The Bloodbath

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

Good morning and welcome to the 83rd Annual Hunger Games Bloodbath, Tributes! Your Gamemakers have developed a very special Games for you. First and foremost, we would like to encourage each and every one of you to read the rules, as it makes life a lot easier for everyone when all parties involved are aware of the rules and expectations.

For smooth operation of the bloodbath, please be aware of the following:

1. You must wait TEN MINUTES between each of your posts. This counts for every post. This means 10 minutes between your intro and your first attack, 10 minutes between each of your attacks, and 10 minutes between your last attack and your flee post.

2. In order to verify this, you must quote your previous post at the beginning of each new post (exception, intro)

2. a. It is possible to edit the timestamp of your quoted post to make it look like you posted earlier than you did. This is considered cheating. This will not be tolerated. Anyone tribute caught doing this will sustain +20 damage and will have their attack/flee invalidated.

2. b. Please start each post (before any tables) with your tribute's name, what attack number this is, and, at the end, whatever the dice code you roll is. For example: [Arbor Halt, attack 3, 2069].

2. c. When you quote your previous post, please delete EVERYTHING besides the tribute's name, attack number, and dice code (as given above)

3. Other rules about bloodbath combat still stand:

- you must wait until at least three other people have posted before you can post again
- if you are in an alliance of four, you must wait until someone outside your alliance has posted before you can post again
- you can only be attacked THREE times between each of your posts
- your first post must be an intro with no attacks in it
- your first attack post must be unarmed before you can claim a weapon
- you may not attack in your fleeing post
- if you have a broken or severed leg or leg part, you may not flee without the aid of another tribute, who must also flee. Alternatively, you may flee on your own using three separate flee posts instead of one.
- once you flee, you may not re-enter the bloodbath
- fillers are not allowed
- all dice codes must be immediately obvious, even if you are using a table. Either put it beneath the table entirely, or make it easily accessible.
- you must specify who you're attacking
- all items - including weapons - that are picked up by a tribute can be claimed by the tribute’s killer

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

Each tribute's damage will be updated on the Hunger Games Engine, so pay attention and don't forget to refresh the page!

To clarify, the Wealth also includes any unclaimed items. You must be one of the first 18 tributes to post in the Bloodbath in order to be eligible for the Wealth.

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

Today's Weather
The lighting glows a pale gold. A crisp, steady wind rustles the barren treetops and autumnal leaves scurry across the flat ground.
Humidity: 0%
Temperature: 60F (15C)

Items Lists
Located here

As the tributes rise on their podiums, they're struck with a tranquil silence. All of them stand there on their podiums, muted as the world around them, a chilled wind blowing in their hair. There is a faint golden glow from a sun none of them can find behind the towering trees that surround the autumnal meadow they stand in. The cornucopia is half as tall as the trees themselves, comprised of woven rope the color of fresh wheat. Even it sways in the wind, despite the plethora of goods and items to aid the tributes through their time in the arena spilling from its mouth.

From the silence, the metallic sound of a clock ticking is born, steady and true. Numbers float above the cornucopia, gravitating around it ever so slowly. It is counting down. The tributes brace themselves for what is to come.

five...
four...
three...
two...
one...

A deep, harmonious sound akin to a church bell erupts from somewhere above, and the Bloodbath begins.

[Arrows]

[Torren Jaroux / Introduction]

 

You were a porcelain prince within a prism of perfection. The clouds flecked with fractals of sun shards were your robes and your drinks were the ambrosia of Olympus. As though enchanted by a blessing of the Highest, your life was littered with layers of luxury. Gardens of growing greenery, a fortress of nature's fertility, kept you cradled in the affection of your family. But such a boy so blessed by those of the Mount should only naturally be swallowed by the surging shadows of humanity's horrors. And thus, from the cradle of the clouds you fell into the canyons of the earth's crust.

And slowly your porcelain splintered, waiting to be shattered by time.

Thus you sat like a sliver of a soul shackled within a splintering shell. As piece after piece of the portrait of yourself vanished into the mists of the mirror, the further from existence you felt. Hands held out for fragments of a fortune you did not make and you watched your world turn to paper and ink, signatures and sorrow. Your parents had perished and you were left entirely alone, a boy in a crumbling castle. Fate became your master with its whip of whispers constantly calling for your future funeral. And for a time, you believed you would bare nothing but witness to a life of waiting for its cruel conclusion. Now though, you've burnt the papers and shed your shell. You're no longer a prisoner of Fate, you are free.

You are alive.

Your fingers furl around the railing of your window, you're awake early to watch the sunrise. While the others, you assume, still struggle within the fear-filled fields of their dreams, you look out over the Capitol. Your dreams were those of ease and assurance for there's no longer a place of panic within your mind. Instead, you feel nothing but the warmth of the spreading sunlight reflecting across the endless seas of glass. Yet it is not a warmth for this world, it is a fire fueled by a joy to be rid of it. Never again shall this place know Torren Jaroux destined to die. No, they will know Torren Jaroux the Tribute.

Small streams of water spill over your cheeks and into a smile,  finally.

Your own life.

For breakfast you sit in silence, the other seats are empty as expected for a final reminder of what you are leaving. You haven't seen any signs of Justice since the Reaping and Ridley has to prepare for her own fight. The number eleven still shines inside your mind at the thought of Ridley's name. Secretly it gives you pride, hope that maybe she really will get to go back home again. Secretly it gives you hope that maybe there will be someone to leave a rose by your statue in the gardens after all. Secretly you wish you would have told her all this before today, but the time is gone and worries of this world with it.

They come for you last, the final floor to be boarded. As you ascend towards the roof a tracker is placed inside of your arm, but your attention is elsewhere. You stare at the Seventh floor for the second it passes you by. Thoughts of Sapphire and your words with her ring like war cries inside your head. Her and the others are depending on you now, they are your new family in a world where blood becomes the law. You're excited to see who emerges from each of them within the arena, you chose them all out of interest of course. Now the true excitement arrives.

