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Post by Deleted on Aug 23, 2013 0:09:31 GMT -6
When Denmark had found himself outside, he thought that he had found a way out. For a glorious moment, he thought he had found a way he and the rest of the Nordics could take to get out of this place and go home. Fate was never so kind, however. His supposed escape route ended in tall wrought iron fences, impossible to climb over. Out of frustration, Denmark took a swing at the fences with Brynhildr. The bars shook, but did not topple.
He wandered the courtyard a little longer before he wandered towards the chapel, the stone building seemed more like a symbol of dread and sorrow than it did righteousness and hope. The front doors looked like they had been torn down years ago, the wood dyed black from the elements and the passage of time. Running his hand along the doorway, he peered inside. This place was probably beautiful, once, before a fire of some kind ravaged it. Pews laid strewn across the floor, scorched from the flames if not entirely. He blinked, and for the faintest of moments he thought he saw the inside of the chapel for what it used to be; radiant, peaceful, beautiful. The illusion was gone as soon as it manifested, and Denmark scrunched his eyebrows and shook his head sternly. What a silly thing for someone like him to think. He, who never fully let go of the Norse Pantheon even when he was a Christian nation. He who whispered prayers to Odin and Freyja late at night when no one was awake, when he was supposed to be sending his prayers to the nameless God in the sky and his supposed Son.
Slowly Denmark wandered further inside, his boots falling heavily on the cracked ground. He accidentally kicked a piece of unearthed concrete, and it was sent skidding across the ground, stopping in front of the altar. If the Nordic didn't know better, he would have guessed that this was his cue to get down on his knees and ask help from a deity he never fully believed in. Yeah, not likely. He did wandered towards the altar however, bracing his hand on the soot-covered surface as he looked up at the huge stained glass mural that towered before him. At a time, it probably depicted the Virgin Mary, holding the baby Jesus in her arms proudly as a holy light surrounded the both of them. Now the glass had been cracked and blown out by the heat of the flames that once ravaged this building. The visage of Mary almost entirely covered in soot and heavily saturated. Almost as a cruel joke, baby Jesus had been completely obliterated from the mural. Was that some sort of sign? That neither God nor his Son would answer the prayers of the foolish souls trapped on this property?
...Or maybe it was just coincidence. Turning away from the mural, Denmark looked around, eyes squinting to try and see through the darkness better. It seemed to be abandoned, but maybe there was a hidden room just outside of his line of sight. Maybe there were other nations hiding among the ash and half-burned pews. It never hurt to try, did it? Clearing his throat, Denmark called out into the blackness
“Hello? Anyone out there?” As if mocking him, only his own voice was echoed back to him. Frowning in frustration, he cursed under his breath and hopped up onto the altar, carefully placing Brynhildr next to him. Offhandedly, he picked up the statue of crucified Jesus that had, running his thumb over the face to wipe away the soot. Jesus looked up at him with lidded, hollowed eyes, looking absolutely miserable to be nailed to the cross. Miserable was a good word to describe the situation now, honestly, as much as the Dane wanted to keep on telling himself otherwise.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 23, 2013 23:36:08 GMT -6
Oh how this place tested Sweden's patience. It always felt like just as he figured out something about the manor- specifically its layout- it seemed to change on him, leaving him disoriented, lost, and annoyed. This is exactly what the Swede felt right now as he stepped outside of the manor and into the courtyard area from a door that he was positive wasn’t there the last time he passed through the first floor hallway. A frustrated sigh passed through his lips as he rubbed his temples with one of his hands. Don' le' it get ta you Swed'n. Sweden attempted to calm himself, though it didn't do much for him.
Coming to the realization that he was as calm as he probably ever would get on this property, Sweden began to wander around the courtyard in order to examine this new area that he had yet to explore. He wandered the courtyard for a few minutes before being two feet away from walking into the side of a building. D'nm m'poor eyesigh', the nation though as he came face to wall with the old structure in front of him. Had it not been for a voice he heard, he would have most likely collided with the building. A quick examination of the area he was in told him that no one was around. Backing up in order to get a somewhat decent view of the thing he almost ran into while disregarding the voice he had heard as a figment of his imagination, Berwald could just make out that it was- or once was at least- a church building of some sort.
"When was th' l'st time I wen' ta one o' these?" He pondered out loud. Back when his nation was first converted into a Christian nation, Sweden was extremely active in the church. He enjoyed watching the spreading of Christianity across his country and the rest of Europe. Yet over time, he drifted away from religion in general due to reasons he himself was never quite sure of. Potentially, it could have been his previous dedication to Norse paganism haunting him for abandoning its gods as Sweden had when he converted to Christianity. Or maybe it was he grew weary of the seemingly necessary dedication required through the Christian religion. Whatever the case, it felt ironic on multiple levels that Sweden would stumble across a chapel in a place as demonic as the manor property was. It baffled the Nordic that the last owners of this place believed in practicing the religion that was the polar opposite of Satanism. Unless keeping this building on the property was all part of a clever ruse to mask their satanic deeds and rituals...
