(this means forgetting) | finale

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gm bourgeois decadence [aya]
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"GUNNERRRRR~"

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 11, 2018 15:01:59 GMT -5

Quote

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Sept 11, 2018 15:01:59 GMT -5

"Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting."
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Welcome to the finale, tributes! Many congratulations on making it thus far. This is it, the end of all things. You may have as long as you need within reason to wrap things up, but please be considerate of your fellow tributes and mindful of the site's schedule.

Tribute information:

Akira Sokatoa - 3.5 dmg
Blades
Camouflage
Self Defense

Ezekiel Alexander - 4 dmg
Blades
Improv Weapons
Self Defense

Mackenzie Pryce - 3.5 dmg
Camouflage
Plants
Self Defense

Stitch Gabel - 5.5 dmg
Firemaking
Plants
Self Defense
Rivalry

{characters}

certified kindergartener
stranded in "beach" "city"
leader of the crystal gems

lance
Librarian

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Pronouns: He/Him/His
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gay and chaotic? call it gayos

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 11, 2018 16:33:45 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Sept 11, 2018 16:33:45 GMT -5

When you'd began your long journey from your home in Three to the Capitol, you'd known, deep down, that the chances of you ever returning with your soul still within your body were slim to none. In a game where odds were paramount, you had entered with nothing striking setting yourself apart from any other that might have hoped to claim victory from your home in the past seventy nine years.

But you had tried anyway. You'd come up with a plan that you presented to none other than the Gamemakers themselves, talking your way - somehow - into a pact with not one but three of the Career tributes, effectively aligning yourself with half of the decent fighters that would otherwise have numbered amongst your rivals.

But you, with your mind focused solely on survival, had never doubted for a second that just because you had agreed to a truce did not mean that Volkner Meinhardt, Anduril Harvard, or even Belladonna Ruze would cease to be threats in the slightest. Indeed, it was a dangerous game you were playing, following a pseudo-strategy that had recently gained traction amongst your fellow non-Careers in tagging along with the otherwise powerhouse alliance in the hope that they would utilize that very alliance to heighten their chances of survival. The results were mixed, and thus far had emerged with a zero percent success rate - Adelaide Throes had found herself killed at the hands of a Career with a focus similar to you yourself, in that survival must overcome any and all other priorities, Mariela Pitre's gamble had failed as opponents had preferred to target her over the trio of fierce Career girls that had adopted her, and Violetta Salazar had, in fact, successfully used the strategy to get herself to the top eight, only to be struck down by one of the very same people that she had entrusted with her survival.

And then there was you. Trusting your back with Volkner, trusting your survival with Andy, trusting your well being with Belladonna, there were no doubt those that thought you insane, keeping the deadliest fighters closest to you instead of as far away as possible. But fortune had favored the bold, perhaps - Volkner, easily the one who was most likely to stick his blade through your back as he would of anyone else, had gotten slain early on by a scrappy duo from Six and Five, respectively. And as time had passed, it had grown ever more apparent that betrayal was the last thing on both Bella and Andy's minds, even as one was savaged to near death and each of them gathered kills of their own.

The last time you had seen them, both had barely seemed stable, let alone focused on survival to the extent that you were. But they'd served their purpose, for you still drew breath whereas you might have otherwise been cut down days ago.

And even lacking their company and protection, you'd proven that you had the capabilities to take care of yourself. In a brawl that no doubt should have spelled your end under different circumstances, you prevailed, quadrupling your kill count in mere moments. And you had survived.

You knew all their names now, for you'd seen them in the sky. Cesare Crocetti, the Career boy from Two, struck down mere moments after Volkner had fallen. Then Petunia Hudson, the girl from Nine whose head you had separated from the rest of her. The boy who you'd maimed at the feast and then stabbed through the skull the next day was Zion Lyons, from Five.

And then Florence Spark, your district partner, made four, as you'd struck her clean through the chest. You'd held her hand as she had died, your walls long since crumbled as tears flowed freely for this girl you had never met, who had deserved so much better than a death in a hostile environment with none of her family or friends to comfort her.

You all deserved better, from the Florence Sparks of the world to the Volkner Meinhardts and everyone in between, than to be brutally murdered with weapons from a bygone age with no one but virtual strangers surrounding them. But though it was an injustice you had been aware of almost since you had been capable of conscious thought, for your family had never been the sort to hide anything from you and your brother, you'd set your heart in stone days ago, ever since your blade had ended the life of Crocetti way back when.

It sucked, yes. It made you sick to your stomach, disgusted with yourself, even. But that had been the single greatest burden that you had decided would weigh you down as you trudged towards ultimate survival, and it had been one you had deemed yourself capable of carrying.

Even now, in the twilight stages of the day and the Games alike, your burden heightened to four, you maintain that belief. Skin bare to the chill of the post-storm win, heart and soul bared to anyone tuning in on TV, you had nothing left to doubt.

You'd screamed, both in pain and in anguish. You'd shed blood and lost your own, dealt pain and endured it returned upon you. Right hand lost, neck and chest and stomach each sliced open, you pushed on, a single scrawny boy from District Three.

And you'd survived. Each and every Career in the arena had fallen. Your three allies, Dove and Ollie, Florence, anyone you'd ever made a connection with during your short coexistence in hell had since moved on.

And yet you remained. One of four from twenty four, from slim to none to the edge of glory, you had persevered.

When you fell asleep that night, after a hard swim away from the island of death, your dreams were murky and foggy, and yet they still appeared. You saw Florence surrounded by a group of children that shared her hair color, laughing and playing - fun between family. You saw Zion, subdued and shy even in your dreamverse, surrounded by a gaggle of girls. You saw Petunia, her forehead kissed by an older woman who could only have been her mother. You saw Cesare, a rare smile on his face, as he talked to a girl who could only be his sister. Family.

You see others, too. Volkner and a boy who's similar in looks but a complete opposite in temperament. Andy and a dark haired boy, locked in tender embrace. Belladonna opposite a pale-haired girl with a grin on her face and a rose in her hands.

And faces from outside the Games, too. Soft and caring, like your mother. Slightly awkward but warm, like your father. Withered and wrinkled yet possessing eyes twinkling with affection, like your grandmother. A hundred different degrees of emotion, yet beneath itself a genuine love, like Yukimura.

When you wake up the next morning, you remember none of it, and yet you can't help but feel almost at peace.

With morning came preparation, as the jug of water you'd been saving is drank, the plants you'd claimed from Petunia eaten, and the tar you'd also claimed from her spread over the throwing axes you'd nabbed from Zion. Florence's gear is out, on top of a makeup palette you'd claimed from Zion - two mementos you could return, if fate went the way you'd hoped.

And just in the nick of time, too, for no sooner had you put on the armored vest you'd pulled off of Florence after she'd expired - for even locked in tears and grief, you'd still blindly been thinking about survival - did the sound of buzzing fill your ears.

And yet you take your time, for you have a gut feeling that you knew what was coming.

Throwing axes strapped to your pack, trusty glaive in your remaining hand, you jog to stay ahead of the swarm, heart thudding as much with anticipation as with adrenaline. You know what's next, even if you aren't sure its form.

Four remain, three others aside from yourself. The end is near, in one way, shape, or form, destiny herself wrapping you up in long, coiled fingers.

The apotheosis of your story, after a week of brutal survival, has finally arrived.

And yet when you arrive in the clearing, the familiarity of the surroundings not lost on you despite the weight of the situation, you feel nothing but calm.

Perhaps your brain short-circuited, your heart fallen off of its rhythm and stopped entirely, who knows - but something, perhaps the certainty of fate, keeps you rooted as the bushes rustle with warm bodies.

Three of them, to be exact. With a quick motion, you stick the hilt of your glaive into saturated soil as the first figure emerges. And though he wears a familiar face - you would know the boy who struck down Volkner anywhere after that day - you do not hasten to attack, instead opting to loosen the throwing axes from your satchel.

You've gotten them loose and have already started to prep them for the fight when the second figure emerges. A stranger in all but sight, you nevertheless ping him as the boy from Seven - only due to his tall, dark, handsome persona, and the fact that you were relatively sure you'd seen him and Belladonna interact in the training center before.

Your axes blaze to life with the sparks of your flint and a rock, and it is with precision that you hoist the first one as the third figure emerges. Another familiar face, laced with even more negative memories than the first two - this was the boy who'd attempted to hack you apart when Andy and his own district partner had been on the warpath against each other.

You'd endured then, focused more on the survival of your ally than the heat of revenge, and when the fight had inevitably been won, you'd let him run, too.

