Crimson Stream [Has vs The vvitches Day 4]

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

Ubbe Hammerfell
cause you search for years
but you lose everything you find

Not sure how much time has gone by, but it doesn't feel like much. I just know I need to find a place to rest and actually sleep. I'm tired, my body is dragging, my mind is barely keeping up with everything that's going on right now. The water helped a little, but it's still not enough. Sleeping alone is scary especially in a place like this. All it takes is a wrong move for someone to sneak up on me, but I remember what I'm told in training, and I hide myself to look like I'm part of my surroundings knowing it'll help.

The anthem is filled with faces this time. Five more have died, and if I remember correctly, I'm a third of the way there. It's exciting because I know I can do it. I can make it home. I just have to stay strong and keep fighting with all my might. The dead are dead, and nothing can save them now, so I must focus on myself and figure out a way to keep myself alive. I get back into hiding, and I drift off to sleep hoping nothing happens to me, and that the Rhodes girl survives the night so I can find her in the morning.

When morning comes, I'm shivering. It's hard to stay warm, and it's so cold here right now. My teeth are chattering, and I don't want to freeze to death, but this uniform isn't helping me stay warm. I grab my things knowing that moving can help me out in general. When I go outside, I find Asari standing at the door almost like she's waiting on me, and maybe she even kept watch. I don't know. I nod at her and move on, but I can hear her footsteps following behind me. I guess at this time we're working together until I don't need her anymore.

I've walked for what feels like forever, and I stop in my tracks when I see another group coming towards us. It's just two people, and I'm still holding my weapon at the ready until I see Sapphire standing before me. I walk up to her, cross my arms across my chest and look at her. Someone from seven has no power, they're not strong. I know her, I talked to her at the Capitol, but it doesn't matter. "Who are you, and why shouldn't I kill you now?"

Part of me wonders if she'll attack, but she doesn't. Instead she narrows her eyes. "That's quite a change from the training center, Ubbe." It's like everything there mattered, but it doesn't matter here. This is war. She's the enemy just like everyone gathered around, but all I can do is stand tall and proud. "This isn't the training center anymore. This is the hunger games." I can't help but smirk wondering what she's even up to at the moment. Someone could walk up behind me and attack the both of us right now, but my mind is focusing on this moment.

That's when I see even more people. My entire mind races as I ready the weapon like I've done so many times before. I look at Sapphire letting her know we're not done talking here. We have so much more to discuss, but it can wait until this is over. I take a breath as I prepare myself to move forward. I have to time it properly because it's the most important part of a fight, but this is what I've been wanting. Finally the chance to fight tributes so I can prove just how good I am. A sly grin twists across my face as I charge into battle hoping the others follow behind.


Template by Anzie

Ubbe attacks Slate | Spear

HX2f6djvKGspear
3151 -- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damagespear

[esther kim d3 {lance}]

You run. It seems to be the only thing you know how to do successfully any more.

Torren's in your arms, superhuman strength and adrenaline flooding your system as you half-carry, half-drag the boy from the land of your father away from the blades of the people you knew, the district partner who chastised you about who was worth saving yet who would not put her own life on the line to ensure it.

Damn Careers. Lucky enough to team up with two, unlucky enough to fight two more. And in retrospect you almost appreciate the girl from Two for being detached, cold, unwilling to do or say anything worth remembering, worth keeping towards the heart. For Cole and Torren had let their guard guard down around you, only to bleed upon foreign soil the very next day. In Ridley, you thought you'd found a kindred spirit - but instead, you'd found a girl with too much heart and not enough nerve to do what needed to be done.

It was no wonder that the Career districts were bringing home so few in recent years, if each and every one of them failed to understand what it took to win. To come home. To survive.

And yet....

Half of the blood in your veins came from the very same place that birthed Torren, that nurtured Ridley. And though neither of them knew it, there was supposed to be something there. A kinship, a connection, something that indicated your shared home.

Perhaps that's why you'd connected with Torren in your own twisted way. Perhaps that's why you let Ridley take her frustrations out on you, tear into your skin with her blade without repercussions. Two people you otherwise would have never met, whom in a different world you may have been as close as family.

And yet.

You were not Sapphire DeCaria, the girl from District One, even if your name threatened to betray otherwise. You were the girl from Seven, the lumberjack with the energy of the forest running through your veins. A fire waiting to happen you may have been, but never the kind intended to destroy, but the kind to renew, to rejuvenate.

Seven's newest scion, or the latest in a string of ever growing failures. Which would you be?

And yet.

Here you are, running from battle for the second time in as many days despite claiming the crown jewel of the Wealth, the bulk of the prize and the status of the ones to beat. And again, in your arms, is a boy who is slowly, inevitably becoming a corpse.

And then fatigue takes hold. Your grip slackens, and Torren Jaroux tumbles into the river.

Panic, mania, something takes hold, but you're stopped by a weak laugh.

"No, it's nice in here." And Ripred damn it all, even as his lifeblood leaves his body, Torren still has that same easygoing smile on his face, the devil-may-care attitude resting on his shoulders.

"Plus... we're still supposed to go skinny dipping, right?"

The same damn terrible, horrible timing when it comes to cracking jokes in the worst of moments. If he weren't already dying, you swear you might have just punched him right then and there.

But you don't. You're at a loss for words, actions dying within the neurons of your brain. But you don't have to, for Torren has more than enough for the both of you.

A finger brushes your undamaged cheek, a strangely intimate, personal act from the boy who made a living of acting aloof. "I meant what I said... earlier in the forest," he gasps, and half of you wants to shush him, make the last few moments stretch as long as possible.

