All polls and discussion threads regarding the 64th Hunger Games should be posted here.

The random events that have come to pass will be moved here.

Here you will find the bios of all the tributes for the 64th Games.

This year's golden horn manages to reflect what little sunlight is able to filter in through the trees, illuminating the fog that surrounds it in such a way that the cornucopia glows a faint, ectoplasmic gold. The soft ground is covered with springy moss and lichens, providing a comfortable running surface for the tributes making mad dashes toward the mountain of supplies found at the center of the clearing.

Considering the thick fog, the bonsai forest is not immediately noticeable to the naked eye. A downward glance, however, reveals rows upon rows of all sorts of miniature trees, from tiny oaks, to orange groves designed with mice in mind — even majestic redwoods have been shrunken down below knee height. Though many of the plants seem too small to be useful, there are plenty of surprises to be found lurking below the minuscule branches...

Perhaps the most outright terrifying portion of the 64th Arena lies directly to the south of the Cornucopia. Massive spiderwebs span every inch of this area, to the point where it is downright impossible to determine what they are even anchored to. There is some room to maneuver amongst the thick silk cords; however, it does not take a genius to deduce how simple it is to be trapped. And based on the size of the webs, you don't really want to see what's ready to make you its dinner.

There isn't a clear distinction where the massive spiderwebs end and the moss begins, but the hanging expanses of the latter span much of the area that encircles the cornucopia. Moving through the stringy plant matter is slow-going; the pale green tendrils knot together very efficiently and are rather difficult to cut through effectively. While there seems to be less danger of getting tangled in the curly stems when compared to the spiderwebs that neighbor the area, tributes charging through the net of lichens will find themselves facing certain death.

In the far north of the arena, surrounded by little more than flat ground carpeted with decaying plant matter, stands a solitary, resolute banyan tree, its central trunk several meters in diameter, its leaves splayed outward as far as they can reach. The branches have dropped to the ground in some areas, laying more roots down in the loamy soil, and making the massive fig tree a perfect climbing tree, and an ideal hiding place. But with so many leaves and roots and branches for concealment, it is impossible to say exactly what might be lurking in its vicinity.

In the southeast of the arena, beyond the spiderwebs and some distance from both the great banyan and the tar-covered ground, stands a vast expanse of vertical shoots. The bamboo, green and strong, grows very close together and is difficult to move through quickly as a result. The plants are at least a foot taller than even the most vertically-gifted tributes, making it excruciatingly easy to become lost among the segmented spires.

Tributes are alerted that they are approaching the most out-of-place aspect of the arena as the ground beneath their feet shifts from rotting and thriving vegetation to crisped plants and, eventually, hard packed earth. This leads directly down a steep slope to the carbon-scented pits of bubbling tar. Tributes would do well to mind their footing around the viscous, steaming cresote, which is quite clearly hot enough to give someone a particularly excruciating death.