The Bloodbath

Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]
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cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:23:07 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Sept 22, 2012 8:23:07 GMT -5

graphic credit to lulu

Good morning and welcome to the 62nd Annual Hunger Games Bloodbath, Tributes! Your Gamemakers, Anarcha Bentley and Glamour Kinkade, have developed a very special Games for you. First and foremost, we would like to encourage each and every one of you to read the rules, as it makes life a lot easier for everyone when all parties involved are aware of the rules and expectations.

Please remember that tributes with broken legs may flee the BB, although it will take them THREE flee posts instead of the usual one.

For smooth operation of the bloodbath, please be aware of the following:
-Everyone must make an introductory post; it doesn't matter if you've taken Stealth or not.
-You may not attack tributes who haven't made their introductory posts.
-You must, must, must wait for at least THREE other people to post in between your attacks. If you are in an alliance of four, you must wait for at least one person who is not in your alliance to post as well.
-One tribute may only be attacked six times between their attacks.
-You must also wait for at least three other people to post in between your last attack post and your fleeing post.
-You may not attack in your fleeing post.
-Please be aware that if you have a severed leg or leg part, you may not flee without the aid of another tribute, who must also flee. With broken leg or leg parts, you may flee in three posts as stated above, or you may be carried out by an ally as well.
-Once you flee, you may not re-enter the bloodbath.
"Generic Attack Posts" are completely, positively, 100% prohibited in the Bloodbath. All posts must adhere to site standards.
- Stations are not valid during the Bloodbath, except First Aid upon fleeing. This means self defense, blades, etc. will take affect after the tribute has left the bloodbath.

ANY violations of these rules will result in an additional 8 damage dealt to the offending tribute.

Additionally, please make sure that you specify who you're attacking. When you're finished, for the sake of convenience, please edit your post to include the corresponding attack.

Each tribute's damage will be updated close to real-time on THIS DAMAGE SPREADSHEET, so pay attention!

Tribute item lists may be found on this spreadsheet as well as this thread. Information on what to do with it is found on this thread as well.

This year's Wealth will be piled on top of and inside of:

A floating Mausoleum

To clarify, the Wealth also includes any unclaimed items, as well as the items of dead tributes. The exception to this would be weapons, which can be claimed by the tribute's killer following his/her death.

You must be one of the first 18 tributes to post in the Bloodbath in order to be eligible for the Wealth.

Today's Weather
Muggy, damp, clammy
High: 75F (24C), 90% humidity
Low: 65F (18C), 80% humidity

Tribute Uniforms
Togas, sandals and silver laurels

Unlike in previous Games, we will be specifying a date for the Bloodbath to end, and a later date for Day One to conclude, to give any tributes remaining behind for the wealth a bit of time to catch up. The Bloodbath will end on Wednesday October 3rd. Anyone who has not posted in the Bloodbath by then will be killed, as always. Day One will conclude Saturday October 6th.

five
four
three
two
one
…
[GONG]

Let the 62nd Annual Hunger Games begin!

credit umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

credit ✨ zozo.

- chars -

✨ zozo.
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bloomtodeath

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:23:41 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ✨ zozo. on Sept 22, 2012 8:23:41 GMT -5

You wanna be the one in control
You wanna be the one who's alive
You wanna be the one who gets old
It's not a matter of luck, it's just a matter of time
Stand out on the edge of the earth

[/i][/center]

I have never liked small spaces.

A cylinder of glass surrounds me, entraps my body. My hands protest, pressing against the translucent sheets, knowing that I sealed my disastrous fate the moment I stepped into this chamber to hell. There's no going back, no start-overs.

I suppose I had no choice, really.

I rise. The metal plate whirs into life, slithers of my face reflecting in the glass where light from above escapes. A sharp glare startles me, until I realise that the expression is my own. My limbs feel like jelly and lead and an earthquake all rolled into one - a skeleton of miss-matched jumble that I pray won't shatter on me the moment I step off my plate. I'll be ok. The Wall is getting closer now, the entrance three metres away, two metres away, one metre away with every thud, thud, thud my heart drums through my body. Uncertainty plagues my mind. I can't tell what I'll see, who I'll kill, or even who will kill me. I can't even count down my own heartbeats.

Finally, open air surrounds my body. The Cornucopia looks so much more vast, so splendid in real life than it does on television. But then again, at home, I am safe and sound. I am not surrounded by weapons, supplies, and 23 others who have to kill me, who I have to kill, to get back home. I always used to boast and brag about how well I'd do in the arena - but right now, all of that is slipping away like the empty attempts of popularity that they always were. I'll be ok.

My eyes scan hastily over the items dotted around the great structure, and a twirling staircase that surrounds us all like a moat around a castle. Sixty. I spot Bran, Curtis, Needleboy - all rising just as I did. 24 bodies of sticks and stones. 24 faces of glares and fear. 24 pulses not wanting to stop. 24 children all wanting to go home. Fifty. I think of home, for a moment, and imagine my family all huddled around the television. Of Jon, probably turned an outcast the moment my train set out for the Capitol, huddled in a crowd around silver screens. All praying for Bran, hoping for me, shouting advice at us I oh-so desperately wish I could hear. Forty.