But it's not about length. It's about quality. And so despite your heart urging you to protest, you follow the rational of your head instead.

"This doesn't define you... even though I came here so it would define me." And it's still so hard to believe, one fight and attempt at murder later. "I just wanted to be remembered..."

And for some reason, that is what nearly breaks you. For for the first time, you think you're seeing something raw and real within the boy from One, instead of just a carefully constructed act made to placate people.

You almost regret it took death itself to draw that from his depths.

"If you see Ridley again... I need you to tell her something for me..." Privately, you're thinking that if you never saw the girl from One again, it would be too soon. But who are you to shit on the wishes of a dying man? "Tell her... that I'll see her in the garden..."

You have no idea what that means, exactly, but you get the gist. And you dip your head in understanding - for you do not trust that any words that exit your mouth will come out unaccompanied by a sob.

Reyes takes his attention for a bit, and then a request, to the both of you. "Push me... into the river... I want to... float away."

You cannot bring yourself to look.

But who are you to deny a dying boy's last request?

---

The night fades away into the sunlight of morning. There's not many words shared between you and Reyes - he'd never been as talkative as the other two, and after Cole and Torren's fates, you're reluctant to reach out to anyone, unwilling to confirm or deny whether or not you are cursed.

For the time being, however, you see no reason to move. The river has water, albeit untrustworthy water, and after three days of moving across what seems to be half the damn arena, you're just tired.

But a day of rest isn't in the cards. No, that'd be having it too good, and you're part of an alliance that claimed the largest possible advantage in the entire Games and squandered it in the following days by losing half your strength. Some might call it genius, teaming up with two Careers and getting others to end them personally, but quite frankly you're just tired of running.

Perhaps that's why when you see a familiar shape barreling towards you through the undergrowth, you decide that enough is enough. You'll narrow your eyes and grip your axe until either you end someone or someone ends you.

For that is the only result that can come from running into Ubbe Hammerfell, after all.

"Who are you, and why shouldn't I kill you now?" For most people, you'd consider it an act. But from what you've seen of the Hammerfell clan, you're not so sure it isn't one.

A different demeanor from the last time you talked doesn't just spout out of nowhere. At least, not one like this. "That's quite a change from the training center, Ubbe," you growl. Which aspect was fake? The boy who wanted to live up to the legacy of his relatives, or the boy who's deciding that machismo and intimidation tactics are the new norm of social interaction?

"This isn't the training center anymore." At this, you snort. "This is the hunger games."

It's a struggle not to keep the mirth out of your voice, not to taunt the only one of the six Careers that you had genuinely pegged as a threat. "No shit, Captain Obvious," marks the start of your retort.

But Ripred only knows what would have finished it, for more bodies are brought to your attention. Familiar bodies. Familiar bodies that are not doing a great job at keeping their profile hidden.

You share a look with the boy from Two. A mutual consensus is reached through a simple glance alone - We'll finish this later.

And as one, you turn and unleash hellfire onto the enemy.

I wonder if you're proud of me now, Vargen, you think as you move to cut open the girl with one foot from shoulder to hipbone.

After all, I do only learn from the best.

sapphire attacks slate; axe

pOeMm4WMxtaxe

11078 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage

axe

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

        “Pst, wake up!”

Slate’s voice was a needle-drop in the deafening quietness, piercing my ears. Ever since the girl and her army of battered boys had fled from us, there’d been nothing but that—silence. I oddly appreciated it, the way it brought all the other hidden sounds out, such as the rustles of threadbare curtains hanging loosely onto mildewed windows, the satisfying crunch of snow beneath their boots, the wind through this graveyard of houses. “Look,” she said and there was an edge to her tone that brought my calloused fingertips upon the axes girded around my waist. “Closely. Something moved over there."

        My eyes followed to where she pointed.
        Something danced in one of the houses.

Back home, whenever a wild creature stumbled upon the Forrester’s clearing, we had a ritual to abide by. If it was a doe or a grown stag, they would be shot, skinned for winter cloaks and preserved for our winter rations. But, if it was a wolf, or any other sharp-teethed animal, someone who wanted to kill it would have to step forward and war with the creature. To become a wild, sharp-teethed thing yourself, you first had to murder one and claim its wilderness. You gobble the beast’s ferocity up, like fruit, and make its fangs your own.

“Stay alert,” I echoed my words from earlier as I inched closer to the house, steps furtive, an axe drawn already. Using the sharp edge, I tapped on the door. It opened with a hollow creak. A sharp breath scraped my throat raw as my sister’s eyes in a poster stared back at me from the wall.

        The gleam in those eyes was true;

every facet of it belonged to her—that stout jaw, the scratch mark below her eye that I gouged with my nails when we’d fought, the determined arch of dark brows. This was a shrine, I noticed with a jolt as my fingertips touched her poster in scrutiny. A shrine to the legacies each of us held upon our shoulders—a shrine to the people most of us would never see again.

A glimmer at the periphery of my eyes drew them towards it. Amongst the posters, was an old silver screen and I watched, the screen, as if knowing my soft glance upon it, crackled and changed to the faces I knew. My mother, dancing in the clearing, dressed in white and wildflowers. The Forrester men’s song that they hummed whenever there was a feast; I remembered the melody and the words still. “We shall dance with our Lord, we shall be arisen by his sword.” I began to hum it with them.

        “This is our past,” I murmured.