Shaking off the idea of what religion may or may not have been practiced here before the manor became the place it was now, Sweden made his way over to the remnants of the entryway into the chapel. Squinting so that he would be able to see what was inside the building, the nation slowly entered with a hand on the hilt of his sword in case it was needed. What his eyes were met with was destroyed pews and statues, accompanied by pieces of concrete which told a tale of destruction and desolation. Shifting his eyes to the alter, Berwald saw a figure with its back facing him. Gripping his sword's hilt tighter, Sweden slowly approached the alter and the figure. Closing in on it, he saw that it appeared to be a person. A rather familiar person.
"D'nmark...?"
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Sadiq Adnan
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Post by Turkey on Aug 24, 2013 1:48:00 GMT -6
Finding his way outside again, the Turkish nation sighed. He was getting tired. When was the last time he rested? Sadiq knew the body needed rest to function and to heal, especially now that he had discovered that he was essentially human; just with some perks thrown in. He had witnessed friends dying, had lost track of quite a few of them anymore. Where did Greece go? Was Japan with him? What about Feliciano? He was worried for the Northern Italian, extremely worried. Guess it showed how much times had changed. There once was a time when he could have cared less what happened to him.
Shaking his head to get his thoughts off of that train, he sighed. Who knows what else was going on to the rest of the Nations he didn’t talk to regularly? Looking up at the sky, the murkiness of it just confirmed that this was real. There was always a sheet of looming disaster over this place in the hues of black, gray, tarnished silver and every drab color in-between. And to a nation that loved the warm colors of the earth tones and the jewel tones that shown bright when the sun hit them at just the right angle, this was enough to put a damper on his spirit.
Eyes trailing from the sky to the building in the distance, he was confused. This wasn’t the first time he had been outside looking for some way, some clue that would show him he was on the right path to finding a way out of this never ending nightmare. Did he doze off while walking and his feet ended up taking him to another part of the land he hand never been to before? It was entirely possible. It wouldn’t be the first time he had found himself walking in his sleep. Determined to find out what it was, he let his steps bring him closer to the building.
Slowly, the building grew in size until he recognized it. A chapel. A building dedicated to a Religious entity that only a few of his own citizen’s followed. He was never one fore religion, not since the olden days of the Ottoman Empire and his conquests. He knew how important Religion was to some of the Nations, so he always stayed away from those debates. Sadiq let his eyes trace over the lines and angles of the building, he saw the charring and knew fire had tried to destroy this place and seems to have been half successful in its attempt.
A figured moved out of the corner of his vision and vanished inside the building. Was it another nation or a humanoid monster trying to lead him into a trap to finally bring him to his death? If it was the latter, they would soon find out why he had survived for over a thousand years. They would taste his steel and he would laugh. Drawing his sword and following in carefully after the figure, he listened as carefully as he could, watched his every step to make sure what he was following wouldn’t know he was there.
"D'nmark...?"
That voice…he recognized it. But who was it. How long had it been since he had last heard the man speak. He couldn’t remember. Looking around the corner at the man, he relaxed slightly. He knew the tall blond man, they had helped each other out before. But the other man in the room? They were two of the fiercest Vikings to ever travel the sea’s. There was a reason why Vikings were still remembered today after all. Peaking his head farther around, he recognized that head of spiky blond head too. He didn’t really know them after all, but he could admit they cut a striking figure. Yes, even when Denmark was looking as dejected as he did now, he knew that man was as dangerous. Sweden too. Dragging his eyes off the two men, he didn’t want to admit almost starting at the two, this was not the time nor place to be admiring anyone’s physical physique. Those brown eyes fell on the ruined rows of benches and he couldn’t even put words to it. He knew that nothing should desecrate a holy place, any holy place.
Knowing he needed to reveal himself, there was no good way to go about it. Drawing his head back around the corner, he thought. Now was the time to be smart and not his usual act first behavior. Sheathing this sword, an idea came to his head. It was slightly stupid, but it was the only way e could be sure they wouldn’t get the wrong idea of what he was up to. Holding his hands up in the usual ‘I’m unarmed’ position, he rounded the corner and let his foot kick a piece of wood on the floor to get their attention. Smirking how he usually did, he knew he was probably going to end up with sharp pointy things at his throat.
“Fancy meeting you two in a place like this.”
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Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2013 18:17:31 GMT -6
A voice, familiar in its baritone, and the accent that stubbornly refused to fade, even as the years pressed on. Emotion made his heart jump for joy (and do a back flip for good measure), but instinct caused him to take Brynhildr into his hands and, with the speed only he seemed to be able to bring to the weapon, turn it on the newcomer. Sea-green eyes, absent of glasses, squinted at him in the dull light. The sheer mass of the well-built nation did, and always would, strike an imposing visage. Perhaps this was why he angled Brynhildr’s blade at the other blonde’s neck, dangerously close to such a vital part of the body; it was only the flash of realization that made him still his attack. Good thing too, the last thing he wanted was to break Sweden’s neck.