I had pre-prepared a list of things I must do in my head, but as I search for it's remnants, I find nothing. I can hear their voices, the tones and syllables so familiar in my ears - but the words refuse to form. Thirty. Everything is slipping so fast I can barely grasp onto anything realistic as the time ticks away and my hands become sweaty and I realise that I am afraid. But as my Father said, fear is for the winter, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep. Fear is for The Long Night, when the white walkers move through the woods. When the sun hides for years, and children are born and live in die, all in darkness. I don't know much about fear, but I know that I am winter, falling a hundred, thousand feet deep into hell. Twenty.

Twenty seconds. Twenty seconds before I must leap into a bloody, chaotic mess of blood and guts and gore. There's a thumping sound around me, although whether it's my own heart counting down my days or the countdown on the Cornucopia, I cannot tell. Ten. Look Jon, I want to scream. Look, Mother. Look, my family, my friends, even my Father, who I will be joining with the deceased in an uncertain amount of time. I'll be fine. In the Hunger Games, you win or you die.

And then as I watch the numbers tick down, down, down to my death, I think inexplicably of Jon, my siblings, my entire family - and suddenly I am filled with the voices of their final words.

Five.

Fight Hard, Aria Underfoot.

Four.

Come back to me.

Three.

You have to keep the rest of you safe, okay?

Two.

What do we say to the God of Death?

One.

Not today.

I run.[/justify]

Dive into the center of fate
Walk right in the sight of a gun
Look into the new future's face
I know you know enough to say
I know you know enough to play a game

[/i]

{aria enters the bloodbath}
[/center]

[/blockquote][/size][/blockquote]

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

charade
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Thinking

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:24:41 GMT -5

Quote

Post by charade on Sept 22, 2012 8:24:41 GMT -5

www.nowhavefun.com/celebritypictures/d/122-1/14+Aaron+Ashmore+picture.jpg

[/img][/center]

This was it.

The elevator in front of him was the most foreboding of portals he had ever had the misfortune to encounter. This was the transporter that would take him into the arena, the shuttle between life and death. Kenav might as well have been the gatekeeper, the ferryman to this new step in life. The way he was arrayed, Curtis wondered if the uniform he was wearing would include two golden coins to place over his eyes, like some form of macabre ritual from an ancient storybook. But Curtis kept his opinions to himself, fine with just letting his stylist put on all the finishing touches and staring at their reflections in the smooth glass across the room. Soon he would have to enter that thing, but not yet. Not yet. There were precious few minutes left before he would be forced to enter it, but he glad for the scant moments he had left to think.

The week in the training center had been profitable; as he had managed to find three willing allies from differing districts. The first was the Banks girl from five, or as he preferred to call her, Legs. While he still wasn’t sure about her true intentions she was a good enough counter to the fieriness of Aria Wolfe from eight. But besides all that, there was the wealth to be had from the youngest of their group. It was a sure thing in Curtis’s mind to play the field and be the conquering hero, the brother, the father; anything to bring the ratings up and come out smelling like a rose. Valuable resources were to be found in allies; Curt wasn’t sure why some people insisted upon doling out fearsome betrayals whenever they got the chance.

Having finished whatever it was he was messing about with, Kenav coughed into one to signify that Curtis could now enter the tube and be off on his journey. The man was a quiet one, happy to just get his job over with and shuffle the tributes away. It was a boring ordeal, but Curtis could hardly blame him for his apathetic tendencies; district seven had never been one to inspire confidence in its tributes, and it was rare that they did well at all. This fact did not make the eldest Grant boy uncomfortable for he was never short on confidence; or perhaps it was false bravado, a macho sense of entitlement that accounted for his unrealistic outlook on the whole situation.

Was he scared? Yes. But he was sure that despite feeling like he had a target painted on his back, that he could have this down if he kept his head in the game and didn’t let little things like mercy, fear and the whole plethora of emotions that would come with fighting for his life take control of his thoughts. His line of thinking was interrupted as Kenav began to silently usher him towards the foreboding glass, and he shrugged before firmly planting his feet in the center. The doorway slid shut with a hiss as his stylist shook his head and left the room. Good riddance. It’s not like Kenav had had any advice to offer him other than not dying; though Curtis wasn’t sure if he could really blame the guy for being jaded. Mentoring was a job for mentors not stylists, and seven was in short supply of the former.

The cylinder rose through the cool darkness for at least a dozen seconds if not more before it erupted out into warm air. The sunlight glinted off of the cornucopia and its riches much as it did every year, a common sight by this time. What was less common was the water that burbled softly behind his pedestal in what appeared to be a circular river that ran around the entire area. Anything else was too far away to clearly make out; that is, other than the pathway that looked like it was running underground. A hundred half formed thoughts about the faults people sought to absolve themselves of skittered around his brain, but as the buzzer rang, all thoughts unrelated to his continued survival vanished, and he was off.

OOC: Curtis Enters.

[/justify]

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

Rosetta
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The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:24:47 GMT -5

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Post by Rosetta on Sept 22, 2012 8:24:47 GMT -5

~Bran Wolfe

This was never how he expected it to be. Slumped down on a count that was just going down, down, down.