A past that some of us won’t be able to get back to. These battered memories, jarred in the smooth carcass of a house, were the only things we had as of right now. And, when the time cameo, these memories will be the ones that embossed and decorated our graves.

That night, I pondered and dug through my memories, with hungry fingers. The first memory was of my father’s dagger, sharp against the pallor of my throat, there to slit it open. I remembered the cold stone of the altar beneath me, the fragrance of the flowers I was entwined with. Sacrifice, he’d asked of me, and I had nodded. I will. Then, my mother’s lullabies entered, gently, their melodies as exotic as their lyrics, crooning to me about faraway lands that Death ruled, alive with pixies and faeries, awash by a sun that was never too scorching or too cold. You will rule it with Him, she sang into my silver locks, you will. I remembered smiling up at her and nodding. I will. Then, there was Lazarus, his face sharp and solemn. My little wolf-ling, he muttered against my agape mouth, go tear them to shreds. I’d kissed him then, drank him up. I will.

        I will. I will. I will.

“Let’s move,” I told the other three, sparing Slate and her lone foot a near-apologetic glance. “We can’t waste time with rest. Let’s find them. Let’s find them, and kill them.” And then, I mused, I will kill you three.

We moved in the shadows, like wolves that the fairytales had warned so desperately about, our bared teeth guised as moonlight in the dark. The night pressed against our bodies but didn’t harm us—for we were the creatures it revered, the creatures it was known to hide.

By the river’s edge, we found them, their forms almost gossamer in the banks of soft mist. The gleams from the unsheathed weapon came swiftly, with a hunger to it that I recognized. “Sapphire,” I regarded her, twisting the ends of my mouth to a smirk once more as my heart fluttered in my chest, a beast awoken. Here was the mouse, with the hawk’s shadow dark upon her. Here was the prey, encountering her hunter once more. But, there was another beside her, a boy with a stalwart might that slashed at Slate’s stomach. It bled, but the cut wasn't deep. Weak, I wanted to cry at him.

        Tear them to shreds.

“So, you have found yourself more shields. I am proud, Sapphire.” My fingers deftly wrapped themselves around the shaft of the fireplace poker I'd found. “Now, let us shatter them again.” I showed them my teeth—I showed them my wilderness. “We will always be your ruin.”

        I will.

( Vargen attacks ❛ Ubbe ❜ | Javelin )

NXHD7deQJzjavelin

15010 -- SHALLOW CUT ON HAND -- 3.0 damage (Javelin)

javelin

[✨ zozo.]

"Pssst!"

Slate hissed into the morning light, teeth chattering and lips shivering from the cold.

"Wake up!"

She hadn't been able to sleep. Never mind the biting cold or the great trek through the dark of the arena, light from their lanterns bobbing up and down like her head as she hobbled toward an unknown destination beneath the stars. Even after they'd reached the water and settled down to rest, Slate couldn't quite fall asleep. Who could after almost dying - again?

Four days and they'd butchered her like an animal in every single one, and for what - being the youngest left? The smallest? The one who couldn't walk? Whatever the reason, her penance was punishing tenfold. Every night she'd look up at the stars and count them until her mind screamed and every morning she woke to sore wounds and aching muscles. Her leg was most definitely infected, yellow puss seeping from underneath her bandages, purple blotches creeping up her leg. Slate was dying, and she was too stubborn to admit it.

Didn't mean she couldn't stay up all night tossing and turning, wondering if it would be easier to ask Vargen to slit her throat (the easy way out) or Penelope to push her into the river (she never learned to swim) or Reggie to just punch her in the face until she blacked out (least then she might get some sleep).

Slate had considered all options, sitting in silence waiting for them to wake. Not much could keep her entertained without company, so she decided to study the place they called home for the night.

Brown eyes blinked at a rusted old boat tied up to her right, bobbing gently on the water's current. She followed a piece of driftwood floating downstream, turning her head to squint into the distance as the sunlight caught her gaze - and she froze at the sight of something shifting in the near distance.

Pointing a mitten-clad finger towards the clearing, Slate ushered for her allies attention. "Look," she insisted. "Look closely. Something moved over there."

Her eyes throbbed, a dull headache forming from a lack of sleep behind them, but they weren't playing tricks on her. Something had moved, and then something else moved, and before she could gather her morning thoughts they were up and 'attem.

"Let's move."

Time to die, she thought glumly.

To whom would be the one to die, well. Slate had a pretty good idea who wasn't seeing the stars tonight.

-------

"What the fuck is wrong with you people?" she spits, clutching at the fresh wound on her arm. They seem determined to rip her apart limb from limb, savages.

Almost as savage as she.

Blood trickles down her arm and seeps into her bandages covering old injuries. She should be used to the shock of pain after silver met her skin over and over and over again but every hit feels like the very first time Four cut open her chest by the Cornucopia. Perhaps this was punishment for biting off more than she could chew - but he was dead, and so was Doofus, and she was still here. Still breathing.

Still fighting.

Her voice is shaken, croaking and tired, but her words are fierce all the same. "If you're going to kill me, hahaha, do it quickly!!!"

Slate throws back her head and roars as she steps forward, fists white-hot around the handle of her handsaw. "Talk about amateur hour, ha-HAAA!"