Inside the hovercraft you abide by the silence, it is as though you are riding through the calm before the storm. But after being unloaded and locked within a room of white walls, you sever the silence by speaking to the stylists fitting you for the theme of the Game Makers. They're here, might as well engage in a final show of civility before the slaughter.

"Thanks for the help, but who the hell's idea was this?"

Well, at least you attempted.

Looking over the outfit they've now finished fitting you within, you are far from familiar with the style. A kind of dark cloak covers you mostly while atop your head sits a black pilgrim's hat. Even the main attire is unique to your eyes, a grey button up topped by some circular set of clothing and accented by black suspenders to make pop the black choker around your neck and the black pantaloons upon your legs. Hell, you barely have any skin to show as even grey tights travel down the remainder of your legs and into two pointed black toed shoes. As far as you're concerned, your someone out of the novels your teachers used to try and make you read, too bad reading and wine never really mixed well with you.

The stylists leave without a word of response and you left alone in the last moments of this existence. As the seconds shrivel the ideas of your dead parents and the crumbling castle are cast further into the dark. A robotic voice calls your name and you step into the cylinder of glass with a smile. Now your eyes close for the ascension.

You awake to find a world of darkness and a cornucopia of true origins standing before you with its bounty for the taking. Your skin is electric with adrenaline, you can feel the final fragments of your porcelain shell shattering. That boy is gone, and a new one has risen. Your mouth slants into a smirk.

Let the gong ring.

Let life begin.

Torren Jaroux enters the Bloodbath

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

[Ubbe Hammerfell | Intro]




Today's the day, and I'm feeling confident. I've watched so many clips over and over trying to figure out where my brothers have gone wrong, and I have learned so many things. Everyone but Orion was cocky and arrogant and so full of themselves. I must not have that stand in my way. Orion was humble, and easy going, and he didn't want this for himself, yet he still volunteered anyway. There's something in our blood. Something that makes us fight, and I don't know what it is. In order to succeed, I must become like Orion and push the cockiness aside. I must forget the ways of my past and relearn all that I know. My greatest strength comes from being capable of adapting. Knowing what I can and cannot do. It's important if I ever want to succeed, and now is my time to do so. Hammerfell's will have a legacy to carry on, and I want to be the one to bring it home.

I take a deep breath as the hovercraft lands. Despite knowing what happens at the beginning of the games, the nerves are real. Each and everyone of my hairs are standing straight, and I'm running my hands up and down my arms. Mostly out of boredom, but I can't have anyone seeing the anxiety lingering inside. Just knowing that I could die within the next few moments is tough, and even as I step onto the ground below, I'm still not sure what to expect. I've never witnessed this part of the games before, but here I am learning on my own. I look around this room once I'm locked inside. It's my last safety net. It's my last time of guaranteed safety because once I step onto the platform the game is on.

I wonder what my brothers thought in this moment. What ran through their mind? Were they afraid? Were they wondering what they got themselves into? Orion, Torka, Ivar, Rhaegar, they all volunteered for this. I volunteered for this, but Mason was chosen, and I guess we've all wanted to prove we're just as strong as him, yet my mind turns back to district two wondering what that boy is doing. I hope he's living his life to the fullest. I hope he's making a name for himself, and I want to see him doing well when I get home alive. I don't even know if it's possible, but I do know I'm going to do the best I can. I let all my emotions out and put on a blank face before standing on the platform. I have to look strong, and having a blank canvas makes it more possible.

Darkness surrounds me, but soon I'm inside the arena. Twenty-four of us stand around the cornucopia, and I'm unsure of what to do with it. The Hammerfell inside me wants to run and fight for what's rightfully mine, but at the same time fighting can end in my death. Cockiness won't get me anywhere, but running away from the bloodbath would only make me look like a coward, and I am not a coward. I am brave. I am strong. I am a Hammerfell, and I'll do what is right for me and nobody else. I look around taking slow breaths, but my heart is running a race without me. Sixty seconds isn't a long time, but it feels like it's taking forever. It feels like my entire lifetime is flying by my eyes with each passing moment, but the moment the gong sounds, I'm running as fast as I can hoping I've made the right decision and that it doesn't come back to haunt me.

[esther kim d3 {lance}]

sapphire decaria | intro post | no attack

Convince them you’re too much of a threat for them to handle.

Convince who? At this point, it’s convince yourself as much as anyone else as you step on the tube leading up towards what very well might be your death. Weeks of posturing around, learning shit with plants, swinging around axes and not-axes, it all comes down to this.

Them? Who’s them? Your peers? The audience? At this point, you’ve done almost everything you can to prolong your life, delay your death, and perhaps maybe, just maybe, return home with your head attached to your shoulders.

Too much of a threat? Or not enough? Is the ironic scoring of seven enough to establish yourself as strong but not too strong, good but not great, while still appealing to the sponsors that you’re worth saving? High but not the highest, in your team of four or otherwise, you blend in - but perhaps a little too well.

Handle? Well, that one’s easy at least. There’s plenty you can do to be too much to handle. Just, hopefully not for yourself. You know, with killing and death and everything like that. Ripred, in all of your worst nightmares you never planned on becoming a murderer, let alone fighting for survival on this scale.

But you know it’s necessary. With people like Rothul and Cole’s sister and your own damn district partner out there, you’re going to have to do more than just the bare minimum. Even if it fucking terrifies you. Which, of course, it does.

But as the gong sounds, signalling the beginning to your end, fear is pushed to the side, replaced only by grim determination.

If today is to be the day you die, then you’ll be sure that you’ll give each and every one of your killers as much hell to pay as you can muster.

sapphire enters the bloodbath

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

[Charisma Duke || Intro || No Attack]

You cant sleep.

You don’t want too when you realize that you are moving without even thinking about it. Maybe the restlessness is carrying you, or maybe it’s the itch that you cant seem to scratch.

You knew you were going to die soon, and so there would be time to sleep when you were a lifeless corpse.

Or something like that.

And so your hands glide against the wall as chills pulsed through the blood in your veins, and you thought about all the times you wanted to jump off a building.