And now here he stood, alongside the remainder of your opposition. A finale.

You ignore the fact that finales of this type have grown increasingly rare in recent years, most preferring the drama of a one versus one as opposed to a group brawl, and absorb the weight of the situation as quickly as you can muster.

Right here, right now, one way or another, it all ends today.

There are no words to be spoken from you, a pattern increasingly common as you had carved your way through the arena to survival, only crisp, quick precision. In every fight, every advantage counts - and few advantages rank higher than gaining the initiative.

You'd slipped the previous day, allowing each of your opponents to strike you before you in turn had cut them down. You would not slip up today, not when you were so close.

And so the flaming axe sounds the gong that starts the war, flying handle over blade towards your former assailant. No need to make any more enemies than necessary - you'll handle this one at a time.

You had never realistically expected to get this far when you had first started, resigning yourself to your fate well in advance of the finish. But you'd be damned if you weren't going to take advantage of the luck and circumstances that got you here, even if you have to end each and every one of your opponents yourself.

Your soul might be fractured with the weight of your sins, your body might be screaming from blood loss and exertion, and yet you, Akira Sokatoa of District Three, have never felt more alive.

akira coats four throwing axes with tar and lights them on fire with flint

akira attacks stitch; first flaming throwing axe

WkGT9||Dthrowing axe

10038 -- Shallow Cut on Hand -- 3.5 damage

fire roll

1-50

+10

throwing axe�1-50

Last Edit: Sept 11, 2018 18:38:57 GMT -5 by lance

credit to darsypoo uwu

credit to fireflyz!

credit to stare!

ryan
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over the moon, where all the wild things are

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 11, 2018 22:37:47 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ryan on Sept 11, 2018 22:37:47 GMT -5

I feel nervous in a way
that cant be named
I dreamt last night of a sign
that read the end of love

Nothing would ever be the same for Stitch Gabel again.

The glaive passed through Ollie Brooke’s neck, and the girl from ten fell to the ground lifeless.

Yet another star falling from the sky. But this time, it was because of Stitch. He was the reason why she was no long a part of the sky that Stitch envisioned.

The blood was smeared across his blade, and Stitch had half a thought to take it and rub it into his face. To put it on his tongue so he could taste the copper that was infused with it. However, he did not. He was not a cannibal. He was not a villain. He was not psychotic.

No.

He was a boy who was just trying to get home at this point.

He hated that he had to kill someone in order to make his dream a reality, but he came to terms with it the moment that he walked into the arena. People had to die here in order for one of them to go home. As uncomfortable as he was, there was no stopping the butchering. The slaying would never cease. From the moment their crossed into the arena, the word murderer was plastered on their foreheads for everyone to see.

But the size of the word always changed. Some of the people here never got the chance to kill, and as much as some of the tributes wanted blood on their hands, instead theirs wound up on the people they were trying to kill.

This place was not perfect, and it would never be perfect because how could hell be that? How could someone justify this place as a heaven amongst the most elite warriors? Somehow the Capitol found ways to make this place seem like it was a paradise when to everyone else, they knew it as death row.

There was no way to find any type of beauty in this place.

And Stitch pulled his blade out of Ollie’s neck, watching her body fall into the grass of the forest. He took a deep breath, realizing that he had finally become the villain that everyone thought that he could be. He was never going to be the same, and as he watched the body of the girl that begged him for fairness lay their lifeless, he turned around for a moment and started to vomit.

In that bile, he could feel every bone in his body light up in a fire that he did not know was in him. His stomach turned in ways that he had never felt before, and his muscles became heavy. The bile came up involuntarily, and he did not stop himself. He didn’t want to stop. This was a sign that he was disgusted with himself, and as much as he wanted to do this to prove to his mother that she was the least of his worries, he now needed to win in order to honor the memory of the girl that he had killed moments before.

In that moment, he wished he could have done everything different. He wished that Andy’s spear had gone deeper into his stomach, so much so that it would have caused sepsis and he would have died.

Stitch Gabel did not deserve to move on into the night. He did not deserve the freedom that he wanted, and he did not deserve to live in place of the two people that fell in front of him. Ollie was stronger than him, and Andy was more broken than he would ever be.

At the end of the day, Stitch Gabel would always be strong, but that did not mean anything here.

No.

With strength came recklessness, and with that recklessness, Stitch knew that he was a danger to anyone that even tried to get close to him.

He was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, and he just hoped that no one else would be around to experience the aftermath.

Stitch picked himself up for a moment and took a deep breath. His mind wandered, thinking about Andy and Ollie, and how much they probably wanted to move on from this fight. There were so many chances for all of them to run away, but for some reason, they didn’t. It was like they knew if they did, they would be killed on the spot. The Game Makers wanted blood, and by ripred, they got it.

His mind replayed the fight over and over again, and Stitch simply sat there and thought about the words that they all said to him as they begged each other to stop the nonsense. Stitch however, knew better. He did, and he hated himself for it. He knew that death is exactly how this was going to end, and Stitch hoped and prayed that his life would have been the one taken.

But here he was.

Sitting in front of the lifeless bodies of two tributes who wanted everything from the world but got nothing. They were empty shells that were now scattered amongst the forest, and Stitch was the one who was going to walk away from this.

And he did not deserve it.

He looked at the items that were scattered around the forest between Ollie and Andy, and while he wanted to be respectful of their bodies, he knew that he was in this for the long haul now. If he was going to survive, he was going to need to claim the chest plate that Andy was wearing, and the medicinal plants that were nestled in Ollie Brooke’s satchel would go to waste if Stitch did not take them with him.

So slowly, Stitch started going through the bags of the tributes that he watched die in front of him. He laid everything out on the grass, and simply looked over it for a long while. There was so much for him to claim, but so little worth most of it had.

He found an iodine tablet in Ollie’s bag, something useful, seeing as there was no firewood in sight for him to make a fire. He grabbed it and plopped it in his full canteen of murky water and simply shook it up. After a couple minutes he guzzled the water down like it was going to be the last sip that he was ever going to take.

When he reached the end of the canteen, he placed it next to Ollie, knowing well that he had no more use for it. He had a feeling that the end nearing, and that meant there was no time for anything that wasn’t going to further his chances to winning.

He claimed the medical supplies from both Andy and Ollie, as well as Andy’s chest plate, helmet, and axe, and then Ollies medical plants. He greedily stuffed it into his bag, claiming it as his own when he knew that he would never be the true owner of any of it.

He stood up after, balancing the new items on his shoulders while he walked close to Andy’s body.

”I wish we met somewhere else Andy.” He said as he placed his hand on Andy’s. The skin felt cold compared to his, but seeing as it felt like hours had passed since he had died, Stitch was not surprised.

At the end of the day, he just wished he got a chance to say goodbye.

He moved over to Ollies body and leaned over it. ”Ill make sure to give Zeke or Dove a rock if I see them.” He spoke gentle promises that did not have to be met, but Stitch would not let himself break something that meant a lot to the fallen. No. Stitch grabbed a rock that was close to Ollie and shoved it in his bag. It was a token that would be delivered, even if he didn’t get the chance to meet either them wherever he was going to go.

Stitch Gabel could at least keep a promise.

And with that, he moved away from the area, knowing well that if he stayed he would have been ushered out anyway. Stitch had a feeling that the Capitol cleaned up each area as quickly as possible. If they let the bodies sit in the arena and fester, the smell would attract things that no one wanted to experience.

He made his way to the raft that Neela made and simply took a deep breath. From here on out, Stitch was going to have to live with the fact that he had killed someone today. He was going to be known as the boy who killed one of the youngest tributes here. He was going to be known as a villain.

However, at this point, Stitch welcomed it.

There was no point in empty platitudes or hoping that everything was going to work out in the end. Stitch Gabel now had blood on his hands, and he was never going to be able to rub it off. Even if he chopped them off, he knew that the smell would linger. The copper would suffocate him, reminding him of the deeds that he had done in order to get this far.

And as much as he didn’t want any of this, as much as he wanted to end his life right here and now, he had to keep going. For all the people that had died before him.

He sat on the raft and pushed the bag behind his head. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. He realized that he never got a chance to say goodbye to Andy. A living Andy that is. He pushed through the memories that he had with the boy from four and felt his face turn hot. As much as he hated to admit it, he had fallen hard for him, and while he knew this was something that he couldn’t avoid, he just wished he didn’t have to be the one to watch the boy he was infatuated with die in front of him.

However, Stitch was not the one to kill him, and in that, he found a little bit of solace. He would not be known as the person who killed a career, but instead, the boy who murdered a poor girl in cold blood. But at the end of the day, it was either her or him, and Stitch could find comfort in his choice of surviving.