59...

58...

57...

Bran could taste the electric nerves in the air and he could feel the muscles tensing, preparing to run. And he could feel the eyes. Where could Bran run? How? Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd known this would happen all along. It was a deep, dark rose that pricked when he touched it, so he avoided it all together, praying that it would just get pulled up in the end. But, instead it choked him.

45...

44...

43...

The day had begun with fear and his cereal tasted like it and his shower had felt like it and his voice sounded like it. Sharp, shivering, unwelcome. And Bran couldn't even dress himself, something he usually insisted upon doing himself for his hands shook too much and finally, his stylist helped him into a ridiculous bed sheet it looked like. Aria was probably going to tease him about it. Maybe. Who knew if her ability to tease would be diminished by the prevailing threat of death.

32…

31…

30…

Back home, they’ll all be crowded around their television and little Ricky will rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but Mother will have gotten no sleep and dark circles will underline her eyes. Despite this, they’ll clutch Sarita’s hand, Robb’s hand in hers and Ricky on his lap and they’ll be so close to the screen that the light will illuminate pain, written heavily into creased foreheads, and Mother will never cry, but her eyes were be wetter than usual. No one will move. No one will breathe and no one will breathe until Bran or Aria took their last breaths. Until both of them do if that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Bran knew he wouldn’t breathe either. He wasn’t allowing himself hope for life. He was stifling the flame, the small hope, the small trying for glory, early on to avoid terrible disappointment later on as he lay, drowning in his own blood.

27…

26…

25…

They’d even tucked his legs neatly under him, Bran noted, but there his gaze at them wasn’t gracious, but rather wavering, still watery. They said launch was soon and Bran’s hands tensed around Hodor. This was it. Sweat created a pool between Hodor and Bran, but it only attached them to each other. The hero. That’s what Aria told him. He was to ride him off into battle. Bran, taking a deep, shivering breath, began to wheel himself forward, but he meant the quicksand.

12…

11…

10…

He’d been stopped. “Bran, no, I’m sorry,” his stylist tried to speak calmly, but Bran wouldn’t budge.

“No, no,” he insisted, hands tightening Hodor’s arm rests. His heart was beating wildly against his chest. “No,” he cried out again and the white uniforms, the white uniforms that had pushed him down before, grabbed for him again and he sobbed, his entire body splitting in two. What was a hero without means of transport? What has a hero without his most faithful sidekick? “Not Hodor!” he screamed and he didn’t care if he sounded like a little boy. Not Hodor. He wasn’t about to lose Hodor. “No!” But, they took Hodor anyway and hot tears spilled down his face as they placed him into the rising platform that would take him into the Arena. But, without Hodor. Leaving him dead already from the waist-down and so Bran used the only two weapons he had: his voice and his arms and as he waited to be lifted up, he screamed and pounded. He screamed until his voice was hoarse and he pounded desperately against the glass until his hands stung and he cried, shaking sobs, that took his shoulders by force, until they wheeled Hodor away and Bran was falling, but rising, but falling.

7…

6…

5…

And Bran could see Rajas on the same plate as him and Rajas would stand so tall. Bran wasn’t Rajas. Bran wasn’t Aria. Bran was…Bran. The cripple boy from District Eight.

What chance did he stand?

Well, sit.

3…

The leg muscles rippled and Bran watched with bitterness on his tongue.

2…

They had their eyes on the prize.

1…

Gong!

They took off running.

They did at least.

[/size]
[/blockquote]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 8:34:23 GMT -5 by Rosetta

^^Made by the excellent Shrimp!

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The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:25:25 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Sept 22, 2012 8:25:25 GMT -5

-----------------------

When Demeter opened her eyes on the morning of the most crucial day of ~~the end of~~ her life, she didn’t feel particularly pestered by nerves or anxiety. On the contrary, she felt rather well-rested, and rose from her quarters the moment she realized it was the day that would not resemble any other. This was not another training day, where she would sweat the stress through her pores as she maimed dummies with her daggers (she was growing oh so talented with the dangerous little things) and watched flames dance before her eyes and spoke in hushed murmurs to the pathetic, scrawny bunch that was her alliance - or rather, her shield. This was not a day she would sit before her stylists to find every inch of her being prodded and bedazzled with unnecessary Capitol glamour while they admired her golden curls and long legs. This was the day she would enter a mysterious, treacherous place crawling with cameras broadcasting her every move, every breath, every word, and a place where the unexpected would become expected. Mutts, nutcases, natural disasters, diseases - all were dangers to be taken into account. She need to be prepared for anything and everything. A few mutts? Couldn’t be too challenging. Natural disasters?
Let the wind carry you on your feet and run. Diseases? Well, one only had to take precautions. And tributes?

Kill every last one. No hesitation, no fear, no mercy.

[/I] She was ready.