They were few and far between, but even though it was a few times, people would consider it far too many. You didn’t mention it much to almost anyone, except for maybe your brother, but you knew you could trust him with such sensitive information. His mouth would always be sealed, at least, that is what he spoke as he tried to hush you away from him when he was trying to sleep.

The resistance from the door was staggering, it was like pushing a solid stone forward through quicksand, but eventually it budged, and while you had no business being on the penthouse floor, your goal was to get to the roof.

You already knew that access was possible, seeing as you had spent a few nights up here with the people who knew you the best here. Milo spent time flirting with you, Ridley thought you had so much fire behind the façade you put up, and Delaney, she became somewhat of a whirlwind romance.

One that you didn’t expect.

You never expected to really like girls before she bounced into your life, and you wouldn’t even had thought about it had it not been for the games. She was as vicious as you thought careers would be, so was Ridley, but you weren’t afraid of that. Nothing scared someone with an iron heart.

You could keep up with the best of them, and so could Milo, that was clear to the career girls that stood in front of you days ago and told you that they had no business talking to the likes of people from lower districts. They didn’t expect your hot streak though, and that fire was more than enough to win some sort of favor between the group of them.

It showed them that you weren’t afraid to do what it took to make it out alive.

And when Delaney stayed back for a moment to chat, there was an attraction that you didn’t think was there until her lips were on yours, and you didn’t push her off. You accepted it, because there was nothing wrong with a kiss from someone of the same gender. In fact, love was love, and if the moment was right, you knew it would have been wrong of you to react any differently.

You liked it, and you could admit it.

---

So when you found her on the roof again, you realized that it was the night before they went into the arena, with you and the other people that had been chosen to go through the same fate as you. Things on both of your mind, a bout of craziness, turned into a bout of loneliness, which turned into desperation to cling onto the life that you wished you could keep but ripped away from you because the capitol could not let go of their vendetta.

To think that a tantrum has lasted for eighty-three years, and it would probably last for ages to come.

But you didn’t mention that when you stood next to her, whispering nothing but kindness and platitudes just to make sure the space that was between you two was more than just silence. “I asked for a one, but got a five… I told that hag to give me a one" you said to her as you looked out at the lights from the capitol square.

You are sure that you both wanted to know what it was like to fly at this point.

”I can’t believe I got the shit beat out of me for a fucking 7.” she seemed exasperated, and you couldn’t help but feel her pride leap out through her. She wasn’t like the other girls, her attitude the same as Ridley’s on some days. That is what drew Charisma to her, at least, that is what you thought as you turned to face her. "How bad are you bruised?" leaves your mouth before you can even stop yourself.

And she lifts up her shirt, the redness in your face even more apparent ”Oh, you wanna see?” Charisma has no clue what to even think as she sees all the black and blue marks on her body that Delaney did not ask for, that she did not want, but got anyway because she wanted to make an impression.

”Well, I was more worried about your face, your lips in particular” your face was hotter than the sun you were sure, or something tripe like that.

”Well my face is a little bruised but my lips are just fine.” she punctuates, and you aren’t sure if she was picking up what you were saying. Since that first kiss, you wondered what it would have been like to share more, live more, do more, or even be more. You didn’t care about the hunger games, or death, because at the end of the day, you had already won. You found something that might have been interested in you. The excitement welling up in you was greater than you could ever imagine, and with the simplest prick you felt like you could burst wide open.

”Oh, well, good.” you spoke as you realized that maybe it was all one sided on your end. You hated that feeling, like there was rocks forming in your belly because you could not find the courage to do what you wanted yourself. No. That was too much to ask for when it came to that simple thing. Taking what you wanted Charisma Duke, a foreign concept that did not cross that expansive mind of yours. You were not a pillager anyway, you simply waited for your chance, and as Delaney walked way, you realized that you might have to keep waiting. For years and years to come, but you didn’t have years, you had days to live, and that thought scared you.

But she walked off in the distance, and all you could do is place your hands on the gate that surrounded the roof and wish, no pray that this gate would have just evaporated into nothingness. The moon was gorgeous, even though there was not much beauty you could find in it because there was a high chance that you would be dead come the time the moon shined again, if you could even call it a moon where you were going.

You sighed before finally realizing that it was time to head back to your room before it got too late. That staying up any longer would only worsen the blow in the arena, even though you were going to try to stay alive. You turned around to only realize that Delaney had been standing right behind you, and your eyes simply shot open. ”Sorry, I forgot something.” she says to you before she closes the gap between both of you and plants her lips on yours.

They are just as soft as you remember them.

You want to live in this moment even longer.

---

The it had to end, and before you knew it, it was morning time. Your body ached as you pulled yourself out of bed. You didn’t want to, but you knew that peacekeepers would literally come remove you from it if you didn’t. Eyes rolled at the thought, but you did not question it. It was just something that needed to be done. You chose this, you had to remember that.

You took a longer shower than usual, and that was because you knew it would probably be the last one you would ever experience. Indulgent was one word for it, desperation was another. Pain had a funny way of finding its way into every facet of your life, but not when you decide to indulge in things that you decided were needed.

You wondered if people would be watching at home, or if they simply wrote you off like the rest of the world probably would have. You didn’t miss it, no, you wouldn’t miss it. Giving them the satisfaction was only half of it, the other half was giving them the power, and you refused that much.

You always claimed that confidence was for suckers, but here you were, clamoring to go into something that you had not a single idea about. Just the things you watched, the things that other did. If boys were willing to die for Larceny Theft, then why couldn’t girls die for whoever was chosen too? Right?

Right.

---

You found yourself walking down a corridor that you did not see before escorted by people you did not know in a place that smell and felt like a graveyard for so many. You didn’t ask questions about anything because you were sure that you were going to get the same answer every single time.

May the odds be ever in your favor.

Empty platitudes at this point, and they loved them. The capitol ate that shit up like it was bread and butter, the expensive kind. The kind that they saved for the best occasions, the one that they savored every last morsel until the whole piece was gone, and they would have to wait to figure out when they could get more of it, except they wouldn’t be able to because by the time they had finally gone through the hassle of saving it, the person that made than exemplary traditional food had already been avoxed, or worse.

