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Post by Finland (x) on Aug 21, 2013 23:21:32 GMT -6
| time falls away but These small hours still remain Fire. Some would argue that it lit the way for humanity to evolve through the ages. Others believed it to be a hazard, a metaphor for the destruction that humans brought upon the world. To Tino Väinämöinen, the representation of Finland, the philosophical debate of the origins of fire was irrelevant. In the heat of the moment, it meant one thing and one thing only. Danger.Tino could feel the red splotches of blistered skin flare with pain upon his back as he took a brief moment to throw himself against the wall, smothering the lingering flames that licked at his skin and devoured his clothing. Sweat drenched his brow, pouring off his clammy face as he began to flee once more from the new spirit that he hadn't encountered before. The one with the festering pumpkin for a head and robes as black as the night that silently whipped behind it. Jack. Physical attacks seemed useless against him. Three throwing knifes were embedded in his orange skull, all having no effect at slowing the savage down. He came without skipping a beat, setting Tino's clothes ablaze and leaving Tino to writhe like an ant under a magnifying glass. And so, with no other option, the Fin ran. Without help, he was losing ground against the monster and would soon perish, or at least fall victim to the injuries he was collected. Searing pain ripped through Tino's spine as he was broadsided by the ghoul's only weapon, the lantern that was hotter than hell. The man let out a cry as he collapsed on his side, rolling against the wall in agony. Bleary eyed, Tino could barely make out the dark outline of his attacker as he pressed himself back. He needed something, anything! He was going to die! Help came in the form of something hard poking into his shoulder. Tino's neck snapped back and he reached for it. It was his escape out, literally. A door. Twisting the knob sharply, Tino threw himself through the opening without a second thought. Unfortunately, that was Tino's mistake as he didn't feel carpet under his palms. In fact, he felt nothing but air as he fell. Fear clenched Tino's stomach as the unnatural drop ended abruptly, meeting uneven wood. Momentum was not on Tino's side as he continued to bounce, cracking his skull against something as he tumbled and somersaulted downward, quickly losing his ability to tell which was was up or down. Tino did what he could to protect himself by throwing his arms over his head and neck as new bruises added themselves to his ever growing collection of wounds. With one final thud, Tino found himself splayed on a cool surface, but that's all he could really tell. The room, wherever he was, was pitch black. The only source of light was upwards, where he had come from. Violet eyes stared up as Jack, the spirit from before, loomed in the open doorway. Tino's breath hitched in his throat as he stayed silent, still as stone, as the two figures stared at one another. Jack hesitated, before a wicked grin etched its way onto its features. With slow and dramatic movements, the pumpkin lord reached for the door, clasping the handle in its fingers. With a swift tug, the door was closed and all traces of light disappeared. Tino shifted to sit up, ignoring the protests from his body and muscles. He was utterly alone in absolute darkness. Or so he thought.WORDS! 584 TAGS! Tinoooo NOTES! BuuuuhtheLurkersaregoingtokillus | |
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Post by Deleted on Aug 22, 2013 15:17:42 GMT -6
When planning battle tactics, the key to a successful attack is to understand the enemy’s territory. For through this, one may be able to find advantages against the enemy. This knowledge also may provide a means of escape should anything go wrong. In his current predicament, Sweden thought it would be best to find out the layout of this dreadful place if he ever hoped of escaping this nightmare. However there was a bit of a problem with his plan: he did not exactly know where in the manor he actually was at the current moment.
The question now was where should he begin his search?
I guess down ‘s th’ best way ta go, Berwald thought as he began searching for stairs leading to any potential floors below him. Though this would not be an easy feat, considering how large this place seemed to be. His hand was kept on the hilt of his sword as he wandered around; he suspected that at any time something might attack him. The hallway he walked down felt endless and Sweden’s nerves increased. The slightest sound- the creaking of the floor panels beneath his feat, the ominous moan of the manor itself- sent shivers down the nation’s spine.
“I hope th’ oth’rs are okay…” He muttered to himself as he looked for a set of stairs or a door that might lead to some stairs. Sweden had not seen anyone else in quite some time, and was becoming increasingly worried about them. He could feel himself grow more and more nervous about being alone the longer he was in this manor. Alas, finding others while purposefully searching for them seemed to be near impossible in this hellhole. Besides, agonizing over his lack of stable company would not help him in any way, shape, or form. The only thing that would help him if he would stop letting his mind wander and concentrate more on the task at hand.
