make me your villain | needle vs softbois vs volkra

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

❦

The blade isn't enough; there's blood, but she can feel herself growing weaker by the second. Ichor dripping from her veins; she rises up taller before dropping the amusement and growing more serious than before. Sacrifices. They were meant to be her sacrifice to the gods. A venomous feeling in her skin sends her forward as she can feel the air growing tense. Lightning strikes around them; illuminating the place even more. A voice catches her ears; loud and clear.

Sacrifice or survivor, it's a choice we all have to make," She wants to laugh at Peace. "Garnet won't be just another casualty. We're not here to be pawns in their twisted games." A whole game built off of sacrificing children; they're playing a game in front of the gods. It's another laugh that bleeds from her lips as ichor drips from her veins. Either way, she's a goddess among these mortals who think they're not some sort of pawn in these games of false gods and deadly fighters. Valhalla waits for them all. She lets herself echo in the silence of the dark; a being among these chills that set humanity apart from godhood.

"A choice? You think you have any choice here, Peace?" There's a pause as she lets her words sink in. "You're pawns here. You've already been chosen as pawns. Don't you see?" There's a heavy sigh from her lips as she continues. "We'll all be sacrifices to my gods. It'll be the kindest blessing I can give us." The chill settles her mind into the way she still has a mortal body all the same. Vali Forrester had spent too much time focusing on her mortality and the immortality she craves to have back. There's a chill within her veins as she breaths carefully.

Garnet's begging cries fill her will a sadness for just a single second, but she'd made her choice. The gods needed a sacrifice and she would make him hers. The chill of the arena reminds her of her humanity. The fact that she's alive with ichor in her veins. A tongue caught up in the shrapnel of her own faith. A storm brewing underneath her skin as she looks at Garnet through the flashes of lightning. "Friends," A promise to Peace. There's a look she sends towards Hal and Marceline. Would they care if she died? Would they be considered friends? It's a disappointing feeling, but she's felt closer to them than most people she's surrounded herself in.

While they didn't believe, she could see greatness through their fates. Weaving webs of lines telling stories of mortals who've carried something uniquely powerful through their own stories. Vali could feel the chill settling in as she looks to the two of them. Hal's voice begs for her to hold on. "Vali, just hold on. Please." In trouble. She's always been in trouble as a girl. Years spent teaching others how she's meant to be a goddess. Alone with her own tricks and trials. The gods speak through her. She can feel their presence. Her voice is calm as she speaks, almost a chill that's as cold as the arena.

"It's okay, Hal. I don't plan to die here. The gods will protect me."

Her lips curl into a smile at him before she turns to Garnet. The sword in her hands glistens with his blood, dripping with the deep red of blood. There's life along her blade; a faith unwavering in her skin. Vali Forrester had always fought since the day she was born. Greatness was weaved into her life since she was a little girl. The goddess she'd always been meant to be filling her mind. The runes along her skin protecting her with the warmth of her own unwavering faith. The onyx attached by chain around her neck was that of a warriors. If she's going to die, she'll die as a Valkyrie. The guide of souls to the halls; she's always been a goddess. It'll be her hand that guides Garnet's soul to the next place.

"It's okay. It's okay. I promise." Pulling the sword back, she stares at him with bright quiet eyes. "I'll make it quick. You'll see the great halls soon enough." She swings with a heavy swipe as she looks past him to the storms surrounding them. Thor was sending comforting visions for them. There'd be light at some point, but she's the one blessed by the gods. A guide for the souls that are trapped within this games. She would make sure it's as quick as she can make it.

"No one wants to die. This is the only way forward. You'll be my sacrifice to the gods."

That smile bleeds heavily on her lips.

"You'll be my blessing to them."

(Vali Forrester attacks Garnet Beauford with Poisoned Greatsword [sword] 3/3 attacks)
AeG0AY9QR5sword
(Deep Gash on Right Forearm 8.0 +1 Poison +1 Blades)

Vali attempts to Self Defense on the last hit!
3-8

sword·3-8

[parsnip]

[attr="class","promise01"]

Rhys stood his ground, his gaze unwavering as Vali's words echoed through the chaos of battle. Her proclamation sent a chill down his spine, a stark reminder of the cruel reality they faced in the Games. But Rhys refused to succumb to despair, his resolve burning bright amidst the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

As Vali spoke of sacrifice and the gods' will, Rhys felt a surge of defiance rise within him. He clenched his glaive tighter, the weight of his determination lending strength to his weary limbs. In the face of Vali's certainty, he held fast to his own beliefs, refusing to accept the role of pawn in this twisted game of false gods and deadly fighters.