After completing her morning routine the hours passed by rather quickly. Breakfast was silent, civil, and still quite enjoyable with plates of scrumptious Capitol food, though she decided not to savor it too much in order to prepare herself for the lack of appetizing food in the arena. After that, she was granted a limited amount of time to rest and digest the meal before she was hauled off to the arena. On television, it was always upon platforms from underground in which the tributes appeared, so she figured wherever the hovercraft led her it would fail to pass over the arena and spoil the pleasant surprise for her. Indeed she was curious to see the atmosphere she would be fighting in. What would the weather be like? Would there be a large, easily-accessible body of water, or would she have to hunt diligently for her life source? What sort of structures and vicious mutts would appear? What items and weapons awaited her at the cornucopia? These questions rattled her brain even as she boarded the hovercraft and received the chip injection in her left arm. Ignoring the sting of the needle, she stared at a fixed point within the machine and continued to contemplate the possible outcomes.

In the launch room Demeter found herself twiddling her thumbs absent-mindedly. It was eerily silent, with only a launch pad in the corner to keep her company and warn her of her upcoming fate. The Bloodbath. Its name suited it well. On television it was always a chaotic blur of peach skin and spattering crimson with the flash of the golden cornucopia blinding audience members every once in awhile. When it was finished, The Gamemakers usually replayed it at a slower pace to allow spectators a chance to catch up without waiting for the anthem. Normally, around half of the tributes were wiped off of the face of the planet within the first day, most lying in awkward angles near the cornucopia; slain and forgotten. Blood shed for nothing. At least, that’s what it seemed like whenever she watched the games within the boundaries of her lost home. Now that she was a participant, she realized these tributes’ blood would not spatter for a meaningless cause. It would spatter for her. They were sacrifices needed for a crown - for her survival. For her rebirth. It’s time to kill the old Demeter; a prostitute, an unforgivable sufferer.[/I] She was sick of the old life, sick of the men. Sick of everything. It was time to start anew.

Katric appeared moments later to shatter the silence and assist her into her uniform. Her stylists were the only Capitolites she could tolerate without facing the urge to rake her nails across their plastic faces to see if their bodies were capable of bleeding. They exchanged few words about anything other than Demeter’s appearance and her adjustment to The Capitol, and they spoke to one another in a calm, polite manner, relying more upon facial expressions than anything else. Demeter didn’t mind the company, actually, but she wasn’t somebody she found herself physically or emotionally attached to. She was just there for the sake of temporary company. Isn’t that how it always is? As a former prostitute, she was used to seeing people come an go like clouds in the sapphire sky. Katric would pass on soon enough like the rest of them, but perhaps the two would meet one another again when Demeter claimed her crown.

The pair remained silent until a robotic voice commanded her to enter the launch pad. Glancing at Katric, she received a nod and a soft ”Good luck” before she stepped into the launch pad, her heartbeat suddenly as thunderous as a banging drum. A glass wall enclosed her within the confined space, drowning the hum of machinery that once occupied the background noise and basking her in a vacuum of quiet as she stood stiffly in preparation for her exposure to the arena, the cornucopia, and the twenty-three bodies she would have to splice in order to claim her rightful place as the new victor. She waited for what felt like minutes, hours, an eternity with her eagerness slowly growing rapid and dangerous like wildfire until finally, easing her ache, the platform began to rise. She did not look back - she did not allow herself a last glimpse at her stylists face, because it wouldn’t be the last. She was going to survive. Demeter would not be another falling star; she would be a bright comet in the night sky, her aurora illuminating everything in the black heavens before she descended to her rightful throne as champion. You deserve this, Demeter. So take it. And she would.

The metallic grey of machinery faded to black until a wave of blinding white light struck her pupils and prompted her to squint as the chill in the air abruptly diminished, in its place arriving warmth radiating from what she knew would be the sun. She blinked multiple times to allow her watery eyes to adjust to the new atmosphere, and as soon as they allowed her she absorbed the site of the golden cornucopia glistening malevolently in the center of twenty-four figures. The roar of rushing water echoed within her eardrums, a signal she interpreted as positive. Water so close to the cornucopia? It would be war between wolf packs once the tributes abandoned the bloodbath in search for water all at the exact same time. How she planned to play it safe she was not yet sure, the pressure clouding her thoughts as she examined her surroundings. On one side of the cornucopia she spotted towering trees - perhaps where the edible plants would reside. Diverting her gaze in the opposite direction, as far as her vision could travel she saw nothing but empty space - fields, most definitely, but what occupied the fields she would have to find out later. Then, as the countdown commenced, she glanced briefly over her shoulder and fit the puzzle pieces together. The river was not a just a single, straight channel of flowing water; it was wrapped around the cornucopia like a snug bracelet. If it was deep enough, the tributes would be forced to swim or face bloody mayhem once the countdown reached zero. The thought comforted the young dragoness - she could swim, but many others couldn’t. The river would filter out the rotten tributes and demolish a decent amount of the competition.

Golden tube of lipstick in her hand, Demeter focused her attention on the cornucopia as the thirty second mark passed, warning the tributes that it was time to prepare for inevitable chaos and a whirlwind of clashing limbs. Weapons of vast variety beckoned her from within the almighty symbol of the games, their whispers taunting her and leaving her with a terrible conflict. The mark of twenty seconds appeared when she decided she could not simply plan which weapon she would claim as her own. The bloodbath was swift, catastrophic, and nearly impossible to follow when trapped within it, like a the inside of a black tornado destroying everything in its path. She would grab whatever items and weapons she could, perhaps disposing of a few competitors in the process, and run before the wolf packs could circle her like prey. She may have her three allies beside her, but she could not trust them to be completely and utterly devoted to her. The Game was not about trust, after all. It was about survial.