Sweden was pulled out of his thoughts by something fleeing down the hallway ahead of him. Squinting even more than he normally does, Berwald still could not make out what it was he believed he saw. Before he could even consider the idea of following something that might have not even been there, his nose was invaded by the scent of smoke. Similar to the remains of a flame that ended not too long before his arrival. Approaching the area he thought he saw the figure flee from, the Swede came upon a door. Curiosity getting the better of him, Sweden opened the door to find a flight of stairs leading downstairs. Strained blue eyes looked down the stairs to see where they led, but Berwald's poor eyesight combined with the darkness that filled the area around the stairs made it near impossible for him to see anything. Choosing to descend down the stairs, he unsheathed about and inch of his sword in case he needed to draw it quickly. Using the heel of his boot to help him safely find each step as his eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness, Sweden wondered what he would find down here.
But would he really want to find something 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 Aug 25, 2013 20:57:31 GMT -6
| time falls away but These small hours still remain In a place that was so utterly black without the slightest trace of light, one would expect it to be as eerily quiet. That was not the case. Tino could hear... something. He swore he could, or his mind was playing tricks on him. He strained his eyes, wide with terror, to try and survey his surroundings. There was nothing to see though, only darkness. Fear was a primitive instinct, but it existed with purpose. To be afraid of the dark was irrational, and that was not what frightened the Finnish nation. It was what could hide in the dark, what it could hold in its ebony belly. Tino had seen and experienced enough horrors in this hellhole to know that this was not a safe place. To be in such quarters with no light, no hallways... Tino had trekked across the Manor, but had never been in this area before. Where was he? ... The realization hit him with full force. He was in the basement. He was in the basement. Basement, bellow the floors. Basement, underground. A new sense of paranoia flooded Tino's mind as he tried not to shake. His first impulse was to charge right back up the stairs and shoot out of this place like an ignited rocket. However, Jack had been there moments ago. Even with the distortion of time between rooms, Tino couldn't be sure if time was passing slower here, or slower out there. What might have been an hour in the basement could only be a few minutes, or even seconds in the hallway. Jack could be waiting for Tino to crack and try to crawl back out the door that he fell through. Tino swallowed thickly. The Manor was playing with him. It knew first hand how Tino hated being underground. In fact, the Manor was the one who drilled that phobia into Tino. Tino had to grasp his head between his palms in order to prevent himself from hyperventilating. Pa...Panicking wouldn't do him any good. Tino, you are better than this. Calm down, think rationally.. Yes, he was utterly petrified of the underground because he had been left at the bottom of a Well, filled with decay and half-rotten bodies, and when Lukas had tried to get him out, the 'dead' bodies had buried him alive. It was a miracle that he had gotten out at all. Tino pinched his head and gave it a small shake. No no, don't think of that. Come on soldier, get a grip.Tino let his hands slip away from his face, finding the cool tang on the floor. It felt like dirty. The building was old... perhaps the floor was dirt. Tino had no motivation to try and dig his was out. In a building of this size, there had to be another stairwell (at least, that's what he kept telling himself). Exhaling a shaky breath, Tino unfurled his legs from under his body. He was mildly surprised by the minimal pain that came from the action. Looks like he didn't break anything when he fell down the stairs, just bruises. To counter this, his back was raw and aching and he was dripping with sweat. Am I going into shock?Another head shake to answer his own question. He wasn't allowed to go into shock. Not here. Wiping his brow, Tino rocked onto his feet and had brace himself against what he assumed was a wall. Tino reached back gingerly, instantly regretting it when his finger brushed the charred patch of exposed skin on his back. He inhaled sharply and felt dizzy. His clothes had been burned right off, and he was confident in believing that he probably needed hospitalization for such an injury. Right here... he thought, ghosting his fingers above the area where he had been struck with the lantern. He prayed that his accelerated healing would take the edge off of the injury as fast as possible, as just touching it nearly brought him down to his knees. Tino leaned his shoulder into the wall, waiting for the cool air to take some of the pain away. It subsidized slowly, but not nearly enough to be considered comfortable. Tino shifted positions, finding that it brought the pain right back up to his threshold. This wasn't good. Grimacing, he brought one of his throwing knives to his lips, opening