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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 20, 2011 22:52:53 GMT -6
Violet eyes stared ahead blankly as a certain Finnish man leaned against a certain wooden door. His tired eyes did not miss a single detail. Three lumps sat upon the large bed, features hidden at this angle. Tino however, could recognize the sizable mound which was Mathias. Lukas and Emil were a little more difficult, due to their similarities in size. After a few moments, Tino was able to note the few white hairs that poked out from the blanket, giving away the answer to the meaningless riddle.
The Finn sighed as he melted into the ground, sliding down until his bottom rested comfortably on the carpeted floor. His head now felt heavy, forcing him to place his hands on his forehead in support. He had felt better before, but now? The last confrontation with Emil and Mathias had left a nervous mar on his conscience. He felt like he had betrayed Emil by sugarcoating Lukas's injury. In fact, he didn't even realize that he had softened it. It really didn't seem that bad, at least, for a Nation. Normally, that injury would be gone within a an hour or two. Yet, it wasn't. The rate of healing still greatly out-passed that of a normal human, but it seemed so slow for them. Something wasn't right about it, which only added to the growing cesspool of Tino's worry. He hated the fact that they had had tension just before bed, which never seemed to be resolved. Though, this time around, there was no Norway to encourage him, or fix his anxiety. Tino was left with a gaping hole that seemed to fester and putrefy.
This only seemed to make fatigue more prominent. Hana had nodded off long ago and Tino didn't have the heart to force her awake. It had been hours since the others crashed. Again, Tino lacked the heart to wake them. They hadn't stirred yet, suggesting their sheer fatigue. It had been a long day, and for Tino, a long night. He glanced up, noting the shadows that stretched across the room. The fire had dimmed significantly, now reduced to a pile of glowing hot embers. Tino didn't add bountiful amounts of wood to the fire for two reasons. One, the light and crackling noise might wake the other Nordics. Two, he had a limited supply that needed to last the entire evening.
Tino suppressed a yawn as he patted his sleeping dog. He couldn't deny the fact that he was exhausted, though he wasn't really in the mood for sleeping. As well, hunger began to gnaw at his stomach. Seeing the opportunity, the Finn pulled out the box of Salmiakki that he had stowed on his belt. Removing the excess contents from the box, he managed to grab a few of the licorice candies to satisfy his empty abdomen. He ended up going through the entire box (though, half of it was gone from another day), yet he was still hungry.
Feeling fatigue tug at his eyelids, the Finn tried to think of something that would keep his mind alert and occupied. He considered exploring to try and find the exit, but decided against it. If a ghost entered, the others would have no warning. That wasn't fair in Tino's mind, so he decided to linger. Though, he needed to move around. He was becoming too sleepy. If he sat here for much longer, he would nod off. He sighed, feeling too lazy to move. If he could just close his eyes for a few minutes...
Tino jerked forward, trying to shake off the sleep. He had nearly slipped away there! He couldn't fall asleep now! No, he needed to keep alert. How could he wake himself? Exercise? No, he'd wake the others if he moved around too much. His eyes fell on the bathroom door, the answer to his current problem. Rising silently, the small man padded over to the room.
Once inside, he quietly closed the door. Again, he didn't want to take any chances in waking the others. Turning on his heel, Tino approached the basin. This bathroom was nearly identical to the one that he had woken up in. Odd. Unease pricked his conscience once more as he cranked the facets on. After an unappetizing gurgling sound, water rushed out of the tap and into the sink. Tino decided it was best to wait until the water turned clear, as it was tinged a rusty colour at the moment.
Gazing upward, Tino met the eyes of his reflection in the mirror. He studied himself, noticing the imperfections that were coupled with exhaustion. Dark circles surrounded his slightly red eyes, while his skin was a half shade lighter than his regular pale complexion. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the sleep from them. The others wouldn't be too impressed by his appearance. He had to made himself more presentable so they wouldn't have to wait on him.