Survival of the fittest, survival of the luckiest, survival of the boldest. Whoever the next victor was, she would be blessed with unimaginable skill - fearing nothing but fear itself, accepting defeat only in the face of death that would never quite grab a hold of her, saving not a drop of pity for any of the tributes that would fall beneath her hand. There was a certain point in one’s life where one must dive for what is rightfully theirs - to claim the life and destiny that belonged to them, and now--

Five.

It

Four.

was

Three.

time

Two.

to

One.

fly.

GONG!

And then the dragon extended her wings.

[Demeter enters the bloodbath][/color][/size][/center][/blockquote]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 17:01:12 GMT -5 by Python

Learna Libertine
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The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:25:36 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Learna Libertine on Sept 22, 2012 8:25:36 GMT -5

.// learna antiopa libertine

[/center]

The shadows dance about my willowy fame, hiding behind my empty expression and pursed lips. I am no longer myself in any sense of the word, instead swathed in billowing ivory material, a garment that I cannot place in space or time. Learna Libertine is gone, and now she feels strings pull her upward, as though she is simply a puppet in a grand show far beyond her reach. The hands of the darkness stretch their fingers far into the hollow depths of my mind, clinging to it and never letting go. Freedom is a faint memory, the kind that lingers beyond your grasp and never reveals it's full colours. A faded dream of silence in my mind.

Now, a cacophony of voices scream to me, desperate and filled with rage. Some demand that I stay and fight until I fall, or worse, emerge victorious - do as Penelope did, find the treasure

[/i] - others force my eyes closed with terrible chants of run away, little girl. After a moment, they fall quiet again, returning to their benevolent whispers and sudden exclamations. I forget how to listen. My memories falter, until all I can feel is Penelope. She stood here before me, flickering eyes tracing the glass tube that carried her away. Upwards, to her death. Bitter, irrational fantasies spark in my ever so empty thoughts, only to be drowned out by yet more instructions. Penelope. The face of the girl who took her down.[/color] Blood running through the veins of the sand, pumping life back into the sea. Slowly, gently, elegantly. Although the essence of who I was has faded beyond recognition, I am still no Penelope. Calm does not ride like the tide beneath me - a soft and steady impatience ripples beneath the sturdy porcelain of my skin until I cannot be sure how much longer it will be until my own blood meets hers and we are lost together[/color]. Home is but a mystery, and all I know is what the voices tell me. Forget them, they preach, but they are the monsters who have stolen my mind and polluted my sense until all I can smell and hear and taste and see is uncertainty.

The air is all too harsh as it snatches at my face, as though trying to steal away a smile that never lingered. Time breaks in this moment, and the clambering souls that once moved restlessly underneath the fabric of my existence fall still. A shimmering golden horn is the centrepiece of a crimson world that folds out around us, a ring of children who are perhaps as afraid as I[/color]. The girl who everybody knows, the tiny child who finds eyes tearing at her flesh whichever direction she looks in. Do they not know that I am never, ever alone? Do their minds haunt them, too? Counting elapses in tumbling shouts, bound together with the ribbons of hushed lyrics.

Ten.

Lingering goodbyes help you to forget. Forget how to breathe.[/color] Forget how to smile. You can misplace the instructions that formed the very depths of your mind. Words lost, people stolen. You can never forget how to run.[/color] Arguments break out like a plague of lies, the monsters calling to me and my entire body reeling with confusion. They take what they please from my life, take me[/color] until we are one and the same and I act upon their orders only. My own instructions fall away into oblivion, until there are only two words left echoing around the empty space behind my unblinking eyes.

Penelope.

Run.

expression
speaking[/justify][/color]
[/blockquote]

[learna libertine enters the bloodbath]

[/blockquote][/size]

Nofo
Career Tribute

[M:-201]

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I'm back.

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:27:34 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Nofo on Sept 22, 2012 8:27:34 GMT -5

Her guesses at the arena were running wild as the tube began to make its journey up into the tributes personal hell. Ailis and the other tributes were wearing strange cloaks that she knew used to be called togas. There were old tales from ages upon ages ago that she had heard about as she had made her way through Districts. Now she was hoping the theme would be another cool relaxing paradise but inside she knew she wouldn’t get her wish. When the plates got into the arena, Ailis needed to find her allies. Those three girls were the only things standing between life and her death. Demeter, Learna and Heather would help her make her way through the initial bloodbath. Ailis knew she couldn’t get the weapons and supplies without them after she saw her fellow tributes.

Finally, Ailis saw a change as the plate rose up into the arena. It was no longer rising up a tube but into open area. First her eyes glanced out at the golden horn and the supplies inside the cornucopia and the surrounding areas and the around for her allies. She found the three of them after a few seconds and then looked out at the other tributes taking in the cavern around them. She wondered if this was all the arena held as she nearly stumbled off her plate only ten seconds in.

