Live Free | Die Well ( Scorpion King Fight) Day 5

[charade]

Please read the following rules carefully before beginning to post, as this fight will work differently from other fights.

• As there are only 7 participants in this fight, posting order still applies. Do not stray from the order you fall into round 1 or you will take 8 damage.
  
• The Scorpion King has 55 damage and can attack twice per turn, but as with all mutts and tributes, it can only be attacked TWICE in one turn itself. The rest of the time, you are free to attack each other.
  
  
• If you are attacking another tribute, the only two attacks in one turn obviously applies as well. The Scorpion King's attack on a tribute counts.
  
  Note that the Scorpion King Venom from its tail attack is not lethal, but will paralyze the attacked tribute for one posting round, rendering them unable to attack for that round.
  
  
• There must be two deaths before you are permitted to flee this fight. It can be two tributes, or a tribute and the King, but as this is a large fight there must be two. Do not forget this and try to flee early. As always, tributes are heartily and heavily encouraged to make it more than the required two.
  

Good luck, tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favor...

Attack. Rend. Sting. Kill. These words have been burned into the arachnid mind of the massive scorpion that some Capitol scientists affectionately nicknamed Dwayne.  For the past several hours, he has tunneled throughout the underside of the arena searching for something to kill. Every other mutt he has come across has fled his reach; he can sense the vibrations above him that signal the movements. But the call in his blood will not be ignored. Eventually he senses a stop to the movement above him and tracks it before bursting out of the ground in a spray of dust, rocks, and venom.  These are the creatures he has been bred to destroy.  And his purpose will not be denied.  He clacks his pincers threateningly, eight beady eyes focusing on the six things in front of him.  A loud, low hiss escapes his mandibles as he darts forward, eager to spill some blood.  He snaps at the nearest creature, swinging his tail over to jab the one behind them. 

[Dwayne attacks  Charlotte Brownings, Pincers  (axe)]
|NHrtZQKaxe
[- Severed Right Calf at Knee -- 9.0 damage]

His massive pincer snaps shut like a pair of scissors on one creatures leg, neatly severing it from the things body.

[Dwayne attacks Dan Johnwayne ,Tail (Pole Sword)]
glaive
-- Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage (Stunned One Round)

His stinger only managed to graze the thing he had jabbed at, but somewhere in his brain he knew that the thing would be paralyzed for a moment. And a moment could be all that was needed.

Dwayne reared back on his legs, clacking his claws furiously and daring any and everything to attack him.

axe�polesword

[анзие (Anz)]

leon krigel

There is beauty in tragedy, and Nocturne Vargas's death is tragic but it isn't beautiful at all. Not the way Leon's imagination has taken a turn.

The anthem is too jaunty a song and at this moment in time Leon hates it, wants to block out his ears and scream until it's over, but he forces himself to listen, to watch as first Jacinda's, then Nocturne's face light up their sky like some kind of parody of a guiding star. His hands tremble and he thinks that maybe this whole Games thing is a test for his fast-waning sanity after all.

In Leon's dreams he sees broken pieces and bruises he can't kiss better and he wakes up with tears and breaths caught struggling in his throat.

(He covers his face and doesn't cry.)

Time flies by both fast and slow all at once, and Leon is up by dawn because he can't sleep. He sits instead beside Siren to watch the sun climb its way up the sky in silence, bathing the world around them in a mist of gold.

There's the beauty.

Nocturne Vargas.

Jacinda Zembori.

Both dead.

People he knows. All this while it's never been anyone he's really talked to, it's always been someone on the periphery of his gaze. Tributes he's noticed in passing, but never really had the time to stop and chat with.

And now with the night two of the fraction he knows are gone.

Dead.

Eleven dead.

Twelve to go.

And if he's to be the last one, others (OwenSirenMayAelia)-

Others.

What more do you want?

Death. They want death.

He's startled back to himself by the click-clicking of a thousand tiny creatures racing to, over and away from them, and Leon exchanges a wary look with Siren. This... is new. Whatever is going on, it surely can't be good - not with other, smaller mutts running in the same direction. Time to move, I think.

(But when they look for May, she's nowhere to be found.)

Worry gnawing at him, Leon nevertheless shakes off his stupor the best he can. He follows Siren's lead, and they're on the move not a moment too soon. (But it all comes back, the worry, wondering where and how and why-) Maybe there was a voice permeating his brain, maybe there was an announcement about something, a feast, nagging at the back of his mind- but Leon feels like he's still in a dream, lifted to float above the arena like he's the boy in the stars, not Nocturne. For some reason he's taken the lead, pacing down a way he thinks he recognizes (buffaloes and hooves and meeting Owen in the eye).