Tearing his dull violet orbs from himself, he cupped his palms in the water, splashing a few handfuls onto his face. The water was ice cold, which, while uncomfortable, shook away the drowsiness that had settled in hours ago. Tino then jammed the plug into the drain, preventing the water from escaping. He then submerged his face into the freezing water, sending his nerves into overdrive. Pulling his head from the vat of water, he inhaled deeply, suppressing a shudder. Kristus that water was chilly. Snatching a towel from the hand rack, he quickly dried his face. Then he looked up.
The towel hit the floor as Tino's eyes latched onto the mirror. His reflection, inside, was not mimicking his actions. It just... just... stood there! Staring at him with an unreadable expression and blank eyes. Tino's heart hammered against his ribs as he panicked. He swung an arm to the left, an action that the reflection mirrored, but it's face remained as eerie as ever. Tino stepped forward against his better judgement, brushing his fingers against the smooth, shiny surface. The figure did the same.
“What-” Tino started, but was cut off with a curt wave. The figure held his hands to his lips, gesturing in a 'shush' motion. Unsure of what to do, Tino backed off and just stared in confusion.
The reflection leaned forward, breathing on the opposite side of the mirror to fog it. Tino watched with a combination of amazement and anxiousness. This certainly wasn't normal, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away or open his mouth to call for help. Then words began to appear on the fogged patch, etched there by a diligent finger. Tino watched in horror. That was... that was his writing. Letters were slowly exposed as a sentence came into view. Tino's eyes nearly bulged from his sockets as his stomach sank.
'Berwald is dead.'
The figure behind the mirror then broke that unreadable expression with a sadistic smile that seemed to grow as horror filled Tino's mind. No, Berwald couldn't be dead. Tino had spend centuries with that man. If anything, Berwald would be the one that would survive in this horrible place. He couldn't be dead! He just couldn't. Words slipped off his tongue as he didn't know how to respond. Mirror-Tino only grinned wider, writing a new message below it.
'And you're next.'
Tino couldn't withhold the scream that followed as a hand shot from the reflective glass, snatching a handful of his shirt. Sheer terror filled his body and mind as his reflection grinned maliciously. He struggled against the iron grip, but was pulled toward the mirror void, where he was swallowed up to never return.
Tino gasped, snapping his torso forward as two eyes flew open. He immediately looked around, confused. He was sitting at the door... Looking to his left, he saw Hana still sleeping, her sides rising and falling rhythmically. Panting, Tino quickly stood and surveyed the bed. All the others were still sleeping. The fire was still burned dimly in the corner.
Slowly piecing his mind together, Tino realized that he had nodded off. How long? When? It must have happened when he thought he had fallen asleep earlier. So... that bathroom experience... had never occurred. Yet, it felt so vivid, so real. The Finn's heart was still pounding in his ears, while his eyes were still wide and filled to the brim with fear. It was... just a dream.
Just a dream... Tino replayed those words over and over in his mind, trying to quell the intense fear and adrenaline that was coursing through his veins. He rubbed his arms to shake the chill of the cold sweat that he had broke out in. Just a dream, just a dream... Standing there numbly, the Finn closed his eyes and tried to will away the mental images that the nightmares caused. Berwald was not dead, he couldn't be. Mathias promised... he promised that Berwald was ok. So why couldn't Tino swallow the lump that had formed in his throat?
Tino's eyes exploded open as he heard a noise from the hall. Flying over to the door on nimble feet, the Finn pressed his ear to wood and listened. Footsteps. He could hear footsteps. This time, Tino didn't waste any time in alerting the others. His nightmare warned him of dealing with this mansion alone.
“Guys!” Tino said quickly, noting that the steps were increasing in volume. It was coming... down this hallway. “S-Something's coming!”
[[So, order is Finland--> Sweden--> Denmark-->Iceland--> Norway]]
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Post by sweden on Jun 22, 2011 0:01:10 GMT -6
A monstrous sound filled the young Viking's ears. the roaring of the ocean and the pounding of his own heart all but deafening him. Driving sheets of rain swept across the churning surface of the Gulf of Bothnia and flooded the hull of his small three-person boat. The occasional strike of lightning and its following thunder strained his nerves and made him jump quite a bit more than he would have liked to. He could see that his boat was sitting lower and lower by the minute, so Berwald crouched as low as he could, using the small bucket he had brought his bait in to try to keep the weighty water from pulling the craft under.