If she's going to go down she'll go down swinging, so she follows Vargen's white-blonde streak of hair and lunges with his movements at the stranger who left his mark on her mere moments ago.

slate attacks ubbe, handsaw [sword]
uNO2VRJJTLsword
stabbed in hand 8 + 1 rivalry +1 blades

sword

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

Maybe I should care little bit more. Sapphire has been dragging along the death and I have not even been there for the final words. Her opinion of me should really be no matter at all but the quaking silence we hold in the depths of the night is enough to worry about that axe being planted into my skull as soon as I begin to catch my forty winks. I wonder if she will lay my body to rest somewhere, let me float away until the Capitol scoop me up and squash me into a wooden box. Or maybe it will be me holding the lantern lit vigil for the girl. The latter clearly being the most unlikely.

My backpack becomes the comfort of my head, there are no trees to rest upon by the water’s edge. Dreams of stepping onto the runaway boat are cast away, exhaustion from the three days have taken away any thought of experiencing a little joy and the pumpkin pastry will just have the be the little thrill that excites my taste buds. Hours wasted on learning the different edible plants and I have been hand delivered two delicately wrapped pies filled with enough nutrition to fill my gut all week. Holy shit this is a feast.

Sleep has become its own battle; temperatures are rolling around and I can feel ice creeping up my spine. Ground frost is no comforting mattress, even with the cloak protecting me from most of the elements.

Pain is slowly beginning to sneak away, even my fractured wrist is showing no signs of its injury, just the slight throbbing pain when I jerk it too quickly. How long will this equilibrium last for? It is unlikely my scars will have healed until the next weapon is laid on my skin or if a mutated beast is aimed our way. Mutants, where are this deformed little creatures hiding? Or this just going to be a clash against tributes the entire time. What a way to make my life easy.

I watch the anthem as it bellows from the sky, Torren’s memorial is first. There has been a lot of canons today and…holy shit. The Rasoio is dead! I have fucking outlived the Rasoio girl. I bet District Eight has thrown out all hope. ”Thank you for dropping the pressure onto me Laurel, your family must be losing their touch.”

Tipping the last dregs of my water down my throat, I try and call it a night. Maybe my body will freeze shut, I just hope hypothermia is a quick death if I am asleep through it all. Maybe Sapphire will put me out of my misery if I wake up with blue lips and no fingertips. I should really talk to that girl. There is a list of things I can thank her for.

---

"Who are you, and why shouldn't I kill you now?" In the first instance of meeting other tributes, words are drawn before weapons. The final career boy and it seems Sapphire is well acquainted. There it is then. We are alliance again and no questions have been asked. Hammerfell has his little meat shield at his shadow and I am just the Seven’s tag along. Business is open as usual and the career void has been filled. Thank fucking Ripred, I am going to live another day.

No, not them again.

Are there really no other people in this arena?

Here we are again; I may as well find my seat in the audience and ready my tissues for the performance. Amazingly handless and crazy bitch are still breathing but euthanasia would really be kind to them at this point, with the state they have rolled up in. ”Five, are you really alive? I think the blood on my sword is yours.”

Career boy and Sapphire are quick on jumping Nine’s crazy bitch. I may as well decorate my blade with whatever fluid is pumping through this girl’s veins to keep her alive. ”Hey Rhodes,” I think she is a Rhodes, or maybe that Mirimiri. One of the famous Eleven victor families anyway. ”This girl killed one of our allies, looks like she is not far from following him.”

Reyes attacks Penelope with Sword

zKbLRRvqNhsword

[1148 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage +1 blades]

sword

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Asari Rhodes

A shaky hand runs across the page of the coloring book bringing the once dull item to life. Only having eight crayons makes it a little harder to finish the task at hand, but Asari doesn't care because at this moment it's better than nothing.

Time doesn't exist right now, and all the pain in the world is gone. Back home, she enjoyed sitting out on the porch coloring while the sun went behind the horizon and the moon started lighting the way. In a way, this is the same exact thing. It's peaceful. It gives her something to do other than worry about the wounds from the day before.

It's beyond her where Ubbe ran off to, but at this moment she doesn't care. Being alone is a scary thing, but the world is hers right now, and she can't stop the grin from growing even larger. Smiling in a place like this is unheard of.

"Thank you, Harbinger." She whispers softly through the night hoping he can hear from wherever he's watching.

She only stops coloring when the anthem blares through the sky. Part of her wonders if Milo is still alive and well, but it's hard to know since she hasn't seen him since the bloodbath. At least his face isn't in the sky.

Stuffing the coloring book away, she gathers her belongings and moves from the building she's been staying in. Finding Ubbe is priority. Keeping him alive. Following in his shadows - she's just a shield for him, and she realizes he's using her for protection, but he's a friend. Just having company is important in moments like these. When she finds him, he's curled up sleeping, and Asari knows staying awake all night is hard, but watching out for the both of them - nobody deserves to die while they're sleeping. Nobody deserves a sneak attack when they're vulnerable and can't defend.

She stays all night leaned against the outer wall keeping watch hoping a time for sleep will come soon.

In the morning, Ubbe exits the building, and it's almost like she took him by surprise. It's definitely getting colder inside this place, but it's nothing compared to life back home. Those from higher districts seem to have it better, and Asari is envious of them, yet this is all she knows.

He walks away without saying a word, and the young girl follows in his shadow like she's done so many times before. The walk takes forever, but watching the scenery change is another punch to the gut. When Autumn struck, and the leaves fell changed colors and fell from the sky making piles upon piles on the ground, Asari would jump into them. This place, this arena, makes her miss home so much more than she ever imagined.

Ubbe stops in his tracks and speaks to someone, and all she can do is ready her weapon. Slowly inching forward, she listens to the conversation, and she watches as it's cut short by other tributes coming this way. Apparently they know one another.

All it takes is the guy from eight telling her they killed an ally.