I don't know where I'm going. He thought he had bearings, had some conviction-

A giant scorpion lies in wait beyond them.

"Is this really happening?" he murmurs to himself, lifting his gaze up to the blue sky. "Is this really, really happening?"

Leon Krigel attacks the Scorpion King
tTEKDXgbknife
2041 -- Block -- 0.0 damage

knife

[Kire]

siren baitwell

Yesterday's breakdown was still on her mind as she followed Leon. It was odd for her not to be leading their little group, but nonetheless she had been too emotionally weary to take charge. Not to mention she was still sore from old and older wounds. Feeling raw in every way imaginable, she walked quietly behind her District partner. In her mind she was running over what had happened over and over. They had been so close but something had gotten in the way again and again. Something was keeping them those few centimeters apart, like a sheet of glass that always rested between them.

The thought of glass only brought memories of Colgate and the rooftop, of peace and tranquillity in the dawn hours of her most terrible day. It was a day that never seemed to end, but instead drag on through the appearance of many sunrises and sunsets until the world blurred into an oil panting of red, pink, and yellow streaks across the sky. Colgate had been steady, calm, soothing in appearance but she knew that even the stillest waters held dangers below the surface. What were his, and was she afraid of them or did she want to dive in and explore?

Her dream from however many nights ago rose to her mind and she remembered her ocean, empty and void of any and all life except for her. In her head she could imagine that it wasn't a real ocean, that it was really the soul of a boy who had suffered this fate before her and survived. Deep and dark but warm and lifting, the only thing that was missing were the bubbles he loved so much - the bubbles she had grown to love and long for. The boy that blew those bubbles floated in and out of her mind like the air filled pockets of soapy water he was so fond of. She was never far from a stray thought about him, whether it be about if he would approve or whether he was thinking about her, and she was kind of scared of it.

All the time if District four she had dealt with boys and none of them had caused such a stir in her gut. Now she was constantly on the verge of whispering his name, hearing him respond, reaching for his hand. If only he was around to talk to, to hear, to touch, but he was nowhere near.

She was left with another boy, a boy who caused her as many problems as he solved and most of them had to do with the loneliness she hadn't known she had felt until she looked at that rooftop for the last time. He wasn't as lanky as her bubbleboy, or as tranquil. He was the rolling ocean on the rocks, the sun fragmenting on the surface. There was nothing floating and fragile about him, not in the same way there was about Colgate. He was soothing too, but in a whispering tumbling way. She heard the grumbling of the sea when he spoke, felt the tug of the water at his touch. It was no wonder she couldn't clear her head of him, he was as much the ocean as the ocean and it would be as close as she got to home. Unless I can get out of here. Unless I can win.

Did Colgate think she could?

Did Leon?

Did she?

Siren attacks DAN JOHNWAYNE
igb9e1ZJspear
Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage

spear

[sbeeg]

Erebus Turner

Days drag on longer when you're by yourself. Erebus used to enjoy peaceful, lonely days just him and the horses in the stables but now after knowing the light a person can bring to a dark circumstance, he hates it. The air was always abuzz with some kind of story and now it was silent save for the distant howling of some mutt or another. He had to leave the body so that the hovercraft could lift it from the Arena and it might have been the hardest thing he has done, and not just because walking was a struggle. He must have sat there for an hour holding the body just crying. There was nothing else he could do. Nocturne's hat sat low on the boy's brow, a hat that had belonged to such a large personality seemed oddly empty balanced on his ears.

By the time he had grabbed a stick sturdy enough to support his own weight and stumble into the jail house, the boy was covered in blood. Half of it must have been Nocturne's, the other half his own. Throwing himself into one of the wooden chairs behind the dusty dusk, Erebus sat staring straight ahead at nothing. He was alone now. Not completely, no, there were still cameras hidden around and millions of eyes watching his every move- that is if this footage was interesting enough to air.

He hadn't looted the body like most people would have done. In fact, the smartest thing to do would have probably been take everything he could carry out of the boy's pockets but Erebus couldn't bring himself to do it. He kept the hat that the boy had shoved on his head during the fight and the harmonica Nocturne had played around the camp fire. It had been his district token from Nine. Funny little district nine, with their weird accents, odd songs and quirky people.

By the time the anthem came around the boy had patched himself the best he could with the little medkit the sponsors had sent. Limping outside with the help of his makeshift walking stick, Erebus poked his head around the door frame to see the faces light up the sky.