His light hair was plastered to his forehead, the thick clothes he wore for warmth now becoming sodden and heavy with the freezing rain. Sweden tried to keep going, but his feet and hands were getting clumsy from the cold. He stumbled, floundering to regain his balance for a few moments before he heard, as if from somewhere far away, a dull thump as his forehead made contact with the prow. "Idiot...", he mumbled to himself as he sank to the flooded hull. He struggled against the dizziness and the water in his eyes, trying to push himself at least out of the water.
Yet before Berwald could even get his arms under himself, he felt the boat lift and tilt. He gasped in a breath as the waters closed around him but then he suddenly felt his reality shift. The waters were warm and clear, but he felt leaden. The Swede was sinking and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't move his arms or legs, could only stare as a gigantic tentacle snaked its way up from the deep and wound its way around his neck. He tried to struggle but was still imprisoned by an invisible force that was pressing his arms to his side. He started to get more dizzy, nauseous, and a whining ring filled his ears as he was pulled down. At what seemed his last moment, his arms were free again. He clawed at the rubbery flesh that was still tightening around him...but the creature wouldn't be moved. But now things were changing again... The entity around his neck grew lighter and woolen, the water grew cool and dried away... He was still choking though. He fought to untangle himself and found that the thing around his neck was actually his cape. His breathing slowly calmed as he shoved it away. It must have gotten twisted around him while he was sleeping. And this wetness...the ceiling was dripping on him, fat drops splashing onto his face and chest. After a few moments, he had the strength to get up and look around. This was definitely not home. The flowered wallpaper was peeling, slimy black mold clinging into the boards behind it. A photo of a small child hung on the wall, the once cheerful photo now faded to dreary sepia tones. There were three couches sat in a semicircle, the stuffing of one spilling out onto the floor as if it's plush lining had gotten sick sometime long ago. He must have been reclining on one of these couches before he had thrown himself off in his confusion. Now he stood from the damp floor though, retrieving his cloak and fastening it around his neck once more. He looked around him once more, studying the room for anything he might use. Near one of the two doors sat an umbrella stand which held, of all things, a pvc pipe, a dried bouquet of flowers, and a silver-embellished staff. He frowned and picked up the latter. It was almost as if it had been left here for him, which made him suspicious. But the weight felt solid in his hands and he surely could defend himself well with it. And he had a feeling he would have to do just that sometime soon... So he slipped the staff through a ring in his belt. He was getting a bad feeling from this place. It made him long for his home and his family. Speaking of which...where was Tino? And the others? He recalled being together with them in the house's foyer, but how had he gotten here? And where were they now...? Berwald decided to stop asking himself questions and headed towards the nearest door to try to find answers. Nope. No answers here. This was a broom closet. Just some spider webs and...and he was getting dizzy again. A greenish mist was sifting towards him from the bottom of the closet where a small, grimy vile was spewing forth the putrid stuff. He quickly slammed the door shut again and turned toward the other one. " Th's mus' be tha w'y out..." Sweden gripped the knob and began to turn but was overcome by a sudden bout of nausea. His head was not doing well today. It must be that green mist leaking out from the crack in the closet door. As he slumped against the papered wall, resting his head against the warped wood, he tried to gather his senses about him once more. He sighed and leaned his head onto his hands. " Wha' is th's pl'ce...?"
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Post by Deleted on Jun 23, 2011 22:34:30 GMT -6
Mathias groaned as he slowly came out of sleep, for a brief moment he thought he was back home in Copenhagen and not in a manor that wanted to kill him. Once he felt how cold the air around him was however, that hope was quickly dashed away, of course Tino's panicked call also helped.