After all, that was all you read about.

You knew nothing more about this place except that death was the underlying theme here, and you were about to be made a part of that. That couldn’t stop you though. You could have probably powered your way through a guard or two, forced them to the ground, grab their gun, aim it at your face, shoot it off, lie there and die. Just to not give them the satisfaction that they wanted to have in watching you get cut up into tiny little pieces.

But by the time you could even try to concoct something like that, they grabbed you by the arms and made you keep walking. It was like they could tell when someone was going to do something, and you hated that.

It took the predictability and made it a joke.

You were ushered into a room and told to strip down and let your stylist get you dressed. The outfit that laid out on the side. ”What is that?” you say as the stylist grabbed pieces of the outfit and simply began to fit you. ”Its best to not ask questions. Just go with it, it will be better for all of us in the long run.” they said to you as you simply let your body relax as they finished dressing you for your slaughter.

There was no more waiting apparently. They wanted to get this over with quickly, and so they moved you into the tube as soon as you were finished, guiding you in to make sure that you didn’t run from their grasps. You didn’t even object at this point, because the fight needed to be saved for the other in the arena, that much you knew.

You let the tube close, and it lifted you into the ether, an ascension that you were never expecting to experience, but here you were. Getting ready to either slaughter a bunch of people in order to claim the glory, or ready to die for someone else to take what you wanted from you.

---

You found nothing here that reminded you of home. A somber land came into your view and you realized that this cornucopia already had a witchy vibe to it. ”Of course the witchy bitch had to actually take my comment seriously.” you scoffed as you waited for the timer to go off. It started at 60, and you thought about 60 times you had everything in front of you, but you did not take it.

More time passed.

45 seconds.

45 times you wished you could have had all of your emotional labor repaid back to you.

30 seconds.

30 times you wished you could have told your parents to go fuck themselves.

15 seconds.

15 times you wished you could have written memoirs instead of diary entries.

10…

Ten reasons to keep on living.

Nine reasons to die.

Eight reasons to fight for something more than just what the capitol wanted.

Seven people you wished you could have told more about yourself too.

Six moments you wished you could take back.

Five times you wished you had actually jumped off that building.

Four breaths you needed to keep taking.

Three more choices to make.

Two, Delaney.

One more second of life you wished you could lived.

And then there it was. The announcement of the commencement of the games.

You jumped off that pedestal and ran.

[Charisma enters the Bloodbath]

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

[ d8f laurel rasoio | intro ]

ONE SECOND WARM, ONE MOMENT COLD. FALLING FOR SILVER THINKING IT'S GOLD. I'VE HUNG MY WINGS ON MY SHARPENED HORNS, TORN MY PETALS AND EMBRACED MY THORNS. THINGS FALL THROUGH AND PEOPLE DO TOO.

Sometimes things are easier when you don't have yourself to blame.

I think it must be easier for the tributes who got their name called. Something about it seems more helpless than volunteering; volunteering can secure your own fate, however good or bad it may be, and when it comes down to it, the only person you can point a finger at is the one in the mirror. Being reaped seems like a different experience entirely—that anger can be directed towards the state, channeled towards someone or something that doesn't lead to self-destructive tendencies.

I do not regret what I did. Not at all—because there's a sense of pride and power that comes with volunteering. I can look around at these other tributes and say, hey, you think you're brave? You think the training centre teaches you how to step forward when everyone else steps back? Nah, it doesn't, not even slightly, and it's a courage that is learned through being knocked down time and time again but always getting back up.

When I lost faith in Ripred, the energy I had put into something else came back and went into me. When Jenoah died, I felt that sadness that you hope you will only feel once in a lifetime. The feeling that descends deeper than the nitty-gritty because it stains every part of you and it tries to make you see grey. I wouldn't let it, no, I couldn't let it—because I knew that if I did, I could not pray the pain away. Then came Daniela, and honestly, that wasn't sadness or pity, not even an ounce of depression, nah—because that made me angry: how she gave up our ghosts for the sake of a story.

It wasn't even survival because I remember watching her and seeing the acceptance in her eyes. They got darker, swollen with a bleak embrace of what was about to happen. As the sly movements of Seven's Salazar snuck between the strings of her heart to sever them so brutally, so completely—she knew that power in Eight meant nothing. Because Eight and the Capitol might share the same world, but they are stark in their contrast. Rasoio holds a different weight in the Capitol; there's no fear because they have all watched us die a horrible death twice. It has become a name of failure.

Though the crimes I have commit back home are more than worthy of being punished in the detention centre, compared to murder, they are nothing. And it took me the longest time to even come to terms with doing those bad deeds, but when I did, it was for the approval of my family. It took a minute for that motive to morph into fuelling my own satisfaction, and yeah, that's pretty sick, but in hindsight, every law I broke was somehow linked to being a Rasoio.

That is where I went wrong.

Because now, when it's just me against the world, I know that Daniela was right to forget the importance of family. All I have is myself: my mind and my body are my only company, and even though I'll have my blood's eyes following my every move back home, I cannot do this for them. I have to let go, maybe a little, maybe a lot, because if I could only commit petty crimes for the sake of one of the most powerful names in Eight—I am in no place to commit murder for that same cause.

"Ready, Rasoio?" My stylist asks whilst making a final adjustment to my bandana.

"Laurel," I correct her, "I'm ready."

There's a solid eye contact between the two of us that feels like a send-off. And then, as darkness covers every inch of my being, for a second, I think about how the other tributes are thinking of their home, their friends and family. I do the same in the darkness, but when the light comes, I forget.

There's a golden shine that bursts through the air with a sense of vigour, and as I squint to make out my surroundings, a large woven cornucopia is what peaks my interest. Careful in its creation, the sun manages to burn its way through the gaps between the branches, making it feel like a scene far too happy for the circumstances. A plethora of items fall from it, and as I look around to the other tributes, they all have their eyes on what they deem a prize too.

