Swede's form. Disgusting, vile black tar that evaporated in disgusting plumes of grim and dust... Tino hand moved to his mouth as he had to steady himself, fearing whatever had just poured from the doppelganger's mouth... or... was that even a double? Tino was so confused and terrified at the same time that when the screaming ceased, he nearly lost his balance from the contrasting silence that existed in the broad room.
Tino almost jumped as the body twitched to gaze up at him with haunting, pain-stricken eyes. The garbled words spilled out into the abyss of quiet, ending silence's reign as the man reached into his coat. Wh... What? Was... Tino's head snapped up to where the smog dispersed to. That... that miasma? Was that... controlling him? Could nations really be possessed? Snapping his gaze back, Tino tried to take a few steps forward. “N-No Berwald! I-I understand! It's okay! Wait!” he sputtered, stepping over the packet that was tossed to him as he ignored the swede's command.
“No I'm not running anymore! Berwald, stay with m-” The sudden shaking of the violent earthquake cut Tino off and tossed the Fin off his feet like he was a pitiful paperweight. Struggling against the shaking, Tino's body and head rocked back and forth as he tried to get his bearings straight, looking ahead with bleary eyes as the world seemed to end. All he could hear was the low groaning of the mansion's foundation and the screams of his friend.
“Sweden, wait!” Tino cried out before he watched something black pitch itself around his ally. No. NO. Screaming bloody murder, Tino tried to steady himself and crawl over but the whole ordeal happened faster than he could even move a finger. The quaking stopped and the crushing silence resumed. Berwald was gone. Tino was alone.
“N... No...” Tino whispered, staring ahead at the spot where Berwald had been seconds ago. “NO NO NO!” he screamed as he leaped forward, scrambling over to the empty tiles that had opened up to consume his friend. With outstretched palms pressed against the chilled stone flooring, Tino's violet eyes bore into the ground as the haunting words that he had thought before came around to his mind once more.
'A life for a life' [/center] Tears drained from Tino's eyes as his chest began to heave. He was hyperventilating. “B-Berwald! BERWALD!” Screaming at the ground as pain snared around his heart like barbed wire, aching and cutting deep with each pulse, Tino sobbed. This.. this was his fault! Grabbing the butter knife that he had dropped, he stabbed at the ground. “YOU GIVE HIM BACK!” he screeched, trying to pry the tiled flooring away as Tino's world began to blur from the onslaught of sadness and agony. Hammered away until the aluminium bent unnaturally in Tino's hand, the Finnish man coughed and choked on his sadness, tossing the useless metal utensil aside to blindly grab at one of the throwing knives that Berwald had given him. Slashing away at the floor until that too broke, Tino reached for another. However, this time, Tino couldn't bring himself to tear at the floor that hadn't so much as been scratched by his efforts. Berwald was gone, and it was all his fault. He pressed his forehead to the tile that swallowed up his best friend and sobbed.[/blockquote]
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