his mouth and biting down on it. He needed something to help with the pain. Another throwing dagger was gathered in his left hand, and a third in his right. He was still utterly petrified of what he might encounter down here, but at least he had a weapon in his hand. He'd naturally prefer a gun, but beggars couldn't be choosers. As if on cue to Tino's battle preparations, he heard something. Paranoia returned as Tino flicked his eyes around, blind to the dark world around him. Something was down here, and he was a sitting duck. He edged himself back to the wall, resting his shoulders against it while keeping his armed hands out in front of him. He waited, honing in on his ears. Something... was definitely here and he wasn't imagining it. He could hear something moving along the ground. He kept silent and motionless, even as the beads of sweat trickled off his skin. A new sound broke the tension in the air. Tino's head snapped to the side, towards the light that now shone down and chased some of the darkness away. The padding of feet on the floor receded, but Tino had a new threat. Was it Jack? Was he back? No, he wasn't. Tino could hear the distinct sound of footwear on the wooden stairs. It echoed down here, giving Tino another piece of information (this room had to be large...). Click click click... they were descending the stairs. Tino could see the silhouette of the figure, but the details were unknown. Tino's first thought was that this was a nation. No one else would take such cautious, yet calculating steps. However, months within these halls taught Tino that things were never what they seemed to be. He'd love to believe that an ally was (stupidly) trekking down into the belly of the beast. It could very well be a humanoid monster though, waiting for Tino to take the bait and drop his guard. It seemed fishy, and Tino would rather be safe than sorry. He didn't move from his spot against the wall, which he discovered was at the foot of the stairs. The figure didn't appear to see him. It was almost too perfect. Tino silently put the knife in his right hand away, using the freed digits to take the one from his mouth. As soon as the other passed Finland, the small blond sprung. Pain seared up his back, but it was ignored as Tino attacked from behind, fluidly coiling his arm around the other's neck. One knife poised at the other's jugular, and the other weapon's blade gently poking into the robes that covered the body's lower back, Tino hissed lowly into the individual's ear. “Three seconds is all you have before I kill you. Who are you?”WORDS! 1201 TAGS! Tino and the mysterious newcomer NOTES! Don't make any sudden movements XD | |
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Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2013 20:53:42 GMT -6
As he slowly made his way down the into the utter darkness known as the basement, Berwald began questioning if he was really making a good decision when he chose to explore an area in which he may or may not have seen a creature of the manor leave. Walking straight into the lion’s den was going to end up being a huge mistake, yet a part of the Swede kept him from turning around and returning to the first floor. A lone thought kept Berwald on his current trip down the stairs: the possibility of finding the exit.
The chance of this being an actual possibility? Extremely slim. Yet despite the current situation, he wanted- no, had to find an exit. He was worried about the mental affects the mansion had not only on himself, but his fellow nations. Berwald wanted to help those close to him get out of this place. Ever since entering the manor along with the other nations in attendance for the party, the Nordic had been worrying about the safety of those closest to him, especially Sealand. When w’s th’ las’ time I sa’ him? The idea of the nation he adopted oh so long ago being in danger near broke the Swede’s heart. I need ta find h’m soon, he thought for the millionth time since entering this wretched place.
The darkness seemed to become increasingly dark with each step Berwald took. A killer headache was coming over him as his eyesight was strained even further than normal in order to adjust to the lack of light around him. He anticipated that a monster that inhabited the manor would jump at him, causing him to tighten the grip on his sword. Stop w’th you’ ov’ra’tive imag’nati’n Swed’n, Berwald repeated over and over again in his head to stop himself from spooking himself too much and leading him to abandon his mission down here. If there was even the smallest chance that something of use could be found down here to help the nations go back to their homes, then Berwald wanted to find it.
Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sweden had yet to calm his imaginative mind from attempting to predict what could be down in the basement. More attempts at self- scolding failed to wield any results as he slowly started to walk around. Unfortunately for Berwald, he was too preoccupied with his internal battle to notice another presence in the room until it had an arm around his neck, and a knife at his jugular and back. W’ll good jo’ Berw’ld, way ta sho’ your Vikin’ skills by getting’ snuck up on, the Swede thought bitterly.