He knew well that he could have taken the blade and fell on it himself, however, suicide was always looked down upon in the games. Stitch did not know what the repercussions would be if he were to do such a thing, but he didn’t want to find out. Every year though, he did wonder why some tributes did not take their deaths into their own hands. It was something that mused across his mind as he started to drift off into a sleep that he knew he needed.

He wished as he closed his eyes that he could forget about this day just like he had forgotten the day that Lavina had died.

It would have made it all easier.

Stitch was awaken by the anthem, and for once, he was worried about who was going to appear on the screen in front of him.

The sky was bare, all the way up until the faces started to show up one by one.

First was the boy from ten. He had met him on his first day of being in the arena. His name was Charlie, and Stitch wept for a moment, realizing that he was probably just another causality in all of this.

Stitch would have been fine if the anthem had ended right there, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. The amount of cannons that sounded while Stitch was fighting Ollie and Andy was staggering, and Stitch would have been a fool to think that those cannons weren’t really fired.

So he took a deep breath as he watched the girl from nine appear in the sky next. She was a tacit girl, one that he never really got the chance to meet while they were thrust into the same predicament. Stitch couldn’t say he was regretful, but he wished that he did learn something about her. Stitch wanted to know something about everyone that was here. It was the only thing that was going to keep him sane after all.

Then came Andy, and Stitch had to look away for a moment. He wished that he could have had a moment to wish him goodbye. He wished he could have spent just a little bit longer with him. There was so much to Andy that Stitch never found out, and now he was never going to be able to.

That broke his heart.

Then the girl from five, Dove, appeared in the sky and Stitch couldn’t believe it. She seemed like one of the strongest tributes here, and even though they had limited interaction in the training center, Stitch thought out of anyone, that she was going to make it.

And then Ollie Brooke followed, and Stitch turned his head away again. All he could think of was the way his glaive looked as he speared through her neck to deliver the final blow. Stitch was just happy to see that she didn’t go out too far from someone that she loved.

Stitch took a deep breath, tears streaming down his face as he watched people that he knew become one with the sky. It was tragic, but in the back of his mind, he knew that he was just one step closer to obtaining the one thing that he really wanted.

And the Anthem kept playing.

Next, Faline Varley appeared in the sky, and Stitch’s mouth had fell open. He had just seen her earlier in the day, and out of everyone that he had seen in the sky, he thought she was the last person that was going to end up there. Stitch hoped that she went out peacefully. She deserved that much.

Then the boy from five was plastered in the sky and for a moment, Stitch tried to rack his brain around who he was. He wasn’t sure, but he was sure that he was never going to know.

Then the career from one, Belladonna appeared. Another face that Stitch did not think that he would see up there as well. She was strong in the fight they had a couple days ago, and Stitch thought that she would have powered through to next stage of the competition.

She was followed by Florence Spark. The one person that he truly did not want to see up in the sky. He prayed that she found a way to survive the very obvious bloodshed that the gamemakers had caused. With that, the last person that he was meant to protect had disappeared into the sky, and Stitch Gabel was heartbroken to say the least. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to come back from this, and so he closed his eyes and hoped that the gamemakers would end him right on the spot.

But they didn’t.

Instead he thought about how many people died in order for Stitch Gabel to live. Sure, he had only been responsible for one of their deaths, but that did not mean that Stitch did not feel the pain that came with each one of them appearing in the sky.

He felt like he was floating in the air again, this time passing through the stars and heading straight to the planets that were beyond them. He watched as the spirits of the fallen tributes had danced around them vivaciously.

You watched Florence Spark smile at you while she swirled around Mercury.

You fawned Faline Varley as she laid on the clouds of Venus.

You smiled as the boy from five hugged the Earth.

You winced as you watched Belladonna Ruze hug Mars like it was a long lost lover.

You awed at the sight of Dove Elsu trying to lift Jupiter onto her back,

You questioned Petunia Hudson as she skated across the rings of Saturn.

You played with Ollie Brooke as she floated around Uranus quietly.

You cried as you watched Andy wink at you from Neptune.

And you paused for a moment as you heard Charlie whisper something from Pluto.

Each planet you passed you tried to discuss something with the people that were there, but none of them could even try to give him an answer. Stitch Gabel couldn’t even find the right words to say as he started to fall back into the planet that he came from. He was never going to get the answers he wanted. And that would always break him.

But right now, he needed to focus on the task at hand.

His mind would always race with what if questions, but this was his chance to show Panem that he could rise above whatever was thrown at him.

However, that did not mean that he didn’t want to say goodbye to them.

And so as he passed each planet in his dream, he wished them all good luck in finding their own peace. Whatever that meant for each of them.

And then he collided back into the atmosphere.

Burning up in radiance and then into nothing.

Morning came, and Stitch could smell death in the air.

He rose for a moment and leaned over the raft, splashing water on his face as he looked at his reflection.

The wounds on his body had started to heal, but that did not mean that he was ready for whatever was going to come his way next.

He got off the raft, the Imberline and simply pushed it into the water. This was its chance to be free, something that Stitch took for granted for so long.

He watched as the raft had floated into the water, and he turned his back.

This was his chance to leave all of his hangups behind.

He was ready to do what had to be done.

And so he would.

And he walked into the forest.

The first thing he saw was the boy from Three, Florences district partner and the boy that he had fought before lighting up throwing axes like they were going out of style. Stitch was confused for a moment, but his eyes could not stop following the sights as he saw them.

Mackenzie Pryce walked out of the ether next, and Stitch knew that he could rest easy. ”Im sorry for your loss Mackenzie.” Stitch couldn’t help but sigh. He knew that the sting of it was probably felt more by the boy from seven, but that did not mean that Stitch didn’t feel it either.

After all, Stitch wanted no one to die.

And then the boy from six, Zeke, had walked out of the forest, and the first thing that he did was reach for the rock that was in his pack. However, he stopped for a moment, realizing that if he were to do such a thing that could give Zeke a reason to attack him. Stitch did not want that.

He had to wait for the moment to be right.

And so he returned his hand to his glaive before feeling a fiery axe lodge into his armor. ”Still mad Akira?” Stitch sneered through the pain. The heat from the axe was enough to make Stitch cringe, but this was do or die now, so he could not falter.

He bit down on his lower lip and pulled the axe out of the armor around his hand threw it all to the ground.

”Guess we aren’t playing fair. Fine.” Stitch pulled out the javelins that he had acquired from Lavina the day before he died and placed them in front of him. One by one he lathered them in tar and lit them on fire. If Akira wanted to play with fire, then so would Stitch.

”Now which one of you killed Florence Spark?” Stitch said as he lifted the first javelin up, looking Akria dead in the eye. ”And by the way, this is for Lavina.”

And with that, he threw the first of many blows.

and I remember thinking
even in my dreaming
that it was a good line
for a song

song: The End of Love by Florence and the Machine

Stitch Gabels slathers four javelins with his tar and lights them on fire with his fire making skill to make 4 flaming javelins

Stitch Gabel attacks Akira Sokatoa with flaming javelin #1
56UN_f6Tjavelin

[15055 -- SPEAR THROUGH HAND -- 8.5 damage
(Javelin)] + 1 for Rivalry = 9.5

Fire Roll

1-50
+0

javelin�1-50

Last Edit: Sept 11, 2018 22:40:25 GMT -5 by ryan

knuckles
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4,871 POSTS
Pronouns: he/him
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probably flailing over something

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 12, 2018 18:41:12 GMT -5

Quote

Post by knuckles on Sept 12, 2018 18:41:12 GMT -5

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I've done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
And don't resent me

Faline crumbled, and his heart collapsed with her. A broken cannon shatter the sky mixing with the never ending thunder. The storm raged on tearing apart the world until suddenly it ceased. The angel of death ran off with his district partner fastened into his chariot. It was hard to believe, hard to wrap his mind around, yet he was still there standing. A river streamed down the side of his face leaving streaks in the blood and dirt caked to his cheeks.

This was the last thing Zeke wanted, but right now he was standing one step closer to his father. One step closer to wrapping his arms around the man he loved more than anyone else in the world. The death sentence was nearly over, and the healer was ready to make a move. Ready to make a change. Ready to show the world just what he was capable of.

Somewhere outside the arena, families mourned, and he felt bad for them. It crushed his heart. Shattered it beyond repair. All that remained was a void sitting inside, and it was the first time Zeke didn't know what to do.

