You rise from your pedestals to a low hum of music. A steady bass, the slight tap of a cymbal. It is eerie as you come to in the arena. Canopies drape overhead, blocking the beat of the sun. Neon lights guide your path in the Cornucopia. Signs flash, guiding tributes through the venue like a microscopic town: CONCESSIONS HERE, RESTROOMS TO THE LEFT, MAIN STAGE AHEAD! At the entrance to the main stage lies one final sign, reading WELCOME (24.) With every cannon, the sign flickers. 23… 22… 21. The riches of the Bloodbath rest within. For some of you, if you decide to take your chances, you'll be thoroughly entertained by The Headliners, an animatronic band playing a twenty-four-hour set for your listening convenience! As for the rest, your credentials have brought you straight backstage for a party of your own. Enjoy your stay, and don't forget your tickets! These performances are not free; everything comes with a price. (Mattio)

At the conclusion of Day 1, the concert venue was renamed in honor of fallen tribute (and winner of the bracketed bloodbath) Portia Maybach!

Not far from the Cornucopia glows a neon sign: BLACK ROCK CITY! The signs pulses and flickers, the electricity not quite sure of itself. Scattered around the sign are giant art installations. Everything from twisted metal sculptures to ceramic figures embracing have found their home here. In addition to the rusted figureheads that perfectly bookend every sunset there are glowing floats on bicycles, cans of paint inviting tributes to make the sand more colorful, and a seven foot tall blank canvas wrapped in something that looks like plastic but resists every attempt to tear through it. It seems intentionally placed but then some of the other art is so tacky, you'd be right to wonder about the aesthetic of the Gamemaker who designed this corner of the arena. (Kay)

The endless dunes intimidate you at first glance. The mountainous ebb and flow of these hills and valleys makes it impossible to tell just how long you'll be walking before you make it to the other side. The burning heat of the desert only strengthens in the dunes. Normally, wind in an arena as hot as this would be a welcome change. However, the dunes pose a threat to those who traverse in. At a moment's notice, loose sand will gather together in the wind, forcing you to pick between braving the sandstorm or bunkering in place for it to die down. Getting swept up in the storm or becoming a sitting duck for other tributes… neither seems quite appealing. Occasionally, as the winds pick up in the arena, the dunes will reveal ruins for traveling tributes to investigate. What fortunes and frights lie beneath the dunes? Only a patient eye and the sands of time can tell. (Mattio

In the outskirts of the arena lies a crack in the earth. After miles of scorching mounds of sand and the occasional strange structure, the oddity pulls you in, As you approach the jagged hole, it is the scent that first catches your attention. Fresh and cool against your nostrils and dry lips, you peer over the ravine to see what you seek most in the sweltering heat of the desert. Water. An azure stream glistens at you from below. An endless, and seemingly tranquil, tributary of freshwater flows northeast, further from where you started in the arena. If you follow the ravine to its end, an oasis filled with waterfalls, fruit, and wildlife greets and tempts you. A snake at the bottom of the ravine swims toward the greenery but bursts back as soon as it reaches the arena end. A warning that the arena's forcefield will always seek to taunt you. All you get is water and the scarce fish or greenery in its depths. Careful, though, as you scale the ravine's walls. It's a long way down if you slip... (Mattio)

The expanse of boiling sands gives way to pockets of paradise. Pools of crystalline water invite you closer, toward the lush mosses growing at their banks. At least a dozen by your count, it’s hard to tell with the sun making them into shimmering mirages. Venture closer, dear tribute, for respite is within reach. Or… is it? Eager in your approach, your forehead thuds against something cold and hard. You stumble to the side, leaving an imprint of your sweaty palm on an adjacent wall. You realize too late that the light plays with glass not heat. You have fallen victim to an invisible labyrinth, don’t worry, though, some bloodshed might make this maze easier to navigate. (Cole)