“Three seconds is all you have before I kill you. Who are you?”
The voice of the one holding him hissed at him. Not fond of the situation he had wound up in, Berwald thought he might as well comply with his attacker.
“ ‘m Swed’n.”
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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 4, 2013 16:40:55 GMT -6
| time falls away but These small hours still remain Tino could feel the figure tense up, but at this point, anyone in this sort of hostile situation would. Tino's response was to clench the knife a little tighter, pressing its blade deeper against the skin of the individual's neck. Not enough to draw blood, but a warning. 'Just try and move you fucker. I swear you'll be dead before you can try to turn around.' Tino's eyes bore into the posterior end of this freak's head. He was a good foot taller than Tino, making the attack difficult for the blond. If the Fin hadn't been so adapted to fighting in wars, he might not have had a death hold on this unusual foe. As well, Tino was used to fighting people taller than he was. It was a guess to perform a hold for a larger person. It was only by chance that it worked, as Tino couldn't gauge the height of the body as it descended the stairs. As well, Tino didn't know who or what this thing was. If it was a monster, then holding it by the jugular might not be enough. Tino was constantly reminded of the strength of the creatures and demons here. Jack had had three knives embedded in his pumpkin skull, which would kill anything almost instantly, yet the demon didn't blink an eye at the injuries. Tino didn't want to hesitate, but there was the chance that the individual was a nation, a real nation. And with that hesitation brought pain. Tino clasped his jaw together, biting back the white hot throbs that rippled across his back. He hurt far to much to remain like this, in this tense state with his back arched up to reach this stranger's vital points. He was about to repeat his question when an answer finally came. “ 'm Swed'n.” Like a jolt of electricity, Tino's eyes widened and his death grip relaxed. Swe...Sweden? A clang sounded through the basement as the knife that previously been at Sweden's jugular fell to the cool basement floor. “Ber...? Is that... you?” the voice was nothing like the vicious threat before. It was timid, meek and full of doubt. Tino last saw Berwald... in the ballroom... but... he had been... taken by the Manor... because of Tino.. in place of Tino*. Another jolt reverberated through Tino's body and he fell back in a sudden motion. He scooted backwards with quick pattering steps until his heels met the wood of the stairs. Had he not been expecting them there, he might have tripped and fallen (heaven forbid he wipe out on his backside again). To blatantly drop his knife was a fool's error. This was the Manor. Tino was not home, therefore he shouldn't have dropped his guard because of a simple voice prompt. Things were never as they seemed in here, which brought the final remaining knife in Tino's right hand up defensively. His eyes flashed, like an animal cornered in a cage., but there was a trace of uncertainty behind the violet hues. Was this Berward? The real one? Tino's tone certainly wasn't soft or frail when he spoke again. “Bevisa det. Bevisa att du är Berwald Oxenstierna, en personifikation av Konungariket Sverige.”// Prove it. Prove you are Berwald Oxenstierna, the personification of the Kingdom of Sweden.[ *- I'm referencing my Terror Trial here ] WORDS! 538 TAGS! Tino and Berwald NOTES! He be speaking your language =) | |
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Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2013 21:34:35 GMT -6
Following his reply to his attacker’s question, Berwald felt the grip around his neck relax as the blade that was once at his jugular fell to the floor, echoing through the basement. This action rather puzzled him, as the only creature he would expect such an action would be a fellow nation. B’t why wou’d a nati’n be do’n h’re? Before he could answer himself with potential reasons, he was interrupted by the voice of the one who had attacked him.
“Ber...? Is that... you?”
That voice… It sounded so familiar to the Swedish nation. Finl’nd…? The thought of his close friend being in here- and having just threatened to kill him- brought to the tall nation mixed feeling of comfort and worry. The doubtful tone of his friend’s voice made his mind wander to what might have Tino so on edge to hear him call himself the representation of Sweden. Mus’ be th’ man’r’s doin’, he thought bitterly.