His knees gave as he crumbled to the ground. Palms connected with the rocks sending vibrations up his outstretched arms. It hurt. Everything about being in the world hurt. Three people were dead because of him, and more would die. Home was calling him. Teddy was waiting in the Capitol, and Zeke yearned to see him again. To tell him he understood what he meant when Teddy told him to not lose himself. There was so much more to healing than repairing broken bones, and it wasn't until now he fully understood.

Time ceased to exist, and the silence grew even more until the clouds finally gave way. In the sky was stars, and they were almost peaceful. Yet his mind turned to home where he used to spend hours lying on the ground with his sister watching the stars twinkle high in the sky. Part of him wanted that again, but the only way to make that happen was to die, and that was the last thing he wanted. So many times Zeke found himself wishing for death, but seeing so much of it in the last several days, it changed his mind. A man waited for him, and being the healer meant fighting until he had nothing left.

But then the anthem blared, and Zeke found himself at a loss of words. Face after face flew across the sky, and it didn't bother him until Dove stared back at him. Just the night before she was talking about how she wasn't useful anymore, and in his groggy state, he let her leave promising to not let Ollie follow. Now he didn't know where the young blond was or if she was even still alive.

It was strange looking at Faline as she gently floated away. Hopefully she found the answers she was looking for especially if there was another world she was born into. Death was the end, but maybe it birthed a new beginning.

Yet his heart crushed once more when Ollie's eyes met his.

The notes they carved into the walls at the Capitol came pouring back to him. The days of working together. Of protecting her, but all good things came to an end eventually. In fact, it was much better off that way. Not worrying about having to fight his allies meant the world, but he truly missed them more than anyone would ever know.

And for the first time, Zeke was truly alone. Nobody was there to talk to him. To comfort him. To do anything. It was just him, and the quiet arena surrounding him.

"I'm almost home, Dad. I'm almost home." His eyes locked on the sky hoping that his father was okay. Hoping that he was still watching and holding onto the hope that his son was capable of surviving. "I love you so much." But the days were numbered, and he knew that.

Zeke wasn't sure exactly how many remained, yet he knew they were low. Part of his brain was still unsure, but his mind returned to the hydra. Fifteen gathered around.

Only four remain.

It was hard to believe. Hard to imagine making it this far. When his name was called, the only thing the healer imagined was returning home in a body bag. But now he was so close. Close enough to where he could taste it. Death was calling for him, but so many times he sent people off the face of the world with the grim reaper. And now he had to do it again.

Laying down, Zeke closed his eyes. A good night rest was needed if he wanted to have enough focus to survive.

But his sleep was cut short.

Something was roaring beside him. Buzzing louder and louder, and before he realized what was going on, Zeke threw his stuff in his bag and scurried to his feet. These mutts were the ones he saw before, and pissing them off was the last thing on his mind. So many of them started surrounding him, and even in the darkness of the arena, he had no clue what he was doing or where he was going. Nothing made sense anymore, yet he screamed at the top of his lungs before taking off running as fast as he could go.

Jumping into the water and swimming as fast as he could keeping his bag in tow, Zeke moved. It didn't matter what was lingering in the water, but he knew he had to move. He had to escape. Freedom called from somewhere inside the arena, and Zeke wanted to find it. Beads of sweat rolled from his brow as he pulled himself out of the water onto the shore, but it didn't stop there. He kept going, and Zeke wanted nothing more than to stop and catch his breath, but they were closing in. Every hair stood on end as his feet pound against the ground. Those things were destined to devour him. He saw it before as harmless looking butterflies turned into the world's worst nightmare. His heart clawed at the cage it lived in begging for an escape. Yet his mind was slowing down. All the fighting, the running, the sleep deprivation was finally catching up to him. It was hard to move. Hard to do anything, but the will to live kept him going.

Pumping his arms back and forth, Zeke watched the world spin around him, and only when he saw a light lingering ahead did he realize what was happening. The buzzing was slowly fading until all he could hear was the sound of his beating heart. The pixie wasps nudged him forward.

This was it.

This was the finale.

Four of them stood close by.

Zeke turned his head to the sky and whispered a silent prayer hoping the guardian angels would return. Reaching into his bag, the healer pulled out his own tar and slathered it across the weapon he collected just hours ago. And then he found the flint.

A fire formed before him, yet he wasn't sure what to do.

But he wanted to go home, and that was what kept him going.

Taking a deep breath, Zeke allowed the calm to fill him completely. This was truly the last calm before the storm, and the healer was the storm everyone needed to fear.

And when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

song: Leave Out All The Rest - Linkin Park

Credit to Dars <3

Ezekiel lights his glaive on fire using 1 jar of tar and flint

Ezekial attacks {Stitch} | flaming glaive
m7632pebglaive
{result: 13069 -- Deep Gash on Forehead -- 9.0 damage + 1 blades}

1-50
{result: extinguished}glaive�1-50

Last Edit: Sept 12, 2018 18:43:05 GMT -5 by knuckles

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe

dars
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Member is Online

— 🥀 —

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 12, 2018 20:14:51 GMT -5

Quote

Post by dars on Sept 12, 2018 20:14:51 GMT -5

Does the wolf apologize
When it stands on top?
Should the lion say his grace
When he takes his mark?

Broken things were so, so easy to forget about, be they a child's toy or a boy with shaky hands. Bloody hands— hands that had killed. Mackenzie couldn't trust himself in this place. He'd always harbored a lot of anger but he didn't think he had it in him to do this: to be this.

As Bella took her last breath, head cradled in those bloody hands of his, something in him was numbed to a point of indifference. He'd killed a friend. He'd ended the life of someone who may have once trusted him, and closing her eyes and letting her sleep wasn't enough of an apology. They took her body and disappeared into the stars with it, and that was not enough of an apology, either. And he was silent, and numb, and—

Broken.

The fractures multiplied at midnight, spiderwebbing across his entire being as more faces than ever before shone in the sky. Please, he thought, Please. Please. Please.

And then he saw her, his little mouse, looking down at him.

Faline.

It took him a great while to realize he was not breathing and it took every bit of effort he could muster to inhale. He tumbled forward, knees buckling under the weight of yet another death that was his fault and his eyes, wild with frenzy and hopeless longing, did not know what to do. Cry? Narrow in anger? Blink in indifference?

He only stared, a broken boy with bloody hands and an inability to cry anymore.

And at some point, his eyes closed and he slept.

——————————

He recognized the sound so quickly that is scared him; Was this his new normal? The buzzing. The very same buzzing that had overtaken the sound of Wynter's cannon. The same buzzing that had haunted his dreams. It was back; it always came back.

As if it were routine, Mackenzie had his bag thrown over his shoulder in seconds and he was sprinting so hard that his chest burned.

I won't let them get me.

He'd fought creatures bigger and badder than the swarms; he would be damned if they were what ended him.

The wound on his leg ached with each quick step he took, a cruel reminder of the desperation in Bella's eyes in her last minutes. He feared that he might've been the monster in her story in the end. He feared that she was somewhere better, demanding that he end up somewhere worse.

("Let's not hate each other.")

He hoped she meant it.

——————————

The wasps were only as fast as they needed to be, and he realized that. They were not designed to kill him but, like the falling trees yesterday, they were instructed to herd him to wherever the gamemakers wanted him to be.

He kept daring himself to stop: to see if they would attack him at all, but it was a stupid risk. He wasn't willing to hand the Capitol his death; not when he had worked this hard to fight for his life. Not when he had killed the girl from Eight, and Dove, and Bella. Not when Ike and Wynter died under his care. Not when Faline—

Mackenzie blamed himself for her more than any of them. She had died alone, and afraid. He did not know if she had suffered; he did not know if she screamed for him or if she had kept quiet. Maybe she had died hating him for not being there, or maybe she had died just as bravely as she lived.

Maybe she did what she always did, and protected Mackenzie more than he had ever protected her.

He had broken through to a clearing in the forest, and it was only then that he really understood.

"The beginning of the end," he whispered, chest rising and falling too quickly for comfort. The boy from Three was there, and the boy from Six, and— Stitch. Mackenzie wanted to blame him. Maybe if Stitch had lifted Faline into his arms in those last few moments, Mackenzie would've been able to pull all three of them up to safety. Maybe if Faline hadn't been so goddamn set on trusting him, they would've ended up some place different, more inland and safe from the ocean's unforgiving current. Maybe— he knew it wasn't Stitch's fault, though.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mackenzie."

He set his jaw; he had to be strong. For her. Fuck, for all of them.

"I'm sorry for yours, too."

