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96th Official Arena Map and Info
Jan 15, 2024 10:17:25 GMT -5
Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Jan 15, 2024 10:17:25 GMT -5
Map: Days 1-5
Cornucopia:
If you can feel safe anywhere in this forsaken place, the Hunter’s Lodge that rests directly in the center of the arena is a seemingly good bet. Powder snow drifts down from the cloudy sky, swallowing up the ground and piling on the roof, lining the banisters with white. All around the building, the various areas encircle the space to the point of effectively land-locking it. Standing on the wrap-around porch, tributes can see a forest of dead trees to the west, snow-covered evergreens to the east, and behind them to the north looms an impenetrable wall of twisting darkness. Stepping inside, rustic furniture and mounted animal heads fill the interior, cobwebs collected on the antlers and dead coals dormant in the fireplace. There are rooms on the second floor, and a grand foyer with many plush seats, but you can hear the crunch of broken glass under your boots from the damaged windows that invites a whistling chill to blow through the lodge. Is this truly a safe haven, or is it just the safest place available to you?
Wintry Forest:
Compared to its neighboring land, the towering snow-covered spruces, firs and pines of the wintry forest could be considered the most placid area of the arena. At the base of the trees, pinecones rest in the snow, along with a few broken branches that have fallen from their unhealthy owners. In the middle of the forest is a fire watch tower that rises above the treeline. Tributes must hope that the alarms on the tower never sound while they’re here, for escaping a fire in this wintry tree maze will be a difficult task. Tributes could easily get lost in this forest. Footprints in the snow cannot be relied upon if a tribute wishes to retrace their steps. One could swear they just saw one of the evergreens shake the snow from its branches. The only danger here is what is waiting to fall from up above.
Witch's Wood:
The dead, barkless trees are long and slender, limbless and stretching into the gray-dark skies. Things are not just dying here: they seem to already be dead. There are no fallen leaves to rustle when the wind blows, so a chilling whistle mixes in with the sound of what you’re increasingly certain is laughter coming from somewhere in the distance. The snow here seems almost replaced by an ashen carpet as you navigate through long-abandoned campfire circles and take shelter from the skin-chapping gusts of air by crawling into old hollowed-out logs. And always, so long as you are in the area, you feel as if you are being watched by something that does not want you there: you are an intruder in something else’s home.
The Mines:
If the rotting wooden ‘BEWARE’ sign suspended above the entrance doesn’t dissuade you from entering, then welcome to The Mines! Tributes who shelter here will instantly notice the change in temperature compared to up above but do not let the warmth fool you. Wooden planks line the ground of the mines and underfoot they feel damp. If you look up, not only can you see cracks in the earth that allow the snow above to drip through but also the eyes of hundreds of bats that call these mines their home. Make sure not to disturb them as you traverse deeper and deeper into the meandering tunnels. Flickering oil lamps hang on the wood paneled walls and at certain points further into the mines, any tribute above six feet tall may need to duck. But do you dare venture deeper through these mines? Was that a left or right turn you just took? Tributes BEWARE!
The Fold:
A curtain of darkness and shadow, fog-like and cold on the fingers, bisects the entire arena. As you stand on the outskirts and brave the possibility of going inside, you see flashes of light like lightning is striking within. You hear devilish shrieks and gusts of upending winds. Even in the daytime, even from just taking one singular step inside, it’s like a starless night with no moon. You have to squint to see your hand in front of your face, and when you look to the skies there are brief flashes of light which only make what you can see that much more terrifying: creatures with jagged leathery wings prowling the skies, hunting for meals. Hunting for you.
Melting Ice Sheet:
The vast lake that stretches for miles off the coast of the arena has almost frozen solid under the influence of winter that has gripped the forest. Chunks of ice float in the dark blue, churning waters, and much of the lake does remain stationary to the point that tributes could walk across its icy surface if they so choose. The cold winds are more prevalent here than anywhere else, blowing with such ferocity it seems like they could cut through skin and bone. To the naked eye, there is no life here: no plants struggling for survival, no animals to be seen prowling the wasteland. But perhaps what flowing water remains is the most precious resource of all in the arena. Here, more than anywhere else, the truth of your situation rings clear. To survive, you must brave the elements. You’ve already learned that there are terrors lurking in the skies, let’s just hope they aren’t swimming beneath your feet, too.