No point in praying, no point in hoping—I put myself here and because of that, I've only got myself to blame, but I like it. There is power in that.

I am no longer a prisoner to the past, I am my own promise in the present.

[ laurel enters the bloodbath ]

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

（ introduction | penelope marcet d5f ）

I ask for my lips to be red.

A dark cape is placed around my shoulders, my dress sweeping across the floor. A bonnet covers the braided crown of my hair, buckled shoes clicking with every step. “I look like a poor village girl.” This is not the role that I envisioned for myself — but I will wear this innocence like a second skin. Fairy tales are not meant to be true, after all.

“But don’t you agree?” I say the question like my stylist’s opinion actually matters to me, reaching for the silver tube of lipstick and moving myself in front of the standing mirror. “I’ll be perfect with a touch of scarlet. It’s what the crowd wants.” When I turn back around, my smile is sharp and bright. I have bled myself dry of gentleness.

“It’s funny,” I start as I move closer to the glass cage in the room, running a hand along the smooth surface. “To think I’ll be a murderer soon.” I shudder at the thought, but there is something within me that steels itself. My expression does not betray my emotions, the way my fingers tremble against the cold. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done. I did promise Caesar that I would come home.”

And Jackson.

And myself.

I am gambling with gold that I do not own. It is rusting in my hands. “Sixty seconds to departure. All tributes proceed to the platforms.” The robotic tone is chilling, a voice without humanity, but I refuse to show my unease. I am always seeking a distraction. “And so we begin. Make sure to cheer for me, darling.” I step inside the cylinder and blow a kiss as it encases me.

My sweetness reaches nothing.

It is trapped with me here.

It begins to sour as I rise, and I let it. I want to tell myself that this is a performance, that this is something I can leave to the lilting of my words and the twisting of my body — but I am no fool. I have made my choice to survive this, to contort myself into any position necessary to make it out alive. I will have no right to cry when I start to break. So I refuse.

The wind hits my jaw before anything else. I lift it proudly, a loose strand of black hair blowing across my face. I tighten my fists and square my shoulders, trying to ignore the crawling of my skin. There are trees in the distance, mighty things still fresh with life — but the leaves are dying, curling at the edges and bright with colour. The sunset is shining through the branches, but I cannot find the horizon.

When I see the cornucopia ahead of me, I feel the urge to snicker. I look to my side, lips parting — “How traditional.” — but there is no one close enough to hear my teasing, to help me fill the silence that has spread through the woods. It tries to swallow me, but I catch myself on the teeth. And they cut me, but I am still here. In this space. On this pedestal.

The timer counts down, slower and faster than I imagined — and I try to find my alliance, but everyone looks the same. We are all mourning a death that has yet to occur, staring down at a body with no name. Five. And the wolves and the humans sink low to the ground, baring their wickedness for all to see. Four. Three. Two. I rise where they fall, feet touching the air as I leap.

One.

And the gong rings out;

and I am a vulture.

I fly to death on black wings.

（ penelope enters ❛ the bloodbath ❜ ）

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

[Cole Hailsham D4M | Intro]

I don't want to die.

The first words written in his journal are flashing before his eyes. Death. Death was going to be there soon with their cold, hollow eyes and the power to take him away. Cole wasn't afraid anymore of dying, but he was afraid of what would happen to Liam. The fate that'd be left to him as a dying boy in Hailsham Academy, where they'll tear his organs out and call him a success. A chill runs down his spine as his fingertips pick at a piece of toast, ignoring the way Annie and Bell even look. Silence is his only safety right now from the world. A silence to hold himself quietly until the bloodbath where he'll either tear people apart, die in, or make it out of there.

Unique individuals were with him in there. Sapphire, a girl who had guts, the memory of her lifting him up and over her shoulder in a panic of his own. Torren, who had kissed him with no interest at all, but creating and interesting aura that Cole felt he needed in order to survive. Lastly, the drunk, Reyes, who could probably drink Cole under the table, but something about him made him think he would be reliable in some form, even if it was just a human shield. A group of unique individuals and all he can do is prepare for the worst in his head.

I'll rip them apart brick by fucking brick.

Hailsham would be torn apart when he makes it home. All that will be left of it will be the students who suffer under the stress of career training and don't know of their doom there. A silence fills him as he's rushed from breakfast to Jizav, who hands him the uniform that makes him feel even more itchier than the pirate outfit. No swords or guns this time, only fabric and some sort of plaid to patch fake holes that were once there. A paper crown of blue put on top of his head to match the peacock feather there. Blue seems to reside throughout the entire outfit as you can feel the ocean along your skin.

The outfit was pure District Four at it's finest, but Cole doesn't focus on the outfit anymore. His own head spirals in a loop of his plan of attack. What to do once he's in the arena and on his own for once. Trust in the people around him or keep an eye open. Anxiety fills his chest up with ocean water, black in color as he holds himself tightly, the token of his journal shoved into a pocket made to the right size. There's no fear in his eyes, but the gears of his mind were turning fast.

Jizav speaks quietly.

"Do your best out there."

All Cole does is wave his hand at Jizav, letting him know he heard, but sticking to his own thoughts, until the platform is moving up and up. A silence fills him as the sun shines and the haze of the arena begins filling in with a cornucopia, like the actual one. Items littered around, waiting for them to get them, but he's not sure where to look. Other tributes stand around with their minds ready and physical body prepared, but he doesn't dare move as the timer comes on.

I don't want to die.

He can't.

I'll rip them apart brick by fucking brick.

He will.

This is the only way.

It is.

Death is watching.

They are.

I have to be strong.

The timer ends and the panic sets in.

Liam, I love you.

(Cole Hailsham D4M enters Bloodbath)

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

Milo stood on the podium, thumbs hooked around his suspenders, surveying the Cornucopia. It honestly looked like something he could have stumbled across in District Eleven: hand-woven, good craftsmanship, if a little uneven. It was a piece of art. And it was fucking weird to find something familiar waiting for him that morning, considering everything else had felt like a dream. From the decadent breakfast, to the forced goodbyes with the Victors (he’d given them a peace sign and hadn’t looked back), to the journey to the cavern beneath the arena - all of it was new and strange.