Nocturne Vargas' face projected against the night sky dotted with stars and smiling like he knows all the secrets in the world. Examining the instrument the older boy had brought, Erebus put it to his lips and tried it out. The harmonica had a very distinct sound and the boy hadn't the slightest clue how to play it but he felt like he owed it to Vargas. Give him one last song to say goodbye. It sounded more like screeching at the beginning but as he figured out what made the sweetest sounds, Erebus managed to play his own little song. He must have gone on like that for half an hour before he finished the swan song.

It was the least he could do for someone who had done so much.

***

Goosebumps sprouted across his skin right before his eyes shot open. Despite his position inside the jail house the bugs still swam over him, tickling him with their spiny legs. His hand was immediately on his knife, his body hobbling out of the door with his makeshift crutch.
There were tributes and bugs everywhere and hovering over them all made the spider from days ago a distance dream. This as the stuff of nightmares. Then again this was the Hunger Games.

[Attacks Gavin]
VoonA1_Iknife
[Shallow Cut on Left Thigh -- 3.5 damage]

knife

[Deleted]

It's like the game makers had a fetish for hordes or something. Two days ago she nearly got ran over by fucking cows and now these damn bug shits and the only reason she was able to keep up with Aelia and Owen (and Darius for the matter, but he was six feet under by now) last time was because of a few extra seconds. But the time, by the time she woke up Charlotte was already knee deep in scorpions and the other two were already bouncing away like the frighten kids the pair was - further down she knew she would've left herself behind if it meant getting swarmed by a mansoon of six legged assholes. Fuck my life. Everything was soaked in parallels; a rush, her shifting through sand in the middle of it, barely being able to keep up with the others. All that was missing was somebody getting stabbed in the fucking ear by some bloodbath bait.

Somehow the bitch was still alive too, five days in. District nine getting a victor wasn't a common occasion (or a joyous one for the fact, the district one pair from last year weren't too keen for bets, but better than the white lizard who won) but two in a row was as gag-worthy as the feel of the collected sweat permenately stuck in the air or glued beneath her twin rings. Yet she still kept them both attached, besides, what was the damage they were both at least moderately attractive, and each twist helped fight back the urge of being sick to her stomache. This was supposed to be the glory moments of her life, but all she got out of it was fucking sweat, back pains and scars and the anxiety that came with each glimpse to make sure the other two were still somewhere.

Of course, they fucked off somewhere; fitting, considering the amount of times she silently hoped they would, but now of all times was the icing ontop of the fuck cake becoming her life. Swearving off into some tiny village with the current of these silver assholes came as second nature to swearing enough to force her mother to wake from her grave, but fucking hell. Rust was practically the paint for this town, with the water tower being more of a giant old nail at this point and it felt as empty as Charlotte did by herself. Strange, considering she thought breathing alone would be more comforting than having Owen and Aelia practically sucking the carbon dioxide she kept letting free.

Free.

Like the scorpion out of the ground, rising like flames. Heat rising through her right leg, bleeding up through her eyes before knocking her back onto the ground like before the swarm and the faces around her making themselves apparent coming out of fucking nowhere.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

It was all she could think before biting down onto her hand to stop herself from screaming, fuck, what the actual fuck, she was fucked. All the times calling Aelia limp-leg and she never thought of what would happen when she only had one left as well, and the urge licking at the back of her throat and these fucking parallels made themselves ever more apparent with the arrival of fucking district four coming out of nowhere once again. But no, she refused to mimic Darius, she would crawl out of this shit like Heron and Opal and fucking kill something before getting her betting odds wiped off the board.

[attacks scorpion king]
KeCj4OC2knife
[results]

knife

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

He was gone.

First it was Tiger, taken like lightning, and now Jem was gone. The bugs and the snakes and everything that made me cringe had separated him from Dan and I, and I didn't know if he was okay. I couldn't let it bother me though. This was a good thing, wasn't it? At least now the chances of me having to face my allies were dwindling to only one, who also happened to be the one I most feared.

I had been lying there, horror-stricken as the picture morphed into the image of Rowan, bound in chains, bleeding from her nose, hair oily, tears creating clean paths on her otherwise filthy cheeks, and wolves closing in on her in a perfect circle, every second bringing them closer. I thought the shaking was from my own body, terrified of how they had gotten these images, terrified of how real they looked, but it became quickly apparent that Dan and Jem felt it as well, and when we stood, the ground shuttered.