Then there was Claudius Templesmith ringing out over the entire arena. “Let the 62nd Annual Hunger Games begin!” and so began the minute long countdown until the lives of several come to an abrupt end before the Games really do begin.

She rubbed her thumb and fore-finger over the beads in her token for a couple seconds as she took in the fact that the odds said she could potentially die within five minutes or even less than that if luck permits. Sickening, we’re reaching a boil now and the pot runs over.Ailis really just wanted to survive the Bloodbath and take the Games one day at a time as long as she could. Perhaps her allies would be the long-lasting type and they would go to the final four together. Ailis was becoming a wishful thinker at this point. Bang! She ran off of her plate and began the end of her life.

[/blockquote][/justify]

And you think you see me.

chelsey
District Mayor

[M:-650]

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queen of inactivity

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:28:19 GMT -5

Quote

Post by chelsey on Sept 22, 2012 8:28:19 GMT -5

By tomorrow we’ll be swimming with the fishes.
Leave our troubles in the sand.
And when the sun comes out
we’ll be nothing but dust.
Just the outlines of our hands.

There are three things I know for certain.

(Three.)

I am going to die.

I will rot under the weight of disintegrated flesh while my decaying body sleeps in a wooden box packed under pounds of earth (that was always more alive than I ever was)

[/I][/color]. And the cemetery, filled with the dead ~~hopes and dreams that died along with me~~, will sprout weeds in every crack and crevice of my stone tombstone. Trampling footsteps and yellowing weeds will bury my grave in a gradual destruction, and soon the inscription - “Here lies Heather Elliot. Beloved niece, cousin, and friend -” - will fade just as the pigment in my skin, hair, and eyes will, and my entire existence will have meant nothing. The swinging pendulum of my clock will still it’s familiar rhythm as the same rhythm in my heart grows into a finite drone with evaporating tick-tocks-tick-tocks echoing into a misty morning atmosphere. Death will wrap it’s hand around me, place the pulse of his index finger to the base of my neck and match my heartbeat with his, and watch with a gleaming smile as the blood dims from my face and my eyes close for the last time and the voice in my throat dwindles away to a curdling scream -

And even if Death does not get me today, he will tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, then the day after tomorrow, and if not the day after tomorrow, then…

(Two.)

I will be forgotten.

With every gash sliced into the broken fabric of my skin, the memory of my laugh or my smile or my voice or my image will skim away as my family and friend’s brains are tarnished with the haunting girl with redredred dripping from her hands and lips. A girl with golden hair in colorless polaroid photographs will be draped with light cobwebs, as they hang off the dusty surface of a broken picture frame. (I’ll be just another nail to the wall, another picture buried behind an obliterated conscious.) When the sunlight within me fades into a miniscule candle flame that any pair of fingerprints could extinguish, the fossils of my footsteps imprinted against the cemented plains and orchards of my childhood will wash away with every rainstorm and hurricane of my family’s tears ~~( - except, water brings life and rebirth, and though they don’t know it now, every stream of tears they shed for me will water the flowers that will bloom in my absence)~~. And when the fossils of my youth have diminished and gave way to an irrigation of growing fields, my ashes will ripple in the race of zephyrs and fly higher than they ever could when they were together.

Around me are twenty-three other shells of the people who used to be, and their memories will fade just as mine will. Our first step onto this untouched soil will launch us into a battle where we fight and fight and fight and fight and fight and yet we all already know we aren’t going to win.

So, why do we still fight?

(One.)

I cannot fly.

I have been falling my whole life and mistook it for gliding. (I thought my chains were wings and my cries a song.) I tried to chase the sun before the darkness seized me - before the roots of a tree binded to my ankles and held my soul captive. But these broken wings and withered feathers ignited it’s own fire as we cut through the glassy realm of the earth’s atmosphere, and I fell with breathless oblivion, sinking into crystallized clouds and melting skies, thinking something down there could catch my fall.

But the creatures surrounding me are beady black eyed monsters who will undoubtedly push me to my plummeting downfall, their laughter fading as the ground grows wider before my eyes. And my innocence will be torn away from my hungered skeleton, the remnants of it’s color leeched off fragments of shattered and fractured bones; while the cracked lens of a camera will project the massacre of my mind, body, and soul to a nation of craving eyes who yearn for more, and more, and more.

The cramming echoes of a river lapping against a shallow shore buries itself into the wrinkles of my brain, as if trying to instill the illusion that my death does not await beyond the tides and waves of that river. To my right, my vision flickers across stretches of trees - the people behind these enclosed and invisible walls mocking me as violent pangs of homesickness trembles down the racketing knobs of my spine. But the tremors of the ground beneath me is from the ring of lives mirroring my stance - and we’re all just the outer ring on a small ripple of water, fading and fading and fading in it’s exterior until we are nothing at all.

The crooked tips of my demolished wings point against our fabricated sky - a warning as to what will come next. “Fly, Heather, fly out of here before it is too late. Don’t you already know your time will run out as soon as the clock -”

(Zero.)

When I spread my wings to take flight again, I leap off the branches of my platform already knowing I will crash and burn. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/color]

By tomorrow we’ll be lost amongst the leaves,
in a wind that chills the skelletons of trees,
and when the moon, it shines, I will leave two lines.
Find my love, then find me.