But this? The warm breeze, the scent of corn stalks, his peers waiting for a clock to move - this all felt like another school day.

He chuckled as the seconds bled away.

Normal. As though that word had any meaning now.

In an effort to inject more normalcy into the day, he snapped his suspenders, turned and waved at the tribute next to him. “Morning!” Milo shouted, even though they were only a few feet away. “Beautiful weather we’re having!”

He grinned.

The clock struck zero.

And the felt the rest of normal evaporate on the cozy breeze.

[D11M Milo Miloslavsky enters the 83rd Bloodbath.]

[*]

[Prismarine Cobble; Intro]

Chapter 5
Whisper in the wind, blood on the ground

As much as she tried, her eyes never closed that night except once. At the first moment of sleep, her hear raced and her finger trembled under the influence of a nightmare taken her away. The last few days and all the parties and training had set her up and her confidence, but the even of the blood bath finally reared it's ugly head in the form of sweat beads dabbled across her forehead, moisture wicking against the back of her neck and her pillow and hair drenched. Her lips parted in fear as well as a cry of fear that escaped in the middle of the night.

No one came to wake her.

No one came to console a twelve year old girl in the middle of the night because she was all alone and there was no comfort for someone destined to die on the battlefield. Her brother was not there to make sure she didn't get caught and her cousin was no where in my her mind to tell her which way to run or to stay and fight. It was all up to her.

"No. No..." She cried in her sleep as dreams plagued her mind. Her face screwed up in fear and her arms began to thrash about. The covers took no mercy and wrapped themselves around her tiny and petite frame getting tighter and tighter around her neck as she struggled to escape the arms of the tribute strangling her in her sleep.

"I.. can't.. bre..." She pulled on the blankets and cried out. Fingers latched onto her neck and with everything she had, she pulled harder and harder. Her legs swinging out and knocking over the lamp beside her bed, crashing against the ground before she rolled over and fell to the floor, waking herself with tears streaming down her face.

"Soul... Soul, come save me. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to volunteer. I'm sorry I left you. Please come get me. Save me, I beg you." Prismarine scrambled to release the tangled mess on her limbs and neck; drawing her legs up to her face. Her chin then rested on her legs. Exhausted gasps rattled her chest for a while until she had calmed herself down. Not once did a soul come to check on the girl and for once, she felt utterly and absolutely alone.

"Red... Soul. What am I doing to do? I'm only a twelve year old girl. I can't even properly get a meal. I couldn't even impress the game makers or get an alliance. I am going to die and no one even cares about a girl who can't even fight. I don't want to be here. I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE. IT'S NOT FUN ANYMORE." Prismarine screams and beats her arms against her bed in retaliation. Dull thumping noises quieten down and her motions stop eventually leaving her to have a stare off with the wall masked as a nighttime sky.

A shooting star zips across the picture and she finds herself closing her eyes. "I wish I could win so I can go home and take care of Soul."

Night turned into morning for the district twelve girl whose hair was a mess and her eyes sunken from a night of fitful sleep and fear. The mentor had came in to check on her and get her going, but all Prismarine wanted was to go back to the parties and the interviews and the train so she could once more enjoy the festivities. The days had come and gone so fast that she now regretted that time was so freely taken from her.

"I want to go back home." She told Nico. His response was negated by the fact that he couldn't do anything for her now except offer advice.

"I know." He said, putting a hand on Prismarine's shoulder. "I know better than most. That's good though, it gives you something to hope for, ,something to fight for. Just don't forget -- above all else, you come first. Not your allies, not the friends you made in the training center. You, and you alone. I know that's a hard thing to hear, and Ripred knows working with your allies is important - I wouldn't have made it through to the end without mine - but never forget that it's kill or be killed in there. We dressed you in bones for the ceremony for a reason, because you're something to be reckoned with. You're small, so hide when you can, try and outlast them until you have to get into the fight, but you're going to get blood on your hands. That's how you get him, by being selfish with your life. Red made it far by not forgetting where she came from. You do the same."

She nodded to Nico and held up her chin. She sniffled her nose and took a deep breath as she entered the tube. Behind her, he stood. He was the only one that had her back and even without allies, she flashed him a glance of hope just for him to see. Internally, she hesitated to breath and placed both of her hands on the tube on either side. She white knuckled her grip when it sealed itself. Panic began to settle in her stomach. Her lips quivered.

When it began to rise, she hit the floor and tried to look at the room where she stood. No one was going to be there waiting on her at the top. She had tried to make allies or friends, but Nico didn't know that he was in it alone. The fear began to escalate and her breathing grew quicker. Deep, quick and stunted breaths pushed her lungs to their breaking point.

"No. No. No." She begged as the light of the arena pounded at her head. Dots began to swarm her vision and her footing moved. It only took a second but she kept herself from stepping off the platform to escape the reality of where she was. Then she felt her legs give out and for a moment, darkness surrounded her.

Prismarine slumped onto the platform amongst the fleeting tributes all around.

[Prismarine enters the Bloodbath]

[ kaitlin ]

[✨ zozo.]

slate | d9f | intro

Seven, check. Penelope, check. Frowny boy, check. One face for each second starting at 60. By 56 I'm ready to get this show started, foot tapping impatiently where I stand. If I had it my way I'd be tearing up this arena solo, but I'm not a complete idiot. Alliances get you to the end. By then you've just gotta rely on skill, instinct and a bit of luck. Good thing I've got all three.

Seven's as batshit as I am, talking in riddles and shit. Penelope, I respect. She seems like a leader-type, if a little conceited, but I suppose you have to be in that role. They both insisted we pick up Twelve, who I like to call frowny-face, apparently he's a victor cousin or something. I don't give a fuck if I'm honest, he doesn't seem reliable - but hey, if anything goes wrong I can just kill him. HA!!!