Surprised and unsure, Berwald turned around so that he was facing the opposite direction, where the one who sounded so much like his friend had been before releasing his grip on Berwald. He could hear the other back away from him towards the stairs. Or at least, he realized that was where the Fin had headed when he heard him come into contact with the bottom step. The Swede did not fully comprehend what was going on. However something was definitely wrong with his friend, that much he could gather from the other’s actions up to this point in time. But before he could voice his concern, Finland began speaking in the Swede’s native language.
“Bevisa det. Bevisa att du är Berwald Oxenstierna, en personifikation av Konungariket Sverige.”
Bevisa det? Just how much had the manor manipulated Tino that he found a need to ask for proof? And while on that note, what would he accept as proof? The property was knowledgeable. It knew how to keep all of them and prevent them from escaping. It could easily out-predict all inside its borders. Who’s to say it didn't know everything about all of them. Berwald wouldn't put it past the manor to delve into their mind and extract all the information it could from each individual nation to use against them. Yet, what else could possibly convince Finland that Berwald was really the personification of Sweden other than facts and information? Letting out a heavy sigh, he responds to his companion.
“Jag är en personifikation av Konungariket Sverige.* I once l’ved with Denm’rk t’ll I ran aw’y with m’wife, Finl’nd. Wh’le t’gethe’, we adopt’d a young boy name’ Pet’r Kirklan’, the p’rson’ficatio’ o’ Sealan’, afte’ m’wife m’ntioned th’ idea of havin’ a k’d…”
Quite frankly, Berwald had absolutely no idea if this was even working. Most likely not. But he had to try, didn’t he?
((*Translation: I am the personification of the Kingdom of Sweden.))
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Post by Finland (x) on Sept 10, 2013 9:28:02 GMT -6
| time falls away but These small hours still remain After Tino had spat the Swedish words, he actually thought about what he was asking. A silence fell between the two, giving Tino a moment to reflect on what came flying from his lips. He was asking proof and acting so defensive because he had nearly been sliced in half, plus he had been heavily injured in that skirmish. Tino now knew that Sweden had been possessed at the time, but who was to say that he wasn't possessed now? Tino allowed his mind and memories to take control over the situation. Last time, Berwald's eyes had been jaded and harsh, violently angry with a hidden revenge. Tino knew the Swede far better than that, so he stared at the individual across from him. His posture didn't seem aggressive; tense maybe, but not that of an opponent. His costume was relatively intact, and the same as Tino recalled when they entered the estate. That seemed like months ago now... But Tino focused on the other's facial expression as he spoke. “Jag är en personifikation av Konungariket Sverige.” His eyes were gentle, as were his words. They were not aggressive, not threatening, and even though he had a grip on his sword, Tino could tell that it had loosened since Tino revealed his identity. More and more signs told Tino that this was no imposter, but it was hard to let his guard down. Slowly lowering the knife, Tino's ears perked up when Berwald continued. “I once l’ved with Denm’rk t’ll I ran aw’y with m’wife, Finl’nd.” Tino's ears burned at this and his face darkened into a scowl. “Wh’le t’gethe’, we adopt’d a young boy name’ Pet’r Kirklan’, the p’rson’ficatio’ o’ Sealan’, afte’ m’wife m’ntioned th’ idea of havin’ a k’d…” Tino flicked the knife into his belt and crossed his arms across his chest, trying not to wince at the action. His eyebrows were pinched together and the corners of his lips were clearly down-turned, but the feral edge to his stance and voice disappeared. “How many times do I have to tell you I'm not your wife?!” His tone was serious, but he softened the message with a crooked smile and more words that followed shortly after. “Good to see you Ber... glad to know you're alright.... but... what are you doing down here?” Tino asked quietly, turning his head to glance up the rickety steps. How did Berwald get by Jack? Or... was time travelling fater in the halls? The whole distortion made Tino's head spin and he honestly didn't want to think about it. Why did Sweden decide to come down here though? If Tino learned anything from horror movies, it was that you never, ever willingly went into the basement, cellar, crawlspace, anything underneath the house. If Jack wasn't lingering in the halls, Tino would gladly climb back up these stairs, find a bathroom and stand in an ice-cold shower to sooth the throbbing burn on his back. The basement was the last place he wanted to be. WORDS! 506 TAGS! Ti and Ber NOTES! Replies might start to get shorter and less frequent due to classes and labs | |
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