This is the first time since the bloodbath that she's had other human contact, and it's the first time she'll strike someone hoping they die. Saving Ubbe is important, but making sure she stays alive is more important than anything.

Without another word, Asari joins the battle hoping to live just one more day.

Seventeen | District Eleven | Female

[googlefont="Oswald:400"]

Asari attacks Penelope with pitchfork

_eX5a8tgACspear

{ 3132 -- Block -- 0.0 damage }

accuracy reroll

spear

{ 3125 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage } spear·spear

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

✦

I don't dream.

Sleep does not evade me, but it comes and goes without notice. And the fatigue is still with me when I wake, heavy in my bones. I go to touch my cheek, to run my hands through my hair and put myself back together — but I can't. My arms are weapons now. I can never be gentle with anything ever again.

The pain is a memory burned into my skin; how Slate cored out the dead flesh of my wrists and whittled the axe handles into narrow points. And then came the union of bone and blade — and all I remember is the feeling. The sound I made. I woke up hours later covered in vomit, sweating, with flowers around me.

And I told Vargen to take them away. There was no point pretending that I was not a wretched thing; I am. I wear the filth on me like a second skin, the dark tangles around my face and the blood that has dried on me. My eyes are bruised and tired, limbs shaking on their own free will. I have ceased to be Penelope Marcet.

But that doesn't mean I'm worse than I used to be — and that doesn't mean I'm better. My identity has been stripped away to reveal nothing more than a girl, plain as day. I stand under the sun, searching for the stars, as if I have not already found their king. And it's warm, and it's good, but it burns. That doesn't mean it hurts.

Time moves slowly, and I move with it — and even with all my scars, that deep loneliness in my gaze, I never stop walking. I keep fighting. Every step is a war, and I do not know what it means to surrender. I wrap a red flag around myself, alarms blaring. And I'm the threat. I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

When stone gives way to a river's edge, and when enemies appear on the horizon, I have no shock or fear to display. I have become numb to this, to the constant power struggle between children wearing fake crowns. I recognize— remember— feel two of them; the memories are festering in torn skin. And I'd point at them if I could, but instead I only raise my weapon.

The boy from Eight speaks viciously, as I have grown familiar, and I scoff in response. "Yes, I'm alive." I say it to myself, too. I'm alive. "You think I'd miss the show?" And I laugh, trying to play the part, but the sound is still dry and broken. I cannot hide my wounds, and I cannot forgive them, so I embrace them. I am trying to hold them.

And then his sword greets me; and I stay standing out of spite. My chest is ripped open, my dress in tatters — and the pain is terrible, and the tears come naturally, but I've endured worse. So much worse. "Do you need help to kill me? Can't handle it yourself?" I look to the girl I don't know, jerking myself free of the blade and stumbling backwards.

Blood gushes down my chest, and I gasp, but I still manage to dodge her attack. I lift my axes once again, closing in on my target. "You'll need a fucking army. I refuse to die." I am feral, and I am fragile, and there is no line to walk between the two. Monsters can hurt — and scared little girls can destroy.

I choose to destroy.

( penelope attacks asari ; axe )
6GwaezEVPbaxe
( Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage | +1 strength )

axe

[sidney]

Slate notices it first.

Movement across the way, enough to draw the eyes and ears of my newfound alliance. Though are they really new to me anymore? How long have I known them now? Days? Weeks? Seconds in this place feel like hours, the days feel like weeks going by in an instant, maybe months instead actually, I’m not sure. What I do know is when Death hangs in the air like a foul stench that refuses to disperse, time becomes muddled.

So much so that lately I find myself in deep thought for hours on end, distracted and silent as we travel throughout the arena, segmented only by the fights we’ve engaged in or the few hours of sleep I manage to find as the stars fade into view.

But rest does not come easily to the weary, nor the weak.

I am both, with blood-stained hands and guilt weighing like lead in my gut. How many people have I seen die now? Two? Three? It churns my stomach that I can’t remember, that I have seen so much violence it has started to bleed together in haphazardly pixelated fragments, constant vicious flashes of the worst parts within my head. Playing over and over in an endless loop.

My first swing, the severing of a leg and the satisfaction that had followed. Penelope’s broken eyes the moment she lost her hands. The horrible scream from Slate as her foot was cleaved from her leg. The sickening cries from children as they crumpled beneath the blades of the same tributes who round the house just ahead.

The very ones I’m meant to trust.
But oh, how easily they take a life.

I must be able to do the same.
I must be able to turn my blade on them, too.
I must be able to kil—

Something moved over there.
Stay alert.

Whispers pull me from the dark thought, my head snapping toward where the girl from Nine points—where Vargen now stares, eyes gleaming with something like hunger. I slip my axe from within my belt and wrap my fingers tightly around the handle, pushing forward a few paces behind the others, ready to attack on their go.

Though I can’t help but wonder how long it will be until the silver-haired wolf from Seven looks at me the very same way.

—————

I follow Penelope’s lead, trailing behind her as we descend upon the river. Recognition comes as Vargen taunts the girl from Seven. I remember her. There’s a flash in my head back to the forest. Back to the blood-splattered leaves and all the limbs we’d left behind. I watch as she carves into Slate, a gash deep enough to reveal bone along her arm, and snarl, teeth bared in her direction.

You’ll pay for that.

But as soon as I go to move toward her, I hear Penelope behind me, fending off an attack from a new face entirely. She goes to strike again, misses, and I can’t help but let out a laugh—but to revere the girl standing before me with spikes for hands now, charging head first into battle and calling for an army to try and stop her.