"Damn it... He mumbled under his breath as he tossed the duvet off himself and slid off from the bed, nearly tripping over his boots in his haste. Why couldn't they have just a few hours of peace at a time? In this place the concept of peace seemed like a completely foreign one. Gritting his teeth behind his lips, Mathias reached for Lukas' sword, removing the blade from the scabbard and tossing it carelessly to the side as he walked over to the door next to the smaller man. "Get behind me," he said to the other Nordic, tightening his grip on the sword in his hand, the other reaching out to grasp the knob. To open it, or not to open it, that was the question. There wasn't anything banging on the other side of the door, so maybe whatever was out there was harmless. On the other hand, maybe whatever spirit might have been out there just didn't know there were four living, breathings things Gods knew how close to it.
The Dane took a deep breath and slowly opened the door, fingers flexing around the metal, ready to slam it closed if anything malicious was waiting for them outside the threshold.
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Post by iceland on Jun 25, 2011 22:08:44 GMT -6
He had a dreamless sleep, devoid of all of the vibrant felicity and colorful imagination. Emil woke up, almost too willingly, after hearing a commotion. He shot straight up and looked around, feelingly only slightly dismal being reminded that he was still in this forsaken room. Then, he discerned the facial expressions of the other two Nordics and immediately became weary. "What's going on...?" He asked softly, belying the tension that tightened his chest.
His sinews became taut with anxiety as he turned his attention to the door. Quietly listening, he heard soft footsteps that reverberated into his ears. He presumed that was what alerted the other two. Then, while still looking at the door, he rapped the nearby counter as an attempt to grab the camera. After failing several times, he turned back and then immediately swiped the camera from its place. He moved himself away from the bed and still felt rather useless compared to Mathias' sizable weapon.
"It... can't be a ghost... right?" Emil asked tentatively. "I don't think they can make steps as heavy as that." His two cents, at least.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 26, 2011 19:38:53 GMT -6
Exhaustion is an efficient salve for a disturbed and short night’s rest. Within the realm of sleep, Lukas had been tortured by fleeting images, toying with him at the edge of his conscious, with echoing laughter that resonated malice and the sound of crashing waves; however, Norge never found himself upon his doomed vessel once during the night though he knew he lay near him. If choice had been in his hands, Lukas would have never woken, but when the first cry made by Tino hit his ears, the realm of dreams fell back into impossibility and Norway was roused.
With sleep now eluding him, at first, Lukas simply remained still with his eyes closed, hoping that whatever ruckus Tino had stirred up would soon disappear. The old bed beneath him did little to soothe the still present ache in his body, and his mind was still dull to react from sleep. The faintest throb still originated from the back of his head, a remainder of what was his head wound. He didn’t nee to feel to know that the injury had closed and was healed, the wonder of even a tormented sleep.
Hurried movement rocked the old mattress and the weight of a layer of duvet, for Lukas had sleep upon the cover not under, was thrown over him. ’Mathias', he presumed correctly, after hearing the large brute trip loudly over something on the floor. By the Gods, why were they being so loud? He was still tired, after all… Then something happened that really irritated the Norwegian.
His sword, a procession of death and honor, a weapon forged nearly a thousand years ago in the great era of Vikings, was ripped off his belt. The force that was used caused a painful tinge into his side where an old wound lay from the same era that his sword was from, and Lukas eyes snapped open.
Again the bed was disturbed, surely his brother dismounting the old furniture, as the blond struggled into as sitting position. He still felt tired, though not as much as he had been, and as more irritation itched into his mind, more of its prevailing fog did disperse. Just as he was about to crack open his lips to rebuke the Dane’s action, Lukas watched with a narrowing brow as his sword’s scabbard was tossed onto the floor like common rubbish.
Turning his gaze finally to look upon the rest of his family, mainly at Mathias to get a good shot to chuck a pillow, or something heavier, at when a rather large, green figure come into view. Shifting his dull blue eyes, Norway met the expression of the troll; Lukas’s expression darkened from what he saw. The narrowed, thick brows shadowed the creature’s bright eyes; it’s fists flexing menacing, and its focus lay on the door.