[/color]

[Heather Elliot enters the Bloodbath]

[/size]

"Isn't this the point of being young?"

^ bless avalon's soul ^

Matt
Retired Staff

[M:20030]

809 POSTS

last seen Mar 14, 2016 0:51:07 GMT -5

woah man

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:33:24 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Matt on Sept 22, 2012 8:33:24 GMT -5

My heart was beating faster than the speed of sound. I knew I wasn't alone; Curtis had said he would fight by my side no matter what, and I heard that he has connections with the pair from District 8. I hoped that I could get in and get out, not having to worry about getting into any fights or hurting others. I don't know if I could pull myself to do it, in the end. I wasn't strong, wasn't intelligent on the battle field. However, I did know vital regions to hit from class in school. My only hope would be to have a clear mind as I entered the battlefield, and to focus on who and where I was attacking.

My uniform was quite beautiful indeed. It just seemed so elegant, the white fabric cascading down my pale body. It was quite a good blend of colors, in my opinion. However, I couldn't help but picture it stained with blood. The room felt so cold as I slowly stepped toward the plate. My mind was clouded with thoughts of home, thoughts of Ashton, thoughts of the life I was so content with living. And as my plate rose, I got my first look at my Hell.

✨ zozo.
Retired Staff

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Pronouns: she/her
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bloomtodeath

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:35:01 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ✨ zozo. on Sept 22, 2012 8:35:01 GMT -5

We'll all start a fire
If the bells don't ring in our home town
They're just cheats and liars
They will serve you well
Oh, are we so alive?

[/i][/center]

He holds me close. Leans my head towards his chest, hands in my hair delicately - as if I were to shatter at any moment. He tells me we’ll run, run away soon. When I come back, we’ll leave for real this time. Escape the fence, run off into the world and never look back. My Jon, who tells me how sorry he is with no words at all. It’s ok Jon, you couldn’t stop this.

Arms encompass me, and I hold him close. I don’t think I’ll ever let go. I can’t. Goodbyes are bittersweet, not long enough. And time ceases to exist, only around us in the faint ticking of the Justice Building clock, the murmurs from outside the door, in Bran’s slow breathing. Tick, tick, tick.

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

Three heartbeats.

“Time’s up.”

“No!” I yell instinctively, feeling a new set of hands grab my body. But they’re not Jon’s, not my family’s, not anyone’s I recognise.

“No, no, Jon, don’t g-”I struggle, fighting against them, trying desperately to keep my roots intact before they rip me away from the earth, from safety, from- “Jon!”

They’re too strong. My hands are barely touching his arms now, clutching to his shirt as I bark “Jon, JON! JON!” I cannot leave – where will he go without me to secure him to our home? Mother won’t let him back in, he’s got no-one else but me, why are they trying to drag me away from hi-

Our skin touches for what is more than likely the last time, and I see nothing but white before the door slams shut. I collapse, not making a sound, heavy in their arms, for I have lost him forever.

[/i]

I have plunged into utter chaos. Limbs flail, feet pound against the ground, hands grasp at anything and everything they can. [/color]Get a weapon, I think to myself, refusing to stop moving as I dart around flashes of metal and flying fists. Spotting a whip, I shrug and wrap my fingers around it. It'll do, I think grudgingly.

Eyes dart around for Bran. I need to find him, get to him, before Needleboy or any of the other careers do.[/justify]

attacks demeter unarmed
[dice=200+5000]
Bruised Right Hand -- 2 damage

{aria picks up whip}

Oh this town, it's so electric
Since I got the feeling I can't shut down
We're beat down fingers and we're beat down toes
A tiger waiting to be tamed
We are a mess, are we alive?

[/i]

[/center]

[/justify][/blockquote][/size][/blockquote][rand=744682538323104411760521866381168963683280162513312440786720253527]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 8:36:17 GMT -5 by ✨ zozo.

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

Python
Retired Staff

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Pronouns: She/Her
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The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:35:53 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Sept 22, 2012 8:35:53 GMT -5

-----------------------

Twenty-three figures, one golden target.
It’s now or never. Legs pumping like parts of a machine, Demeter bolted across open space with her eyes narrowed and her golden locks whipping behind her. Blurry figures darted here and there within the boundaries of her peripheral vision, but as long as they did not cross her path they would remain mere specks of dust upon a window; insignificant and easy to ignore. With a lust for power glistening within her eyes she dashed for the first weapon she spotted - what appeared to be a miniature version of a sword. Long arm extended, she prepared to reach down and claim her prize when an unexpected figure obstructed her view. Without the slightest hesitation - without even bothering to take the time to glance at the tribute’s face and perhaps recognize him/her - she extended one of her limbs and attempted to knock the nuisance out of her path. After all, she couldn’t exactly draw a good amount blood without a weapon, and she could always deal with this tribute once a few extra moments were spared.