It was a feeling he understood by then, the silence that came when there were no words left to say what needed to be said. He saw his opportunity to strike first and he did not take it. The boy from Three did— Mackenzie understood why Bella had allied herself with him. And then another opportunity to attack came and went, and Stitch took it. A third, and the boy from Six moved into action.

Mackenzie was frozen, and they all tried so hard to end this. He should have been more like them, he knew, but— he'd killed so much. He'd ended so much, and he worried that destruction would become the only thing he understood.

Fight, for fuck's sake. He heard Wynter's voice in his head crystal clear, and the scab in his palm grew itchy yet again.

For us, Ike added, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

For yourself,
Faline finished.

He paused, lowering the eye patch down and bracing himself. He could do this. He could have one more fight.

He could end this.

I do what I need to
What I have to, to survive
Well, I can try
But I'm going to stay alive

song: stay alive

[mackenzie attacks ezekiel; javelin]
UDk0|vosjavelin
[15028 SPEAR IN CHEST 9.5]

[lights four javelins on fire using stitch's fire]

1-50
[+4]

javelin�1-50

Last Edit: Sept 12, 2018 23:58:28 GMT -5 by dars

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

lance
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gay and chaotic? call it gayos

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 12, 2018 21:26:52 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Sept 12, 2018 21:26:52 GMT -5

I won't soothe your pain
I won't ease your strain

Handle over blade, a brilliant orange hue, your axe hits home, catching the boy from Eight on the hand. A glancing blow, surely, had the fire not taken a mind of of its own.

You watch, mesmerized, as the fire travels up his arm, and for one wild second you think to similar instances of tributes quite literally going up in flame. People like Eva Tidestone last games, or even Florence's relative - Bolts - five years ago, life snuffed out in seconds, their bodies feeding the hungry flames.

But reality snaps you back down out of your daydreams as the blaze burns out before the job could be complete. A pity, you think - removing one bolt from the equation would make your job all that much easier.

You fight the inevitable wave of nausea that follows, knowing full well just how fucked up your thought process has gotten over the last few days. Murder wasn't even notable anymore - it was just one part of your grand scheme to escape with your life.

Just a little longer, you think. Then I can spend the rest of my life paying for my sins in one way or another.

Your target glares at you - not surprising, given you had struck first, after all - but instead of responding with a blade of his own, he opts to strike with words first.

"Still mad, Akira?" Surprising, somewhat, that he'd learned your name some time between now and when this had all begun - you certainly hadn't put name memorizing at the top of your to-do list, and you had easily been one of the less notable tributes to have been chosen this time around - and yet the question itself also contained elements you hadn't expected.

"Mad?" you echo, wonder filling your voice. You ponder for a second whether he's referring to insanity or anger before settling on the latter, before declaring the whole thing irrelevant.

Sure, you did target him in part due to him savaging you three days prior - but even that hadn't been in anger so much as self preservation. The boy from Seven might be a mystery and the boy from Six already proven to be willing to make the first move against an opponent, but neither had sent their blade your way in the past - this boy had. He was the largest threat to your survival out of three, simple as that. Therefore, he would be eliminated first.

But the question still stands, and it still doesn't make sense. "Whether I'm mad or not is irrelevant," you respond, voice flat. "The only thing that matters right now is survival. The goal of the Games is to win, after all."

He responds with a mutter, no doubt intended to force you to defend your honor or some pointless shit like that. You don't rise to the bait. Who cares about fair when your life is on the line? you think, but do not speak.

When he throws the spear he'd been holding, it's with a question and a declaration all at once. You shift to the side, not wishing to get your armor dented at the very beginning of the fight, only to cry out in pain when your hand is pierced in turn.

Dammit. Hits like these this late in the game won't do - you'll need to do better. You must do better.

So you stand, ignoring the newfound pain in your hand, and pick up another flaming axe. "Fight for whomever you want, Eight," you declare. "I personally don't give a shit. I'll fight for myself."

You come to a decision, seconds before you strike.

"And just for the record, I was the one who killed Florence."

You throw, sending a second projectile hilt over blade towards the boy.

"She asked me to."

You'll be waiting in vain
I got nothing for you to gain

song: Eyes on Fire - Blue Foundation

akira attacks stitch; second flaming throwing axe

D5bnCIQzthrowing axe

10144 -- Deep Gash on Calf -- 8 damage

fire roll

1-50

+4

throwing axe�1-50

Last Edit: Sept 12, 2018 21:29:53 GMT -5 by lance

credit to darsypoo uwu

credit to fireflyz!

credit to stare!

ryan
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over the moon, where all the wild things are

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 12, 2018 22:11:59 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ryan on Sept 12, 2018 22:11:59 GMT -5

I feel nervous in a way
that cant be named
I dreamt last night of a sign
that read the end of love

Everything was starting to come down on him, and the world stopped. The force sent the boy flying in his mind, and as he reached out he caught nothing. Stitch Gabel could not hold onto anything here anymore, because he could feel himself dying.

Death was something that he never thought he would meet while he was here, and it wasn’t because he thought he was above it, but because he had already survived it. The day before, he knew he was going to die, but he didn’t. Instead Ollie Brooke perished in his wake, and Stitch did not know who to thank. Gods did not exist here after all, just the ferocity of gamemakers who wanted to make them suffer.

And Stitch was not here for that.

But looking at the boys who joined him in battle, he did not expect there to already be so much blood.

No one wasted time on attacking, and as much as Stitch wanted to pause it all and just live in the moment, Akira and Zeke were not letting him get that chance.

He looked at Mackenzie for a moment and wondered what it was like to live in a place like seven. Stitch knew that it was the lumber district but that was it. Stitch did not know what it was like to live there. He was sure he would have loved it. His own tree was fresh in his mind, and he wished he got a chance to sit in front of it one more time.

But he would never get that chance. ”Lets fight for Faline, Mackenzie.” Stitch said to him as he extended his Javelins to Mackenzie’s and watched them light up into some harmonious.

This was it. His swan song, and if he died here, then that was just how it was going to be.

He took a moment to say his prayers as he braced himself for whatever attack Akira was going to lay on him.

But then a clank on his head caught Stitch off guard.

Zeke had made his attack, and he was coming for Stitch. ”Really Zeke?” Stitch looked at him as he winced at the small cut on his head. Lucky for him, the helmet covered most of it, but if he didn’t have it there, he might have suffered a much worse fate.

”Two on one? You both are pathetic. Teddy Ursa would be ashamed of you Zeke.” the words snapped out of his mouth quicker than he expected.

Stitch took a deep breath, realizing that this was just how the game worked. Behind all that armor that he was hiding behind, there lied a boy who was not ready to die.

However the wounds he had proved to be greater than he expected.

He took a deep breath and calmed his mind.

Stitch Gabel had to get over the fact that he was going to die here.

His death would not mean anything, just another person to fall at the hands of the capitol’s sick game.

However, he did muse what would happen to his family after the fact.

He took a deep breath, feeling himself at one with the atmosphere.

There was no point for him to be angry at the boys who were even more desperate than he was.

He felt himself catapult back to the earth.

A new man.

Ready to face anything head on.

That was until Akira had opened his fat mouth.

Stitch looked at the boy with dead eyes. He could feel his blood boiling over, and the rage was starting to take over.

Florence Spark did not deserve to die at his hands. ”My name is Stitch, you prick. Don’t you dare fucking call me by my district number again.” Stitch didn’t know where that came from, but he was done with the empty platitudes and dull conversation that Akira did not want to give him.

”I am sure that you are spinning the story to make people feel sorry for you. Florence Spark was a lot stronger than youll ever be.” At this point, Stitch could feel his descent into madness. He was not ready for whatever was waiting for him on the other side, but that did not matter.

He had to be.

”Quit the bullshit.” He looked at Akira for a short moment and then back to Mack and then Zeke. ”We all have blood on our hands. Now which one of you will have mine on yours?” Stitch looked at them all one by one. He knew that this was going to end for him soon. He could feel it as the flaming axe lodged itself into his shin guards. The smell of burning flesh wafted into the air, and Stitch knew what he needed to do.

This was his chance to at least take out someone who did not deserve to go home.

”I hope I live long enough to watch you die Akira.” He looked at the boy from three and he grabbed his second Javelin. ”Villains don’t get to live in the end.”

And with that, he thought about everyone that had died before they got to this point. Ping, Neela, Lavina, Wynter, Cassia, Charlie, Petunia, Andy, Dove, Ollie, Faline, and Florence.

None of them deserved to die at the hands of people who thought they were better than everyone else.

And now it was Stitch’s turn to feel what it was like to cross over to the otherside.