“Alv…” The name, meaning elf in Norwegian, was a simple one he had given the troll years ago since the creature insisted that Lukas would be unable to pronounce its’ name in any human language. Lukas spoke the name not as a question, but as an affirmation. A single, curt nod was all the Norwegian needed. He turned back to the others Nordics, only to see Denmark beginning to open the door. Also, he saw that Mathias, Tino, and Emil were in close proximity to danger; an unknown danger except for the sound of approaching footsteps.
Shifting forward off the bed to set a foot upon the floor, Lukas managed to utter, “Get away from the door...” but, from the sudden pain in his gut, having nothing to do with his prior condition, told him that perhaps his warning came too late.
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Post by monsterc on Jul 10, 2011 12:12:18 GMT -6
((Okay first encounter will be this bizarre alien thing. Sorry it took ages sob))
And its steady footsteps were monotonous. Its predator's eyes scanned the periphery, but there was so much more than what the naked eye could see. It had an innate ability to sense the presence of other life forms and locate their precise spot. It approached a door and couldn't be more correct after it heard rustling and human whispers of terror and anxiety.
If it could feel, it would feel pleasure. It would feed on the vibrations created by the sound waves of their wavering voices. Their quivering lips. The sound of their heart beating out of their chest. They had no idea what they were facing. On the contrary, it knew what it was facing.
Humans who had human weaknesses.
And then it hit the door with a mighty blow from its left arm. The door was fatally knocked aside, only to be carried on by momentum to be further demolished against the wall. Through the dust and the broken splinters, it eyed the four with its nebulous eyes with silent contempt.
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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 Jul 12, 2011 0:33:51 GMT -6
Tino would be lying if he didn't admit that he was glad for Mathias to be around. The burly man was on his feet quickly, though drowsily as he struggled to suit up and get over to Tino. Tino however, was anything but sluggish. He was entering the stage where his mind was running on overdrive. If he slowed down, he'd crash and fall asleep. He practically paced as Mathias rose, snatching Lukas's really sharp, long, heavy sword. The weapon was reassuring to an unraveling mind.
The Finn was quick to slip behind Mathias's bulk. By no means was Mathias overweight, but he was large and built solid, like a muscly rock. His experienced stance warned Tino of Mathias's serious side. Mathias, normally a bit of a goof, could get really mean, really quick. How could he forget? Being under the Dane's rule many years ago informed him of that. Mathias was not a nation to toy with. Tino shrunk back, making himself small as he coddled Hana in his arms. She suddenly squirmed, wriggling out of his arms to hit the floor. His eyes followed her in alarm as she dashed under the bed. Emil crept up to his side as Tino watched his dog in confusion. She disappeared from sight under the old bedskirt. Why?
Thinking proved to be difficult, as Tino's mind had been dulled by fatigue. It took all his brainpower just to think straight, not clearly and rationally. Hana was scared... last time she was scared, or riled, was when they fought the ghost.
"It... can't be a ghost... right? I don't think they can make steps as heavy as that."
Two and two clicked as Tino whirled around. Lukas, still on the bed, called out in warning. He knew too. "Mathias wait-" Tino started, trying to grab the Dane's arm to pull him back when something happened.
The door swung open as if an explosion occurred behind it. Something, whether it was Mathias or a portion of the door, hit him and sent him stumbling backwards. Hot pain flashed through his cheek as white stars littered his vision. Collapsing back onto his bottom, the dazed man, clutched his face, feeling a familiar, sticky liquid in between his fingers. He didn't need to look at it to know that it was his blood.
As the Finn's mind reset, he stared forward at it. He couldn't even process it. Was it... human? It looked like Alfred's little companion, but blown up a few sizes. Yet, the more that Tino looked at it, the more he felt fear prickle.
There was something wrong with it. Something bad. The same feeling that Tino got with the ghost around was rekindled here. This was bad! Really bad! Wide violet eyes locked onto the empty, ebony black one's that the monster possessed.