“Sverige?” Denmark breathed, slowly lowering his weapon. Sky blue eyes looked up and down at the other man. He looked like Sweden, sounded like Sweden, hell he even spoke like Sweden, and his accent was hard to replicate. Emotion concluded that this was the real Sweden; not some illusion the manor had created to drag the Dane to his grave. Logic and survival instincts screamed that he shouldn’t be fooled by a familiar, and much missed, face; not with all the crazy shit this place was capable of pulling off. But, as usual, emotion beat logic by a landslide. With a laugh, more relieved than anything else, Denmark pulled Sweden into a tight one-armed hug. “You had me worried, you asshole,” he scolded, not even caring that he was showing his softer side to Sweden of all people. He could keep up his ”Sve’s that one asshole I dislike” facade some other time.
“Fancy meeting you two in a place like this.”
Blinking suddenly he glanced over Sweden’s shoulder, scowling slightly at the new-newcomer that had wandered into the building. And ruined a nice brotherly moment while he was at it. Pushing away from the other Nordic, Denmark retook Brynhildr in his hands and rounded the other blonde, eyes narrowing slightly at the new person. He seemed friendly enough, hands up in the air and away from any sort of weapon he had on him. The voice was familiar… but from where? Denmark thought he remembered that same voice arguing with something else over something incredibly stupid, but with all the gaps in his memory that could have been anyone. “You mind telling us who you are?” Denmark questioned, hands tightening on Brynhildr’s shaft. Better safe than sorry, after all.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 31, 2013 0:18:26 GMT -6
It didn't surprise Sweden at all when Denmark turned and swung his beloved battle ax at him; he had always been a creature of instinct, at least from what the Swede had gathered over the centuries. However this knowledge failed to stop him from flinching ever so slightly when the blade came close to coming into contact with his neck. Ever since he came to the realization that death was a possibility on the manor property, he became a bit more sensitive to the idea of weapons swinging at him; not that he would ever mention this to anyone.
Though one thing was for certain: the man in front of him was definitely the one and only Denmark. Hearing the Dane's voice when he lowered his weapon only confirmed Sweden's earlier assumptions and comforted him.
“Sverige? You had me worried, you asshole!"
Sweden rolled his eyes at this comment as Denmark pulled him into an one-arm hug. "M'ssed ya too Danm'rk." Had this been under normal circumstances, the blond would have pushed the other blond and given him a overly sarcastic and insulting comment. Yet he couldn't help but enjoy the physical contact at the present moment. It gave him the assurance that he wasn't alone, and that there were other nations still alive in the manor. He returned the hug- his grip not as tight as the other blond's- but just enough to be noticed. The sweet moment was ended abruptly with the entrance of a new member to the chapel.
“Fancy meeting you two in a place like this.”
Turning around and unsheathing his sword as Denmark made his way around him with Brynhildr in hand to meet with the owner of the voice. He sounded familiar, though it took a considerate amount of squinting to make out who the man actually was. Once he got a somewhat decent view of the other nation, something slowly began to click in his head. Hadn't he helped this person before against Russia? "Turk'y...?" Sweden whispered more to himself than to the other nations in the room, racking his brain for information as he held his battle stance. Whether the humanoid in front of them was a fellow nation or not, he would not take any chances.
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Sadiq Adnan
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Post by Turkey on Sept 1, 2013 12:54:42 GMT -6
"You had me worried, you asshole"
"M'ssed ya too Danm'rk"
Now Sadiq really felt like an interloper and wished he would have turned around and left as soon as he saw the two together. He knew how the two must feel having finally found each other. The worry for each other would bring hugs even to the bitterest of enemies in a place like this.. With a small sigh, he stopped where he was, not that he had much choice in the matter.
Unconcealed brown eyes watched as the two Nordic nations in front of him stiffened as his words registered in those ears. The fluidity that moved through the Dane as he moved around Sweden and into a defensive position was something to be admired. Both hands on the handle of the axe, falling into a comfortable, well known position on the handle told him volumes.
"You mind telling us who you are?"
His luck never failed him, or in this case, his lack of it. He had interrupted a moment, stolen it right out from their grasps and shredded it. Seemed part of his luck really, always interrupting at the wrong time. Letting his eyes wander as Denmark spoke, he watched the ease that Sweden's sword was drawn. They were both adapts with their chosen weapons and Sadiq knew he would be a fool to go against then...not that he had any plans to anyway. Though he couldn't deny them the right to be suspicious, he never talked to them much and his trademark mask was missing, taken ages ago by a Northern Italian. Even if they did recognize him without his mask, he knew enough about the manor to where they should be wary of any person popping up out of nowhere .Eyes moving from the sword to Sweden’s eyes, they locked for a moment. Brown eyes stared into blue that seemed to go on forever. The eyes told him much, told him about how they had survived so long in this world. Letting them drift back over to the bright blue of Mathias, he saw the potential storm he could unleash,
Keeping his grin up, he nearly shrugged. "Once upon a time, many decades ago, I was called the Ottoman Empire. Nowadays, most people call me Turkey while a few others call me Sadiq. Then there are those that call me 'Ass' and 'Bastard'...I guess we'll see what ya call me, aye?"
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