"We may not control the hand we're dealt, but we can choose how we play it," Rhys continued, his voice steady despite the storm raging around them.

In the enveloping darkness, where shadows reign supreme, blades flash and injuries abound with alarming frequency. Rhys finds himself caught in the midst of the chaos, unable to discern the source of the relentless onslaught. The obsidian haze conceals both the monstrous entity lurking in the shadows and the elusive movements of his fellow tributes. Each swing of a blade and every strike that lands inflicts wounds upon him and Garnet, the pain a constant reminder of the perilous dance they're locked in. In the darkness, where fear and uncertainty reign, every movement becomes a gamble, every step forward fraught with danger. Rhys can only trust his instincts and rely on his training as he navigates the treacherous landscape, ever vigilant for the next attack that could come from any direction.

Grief washes over him like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf him in its depths. Jericho's absence is a gaping wound in Rhys's heart, a reminder of the fragility of life in the unforgiving arena. Memories of their time together, their shared laughter and whispered conversations, flood Rhys's mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of what has been lost. With a heavy heart, Rhys clenches his fists, his sorrow mingling with a fierce determination to honor Jericho's memory. In the midst of battle, amidst the clash of steel and the cries of the fallen, Rhys vows to fight on, carrying Jericho's spirit with him as he navigates the treacherous path that lies ahead.

In the face of fear, we'll hold our ground,
With courage and strength, our victory is found.
For we are not sacrifices, to gods unknown,
We'll write our own story, and make it known.

So let the lightning strike, and the thunder roar,
We'll face the tempest, and emerge even more.
For in the darkest hour, our light will shine,
As we defy fate, and claim what's rightfully thine.

So raise your voice, and join the fight,
For together we'll triumph, against the darkest night.
For we are not pawns, in this deadly game,
We'll stand as heroes, and etch our name.

Every swing of his weapon is a fervent prayer, a plea for the Vali's gods to guide his blade true and grant him the strength to vanquish the darkness that seeks to consume them all. Amidst the chaos of battle, Rhys fights not only for survival but for the chance to protect those he holds dear, his resolve unwavering even in the face of insurmountable odds. With each strike, he channels his grief and rage into a relentless assault, determined to thwart the malevolent forces that seek to claim victory in this deadly game.

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[Rhys Peace attacks Váli Forrester with glaive]

XAhvsX1spdglaive

13194 -- 40 damage
(Glaive)glaive

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

Garnet, deep in soft boi shock, has no idea what to make of either Jericho or Vali

Some amount of flailing

Whistles for Velvet & carriage

Flees, both arms extended to scoop Rhys up as they gallop into the lightning-lit Fold...

filler #1

[Garnet flees!]

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

The head of Vali Forrester tumbles into the void; her silver hair shines like moonlight before the darkness creeps back in. All that is left on the cold ground is the body of a girl who was so much bigger than herself. Capable of mighty aspirations, attuned to the natural world around her. But this is a sacrifice that will not be given to the woods.

She will forever belong to the Fold.

Just as Jericho Caleb has been lost to the shadows, the embers of his goodness turning coal black.

Tributes, you may just survive this encounter. If there is one thing the Volkra love than prey, it is meat that is ready to be devoured. You can hear the squelching, you can smell the rust, this sad and terrible moment is only a sad and terrible moment for you. The Volkra are joyous, shrieking in glee.

This is the feast they have long awaited, prepared not by their own talons, but by yours. Do not think yourselves victims in this. The lightning flashes, long enough for you to gaze down at the blood on each of your hands. You can see the fallen bodies being fought over. Somewhere inside of you, a part is grateful that it is not you in their place.

Hold on to that. That hunger, that greed. You are not so different than the monsters flying above you. There will always be an end goal. To them, they are granted their harvest, and to you, you are granted the knowledge that you are capable of winning a game of death.

  

Take what you must from this experience, and flee while the beasts are distracted. You can still see them, haloed by lightning, and their sounds will not leave your ears anytime soon. It's a screech that echoes, that rings. Perhaps you will always be haunted by this very moment.

But the fact stands, it is up to you, and only you, if this day haunts you for a lifetime.

A long one, that is.

the volkra do not attack

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Filler flee. Will fill in later tonight.

[andromache s. ⚔️ [d1b] sucy]

Marceline regrets her apology immediately — there’s no space for sorries in the arena. It’s taken her this long, but she’s finally gotten that through her head.

Her head — “Her head!”