Tino froze.
The same blackness beyond the mirror void.... it matched perfectly with the beady orbs of this thing. Tino felt his blood run cold. Every finger, every hair, every extension felt numb. The only warmth that he felt was the pulsing throb from his injured, swelling cheek, as well as the crimson liquid that oozed from it.
With his mind dulled, Tino didn't even have the sense to draw his weapon. No, he sat there like a useless bump on a log as his mouth went drier than sandpaper. The terror of the dream was relived as Tino stared with 'deer-in-the-headlights' eyes.
'And you're next.'
The words rung in his mind, but his body wouldn't respond. He was utterly paralyzed with fear. His heart drummed against his chest, but did nothing to fill his icy limbs with life. He was even rendered unable to breathe. His lungs craved air, but he could not inhale. Was his night-terror about to come true?
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Post by sweden on Jul 20, 2011 23:21:31 GMT -6
Berwald stumbled to his feet, still groggy, and leaned on the door for a moment. The harder this place tried to keep him here, the more he knew he had to get out. His hand gripped the door handle and he turned it, quickly stepping out into the hallway. He stood there for a while after he closed the door, breathing the fresh air of the hallway. A few breaths later though, he realized that the air here was stuffy too, just less so than the room he had been in. "Ah well..."He still didn't know where he was, but at least he wasn't passing out anymore.
He looked down the hall to see that it turned a corner on each side, one turn going off to the left and the other going off to the right. There was only one doorway on his section of hall (the one he had just come out of), so he determined that the only thing to do would be to start off in one of the directions... But which one?
...Left. Left would be a good choice.
With staff in hand, he started off in his predetermined direction, stopping short when he came to the turn in the hall. It wasn't another long stretch of empty wall as he had suspected, but a very small area with only one door at the end. Perhaps a bathroom or storage closet? It was certainly an odd place to put any room...
A strange location for an even stranger place, he quickly found out as he opened the door. The small room was lined with shelves, not a spot of the actual walls showing. To Berwald's surprise and dis-amusement, those shelves where all lined with dolls. They just seemed a random assortment until he spotted a stuffed doll in traditional Swedish costume. ...A hina doll from Japan, a very old clay doll from Greece, and even a set of Matryoshka dolls from Russia. There was one from every country and then some.
This room suddenly had an eerie feeling to Berwald and there was nothing else here for him to see, so he turned to leave. But just as his hand touched the doorknob, a heavy bisque doll came crashing down on him from the top shelf. It was a fencing doll and he found very quickly that the foil it held was all too real. The thin piece of metal implanted itself in his shoulder as the doll fell to the floor. He stood there in shock for a moment, almost as is waiting for something else to happend. But nothing did and his small wound didn't hurt too bad, so he left before the doll on the floor could stare at him any longer. ...But he felt oddly disconcerted about the whole thing.
In the hallway again, he pulled the little sword from his shoulder, rubbing his upper arm briskly to try and help the pain. It was just a prick, but it still hurt for some reason, even more than it had a moment ago. Nevertheless, he set out along the hallway, going towards the other end of the hall this time. Surely this was the way to the others.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 2, 2011 17:18:35 GMT -6
Tino and Lukas' warning barely had any time to fully register before Mathias' felt his arm be forced painfully up over his head as he was sent flying -why was that?- a hiss of pain escaped from in between his teeth when he landed, he could hear the sword clattering to the floor somewhere near him. With a grunt the Dane pushed himself up into a sitting position, briefly glancing at the knob still held in his hand before carelessly casting it aside, he could feel several small cuts on his hand from the splintered wood, but hardly had any time to contemplate something so menial when he saw just what had disturbed them.
And he felt his blood run cold.