So with death just around the corner from him.

He launched his flaming javelin into the air, and took a deep breath.

If Ripred wanted him to keep on living, then this would be his tried and true.

So he kept on praying.

and I remember thinking
even in my dreaming
that it was a good line
for a song

song: The End of Love by Florence and the Machine

Stitch Gabel attack Akira Sokatoa with Flaming Javelin #2
URUMLGHMjavelin
[15072 -- SHALLOW CUT ON HAND -- 3.0 damage
(Javelin)]

Fire Roll
1-50
[result]

javelin�1-50

Last Edit: Sept 12, 2018 22:12:54 GMT -5 by ryan

knuckles
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probably flailing over something

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 13, 2018 13:54:42 GMT -5

Quote

Post by knuckles on Sept 13, 2018 13:54:42 GMT -5

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I've done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
And don't resent me

Heavy eyes locked on the sky. Somewhere his mother and sister were watching, and Zeke wondered what they were thinking. Did they want to see him again, or were they praying for him to return to his father? It was hard because right now part of him yearned for the chance to finally rest easy, but at the same time, leaving his father behind wasn't what he wanted.

This was it. The finale. It was all that was left. All that was standing in his way. And he wanted to survive so bad. His life was only beginning, and now it was almost coming to an end. Many wishes and desires stood around, and Zeke tried reaching out for them, but he wasn't strong enough. He wasn't capable of grabbing the prize just yet. Four of them were still fighting for it, and it all came down to who wanted it the most. Just like the day before when Zeke told Faline to prove she wanted it more.

Was killing her, Volkner, and Gabriel all for nothing?

A volcano erupt before his very eyes. Flames grew stronger as each of them lit their own weapons on fire. Zeke turned from person to person wondering which one would survive. Four of them remained, and there they stood fighting, but what caught him off guard the most was the one lurking in the background.

He had no relationships with them, but they were just like him in so many ways. Survival was important, and none of them were willing to give up just yet. Home was calling for them, and in the darkness the grim reaper appeared on the sidelines. Three would join him today reuniting with the twenty that already died.

A heavy sigh left his lungs as his eyes turned from person to person trying to figure out the best move to make. It was a hard decision, yet his mind told him what to do.

But soon he regret it.

Each breath caught in the back of his throat, and his eyes grew wide. The pain was unreal, and he wanted to scream, to let out everything that was bothering him, but somehow the healer managed to hold it all in. Pain wasn't anything new anymore. So many times it flew across him, and many times Zeke pushed it down.

Blood trickled from his chest where the spear penetrated the remains of a vest. Wrapping his hand around it, Zeke removed the object knowing the danger it could cause, but he knew it was easier to fight without it standing in his way than to fight with it. What was the point of making himself even weaker? Why waste away when the world was standing on end watching and waiting for the one who made it out of this alive?

The boy was unscaved, and Zeke wanted to change that, yet the other two were arguing back and forth, and in a way it was almost distracting. Listening as they went on and on about everything that was happening. Just one breath at a time. Just keep fighting and never give up.

Why did it matter who killed who? Every single person had blood on their hands. Every single person wasn't innocent anymore, and yet they went on like it didn't matter. Just the day before nine people died. Nine and Zeke killed one of them. So what was the purpose of trying to make everyone out as a villain?

He was trapped in a dog eat dog world, and it was only then that human nature came out. Humans want to live; it was part of it. None of it made a difference anymore.

Time froze as his eyes locked on his new target.

"Do you fear death?" He asked anyone in particular. Anyone that was willing to give an answer.

Yet the question tore through his mind like a broken record stuck on repeat.

I don't because I know what's waiting for me.

But he wasn't ready to die.

And when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

song: Leave Out All The Rest - Linkin Park

Credit to Dars <3

Ezekiel attacks Mackenzie | glaive
|rqbgC1Xglaive
{result: 13013 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage} glaive

Last Edit: Sept 13, 2018 17:28:47 GMT -5 by knuckles

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe

dars
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Member is Online

— 🥀 —

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 13, 2018 17:09:48 GMT -5

Quote

Post by dars on Sept 13, 2018 17:09:48 GMT -5

Does the wolf apologize
When it stands on top?
Should the lion say his grace
When he takes his mark?

"Are you afraid of death?"

Questions like those came from people who knew the answer. Of course Mackenzie feared death; he hadn't gotten the chance to live yet. The boy lashed out, managing to slice at Mackenzie's right arm— nothing deep, barely there enough to draw a sharp sigh from Mackenzie's lips.

He parried the boy's weapon away from himself, taking the opportunity to step in so that they were face to face. He was handsome.

Pity.

"I fear death about as much as I fear living."

The worst part of that statement was the truth woven into every syllable. Mackenzie first had the thought when Faline was still by his side. He remembered looking over at her and smiling, then cursing himself for being happy. He couldn't afford contentment; he couldn't afford to care, and he was so goddamn stupid for letting himself grow close to her.

He'd thought of leaving, then he had the brief thought of ending her life while she slept. It wasn't there for long, an intrusive thought that had merely skirted around the edges of an overworked brain, but it was there and he resented himself for allowing such an awful idea to pop into his head.

Is this what living costs?

He was afraid of death: yes. He was afraid of never getting to grow up, of falling in love, of finding his passion. He was afraid of never seeing his mom or Max again. At the very least, if he had to die, he didn't want that loneliness taking root in the pit of his stomach to be present when he drew his last breath. But, to live— what did that even mean, anymore?

Nightmares already plagued him, Wynter's screams and blood dripping from Ike's mouth— he was sure his subconscious would conjure up some cruel, creative way of making him remember how much he had failed Faline as well. He kept seeing her in the corner of his eye, but when he looked to where she was, she was gone.

Maybe his mind was reverting to the last point in this arena when he felt safe, that night, when he'd had that cruel thought about what to do with her.

He thought he saw her then, standing just behind her district partner. She was cloudy, and her lines were shaky and unsteady, like ripples in a pool of water. Mackenzie dared to let his gaze flick to where she'd been standing, but she was gone.

She was gone.

The boy was here though; he was real. He hated the hesitation he felt. He hated the pause that came from his knowledge that this boy was the closest thing to Faline left in the arena. They'd grown up in the same place, probably met a lot of the same people. They'd walked the same paths and they'd both ended up here, bless their souls. But the door swung both ways.

Mackenzie wished she was here instead; call him selfish.

"My saving grace died yesterday, you see," he said, and his eyes stung but he glared directly into the boy's eyes. The one who made him good. The one who made the difference between selfishness and heroism. The one who was gone now.

"If you make it out of here, you tell her family. You tell her family how much she mattered."

I do what I need to
What I have to, to survive
Well, I can try
But I'm going to stay alive

song: stay alive

[mackenzie attacks ezekiel; javelin]
pwjQKmCkjavelin
[15025 -- SPEAR IN STOMACH -- 9.5 damage]

[tar #2]

1-50
[+4]

javelin�1-50

Last Edit: Sept 13, 2018 17:12:42 GMT -5 by dars

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

lance
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gay and chaotic? call it gayos

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 13, 2018 17:39:11 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Sept 13, 2018 17:39:11 GMT -5

Eyes on fire
Your spine is ablaze
Felling any foe with my gaze

This strike lands lower than the first, more direct in nature. Again, armor shatters beneath the blade. Again, fire scorches exposed flesh, albeit to somewhat of a lesser degree this time around. It's a solid blow on your target slash assailant, and you cannot deny that there is a certain satisfaction in dealing out pain to one who had dealt it on you three days prior, even if verbally you might deny it.

The boy takes more offense at your lack of bothering to learn his name than you had expected, angrily declaring that he was more than a number, that his name was Stitch. You find you don't really care either way, and the dichotomy between the two of you - logic ruling one, raw emotion the other - does not escape your notice either. Your unlikely ally in the boy from Six has turned away to his own assailant, which you can't blame in the slightest, splitting the battlefield from a grand brawl into almost two separate fights taking place concurrently.

It's new, interesting even. And it leaves the fate of the boy from Eight - Stitch - on your shoulders.

"I hope I live long enough to watch you die, Akira." the other hisses. "Villains don’t get to live in the end."

The words actually illicit a smile from you in response, though it melts away within seconds. "So I'm a villain now, is that it?" you ask, a hint of amusement mixing with indignation to give life to your voice for the first time that day. "Didn't realize it was such a crime to desire life over death. My bad."