If you can feel safe anywhere in this forsaken place, the Hunter’s Lodge that rests directly in the center of the arena is a seemingly good bet. Powder snow drifts down from the cloudy sky, swallowing up the ground and piling on the roof, lining the banisters with white. All around the building, the various areas encircle the space to the point of effectively land-locking it. Standing on the wrap-around porch, tributes can see a forest of dead trees to the west, snow-covered evergreens to the east, and behind them to the north looms an impenetrable wall of twisting darkness. Stepping inside, rustic furniture and mounted animal heads fill the interior, cobwebs collected on the antlers and dead coals dormant in the fireplace. There are rooms on the second floor, and a grand foyer with many plush seats, but you can hear the crunch of broken glass under your boots from the damaged windows that invites a whistling chill to blow through the lodge. Is this truly a safe haven, or is it just the safest place available to you?
Wintry Forest:
Compared to its neighboring land, the towering snow-covered spruces, firs and pines of the wintry forest could be considered the most placid area of the arena. At the base of the trees, pinecones rest in the snow, along with a few broken branches that have fallen from their unhealthy owners. In the middle of the forest is a fire watch tower that rises above the treeline. Tributes must hope that the alarms on the tower never sound while they’re here, for escaping a fire in this wintry tree maze will be a difficult task. Tributes could easily get lost in this forest. Footprints in the snow cannot be relied upon if a tribute wishes to retrace their steps. One could swear they just saw one of the evergreens shake the snow from its branches. The only danger here is what is waiting to fall from up above.
Witch's Wood:
The dead, barkless trees are long and slender, limbless and stretching into the gray-dark skies. Things are not just dying here: they seem to already be dead. There are no fallen leaves to rustle when the wind blows, so a chilling whistle mixes in with the sound of what you’re increasingly certain is laughter coming from somewhere in the distance. The snow here seems almost replaced by an ashen carpet as you navigate through long-abandoned campfire circles and take shelter from the skin-chapping gusts of air by crawling into old hollowed-out logs. And always, so long as you are in the area, you feel as if you are being watched by something that does not want you there: you are an intruder in something else’s home.
The Mines:
If the rotting wooden ‘BEWARE’ sign suspended above the entrance doesn’t dissuade you from entering, then welcome to The Mines! Tributes who shelter here will instantly notice the change in temperature compared to up above but do not let the warmth fool you. Wooden planks line the ground of the mines and underfoot they feel damp. If you look up, not only can you see cracks in the earth that allow the snow above to drip through but also the eyes of hundreds of bats that call these mines their home. Make sure not to disturb them as you traverse deeper and deeper into the meandering tunnels. Flickering oil lamps hang on the wood paneled walls and at certain points further into the mines, any tribute above six feet tall may need to duck. But do you dare venture deeper through these mines? Was that a left or right turn you just took? Tributes BEWARE!
The Fold:
A curtain of darkness and shadow, fog-like and cold on the fingers, bisects the entire arena. As you stand on the outskirts and brave the possibility of going inside, you see flashes of light like lightning is striking within. You hear devilish shrieks and gusts of upending winds. Even in the daytime, even from just taking one singular step inside, it’s like a starless night with no moon. You have to squint to see your hand in front of your face, and when you look to the skies there are brief flashes of light which only make what you can see that much more terrifying: creatures with jagged leathery wings prowling the skies, hunting for meals. Hunting for you.
Melting Ice Sheet:
The vast lake that stretches for miles off the coast of the arena has almost frozen solid under the influence of winter that has gripped the forest. Chunks of ice float in the dark blue, churning waters, and much of the lake does remain stationary to the point that tributes could walk across its icy surface if they so choose. The cold winds are more prevalent here than anywhere else, blowing with such ferocity it seems like they could cut through skin and bone. To the naked eye, there is no life here: no plants struggling for survival, no animals to be seen prowling the wasteland. But perhaps what flowing water remains is the most precious resource of all in the arena. Here, more than anywhere else, the truth of your situation rings clear. To survive, you must brave the elements. You’ve already learned that there are terrors lurking in the skies, let’s just hope they aren’t swimming beneath your feet, too.