The creature that stood in the doorway was far from human; it was more like a monster- a demon hand crafted by Lady Hel to punish the poor souls who had been cast into Her domain; a horrid thing with a bulbous head and small, slightly pudgy body, its deathly gray skin looking like it was pulled too tight over it, outlining its bone structure. Perhaps most terrifying were it's eyes; dark, soulless black oval that seemed to be looking through the assembled Nordics, rather than directly at him. Mathias wasn't a man who was easily afraid -he had faced Prussia when he was at his peak and the impending threat of Hitler's Germany without flinching among other things- and yet he felt pure, unadulterated fear writhe in his stomach. Maybe it wasn't the monster itself that scared him so much, it was the fact that he was the only one who stood between it and the others- Mathias' family. Tino looked too frightened to move, Lukas was still hurt, and he didn't even want to consider Emil fighting this thing. The blonde licked his lips and slowly moved to a crouch, moving slowly to avoid any provoked attack. Where in Odin's name was that sword, and why in the name of the Gods didn't he at least bring one of his axes?!
“No point in worrying about that now.” He thought, looking around the floor to find his discarded weapon, catching a glint of the steel in what little light there was, it has landed about half a yard in front of him,if he was fast he would be able to get it before the monster made a move. Mathias let out a breath through his nose and, transferring his weight onto the balls of his feet leaped forward, grabbing the hilt of the sword before skidding to a stop. The weapon's weight was a welcome feeling, yet it felt like it would break like a twig if it was used against that... thing. Better to at least try it than sit around and wait for that thing to slaughter everyone in the room, and if anything happened to him...
Mathias shook his head and tightened his grip on the hilt, nothing was going to happen; not to him and most definitely not to his family! “Týr, vejlede mine kniv.” With that last murmered prayer Mathias shot forward, diagonally slashing at the creature. Hopefully someone would hear the commotion and come to help... ----------
(Haha! I am NOT dead! I just have Pokemom Black, and that is taking over my time c: "Týr, vejlede mine kniv"- "Týr, guide my blade." Týr is the one handed Nordic God of War, single combat and victory. )
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Post by Deleted on Sept 19, 2011 21:11:54 GMT -6
His warning had come too late, he had known that but that hadn’t stopped the slight cringe when the door and exploded into the room, knocking both Mathias and Tino to the ground. He remained where he was, half off the bed, as his narrowed eyes fell upon their foreign intruder, actually foreign was an understatement. The “creature” looked like thing he had ever encountered, and Norge had seen a fair share of the world’s hidden creatures, but this thing… was far different.
The outlandish entity gave off an aura that was nothing short but cold, unforgiving, ruthless; its eyes like dark abysses that reflected its want for their death. Its flesh was the color of a corpse and Lukas had no doubt that if Fate was smiling kindly down upon the creature, corpses would be all what would remain of the Nordics…
‘Not if I have anything to do about it,’ he thought stubbornly as he continued his decent from the bed to a standing position upon the floor, keeping a steady gaze upon the creature who had not moved from the door way yet. He was weaponless, thanks to Mathias, who was recovering into a defensive stance form his previous knockdown, but that had never stopped him before. When in doubt, use yourself as a weapon if no resources are near.
Lukas wasn’t too concerned about an offensive attack, not at the moment. Walking forward was an slight effort, his entire body protested but his ambition, his determination, and his adrenaline was standing victorious as he crossed the expanse between the bed to his target.
Wordlessly, Norway grappled with Island’s shirt and pulled him behind him as he stood forward, placing himself once more between his brother and danger. He was deaf to any or all protests he brother may have uttered; one glance from Norge’s eyes would quell every and all complaints. Emil was unarmed as well, same as he, but his brother may have been thankfully in a better state than Lukas was in, Norge still had Alv and he was the better fighter, stronger.
Lukas would rather die than to relive seeing Emil once more in the grasp of something that sought for his death. “Emil… move away. See to Tino but keep a distance. Arm yourself if you can,” was all he said before Lukas watched with indifferent hardness as Denmark attack with his Norwegian blade at their assailant. Unbeknownst to them both, Lukas was also wondering if aid would come upon them for they surely needed it… ‘Where in the world is Berwald?’
~~ There is NO POSTING ORDER! I have.. ah abolished it with my admin powers....
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