Does she even need the help? Probably not, but I still change course to assist, but not before raising my axe and pointing it at Sapphire, eyes narrowed in her direction.

A promise to return—soon.

And then I turn on my heel and strike.

reggie attacks asari / axe

x5FUSHc2bDaxe

[ 11093 -- Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage | +1 strength ]

axe

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

Ubbe Hammerfell
cause you search for years
but you lose everything you find

This is what I've wanted in the midst of it all. A fight with other tributes is what I need to prove I'm the greatest of them all, and seeing that others are afraid me and attacking me makes me feel even stronger. It's the most important thing in this moment, but it's all blocked away when I hear Sapphire call me captain obvious because of what I've said. I nod my head in approval. I like it. I love it actually, and I want her to know that. "Captain Obvious. I like it." I know now isn't the time to focus on other things. Death is standing right before me, and I just have to make sure to make it out of here alive even if it means leaving Asari behind.

The first slice is nothing. Just a flesh wound like I've felt so many times before. The one that comes after that hurts. The sword is dug into my hand, and it's hard to open and close it, but I don't make a sound. I remember from days before Asari screaming over the slightest inch of pain. I am not her. I am from district two, and I cannot let the pain bother me. It hurts, but I keep it away from my face as I back away momentarily hoping to somehow figure out what to do next. Blood gushes from the gaping hole, and I need to fix it up, but staying alive is more important.

I watch as my allies attack, and they're all fighting so hard, and I know I need to keep up with them just to prove I'm strong. All I want is to bring honor to district two. I want to go home alive and live a happy life. My brothers have failed, and I just need to show that the Hammerfell family is a force to reckon with. It's hard to prove it though. I don't really know, and I don't think it matters anyway. I just ready myself, taking aim at the girl from nine like I've done before.

Template by Anzie

Ubbe attacks Slate | Spear

OMJYEinp3Rspear
3103 -- Deep Gash on Stomach -- 9.0 damage +1 strengthspear

[esther kim d3 {lance}]

"Captain Obvious. I like it." says the boy from Two, and you can't help but snort in response.

"You would," comes the reply, as much amused reply as thinly veiled barb.

But then you remember you're in the middle of battle, where each and every wasted second can be fatal. And though your first strike tears into the flesh and muscle of Slate from Nine's arm, there's no delusion regarding the danger of these new sets of foes.

Their ambush attack had claimed Cole, even though you and Reyes and Torren had ensured their victory was pyrrhic in nature, and they maintained the fortitude to survive what so many others the previous night had failed to, right down to handless from Five and the brooding boy from Twelve. And though you and Ubbe may have turned their own ambush tactic right around on top of them, you had no delusions that your own pact with Two and Eleven was tenuous at best, that once the fight turned deadly they would be no more reliable than anyone else until proven otherwise.

But right now, they weren't enemies. What could have effectively been a three versus one conflict had turned into an even fight on both sides. And for that, at least, you were grateful.

“Sapphire.” You'd think after spending two weeks living in the same space with him, having fought him once already and had thrown a pie at him in a fit of anger, you'd have learned to control the chill that ran down your spine every time your district partner spoke your name. But you haven't, and when you turn to face him, the smirk that crosses his face is no less unnerving than it had been in the past.

"Vargen," you respond, short, simple, steely. Your grip on your weapon tightens, and you tense. Watch. Wait.

“So, you have found yourself more shields. I am proud, Sapphire.” A mention to your new alliance, for unlike his own group Vargen would no doubt have seen the face of Torren in the sky, remembered all too fondly his role in Cole's end, known just how much worse your own luck had gone in favor of his, even as the rhetorical question you'd wondered a moment before is unknowingly answered. “Now, let us shatter them again. We will always be your ruin.”

You watch as the spear leaves his hands, scrapes Ubbe's hand in passing, before locking his gaze back to your own. "Personally, shields isn't what I'd describe Ubbe and his friend, especially since we only just met." That much is true - but you've already resigned yourself to the fact that however much you may try, you will never play the Games as strategically minded as you could. You could thank Ridley for that one. "But, I suppose you'll take any excuse you can get to avoid striking me down personally, am I right?"

Taunting the one boy who is easily the most sociopathic person in the entire arena probably isn't at the top of anyone's "How to Survive the Hunger Games" to-do list. But you're tired of being unnerved at Vargen's mere presence, tired of hearing his pretty little metaphors and righteous drivel.

But though you never expected it to come from him of all people, you understand the sentiment of reluctance when it comes to striking each other with the intent to kill. Because whatever twisted thoughts lie beneath his icy hairdo and behind his cold blue visage, he's still the boy from home.

And if home was a good enough excuse to team up with Torren, to refrain from retaliating against Ridley, then home is enough to ensure that when the first blow between the two of you falls, it will not be yours.

Either way, it's not your problem to worry about.

You turn towards Slate just as a declaration, as much fearful as fearsome, leaves her lungs. "If you're going to kill me, hahaha, do it quickly!!!" she taunts, or perhaps pleads. You can't tell. And yet again, four days into your own personal hell, the idea of severing someone's life from their body sickens you to your very core.

But who are you to deny the last request of a dying girl?

"Very well," you respond, in what you hope is an air of nonchalance. "Hold still, and I promise this won't hurt."

The least you could do is dish out the death that you wish to receive, anyways - quick and painless.

sapphire attacks slate; axe

2Eb2TaILfqaxe

11175 -- Severed Right Forearm at Elbow -- 9.5 damage

axe

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

The mist closed in around us, wet and heavy, pressing against weary limbs. Each breath seemed to become frost in my lungs; each breath began to burn coldly.