I see Fangor in the distance - good luck to him, I'm sure he's got a few days in his system - and wonder if anyone back home gives a shit if we live or die. I know I'm only supposed to care about numero uno but that's a lonely way to live. 'least I've had one or two people I could scrounge off of these past few years. Man I hope Seb is watching. I hope the Pride are lacking in easy money now I'm gone, a hundred-dollar shaped hole in their bookings. Motherfuckers, I think, squeezing my fists and getting ready to pounce toward the nearest weapon. They'll be sorry.

Kids around me, big and small, from the corner of my eyes they could be anyone. Any one at all. People who've wronged me, paid me, ruined me, left me to die, taken me in, who gave a fuck - all I know is that right now they're in my way. And it's this I hold on to when the countdown ends and we spring to life, leaping off of the pedestal and hitting the ground running - they're in my way.

Here's hoping they get the fuck out of the way before I kill them.

[kap]

[D9M Fangor Redtail | Intro]


Fangor Redtail

The night before going into the arena was likely a restless one for most of the tributes here due to the fear they felt. As for me, however, the reason my night was restless was due to excitement. I couldn't wait to get into the arena as soon as possible. I'd already enjoyed the changes in my life that had happened so far since volunteering, such as going off to the Capitol, learning survival and weaponry skills, having an actual bed to sleep in and being able to have all of this amazing food to eat. When I eventually did fall asleep, I had dreams of the arena and what it possibly could be. In those nighttime visions called dreams, I saw an arctic arena, cold and unforgiving as tributes' blood changed the color of the snow it dripped into.

I doubted that my dreams would have been correct about the type of arena we would be in, though. Regardless, by the time I was woken up the next morning, I was full of energy and was ready to go. I didn't care what type of arena I ended up in. I just wanted to go into the arena, fight the other tributes, prove myself and change my life. Luckily, today, that would be exactly what I ended up doing. It was the very first day of the Eighty-Third Annual Hunger Games, and it was time for Fangor Redtail to show his strength.

---

When my stylist dressed me in my tribute uniform for the arena, I felt ridiculous. Was I seriously going to have to fight in something as stupid looking as this? I was in a white button-up shirt, which I suppose was one of my lesser concerns when it came to what they had me wear. The bottoms that they put me in were a white pair of bloomers, which, in my opinion, looked really dumb. I was also dressed in wool socks, black, square-toed shoes, a cascading neck ruff of some sort, a hooded cloak, as well as a black hat with a buckle on the front of it.

The last part of my outfit was what really stood out to me, though. I had on a choker around my neck with a portrait of someone who looked almost identical to me attached to it. It took me a moment or two to actually realize that it wasn't a portrait of me, but instead a portrait of another boy who was once a tribute for District Nine, Timothy Feldon. I'd seen pictures of him before and often thought he looked a lot like me. I certainly wasn't wrong in that regard.

---

Once I was in my tribute uniform and ready to go into the arena, I stepped into the tube that would soon be lifting me into the arena. At this point, I had made the assumption that, with the clothes that they had dressed me in, my dream was inaccurate and that I wouldn't be in an arctic arena. In all honesty, that was quite a relief. I truly didn't want to freeze to death. If I was going to die, I'd much rather go down fighting than freezing.

Moments later, the tube closed around me and I started to be elevated toward the arena. Once the platform I was on reached the surface of the arena, it took a moment or two for my eyes to adjust to the light. Once they did, I quickly took in all of my surroundings. I saw the other twenty-three tributes standing around the cornucopia on their platforms like I was. In the center of all of us was the cornucopia itself, which looked as if it were hand-woven. It was overflowing with weapons, supplies and other goodies, all meant to tempt us toward it and fight one another for what we wanted.

The clock was counting down.

10, 9, 8,

I took a deep breath.

7, 6, 5,

I thought about why I was here.

4, 3, 2,

I readied myself.

1, GONG!

I ran.

[D9M Fangor Redtail enters the bloodbath]

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

{Asari Rhodes d11f | Intro }

Sleep is hard to come by. In fact most of the night is spent pacing the floor of her room wondering when the night will end and the morning will begin. Every part of her being begs for a few hours of sleep, yet a racing mind prevents it. Nightmares course through her dreams making it seem impossible. Death is knocking at the door, and Asari wonders when the door while fly open for the grim reaper to slip through. None of it matters anymore because at this moment time stands still, but soon it'll fly away.

Night quickly turns into day, and the sun is rising higher and higher into the sky. It's a new day, yet it's not just any day. The games are scheduled to begin, and every breath is becoming increasingly difficult. So many times she's watched her family go through this, but this moment is never explained. Every part of her being is telling her to run until her mind thinks of those at home counting on her to make it through this for them.

But what if I fail?

All she wants is a chance to prove the Rhodes deserve better. They've gone through so much, and she's only making it worse by even being here, but it's not her fault.

A heavy sigh leaves her chest as she slowly follows in step behind those in charge. The fresh air feels amazing, and it offers relief, but at the same time it's nothing she's ever experienced before. It's hard to focus, hard to think, hard to do anything right now except stand in place unsure of what to do next.

The young Rhodes looks around, eyes darting back and forth and even as the hovercraft lands, she's unsure of where to turn. This machine is taking them all to the place of death for all of Panem to see. It's a sporting event, and it's something she wishes didn't exist, yet it's a simple part of life. A reminder - Hope can never exist in a world where everything is taken away.

Rubbing her hands through her hair, Asari takes a seat. The ride is brief, and most of it is spent with her eyes closed. The fear of falling out of the hovercraft is much worse than the fear of dying, but her faith rests within her brother. Harbinger has helped out in so many ways, and she fully trusts he won't let her down.

The walk away from the vehicle is emotionless until she's locked in a room and it's hard to breathe. A timer hangs on the wall counting down the moments until the games begin. She has no clue what time it even is, but it doesn't matter. Time means nothing anymore.

"Thirty seconds."

A robotic voice echoes through her mind, and her heart leaps into the back of her throat. Dying has never been on her bucket list, yet she's standing her not wanting to step on the platform at all.

"Ten seconds."