Are you a villain for deciding that murder was a worthy price to pay to ensure your survival? Perhaps in that area, Stitch from Eight is correct in his assumption of you - but he'd be a hypocrite in saying so. No one got this far without killing someone - not you, not him, nor the boy from Six and likely the boy from Seven as well. Each of you had the same burden to bear on your shoulders, and the one who would be escaping this hell would add to that burden before the day was over.

Another spear flies towards you, but this one cuts where the first one stabbed, and somewhat lightly, too, for while pain does register in your system, it isn't quite so great as the previous strike. Your third flaming axe takes the place of its brethren in your hand, and you eye your assailant dead in the eye.

"Tell me this, Stitch," you say, not quite asking but not quite demanding either, the whim to ignore his request to call him by his name tossed to the wind - he would be dead soon anyway, you figured, and the least you could do was remember your manners - as you prepare yourself for the throw. "If Florence Spark really was that much stronger than me-"

And she was, oh Ripred she was, in ways you would never be able to replicate or convey, though you'd sooner die than give the other boy the satisfaction of being right.

"-then how come she's dead and gone, and I'm still alive and kicking?"

You throw, blade glowing orange, not bothering to wait for the response.

After all, you've already answered that question for him, even if he doesn't quite realize it.

And just in time
In the right place
Steadily emerging with grace

song: Eyes on Fire - Blue Foundation

akira attacks stitch; third flaming throwing axe

K72niJQothrowing axe

10046 -- Severed Foot at Ankle -- 9 damage

fire roll

1-50

immolation +10

throwing axe�1-50

Last Edit: Sept 13, 2018 23:55:51 GMT -5 by lance

credit to darsypoo uwu

credit to fireflyz!

credit to stare!

knuckles
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probably flailing over something

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 14, 2018 15:25:47 GMT -5

Quote

Post by knuckles on Sept 14, 2018 15:25:47 GMT -5

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I've done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
And don't resent me

It was hard to breathe. Blood bubbled from the hole in his chest, and Zeke knew he needed to cover it with something before his lung collapsed. But time was of the essence, and right now fighting was priority. Surviving was important, yet making it home was slowly slipping away as the angel of death walked towards him with his outstretched arm.

"I fear death about as much as I fear living."

For a moment, the words didn't make sense, but as the words echoed through his mind, Zeke began to understand. What kind of life would they live if they did make it out of here alive? A life filled with nightmares of the horrors they've had to overcome?

And then Mackenzie started talking about the one who saved him, and how Zeke needed to tell her family she mattered.

An already broken heart shattered into more pieces as his head slouched forward. He promised to tell her family that she loved them. That she cared for them, but the chance was being taken away. Sometimes he wished she would've had the chance to tell them herself, yet he struck her down because he wanted to live, and now it was all falling apart before his own eyes.

A lump formed in the back of his throat making it even harder to breathe -

"If you survive, you tell her family that she has always loved them." It was one of her last requests, and Zeke promised to carry it out, but maybe whoever wins will do the same. At least the dying boy hoped they would.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth mixing with the tears rolling down the side of his face, but through it all, Zeke managed to smile. Not a fake smile many people wear all the time, but one that was genuine.

And as he removed the javelin from his stomach, his eyes locked on the grim reaper. For so long he was afraid of dying. He was afraid of leaving his father behind to live on his own. It was just them. A son and a father, and now it was becoming just a father. Zeke was almost certain his father wouldn't be too far behind.

Only a cannon brought him back to his thoughts.

It served as a reminder that through it all, they were still fighting. Last requests didn't matter anymore because they were falling apart.

The life was leaving his body, and Zeke wanted to hold on. The tethers were spreading apart, and they were about to snap.

"Whoever makes it out of here, tell my father I loved him more than anything in the world, and that I tried my best."

Sometimes being a healer wasn't about saving people. It was about the sacrifices made throughout life. Zeke became a healer not for praise and glory, but for helping those who were in need. Maybe dying was his way of fulfilling that.

Many times he heard the saying so others may live, and now he understood.

He took a deep breath and looked past the grim reaper to the ghosts standing there. Perhaps he lost himself along the way, but now he knew who he was.

Teddy was right, and hopefully he was proud.

"So others may live." He muttered under his breath while hoisting the glaive into the air.

So others may live.

And when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

song: Leave Out All The Rest - Linkin Park

Credit to Dars <3

Ezekiel attacks Mackenzie | glaive
RcuLvsanglaive
{result: 13113 -- Stabbed in Stomach -- 9.5 damage + 1 blades} glaive

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2018 15:26:42 GMT -5 by knuckles

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe

dars
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— 🥀 —

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 14, 2018 19:45:43 GMT -5

Quote

Post by dars on Sept 14, 2018 19:45:43 GMT -5

Does the wolf apologize
When it stands on top?
Should the lion say his grace
When he takes his mark?

Growing up, Mackenzie had always been the one with the clear head: Max was always the one to leap forward and he was always the one to wait until the coast looked clear. That was how they worked. Mackenzie made plans, Maxine did what she felt was best no matter what, and it almost never synced up with what was supposed to happen.

Once, when they were much younger, Mackenzie overheard a girl named Alice calling Maxine some very unflattering things. Of course, he wanted to seek his vengeance and defend his sister's honor, but he wanted to be smart about it. He planted a bucket of green paint above a door, greased the floors so that she was sure to fall. And then, when she was squirming around on the ground, he was going to say something clever like "Look at you, wiggling around like the snake that you are."

Of course, when he told Max, her plan was to not have a plan, and before he could explain anything to her, his sister had located Alice and punched her directly in the face, smiled, and then asked Mackenzie if he knew what they were serving for lunch in the cafeteria that day.

Mackenzie hadn't ever understood that anger completely. He had felt it a few times before: insurmountable, pulsating through his fingertip and making him feel lighter and more dangerous all at once. But he hadn't ever had the thought to actually do anything with it.

Okay, that was a lie. To be completely transparent, he just hadn't ever thought he had the gumption to do something.

""If you survive, you tell her family that she has always loved them."

It was instant. The connection clicked in his mind just as quickly as the boy spoke them. How the fuck would he have known how Faline felt about her family, or about anything unless— he flinched. No. He had made it a point not to think about that too much. Maybe they'd just spoken on the train ride over, or sometime during their stay in the Capitol. Except... Faline hadn't mentioned the boy enough for Mackenzie to even know his name. They weren't close; she would have told him if they were.

He felt himself begin to shake, and that anger swelled within him. That anger he'd never allowed himself to act upon. That anger he'd always tried to avoid because he was supposed to be the reasonable one. But there was no reason, no fairness, no logic. The dead and the living. Heart hammering within his chest and a rib cage burning so harshly it may have been on fire, Mackenzie wanted, for the first time, to kill someone.

"Did you kill her?"

It was a pointless question, and he already knew the answer. But no one got to skirt around this one. There was no point in trying not to step on someone's toes anymore; this was the end. He was going to die, or they were, and he finally had something to survive for.

"Did you?"

The boy attacked, ripping through Mackenzie's chest plate and managing a fair gash into his flesh.

"I asked you a question. Answer it."

I do what I need to
What I have to, to survive
Well, I can try
But I'm going to stay alive

song: stay alive

[mackenzie attacks ezekiel; javelin]
GBzIjFkxjavelin
[15127 -- DEEP GASH ON CHEEK -- 8.5 damage]

[tar #3]

1-50
[+4]

javelin�1-50

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2018 19:46:44 GMT -5 by dars

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

lance
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gay and chaotic? call it gayos

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 14, 2018 20:27:47 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Sept 14, 2018 20:27:47 GMT -5

Eyes on fire
Your spine is ablaze
Felling any foe with my gaze

When the flame catches onto Stitch from Eight this time, it doesn't just catch, it ignites.

He falls as his foot is quite literally cut out from underneath him, flame traveling up one leg and engulfing his form in seconds. Your thought from moments before flashes back to the forefront of your mind, of the literal human torches created games after games by fire lit not to warm but to kill.

And now you number amongst those lucky few to create one yourself.

The smell of cooking flesh is sickening, yet it is only when the cannon sounds that you find yourself able to break your gaze away.

Five. Five souls now lain across your shoulders, for you to carry on your way out.

And as you focus on your last two opponents, the virtual unknowns aside from their numbers of Six and Seven, locked in a brutal combat of their own.

You watch, mesmerized, as Six sticks a weapon not unlike your own jade hilt glaive directly into the chest of Seven, breaking through some sort of makeshift armor and drawing blood. You watch as Seven retaliates, backing up and putting distance between his opponent before throwing a spear of his own - flaming as well, you notice - at Six, slicing his face open and charring skin all in one go.