“Vargen,” she said—and held her ground, a stalwart tower bracing itself for impact. I let the fireplace poker from my grasp soar, but not at her. It cut the hand of the one who’d slashed at Slate and the cut is too shallow, not the river I want.

Our eyes locked; two forests, one twilight-dark and the other ablaze. Night and day. Winter and autumn. “Personally, shields isn't what I'd describe Ubbe and his friend, especially since we only just met.” She paused. “But, I suppose you'll take any excuse you can get to avoid striking me down personally, am I right?” At that, I let myself laugh and it was the same cruel sound, no honey over oats, but a thousand blades grating together in discordance.

        I was a sharp-edged thing, and nothing else.

“Yes,” I hissed at her. “I will let you live, Sapphire. I will let you run. I will let you watch the others die and only when you and I are the two alive, I will kill you.” There was no laughter in my words now. “You live and die, because of my mercy.”

I craned my head skyward to spare the misted skies a look, as if to search for a certain brown-haired man in between the adrift clouds. “Do you think Mackenzie will forgive me?” Eyes fell back onto Sapphire; a chortle of sound left me then.

        “Why am I asking, of course he will.”

Sapphire’s head turned; her blade leapt; a sound roared that rattled my bones. It was heart-wrenching almost, to see Slate Rothul wobble and collapse like a rickety house. The ground rose to meet her broken form, and she didn’t get up. “Slate,” I rushed to her side, brushing aside my cloak to sit down by her. Another field of roses blossomed under us, her blood so savagely red. I cupped her face in my palm, and offered her no lies, no honey-coated truths.

        She was dying—

and I let her know that with a heavy glance of my eyes. My fingers prickled and yearned to cloak her with wildflowers, sing the sweetest hymns, give her proper burial, but I could not. So, I kissed her forehead as a parting gift and rose back onto my two feet, facing Sapphire and the other man.

“Do you feel it, Sapphire? How your heart beats after that.” I jutted my chin at Slate. “That’s the thrill of a kill, the ecstasy of murder. It liberates you.” The axe girded around my waist shone when I took it out, an extension of my own savagery.

        “Perhaps we are alike after all.”

( Vargen attacks ❛ Ubbe ❜ | Throwing Axe 1/3 )

zCbbufZTLBthrowing axe

10149 -- Miss (Axe lost) -- 0 damage (Thrown Axe)

( Accuracy re-roll | Day 4 )

throwing axe

10064 -- Deep Gash on Stomach -- 9.0 damage (Thrown Axe) + 1.0 (Target Practice)

throwing axe·throwing axe

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

A perfect lunge and the sword prances across the girl’s chest, tearing away fabric and skin. An added souvenir of extra crimson stains is left behind on the blade, heavier than the novelty pumpkin but the weapon is a part of me now. It is only good fucking thing I am good at carrying and I hope to Ripred it is the sharp edge that will be cutting away a path for me to get out of here.

I just capture the mark I have left behind; a signature planted onto a girl and damn it sends a thrill through my limbs. I am in control, finally I can creep out of the shadow of the Seven and fend for myself. Lets make sure I can be consistent this time. Everyday an ally has fallen, it is about time I witness the death of an enemy. Enemies, I did not walk into this arena with a list of names but every scar I have left behind on the Eleven boy and now this District Five will be igniting a hatred inside of them and those that are willing to protect them. Fuck it, I am nearly halfway there, and my wounds are already healing.

Rhodes fails at following my lead and she is tragically punished by a battle of the axes. Better her than me. The mentioning of shields floats in the air, the dramatic Seven boy. Well damn they are both playing their part, Hammerfell already looks crushed. ”Come on Rhodes, you have got victor blood, at least leave a little cut behind.”

Death has been so slow over the past two days. Career boys torn to shreds, no instant decapitations or the popular blade in the eye that were overplayed on the archives in the training centre. It has been an orchestrated drag, a thriller for all those that seek joy in watching us flailing about and bleeding to death.

"Hold still, and I promise this won't hurt."

Another limb flies and the sweet sound of the cannon vibrates in my ears. I knew I liked that girl, what a great idea it was to ally with an axe wielding District Seven. At last a foe tastes a long overdue demise and the final career boy has not been seriously maimed…yet. Unlike the days before, death does not halt this battle, the rude dramatic boy still slings his weapon at the career. Damn, manners have been lost today.

”Clearly we need no army to kill you now. Although be kind and stand still, I’d like to copy Sapphire’s trick.”

Both hands grip onto the handle of my sword as I raise it to chest height. Through the grey air I claim my target, I plea to hear that cannon melody once more. These fights are becoming exhausting, if a blade does not kill me in this arena it will be fatigue. Let’s end this faster than how it started.

”Do you have anymore limbs for me to claim?”

Reyes attacks Penelope with Sword

bIJ1mCJAfVsword

[1122 -- Deep Gash on Right Calf -- 8.0 damage + 1 blades]

sword

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Asari Rhodes

Trying to stay alive isn't working out anymore. No matter where she turns someone is after her. Coming into this place, she knew what had to happen, but now that other humans are standing before her, Asari doesn't know what to do. For the longest time all she cared for was staying true to herself, yet this place makes it impossible. Everyone is locked inside this torture chamber with only one way out.

Even as the blood gushes down her arm, the mentality behind it all doesn't bother her. Someone else gets the chance to live, and she can't let that destroy her. Someone will make it out of this.