Closing her eyes, she says a prayer, and then she takes her place. Her family needs her strength even in the darkest of places.

Darkness surrounds her, and all she wants is to scream, but soon she's standing up in the air looking around taking it all in.

The cornucopia is beautiful unlike any she's ever seen before, but it looks unsteady. Like it could crumble at any given moment. A soft grin spreads from ear to ear until eyes land on the clock above. It's counting down. Getting closer and closer to zero, and who knows maybe soon she'll be dead.

Every hair stands on end, and it's becoming harder and harder to move, to think, to breathe.

I can do this. She whispers silently to herself. Five Rhodes have gone before her, and now she makes the sixth. Maybe it'll make a difference, but surely nobody wants another Rhodes to make it out of this alive.

And then the gong sounds, and the games are starting, and Asari isn't sure what to do. She just knows that any hesitation can become her last moment, and dying here in the bloodbath isn't something setting on her mind.

{Asari Rhodes enters the bloodbath}

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

[ Vargen Forrester | Intro ]

[presto][/presto]

there's blood on your lies
disguise opened wide
there is nowhere for you to hide
the hunter's moon is shining

        I was a blood-soaked thing.

Even after the boar’s tendrils were scrubbed clean from my skin, the gore persisted; the blood stuck. It seemed as though it had permeated through my pores, to the very core of my being and now I was half-human, half-beast.

Even after the evening died out and the mother of night spread her veil across the sky, I didn’t sleep for I had no need to. Every nerve beneath my cold skin sung, every tendon as taut as a drawn bowstring. I was as alive as a wolf on a hunt, eyes crescent-like slits, mouth glistening with an old, hereditary appetite, my belly depthless.

        As the silver moon rose, I left for the rooftop.

The air there was pure and light, carrying only the wilderness I found myself missing: trees, shrubberies, flowers. Softly, I gasped in a breath and then knelt on the edge of the roof, precariously. Below, the city breathed, its heartbeat fluorescent-bright, but I had no care for the capitol. What my eyes sought after, were the stars strewn across the dark overhead, constellations spinning.

“The gods craft their houses in between the stars,” my mother told me once, “their light—it can guide you if you ever find yourself to be lost.”

Opening my throat, I cried out to them, every chord inside me trembling with sound. I cried out, and then I wailed, and the wails gave way to howls, primal and agonizing and raw, as though it’d come from the blood-curdled throat of a dying animal.

        “Guide me!”

        Guide me, and guide these bones,
        guide these hands, and this heart.
        I cried until I was sure they heard.

Then, knelt and bent in a quiet prayer, I laid there, on the terrace, weary bones upon cold stones. Near dawn, they came for me and ushered me to a chamber where Lazarus stood; the air smelled of roses rather faintly, but it struck my nostrils as whiplash would. His eyes were awash with a command: strip. The garments upon my body pooled on the tiles and only then, did he approach me, his steps airy—as though I was a cautionary tale. There were no words, no banter exchanged, only a quietness. He dressed me in a dark cloak, velvety to touch, and a pilgrim hat that crowned darkly around my silver threads. I watched him, playing idly with the drawstrings of my sheer shirt.

        “What?” he queried.

        “I am going to win.”

        “Are you now, Var?”

        “I’ll gut all of 'em.”

        “Like the bear?”

        I nodded, formally.

From a small pot, as red as blood, he took some colors and smeared below my eyes—two wine-dark fangs, a wolf’s markings. He leaned close and the smell of roses grew and we kissed, softly at first, then savagely. “My little wolf-ling,” he muttered, one hand on my cheek, another about my throat, pressed against the pulse there.

        “Go tear them to shreds,” he said.

Lazarus’s form grew smaller first, and then his face disappeared after. The dais underneath me rose, and rose, along with my heartbeat. Every muscle in my body was laden with animosity; my eyes shone with stolen moonlight. Death’s scythe, I was: silver and deadly.

A sound erupted; I howled from boy to a snarling wolf.

Go tear them to shreds. Tear them to shreds. To shreds.

i'm running with the wolves tonight
i'm running with the wolves
i'm running with the wolves tonight
i'm running with the wolves



lyrics: aurora - running with the wolves

[goat]

[ delaney youngblood / intro ]

Delaney decided rather quickly that she loved the tribute uniforms. Her stylist dressed her with great care, draping the various layers of clothing over her lean frame. The purple suited her, she thought, twisting and turning so she could catch a glimpse of every angle in the mirror. Her cape billowed with every move she made. As she got closer, she noticed what was inside the portrait hanging from her choker necklace— a blonde girl she felt like she should recognize, but didn’t.

As she glanced around the metal bowels underneath the arena, she forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat. Her plan for her private training session, though brilliant in her head, had only earned her a 7. Higher than some had earned, but not high enough for a career. She felt disappointed, despite swearing to herself that she didn’t need validation from anyone. Whatever, she thought. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered from here on out was survival.

She waited to enter the arena alone. She had no mentors to motivate her, and her stylist had gone shortly after dressing her. She pressed her hands into the wall and studied her fingerprints when she pulled away. They left dirty smudges where nothing had once been. She thought about how people were like that, how they left permanent holes wherever they went, how nothing was ever the same once they were gone.

She didn’t want her siblings to be left with a hole. She needed to go home, for them, for her district, for everybody. They were counting on her. She needed to win for them.

When the time came, she entered the glass tube with no resistance. She stood tall, rising into the arena like a queen approaching her throne. Her eyes found sprawling forest, yellowing gourds, rotting wood. The air looked as if it would be thick to breathe but she sucked in a deep breath anyway. The sound of rushing water behind her both comforted her and filled her with unease.

As she turned her head, her eyes met Charisma’s. Oh, right, she thought. She had friends now, or rather, people she was working with who she hoped died before her. People who needed to die before her. She didn’t want to be the one to kill them, but if it came to it, she would. Relationships didn’t matter when they were the one thing between life and death. She would choose life, every time, no matter the cost.

The gong sounded, and she ran.

[ delaney youngblood enters the bloodbath. ]