Then the bugs came.

Swarms of them, billions of tiny creatures swallowing my line of vision as they crawled along my body, tiny pointed feet feeling completely unpleasant against my sunburned skin. So I ran, and the others did the same. It was hard to make anything other than the buzzing sound of the tiny creatures out, but occasionally I could make out the sound of a grunt from Dan, or a gasp from Jem. When the bugs finally dispersed, though, Jem was nowhere to be found. Even stranger than that, neither Dan nor I had gotten any kind of damage. In fact, other than my short breath, I felt perfectly fine.

Dan was smarter than me, than anyone. He was a step ahead of the competition at every turn, and he was already explaining that they were trying to escape as much as we were before I even had a second to think. There were so many, though, so what in Ripred were they running from?

Just as the sun began to peak over the horizon, the answer was perfectly clear. There were a few buildings scattered about, and it almost made him think of home, but he didn't have much time to reminisce before the monster attacked. Tributes ran from it in fear, some brave enough to stand their own ground and attack. This was my chance to finish some of the other tributes off, though, and I knew that was exactly what Dan was thinking as well. I pulled an axe free from it's holster and I tossed it at the boy from Five, who had just taken a small jab at my thigh, and decided that I no longer cared if I died. I no longer had the will to try. If I was going to win, then I was going to win, but for fuck's sake, this was too much to handle.

The blade soared through the air, then sank right into the boy's cheek, blood blasting from the wound like water from a spring. I hustled forward, yanking the axe free of it's temporary home, and spat. "Looks like I wrecked your pretty face, didn't I?" Dan would have been proud of me for that, maybe. I glanced over and found him sprawled on the ground, breathing, seeming almost completely unharmed actually, and then I noticed the blood and venom mixture dripping from the tip of the monster's tail. "Shit," I said, hustling over to help him get up before someone got a lucky hit that either killed him off or meant I was going to have to take care of his arrogant ass. "Come on, get up." I said, but it sounded a bit more caring than I would have liked. (I still wasn't a monster.) I quickly stuck my hand out and pulled him up from the ground. "We've got peasants to kill."

table by zoe

gavin barker

[Gavin attacks Erebus, throwing axe]
NjFuwd1kthrowing axe
[Deep Gash on Cheek -- 8.5 damage]

throwing axe

[aya]

Cowboy Dan Johnwayne

you said 'i hope you live forever'
don't you wish that on me
you said 'don't be clever'

Cowboy Dan was grateful that the day before had been restful, because that night sure as fuck wasn't. He'd awoken to the anthem, finding himself curled up with Jem, somewhat astounded that the additional body heat hadn't bothered him in the slightest. Especially when you considered that Dan Johnwayne was, in all likelihood, the least cuddly thing in the entire arena — including the two-headed snakes and the entire field of cacti. All the same, he'd given no indication that he was annoyed by the lapse in personal space. He'd simply stretched and poked his head out of the covered wagon, taking note of the faces in the sky.

The anthem hadn't interested him; two more lower-district whoevers had died. One of them that Dan had briefly chased following the bloodbath (however many fucking years ago that had been) but he couldn't remember the boy's name. Perhaps he ought to have killed the boy himself on that first day. It was the announcement that followed that piqued the Cowboy's interest: a feast!

Feasts had fallen in and out of style every five years or so. They'd started making a comeback with the 61st Games after a long gap, and using the five-year rule, Dan had anticipated them to fall out again. Not that he minded — after all, feasts were practically just second bloodbaths, and Dan thrived in the chaos that was mass-combat. If he could pick up a few points to put an end to Jem's teasing and score some additional loot, well, that was all the better.

The rumbling did not concern Dan so much as the clicking did. Hundreds and thousands of scorpion mites poured out of the cracks and crevices of the canyon, their shells creaking and and scratching against one another. It sounded as if a wave of breaking bones was descending upon them. His allies were swept away by the torrent, but the Cowboy maintained control of the wagon and began cranking the drive mechanism with all of his might, each of his muscles rippling in concert.

He yelled out for Jem, left the wagon to coast for a second while he ran to the back, seeing if he could spot the District One. No luck. He gave the wagon a bit more speed then repeated the process — eventually yanking Troutmouth up and over the side. They continued riding the wave of mutts for the better part of the night, alternating between propelling their vehicle and keeping an eye out for the other Career. No luck.