Vali’s head. Vali never has an apology for anyone. Vali always does her own thing. Always did her own thing. Never had an apology for anyone. Marceline watches the arc the blood from her neck paints in the air as Vali’s head flies. The body crumples afterwards. It all happens at once, slow motion on fast forward. She barely gets a look at Vali’s body. The awful, bony flying things seem finally satisfied. Their wings nearly cover the entirety of their gluttony, but splashes of gore still splatter across the snow. Marceline stumbles back. Her grip on her knife goes loose; she nearly stumbles into Rhys.

“Vali!” she cries. Then, “Hal!”

Vali’s little mouse thing — Eezmuss? — scampers free from the carnage by some miracle, something gleaming in its little hands.

“We…” Marceline looks around, ends up staring in the direction of the tree line, where Vali’s head disappeared. “Should we…?”

Should they what? Go get her head? Give that to the mutts too? Marceline groans and wipes the tears from her face. She gives Garnet a look that’s free from animosity, but her gaze hardens when it passes to Rhys. She supposed this must be how Maggie felt after what happened with Azure. After Marceline killed Azure. She could kill Rhys too, she thinks. Not now, not when they’ve been given this opportunity to escape but she could.

The realisation that she could kill any one of them is strangely freeing. This stupid game in this stupid arena means nothing after all. They stopped being real as soon as they were Reaped — Vali was right about that, for sure. Rhys and Garney just hadn’t gotten it yet.

“You’ll be my blessing to them,” were her last words. What were her last thoughts? Had it dawned on her, as Rhys’ glaive carved into her neck, that in the end she was mortal after all? She hopes not. She hopes Vali died as she lived, in her own world. The idea of that faith of hers abandoning her in the end is incomprehensible to Marceline. 

Marceline grabs Hal by the hand and pulls. Enough. They aren’t going to die here too.

marceline flees!!

table credit to napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. !

[parsnip]

[attr="class","promise01"]

As the dust settles and the echoes of battle fade into the stillness of the night, Rhys stands amidst the aftermath of his actions, his breaths heavy with the weight of what transpired. Vali lies lifeless before him, her once formidable presence now reduced to a motionless figure in the darkness. Marceline's tears are a haunting lament, a painful reminder of the toll that their fight has exacted.

Garnet, alive but shaken, looks to Rhys with a mixture of relief and sorrow, his eyes betraying the turmoil within. Rhys's own emotions swirl in a tempest of conflicting feelings; relief at protecting his friend, sorrow for the life lost, and a profound sense of emptiness that threatens to consume him.

For Rhys, the line between protector and aggressor blurs in the aftermath of battle. All he wanted was to shield Garnet from harm, to keep his ally safe amidst the chaos of the Hunger Games. But now, faced with the stark reality of Vali's demise, Rhys grapples with the consequences of his actions. Was it worth it? Was the cost of one life justified in the pursuit of another's survival?

In the silence that follows, Rhys searches for answers in the depths of his soul, grappling with the moral ambiguity of his choices. The battlefield may have fallen silent, but the turmoil within him rages on, a relentless storm that threatens to consume him whole. All he can do now is carry the weight of his decisions and forge ahead, haunted by the specter of what could have been, and what was lost in the name of survival.

As Rhys stands amidst the aftermath of the battle, a profound sense of conflict grips his heart. On one hand, there is the instinct to recoil from the darkness that threatens to engulf him, to retreat from the brutality of the arena and cling to the vestiges of his former self. He fears the gnawing tendrils of remorse and guilt that threaten to consume him, the weight of Vali's death heavy on his conscience.

Yet, there is another voice within him, a defiant whisper that urges him to embrace this encounter as a catalyst for growth and transformation. He knows that in the crucible of conflict lies the potential for strength and resilience, the opportunity to emerge from the shadows stronger and more resolute than before.

Rhys grapples with the juxtaposition of these conflicting desires, torn between the urge to preserve his innocence and the need to steel himself for the trials that lie ahead. He knows that the Hunger Games demand sacrifices, both physical and emotional, and that to navigate this deadly landscape, he must find a balance between preserving his humanity and embracing the warrior within.

With a heavy heart and a determined spirit, Rhys resolves to press forward, to honor the memory of those who have fallen by forging ahead with courage and conviction. He knows that the path ahead will be fraught with peril and uncertainty, but he refuses to be defined by the darkness that threatens to consume him. In the crucible of conflict, Rhys will find the strength to endure, to overcome, and to emerge victorious, his spirit unbroken and his resolve unwavering.

Malygos' lament begins.

In the heart of shadows, where echoes fade,
Two souls departed, in the game we've played.
Jericho's laughter, now silenced in the night,
Vali's defiance, swallowed by the fight.

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[Rhys Peace flees]