The advantage is clear - Seven has but a couple of wounds on his form, whereas Six is on the brink of death. Words are being exchanged, Six's soft and Seven's a shout.

And you stand at a crossroads, one last flaming axe laying in your hand. Six of one, a half dozen of the other, a choice lies in your hand.

At the very least, one of these boys will be joining the five on your shoulders if you are to leave here with your soul within your body, adding a total of six to your blade. Only Shelby Leviane managed such a feat and survived, whereas Ansel Khiev was absolved of his sins by Cynthia Rose Delgado after reaching the milestone.

And then you. A scrawny sixteen year old boy from Three, amongst the history books forever, triumphing over Careers and little kids alike.

You look from one boy to the other as combat has stalled, a question hanging in the air. You could wait, let them fight it out, then mop up whomever wins, though at this point you have a pretty good idea of who that would be.

You never were that great at waiting.

So you look from boy to boy, and make a decision.

And just in time
In the right place
Steadily emerging with grace

song: Eyes on Fire - Blue Foundation

akira attacks ezekial; last flaming throwing axe

Pfm8BEHbthrowing axe

10049 -- Deflected -- 0 damage

fire roll

1-50

0

accuracy, day seven

throwing axe

10063 -- Severed Ear -- 8 damage

throwing axe�1-50�throwing axe

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2018 20:32:00 GMT -5 by lance

credit to darsypoo uwu

credit to fireflyz!

credit to stare!

dars
Administrator

7,702 POSTS
Member is Online

— 🥀 —

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 14, 2018 20:59:39 GMT -5

Quote

Post by dars on Sept 14, 2018 20:59:39 GMT -5

Does the wolf apologize
When it stands on top?
Should the lion say his grace
When he takes his mark?

The boy's lips had only just parted, bravery hanging on his tongue to say it: He killed her. He took Faline from the arena, from this world, from Mackenzie. It was selfish of him to need her and it was cruel to wish she was somehow still in this hell, but he didn't care. She wanted to live and if Mackenzie hadn't gotten even a taste of a normal life yet, he knew she hadn't either.

She died before she knew what living was. And, at the very least, this boy was going to admit it was his fault.

Just as he began to speak, an axe buried itself into his skull and he fell, and a cannon vibrated Mackenzie down to his very core.

"No!"

He turned on the boy from Three, still straightening back from the throw that had so quickly taken away Mackenzie's vengeance and the other boy's chance at redemption. He would never hear it. He would never have the opportunity to pay back the debt of Faline's life, which weighed so heavily on his shoulders. Win or lose, live or die, there was no chance at forgiveness. No answer to the questions running rampant through his head.

He screamed; a sound so unlike himself, so full of anger and so unwilling to change. He might be like this forever, and he realized it with fire sparking within his veins. He might die as a monster.

He might live as one.

"You shouldn't have—" what? Taken an easy shot? Taken down another person who stood between himself and the end? The boy was dead; it was close enough to revenge, right? Even a bandaid over a bullet hole was better than nothing, and if anything, it meant there was only one person left to take down.

Only one more had to die: Mackenzie, or this boy. This boy who knew Bella, who had somehow decided to save Mackenzie for last. This boy who wanted so very, very much to live. This boy who had also done monstrous things to get here; who was definitely willing to do more if it meant winning.

"We're close, Three," but so fucking far away. For a quick moment, he allowed himself to be excited for his own survival. To hope for one of those rare Max smiles, to hug his mom again. Even the thought of standing up to his old man instantly sounded like it was achievable. If anything, it had always seemed more like some far off pipe dream, something he and his sister would conspire about at the dinner table when they were supposed to be doing homework.

If he lived, he was going to do it. If he lived, so much would change.

If he lived, he would make damn sure he deserved it.

I do what I need to
What I have to, to survive
Well, I can try
But I'm going to stay alive

song: stay alive

[mackenzie attacks akira; javelin]
rh16otWGjavelin
[miss]

[tar #4]

1-50
[result]

[accuracy]
javelin
[15195 -- DEEP GASH ON RIGHT CALF -- 8.0 damage]

javelin�1-50�javelin

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2018 21:01:49 GMT -5 by dars

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

lance
Librarian

3,638 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him/His
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gay and chaotic? call it gayos

(this means forgetting) | finale Sept 14, 2018 22:55:14 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Sept 14, 2018 22:55:14 GMT -5

Eyes on fire
Your spine is ablaze
Felling any foe with my gaze

For a moment, it seemed as if your luck would stop at three. Instead of a glowing orange projectile, the flame on the last axe sputtered out halfway - whether due to the fact that it had been burning the longest of the four, or simply due to a different manner of throwing, you didn't know - and you expected nothing to happen.

And then the axe connected with the head of the boy from Six, and the cannon sounded, and your soul fractured into six.

You didn't even know this boy's name, only that he had slain Volkner on the third day, and had been the ally of Dove, Ollie, and Cesare Crocetti. And now, like his allies, he had joined them on their journey to the land beyond.

For a second, you forget how to breathe.

Six-

"No!" The shout from the other boy is one of shock, disbelief, even. You rule out grief simply due to the fact that he himself had been trying to notch the kill for himself just seconds before.

-and one.

And it's all come down to this. You and the boy from Seven, a virtual stranger, are all that are left of the motley group of twenty four from across the nation that spent the last week fighting for their very lives. One of you two will be the one that gets to rejoin society and make out their living back in the normal world.

The other will join Stitch from Eight and Volkner's killer in the dirt.

"You shouldn't have—" says the other, and only then do you wonder if there was a reason that Seven didn't strike the killing blow, if he had been waiting for something. Words, perhaps a confirmation.

You decide that you don't care enough to consider pondering it. It's pointless now, after all, for Six is dead and gone, and he'll find out anyway if luck favors him in the end.

And if not, then such information would have been pointless anyway.

"Sorry," you respond, and perhaps you do feel just the tiniest bit of sympathy for him evoked by the note of emotion mixed into those three words. But it doesn't matter now. "I'm a bit eager to get out of here, personally."

You've never been the best at waiting, after all, and there is truth in your words. Nothing matters except surviving.

"We're close, Three," the other proclaims, and you can tell that he feels the same. Two boys from districts not numbered One, Two, or Four, survival was not something that you took for granted - it was something you carved out with every bit of blood and sweat you could muster.

"That we are, Seven," you respond. There is no venom in either of your voices, now that the shock has passed and the weight of the situation has sunk in. Politeness, perhaps a tiny bit of desperation - well deserved, as the only thing standing between both of you and freedom is the other - the calm before the storm that will tear you two apart.

You think back to the remaining two throwing axes stashed by your bag, those you had not bothered to coat with tar before the substance had run out, and decide that no, you would handle things the old fashioned way. The glaive had claimed four souls for itself before you'd claimed two more with fire and axe, and it would be that blade that you entrusted your survival on.

With a quick tug, you yank it free from its perch in the dirt. Seven had already taken the initiative, and his spear shatters your shin guard, drawing blood and burning flesh.

But you must persevere. You have not gotten this far just to fail at the final hurdle.

So you charge, entrusting your fate to your blade, just as you have so many times before.

Only time will tell if you are truly deserving of whatever fate befalls you.

And just in time
In the right place
Steadily emerging with grace

song: Eyes on Fire - Blue Foundation

akira attacks mackenzie; glaive

TPK1fUwVglaive

13166 -- Block -- 0.0 damage

glaive

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2018 22:55:55 GMT -5 by lance

credit to darsypoo uwu

credit to fireflyz!

credit to stare!

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(this means forgetting) | finale

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Sept 11, 2018 15:01:59 GMT -5

Post by lance on Sept 11, 2018 16:33:45 GMT -5

Post by ryan on Sept 11, 2018 22:37:47 GMT -5

Post by knuckles on Sept 12, 2018 18:41:12 GMT -5

Post by dars on Sept 12, 2018 20:14:51 GMT -5

Post by lance on Sept 12, 2018 21:26:52 GMT -5

Post by ryan on Sept 12, 2018 22:11:59 GMT -5

Post by knuckles on Sept 13, 2018 13:54:42 GMT -5

Post by dars on Sept 13, 2018 17:09:48 GMT -5

Post by lance on Sept 13, 2018 17:39:11 GMT -5

Post by knuckles on Sept 14, 2018 15:25:47 GMT -5

Post by dars on Sept 14, 2018 19:45:43 GMT -5

Post by lance on Sept 14, 2018 20:27:47 GMT -5

Post by dars on Sept 14, 2018 20:59:39 GMT -5

Post by lance on Sept 14, 2018 22:55:14 GMT -5

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