By the time the sun rose all pink and rosy on the horizon, they'd made it most of the way up the creek bed, into a cluster of abandoned buildings. The decrepit structures looked as if they'd provide suitable — if somewhat unsafe — shelter from the sun for those not lucky enough to have a mobile shade unit to drive around. Dan sat down for a minute, resting his aching arms. He took a short breather, trying to ease his worries about the District One. The Cowboy couldn't tell where the concern came from; after all, Jem was the most well-trained tribute in the arena — if not quite so skilled as Dan Johnwayne himself — and had proven his battle prowess in every skirmish they had faced. And yet, he couldn't shake the uneasiness from the bottom of his stomach; the District One had been dragged off to fuck-knows-where without anything beyond a spear for backup.

Still, there was a feast to prepare for, and Dan sure as shit wasn't going to let something stupid like feelings distract him. Not that the stony cowboy had ever been plagued by any of those. He worked the inky tar onto the bit of his axe, deep breaths taking in the acrid scent that wafted from the dark, volatile substance. By most standards, it didn't smell good, but Dan found the diesel-and-dank-pine oddly soothing. It calmed him. When he finished, he stuck a match in the band of his hat for later use. With both his skilled allies dead or gone, Dan needed all the backup he could get.

He filled his pockets with handfuls of red clay and coarse sand, ready to be flung into the eyes of his enemies at a moment's notice, and even slung the fishing net over his shoulder — just in case. Cowboy Dan was Cowboy Dan because he hadn't fought fair a day in his life, and he sure as fuck wasn't about to start when he was due to face down an untold dozen — plus who knew how many of the crawling critters — in mere hours.

What he didn't expect was a giant fucking scorpion beast appearing the same time that the other tributes did. He should've, really, with this arena, after the snakes and after the horde of the regular-sized arthropods. But he didn't expect the fucking boulder-looking thing to start snapping its claws the same time the District Two jumped up with his axe.

And while he anticipated the stinger to trace his hip — anticipated enough to hop left so the thing didn't punch a giant hole through the district two's midsection, anyhow, if not enough to avoid the blow altogether — he certainly didn't expect the electric jolt that emanated from the wound, locking up the whole right side of his body so it was too much of a struggle for him to even take a step. And, as such, he struggled to avoid the District Four's spear. He was able to hurl his net with his left, which was more numb than rigid, but still he was forced to throw the whole of his bodyweight to the ground to avoid the point of her weapon. As it was, the seabitch still managed to tear a sizable gash down his axe arm, a red river rushing practically from elbow to glove.

He stayed there for the tensest of moments before Troutmouth of all fucking people stood over him firing off a throwing axe with some actual precision (District Seven, of course, the cowboy remembered) and offered his hand to to Dan. "Come on, get up. We've got peasants to kill." The career fired off a bloody grin, a gesture of genuine approval. Little Trouty was growing up, it seemed, and while Dan had actively loathed the sawdust-for-brains pet up until that very moment, he was grateful to have someone to watch his back.

"Steer clear of the stinger," he growled to the other boy as he was pulled to his feet, "It's a paralytic I think." A quick survey of the scene revealed the wrong District One tribute on the ground, a stream of curses written on her face so poignantly they may as well have been spilling from her mouth — like the blood from the stump of her leg, snipped in half like a blade of grass by the big mutt's ferocious claws. "On second thought, steer clear of the claws too," he advised, voice low to keep out prying ears — not that anyone would be paying much attention in the heat of battle. Dan was willing to impart a bit of his own strategic wisdom on the District Seven — Ripred knew the other boy needed it — because, for the time being, Troutmouth was all he had. His whole body still twitched and shuddered from the scorpion's venom, and it stung like fucking hell, but Dan Johnwayne was as collected as ever. "Try to keep two tributes between you and it at all times."

He took a few steps backwards, shaking out his right arm, right leg, rolling his neck until he felt the satisfying pop of a limbered joint. Then he pulled the match from his hat, lit up his weapon, and charged back into the fray.

[nets Siren^[1] ]

index
[1] - Siren is unable to attack or flee next turn (permission from Rade)

[charade]

Pain. Pain in one of his legs. Dwayne works his mandibles furiously in anger. The first to attack him had failed, pitiful claws glancing off of his chitinous hide. The next had caused a viscous flood of liquid to gush from one of his appendages.  He rears back in anger, vanishing into the hole he had created and tunneling beneath the ground near the surface, causing ripples of dirt to curl up and mark his movements. After a minute, he bursts out again and roars as best as a scorpion can. Do the creatures think themselves his equal? He is the King of the Scorpion mutts. What did his handler murmur to him as they stabbed him with electric prods? Rock. Rock the arena. Be the Rock. Something. He is smarter than many mutts, as his giant brethren tend to be, but he cannot find meaning in the words he has heard. Off to his left, four of the creatures claw at each other, ignoring him entirely. That won't do. That won't do at all. He swings his tail around, cracking the wood that forms the gallows, hoping to catch their attention. And if that doesn't work, his claws will catch more than that.