Yet the pain radiates through her entire body, but it's nothing compared to losing an ear. It's nothing compared to the heartbreak of watching family member die year after year for something they didn't do.

So when Reyes spews an insult, Asari turns to him wondering why he'd say such a thing. She didn't want this. She doesn't want to take the life of anyone even if it means dying in return. All she has, and all she cares about is the kindness that she leaves behind. This kid volunteered for this, he chose to enter this life, but she didn't. It's just the simple fact that nobody is stupid enough to volunteer in place of a Rhodes.

Everyone deserves a chance in this world, and it's not her place to stop someone from living. Watching a friend die, that's not on her mind. Friends are meaningless here because they all have to meet their end eventually, yet having someone to talk to keeps her going when all hope is gone.

All it takes is a moment, and a severed limb, and she's on the ground. Asari looks at the girl she just met moments ago. Seeing death in person is so much different than watching it from a screen back home. It changes it all, and standing here watching it happen - I can't even save her.

What's the point?

A broken heart shatters inside her chest.

They're trying to kill her friends. They're trying to kill those working with her, and even though she's very aware they're using her, it doesn't make a difference. All of her life she lives under the motto so others may live, and it works perfectly here.

Her attention turns to the face of the girl from five.

Reyes is right. Asari has victor blood flowing through her veins, but what he doesn't know is it doesn't exist.

So others may live.

It has many different meanings, but maybe striking someone down is helping keep those she cares for alive. Every deserves a chance, and maybe this can prove that she's here to win it all. Making it home alive is a wonderful prize, but is it worth it?

Only time will tell.

All she has is this moment, and maybe it's time to take a stand before someone else meets the same fate as the people who have died so far.

Seventeen | District Eleven | Female

[googlefont="Oswald:400"]

Asari attacks Penelope with pitchfork

2mjJWczhJ7spear


{ 3110 -- Shallow Cut on Left Calf -- 3.5 damage } spear

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

✦

Slate is dead.

And I can't find the metaphor in that.

It's only a body — and fresh blood on the grass, and an axe in the air, and dead eyes staring up at a dark sky. The sun is low, and gone, and I miss her. I miss the strange little girl, and her rage. I want to go to her, to take her in my arms like I have the right, but I cannot hold her. I cannot save her.

I cannot stop death, prideful as I am.

I force myself to turn away, to block out Vargen and his district partner and the words they share — and I am confronted by my attackers, by a hateful boy and a girl I cannot name. And if I'm honest, I don't want to. It makes this easier. She is a stranger to me, a background character in a horrible bedtime story.

And I want to be the one to wake up.

"I won't stand still for anyone."

I match his gaze, clenching my teeth and my fists — and I want to tear into the world, to watch it die at my feet and make it regret ever hurting me. But I am still bleeding, and I am hurting, and there is no army to save me. No one can be saved — and I cannot save anyone. Not Slate, and not myself.

Safety is not survival.

I'm alive. I'm alive. I'm alive.

And she isn't. She is dead. All of these corpses have names.

I have a name. I have not lost myself.

"You can call me Penelope.
I'm not some joke for you to tell."

( penelope attacks asari ; axe )
Lr79xNc2vRaxe
( Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage )

axe

[sidney]

I watch as she falls, Slate Rothul, and my heart breaks into a million pieces. It can’t be real. It can’t be. She’s fine. She’ll get up just like she did yesterday. And the day before. She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. Denial encompasses me for a brief moment, a split second where I try to bargain with the universe.

Let her be fine. Please. Just let her get up. She’s fine.

I try so desperately to convince myself this isn’t her end as Vargen lunges for her, falling to his knees beside her. But he kisses her forehead and that’s when I know—that’s when acceptance creeps up my spine in a chill, when her eyes to go skyward and lifeless. I can almost feel the handle of my axe begin to splinter within my grasp as anger builds in my veins, pointed and determined to be expressed, but it’s clouded by sadness, drenched in the cold autumn air and the same blood staining the ground beneath my feet.

“No,” I mutter softly, beneath my shaky breath.

Is this what Nico felt? What they all feel, the Victors? Excruciating pain, as if one’s insides are being torn to shreds by one of the Capitol’s new mutts, watching helplessly as those you agreed to protect fall dead at your feet. I think of him in this moment, as the last little bit of air escapes the girl from Nine. I think of watching him, limbless and scared, on the tiny screen in his mother’s house as his allies were slaughtered left and right. I think of Taylor, her hand clutched tightly around my own, incapable of tearing her gaze away from the horror.

But most of all I think of the very question I’d asked her before looking away, unable to watch any longer: How do you reconcile surviving?

You don’t.
I realize that now.

There’s no rhyme or reason it’s her lying on the ground instead of me, but there’s a tiny part of me that wishes we’d switched. That I was the one being kissed on the forehead, the one mourned for just a moment before forgotten, the one who will live on in memories. It sounds far nicer than being the one to kill every last person in here with me.

Blaaaaaahhhh idk the rest of this will be finished later cuz I’m in class right now!!!! Ugh. But reggie is BrOkEn after watching slate fall and can’t even really think straight, almost going catatonic but vargen and pen pull him out of it as they keep fighting and he decides to use the pain, and rages. And despite how much he wants to just curl up in a ball and cry right now ): he lunges forward with tears in his eyes instead, ready to make someone—anyone—pay for her life with their own.

reggie attacks ubbe / axe

muoxIIqylKaxe

[ 11159 -- Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage ]

axe