[attacks Curtis - unarmed]
[dice=200+5000]
Thrown to Ground -- 0.5 damage

[picks up Xiphos]

[/justify][/size]
[rand=3517924956977367436381411226466386934620165266115545715088956058]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 23:05:52 GMT -5 by Python

charade
Retired Staff

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last seen May 1, 2024 12:08:12 GMT -5

Thinking

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:35:56 GMT -5

Quote

Post by charade on Sept 22, 2012 8:35:56 GMT -5

A fist is generally the first weapon people learn how to use; the Grant boy being so stranger to tussling when the situation called for it. As he had grew up with three other brothers, engaging in fisticuffs came quite naturally to him. How many times had he settled a squabble with a slap or a smack? This was no different, Only the items in question so far much more valuable than the last cookie or the right to use the swing. No, this was a matter of life and death. These things could mean salvation or damnation in the right or wrong hands.Well now, that sword looks nice, better punch this bloke before they get it first, Who knows what they’d do with it?

[attacks Demeter]
[dice=200+5000]
5059 -- Bruised Right Shin -- 2 damage
--Curtis claims his weapon

[rand=290491479914635441015421296469877099979792255908730570919578895]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 8:36:55 GMT -5 by charade

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

Rosetta
Retired Staff

1,872 POSTS
last seen Aug 5, 2020 8:28:28 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:36:00 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Rosetta on Sept 22, 2012 8:36:00 GMT -5

~Bran Wolfe

Bran had never dragged himself before. He refused to. But, now it seemed crucial for he’d spotted something pretty. A crowbar. While the rest of the tributes ate their fill of the Cornucopia, Bran began inching himself along, dragging his body across the ground. It was cruel work, straining his arms and dirtying his outfit, but he almost there when a shadow fell across from him. A shadow he needed to get around to get to his prize.

[attacks Demeter, unarmed]
[dice=200+5000]

[Broken Left Arm -- 6.5 damage]
He gripped the crowbar.

[/blockquote][/size]
[rand=37494270955021647756617346699411957999441420177438119010465120763]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 8:53:02 GMT -5 by Rosetta

^^Made by the excellent Shrimp!

Nofo
Career Tribute

[M:-201]

579 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
last seen Apr 27, 2024 15:25:58 GMT -5

I'm back.

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:36:26 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Nofo on Sept 22, 2012 8:36:26 GMT -5

Running off her plate, Ailis knows she's probably running to her death but she has to take the chance to survive. She neeeds a weapon at least and is so prepared to get it. She's coming up next to someone as she spots a sword. It's so much shorter than the ones usually used in the Games but it's a sword, not a machete. There's another alliance there and they are the people from 8 and the boy from 7. She doesn't know what to do right now.She throws her arms out at someone to make sure they don't get it before she does while she swoops up and grabs the sword and begins to run off to her next item she wants.

Attacks Curtis;Unarmed
[dice=200+5000]
bruised back; 2.5t]

[/blockquote][/justify][rand=5170358259648101275493819238204867724754045309555027474416855721]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 8:37:08 GMT -5 by Nofo

And you think you see me.

Learna Libertine
Seam Resident

6 POSTS
last seen Sept 22, 2012 21:02:29 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 8:36:31 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Learna Libertine on Sept 22, 2012 8:36:31 GMT -5

.// learna antiopa libertine

[/center]

The cacophony is no longer simply inside my head - voices cry out from every direction, enveloping my entirety in their pained rush for freedom

[/color]. Items lay, scattered liberally across the ground like ubiquitous stars in a worn out sky[/color]. They reach out their weapons not in acrimony, but in a useless attempt to stay alive. They wont.[/color] The voices chime away like church bells, singing their blessings out over the battlefield. Come to us, children. I shake my head and desert the platform that brought me here, entering the terrible place I will surely never leave[/color]. My heart flutters, but I myself am as vacant as the eyes of the dead. Breathing, but simply taking oxygen and returning it infected with the insidious disease of my mind. They will come to you, each of them[/color]. Patience.

expression
speaking[/justify][/color]
[/blockquote]

[dice=200+5000]

[attacks curtis unarmed]

3.0

[learna libertine collects sword]

[/blockquote][/size][rand=977173243882134608986973669379957781678664032377339429447893053]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 8:58:33 GMT -5 by Learna Libertine

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Panem Post (98th Games ed.)

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Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Sept 22, 2012 8:23:07 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Sept 22, 2012 8:23:41 GMT -5

Post by charade on Sept 22, 2012 8:24:41 GMT -5

Post by Rosetta on Sept 22, 2012 8:24:47 GMT -5

Post by Python on Sept 22, 2012 8:25:25 GMT -5

Post by Learna Libertine on Sept 22, 2012 8:25:36 GMT -5

Post by Nofo on Sept 22, 2012 8:27:34 GMT -5

Post by chelsey on Sept 22, 2012 8:28:19 GMT -5

Post by Matt on Sept 22, 2012 8:33:24 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Sept 22, 2012 8:35:01 GMT -5

Post by Python on Sept 22, 2012 8:35:53 GMT -5

Post by charade on Sept 22, 2012 8:35:56 GMT -5

Post by Rosetta on Sept 22, 2012 8:36:00 GMT -5

Post by Nofo on Sept 22, 2012 8:36:26 GMT -5

Post by Learna Libertine on Sept 22, 2012 8:36:31 GMT -5

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