[Dwayne attacks Erebus Turner]
ZTY9CfBXaxe
[ -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage

[Dwayne attacks Gavin Barker ,Pincers (Axe)]
axe
-- Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage

His claws slash red lines across both creature's legs. Dwayne wonders. Will these things rise to the challenge? Or will they ignore him again?
[-]

axe�axe

[анзие (Anz)]

leon krigel

Nocturne Vargas meant something.

It's not just moments in laughter or lighthearted words casually thrown back and forth like a ball for children; it's about the shared grins and easily flirtatious jokes that mean so much more than they're meant to, about the plots they attempted to hatch below the radar of a dozen trainers and several more Gamemakers. And it's not just that they've kissed and held hands - it's that Leon can remember the smell of Nocturne's skin (soap and stubbornness and stolen candy), that sometimes he thinks of Nocturne's fingers pressing bruises into his hips, his nails drawing uneven stripes across Leon's back.

But while he means (meant) something Leon knows that if they had ever the chance to make anything of whatever it is they have, they would never have turned this into a lifetime of shared experiences and contented little moments; they'd never have become more than a summer fling, and while they would maybe never break the friendship they'd struck up between them there would be arguments and laughter and tears on each others' shoulders in equal parts.

They've just never been serious. Neither of them have caught each other staring, neither of them have ever considered that this... this could have been more.

Even if something isn't much, it still hurts to know that Nocturne Vargas will never smile at Leon the way he does, ever again.

(It's likely Leon will never know who killed him, but there's always something to be done, and if he gets out of here alive he will leave knowing that he's done the elusive boy some justice.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Charlotte Brownings with blood gushing out of- out of her leg, and he turns his head to catch her eye. Leon catches her eye and he thinks, Let's get out of this alive, princess Charles, and a savage little smile spreads across his face. Guess we're back in this together.

His knife skates off the plated armor of the gigantic scorpion - probably never the best idea to anger a gigantic creature, especially with a little prick in his hand - so Leon whirls instead to strike at the only real cowboy around these parts.)

Leon Krigel attacks DAN JOHNWAYNE
jHgh4410knife
2160 -- Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage

knife

[Kire]

siren baitwell

She had been lucky, there had been two people between her the first time the scorpion struck - it had almost pleased her to see the girl from One get her leg cut off after she had hacked at her two days prior - and yet again on the second time. The one boy had been attacked twice by the giant thing, but he seemed to be dealing well enough - she might have to change that. Eyeing her target, and leaving Johnwayne to her companions, she sized up the boy he must be allied with. He certainly didn't look like Career material and yet here he was, mostly unharmed. Another thing she would have to change.

Leon stepped in to the place where she had left and went to attack Johnwayne, but before he did - and she had her back turned, looking for an opening to attack his companion - she heard a whistling and then a weight thudded into her back. Knocked forward, she lay under what took her a moment to realize was a giant net. It was somewhat thicker than the normal fishing nets she saw at home, but that made sense if you were fishing for tributes. It was hard to move under the weight of the net, for all she tried to crawl to the edge of it and slip out. The more she moved, the more she got tangled and she grew continually more frustrated. Her spear was trapped beside her, but at this awkward angle and with the material of the net it was impossible to cut through.

Part of her wanted to call out for help, to get this damn thing off her. She began to panic and it started to feel like the net was stopping her from breathing too, as well as moving. Then she thought of the ocean, of how its grasp was like this net's, and relaxed. Panic gets you drowned. Moving calmly, slowly, she started to work herself out of the tangle she was in, ignoring everything around her as she tried to make sure she would be out soon. There was no way she was going to be sitting here, moping about being stuck, and watch Leon fight.

She wondered if Soap was watching, if he was willing her to get out, get attacking. Get out, get attacking. All in good time. Finally her upper half was untangled, and with deft, careful movements she set to work on her feet.

This might take a while, but she would be out soon.

If only everything was so simple.

Siren sits around in a Net. .-.

[sbeeg]

Erebus Turner

Clutching his walking stick, Erebus struggled to stay standing after the boy's blade slammed into his face. Pain from the blow reached all the way around his eye and echoed through his cheekbone. Blood was dripping into his mouth and even wincing made the gash sting more. Blinking away the tiny black dots that threatened to take over his vision, Erebus looked up in time to see what exactly was casting the shadow over his little town. A giant Scorpion taller than any building in the area, stepping over structures and sending clouds of dust into the air wherever it landed one it's enormous legs.

Terrified doesn't begin to explain the feeling growing in Erebus' gut. Tributes around him did not seem to pay the beast any mind, choosing the hack at each other rather than it. He didn't blame them, the giant mutt was not someone he would like to pick a fight with. However, the creature must not approve of staring because it leaned its body down towards him, pincers clicking at a deafening volume. The beast's face came closer and Erebus' sweaty palms threatened to lose their grip on his stick as he hobbled backwards away from the mutt. It clipped his hip before turning towards the boy near by who had thrown the ax that had torn Turner's face open. The beast did not have much luck with either of them, giving each a warning pinch before retreating to its position in the sky to observe.

The mutt's shadow was so large that it seemed to bathe the entire town in darkness, as if this madness was taking place at night rather than day. Tributes kicked up more dust making it hardly possible to see anything or anyone.

Erebus had never seen anything like this before: a giant mutt and multiple tribute free for all in the middle of the little town he had called home for the few days he was here. The dust began to settle and Erebus immediately wished it had not.

A girl had just recently lost a leg, blood pouring from the stump, the detached limb laying near by in its own pool of red. A boy had captured another girl in a net, her ally slashing at the captor to free her. Everything was chaos and Erebus wasn't sure exactly what to do. He had sliced a boy earlier but he had been completely convinced it was a mutt blocking his exit. Now that he realized the extent of this battle all he wanted was to run away. He had stayed his ground the day before and what had it earned him? A gimp walk and a dead friend. He was no good by himself, maybe if he managed to side with someone they would take him in. It was a stupid thought, a kind of childish wish that are crushed before they're even said. But, he was a child. One that had no business in this Arena.

Even if he could get through this tribute he'd never be able to sneak past the mutt. It was a lose lose situation and the more his brain struggled to think of a solution the more hopeless he became. Erebus' vision began to blur and he cursed himself for being so ignorant. Only children cry and only fools are nice.

The Gamemakers had forced these horrors here for a reason and he might as well oblige them. That's what he was here for, right? Hack and slice until someone's dead, even if that person is him.

[Attacks Gavin]
4FXPFKJ1knife
[Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage]

knife

[Deleted]

Watching Aelia drag around her lucky fin or seeing Darius butcher off the leg of a living buffalo never prepared her for the fucking shit hole that was being on the receiving end. The fact of her leg being nothing but a nub was as fucking obvious - even through the thicket of black scattering her vision like grain - as the fact that she was more screwed than crawling out of the bloodbath with barely anything of importance besides the bowie glued to her hands. Each millisecond beating into her heart and ricocheting through her veins like electricity and a telephone wire, and all she felt was the burn of severed flesh down to the moccasin soaked in blood seeping from both holes finding themselves into her right leg. And her fling found itself deeper in a mix of desperation and loathing rather than the beast's actual fucking leg (albiet an actually decent hit, but a stab with a toothpick to this thing meant less than it did on her previous targets).

Someone else's knife slide against the armour that made up this ass hat, but their hit was weak and considering that Charlotte's leg is sitting feet in front of her now that's pretty pathetic. All she caught of her depressing attempt at reinforcements was blonde hair, which narrowed the suspect to literally zero; who would bother helping her now. At least Owen could land a damn hit and maybe pull through for once, either way he was better company than some glorified arachnid only capable of fucking her over. She didn't want to see their faces though, the mammoth (and that being an underestimate) and its shadow filling the minimum range of vision of Charlotte's, and that's all she really needed to see. Completely around her were scuffs and gaffs and tearing flesh licking the inside of her ears down to her spine.

And that's all she needed.

For once since her name was torn from that dish she'd never been truly alone, always orbiting other tributes or vice versa and now Aelia and Owen were off fucking ripred knows where. They were a cushion for her ready to catch Charlotte once she fell (and that worked so well for Darius didn't it?) and now she was truly alone and it was perfect. Because she was Charlotte, and she didn't need them to survive, and she would not let herself get killed by food, and she would not let herself die before personally shoving her foot up Leon's ass.

[attacks scorpi bae]
Xgwf6FFnknife
[results]
[la de da gonna rewrite this when i don't have things to clean]

knife

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

"Try to keep two tributes between you and it at all times." Dan warned, and only a mere second passed before my hip was clamped together and I felt my skin give in to the pressure. I kicked the thing off of me, then stood, only to find my bloody friend from earlier had decided to be brave and take me on. His attack was weak, and I managed to avoid the majority of the damage, only a small wound in the leg when it was all done with.

He was from Five I thought, same District as Lethe Turner. I was only barely too young to be in the reaping the year she won, and I remembered rooting for her. I remembered wanting her to win, loving the idea of an underdog, a genuinely sweet soul claim the crown for once, but I remembered knowing there wasn't a chance in hell that it would ever actually happen. Only monsters won these games, after all.

I still rooted for her, though, regardless of the odds, and in the end she was the winner. I rooted for Mace as well, and Klaus, and Opal, and Saffron, and each of them were winners. I wasn't from One or Two or Four. I didn't have formal training for this. But I was still born to be a part of it. I knew these games, inside and out, I knew people would die, and even though I hadn't followed it, I knew the number one rule was to stay unattached at all times. I rooted for those people, and they were all winners.

I did not root for the boy from Five.

I readied the ax again, blood from his now horribly disfigured face dripping into the dry, scorched land. "Round two," I snarled, and launched forward. "Here I come."

table by zoe

gavin barker

[Gavin attacks Erebus, throwing axe]
nkoQuMYWthrowing axe
[Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4 damage]

throwing axe

[aya]

Cowboy Dan Johnwayne

message read on the bathroom wall
said 'i don't feel at all like i fall'
and we're losing all touch
losing all touch
building a desert

His axe and bloody grin alight, Dan rejoined the fray. Someone's knife grazed his forehead, spilling a crimson curtain over his eyes. He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, then pulled the band of his hat lower to catch the blood before it blinded him. Though, worst case scenario, he could probably hit that boulder of a fucking scorpion without seeing it — not that he'd care to be in such close proximity to those claws or that stinger.

The cut was a mere scratch, however, and the cowboy could feel the blood starting to crust up in his hat already. Nothing to worry about. He could already hear Jem teasing him about the wound, though — some playful jibe about how a fucked up face wouldn't get shit from sponsors. It wasn't true, though; you didn't need to be pretty to win a goddamn thing. You just needed to be capable, which, as it just so happened, Dan was.

He raised his axe, flames dancing toward the sun as if they yearned to return to it. A trickle of blood dripped off of his elbow, red tendrils reaching down from his wounds like a second set of veins. His attention landed on his catch. "Look at that," he drawled, a cruel smirk playing across his cracked lips. "A fish in a fucking net." He brought the axe down, fire and steel whistling as it sliced through air, and through —

[attacks Siren, flaming axe]
ukC7fURuaxe
[ 11194 | Shallow Cut on Back | 4.0 ]
1-50
[ extinguished ]


Not enough to cut the seabitch in half, anyhow — and he'd swung too fast, it seemed. The fire had put itself out in the air. Fuck.

Without wasting another second, he pulled the spear off his back and hurled it, left handed, in the direction of the District One. The girl was digging her knife into the beast's legs, not that the thing seemed to even notice. A larger weapon, however, it might... and if the scorpion didn't turn its attention on a spear, well, she could finish it off and then the cowboy could finish the gimp. The weapon clattered to the ground next to the new amputee, and Dan hurled a few words with it. "Get the fuck up," he shouted at her, employing his own special brand of encouragement, "and quit being a little bitch! Stab the damn thing!"

ooc - Dan's spear -> Charlotte

axe�1-50

[charade]

Dwayne hissed in frustration as one of the crawlers slashed at his leg again. Partly because it hurt, and partly because the lowly creature was the only one paying him any attention. Was he not the greatest threat? Was he not magnificent enough to warrant their fear and their ire? All nine feet of the scorpion turned quickly towards another pair of targets. One had tried to attack him and fail. The other was stuck in a web that another creature had sprayed over them; they likely wouldn't be caught for long, given the sharpness of their claws, but Dwayne took the opportunity anyway.

[Dwayne attacks Leon Krigal, Pincers, axe]
OJA0PYtwaxe
-- Severed Right Forearm at Elbow -- 9.5 damage
[Dwayne attacks Siren Baitwell ,Pincers (Axe)]
axe
-- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage

One claw snapped shut one an arm, sending it flying off in a spray of blood that covered the nearest creatures. The other claw would've done the same but only gashed the other instead. Dwayne worked his mandibles is victory. Now they would have to rise to his challenge.

axe�axe