The Bloodbath

[sidney]

May 10, 2020 12:08:14 GMT -5 sidney said:

jasen hargrove / 4th post - 3rd attack / 1025

JASEN

It’s deafening, the cheers from the crowd. So much so that it drowns out the muffled voices and clanging of swords behind him. For just a moment, everything goes quiet and Jasen feels at peace. Even with a gaping wound across his arm, blood soaking the ridiculous outfit they gave him, and a girl’s severed head at his feet—he finds a sense of calm. Long enough to swallow the lump that’s been working up the back of his throat. Long enough for him to carve out the little boy filled with hope and promise that still lived in his chest but died the moment he took his first life, and toss it onto the dirt.

He doesn’t need it anymore; shouldn’t be allowed to have it anymore. That piece of him was sacred. Innocent and untouched by sin or arrogance. It has no use here. They dressed the tributes up as gladiators for a reason; they don’t get to go back to being children after this.

Leave that girl alone.

The tone is sharp, firm and pleading as it calls to him. He’s pulled from his temporary stupor and heads off in the direction of the next fight he can find. But not before he blows a kiss to the crowd. As he closes the distance between him and the three girls who seem to find themselves in a stand-off not too far away, he tears a piece of his shirt away and wipes the crimson stains off his sword as best he can. Not that it matters. Not that it won’t end up just as drenched twenty-three more times over.

Twenty-two, he notes quietly to himself as another meets their demise on the other side of the arena. I hope it was painless for her, too.

Fight me instead.

“Really? Morality in here? You do realize where we’re standing, right?” Jasen lets out a bellow, nearly keeling over from the irony. “I guess you can find the moral high ground anywhere, huh?” He brandishes the sword with two hands, squares his shoulders just like Charlotte taught him, a distant part of him wondering if she’d be proud of him or terrified.

“Your wish is my command.”

And with the might of a man who’d just beheaded the first person that dared to look at him, he swings.

( attacks paks )

gG3Bf_vZkbsword

[ Severed Left Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage ]

sword

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

May 9, 2020 22:42:31 GMT -5 D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] said:

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #2 | No Attack]

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #3 | 5124]

[googlefont="Great Vibes"][googlefont="Caveat"]

Daisy Holliday

3. Perennial

Well, that didn't work out.

I reckon I spent a solid minute just walking around, swinging my sword all willy nilly and trying to look as much like a deadly killer as I possibly could. Heck, I thought I was doing a pretty good job of it! All the while I just kept thinking "staybackstaybackstaybackstayback." I dunno, I guess I hoped my sword swinging would get people to leave me alone.

Turns out it had the opposite effect. Before that nobody had even really noticed I was here. Now I'm swinging and already another kid comes up to me! He's smart enough to stay away from where my sword could hit 'em. I was thinking "aw shoot, better say goodbye to my head." But then I notice he ain't attacking me; he's trying to talk to me!

I hear him say "Hey, you're really going to hurt someone with that. I would say that's the point, but you're not standing near anyone, so…"

Well, shoot. I wasn't looking as badass as I thought I was.

And to make it even worse, this boy was a cutie-pie! Maybe not Whelan Fray-level cute, but still pretty close! And here I am, making a fool of myself. But hey, it's the Hunger Games! Can't go speed-dating with people that I need to see die to win. Now I just gotta hope he ain't about to chop me up.

At this point I decide to just put my sword in my belt. I ain't using it for much, and shoot maybe I could use a talking partner! Seems like most other people are either hacking away or hiding or bumbling around, so this boy may be as good as it gets.

I say to him "Well heck if I'm getting too near anyone anytime soon!" and then I point to where Little Miss Headless' little husk is and I tell him "Did you see that girl get her head chopped off? No sir I don't want that happening to me anytime soon." I don't know if he replied or anything though, because that's when a feel myself get a bump from behind.

Now the thing you need to know about me is that when it comes to fight or flight? I'm a fighter. Can't help it. Something spooks me and I'll punch it. Act first, think eventually. You get the idea. So I don't even register that it's one of the younger kids that bumped into me before I'm taking a swing.

Daisy Attacks Nadia unarmed
OtBsWHg9gTunarmed
Results: 5124 -- Knocked Backwards -- 0.5 damage (Unarmed)

unarmed

[k!ah]

May 10, 2020 17:22:00 GMT -5 k!ah said:

[Nadia Ivanov | d6f | post 3 | no attack]

Nadia Ivanov | d6f | post 4 | attack: 5081

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/Nx8fr6b.jpg); background-position: top; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-color: 403722; width: 375px; padding:8px; border: 0px solid #948C75;] n a d i a. ✸   ✸   ✸ "Sound the bugle now Tell them I don't care There's not a road I know That leads to anywhere. " Hands crash into her shoulders and shove her towards the ground. The girl looks mad and fear races through her, she wants to stay on the ground. To duck her head. To not look the girl in the eye, like a scared animal, believing that if you looked inferior that maybe they would lose interest and train their focus on a more ferocious beast. She must have looked pathetic. She was being tossed around like a bag of sand. She hadn't even tried to fight back. It was like a cat had her tongue and refused to give it back. * "Where is your back bone, Nadia?" His voice is angry, but not harsh. "People are just going to walk all over you if you don't stand up for yourself. You need to stand up for yourself. Is that what you want? Do you want to just be that submissive girl who doesn't know how to voice what you want?" His words cut her like a knife. She didn't want to be that. She didn't want to be a push over. She wanted to be confident. Like her mother. She wanted to be strong. Like her mother. She wanted to be able to voice what she wanted. Like her mother. Tears being to well in eyes that were identical to her mother. Her bottom lip trembles. "Would she be ashamed?" Her eyes met her fathers and he instantly softened, pulling her into his arms her ran a hand through her hair, calming sounds rumbling deep in his throat. "Nadia, my sweet Nadia. Your mother would be so proud of who you have grown up to be. So proud." She cried into his arms then, not holding back the sobs that shook her body. Not holding back the tears that soaked into her father lined shirt. They never spoke of her. Her father often never in the right frame of mind. But she couldn't help it. She wanted to feel near her. She missed her so so much. "I want to make her proud." * I was going to make her proud. Swallowing all her fear she climbs to her feet. Her hands still shook and she fought to hold them steady. Look her in the eye, she silently instructing. Be brave. Be brave like the girl who took a blade in the back for you. Maybe that girl was right. Maybe they did have no other choice but pick up a blade and swing. Her heart pounded in her ears, her mouth was drier than a desert. She licked her lips. Putting her sword in her belt she balled her fists. She would not use her sword. Not if she didn't have too. "I've never hit someone before. But I guess you- this whole situation- doesnt give me much of a choice." Taking deep breath, she swings I can be brave. "Without a light, I fear that I will Stumble in the dark Lay right down, decide not to go on."

[attacks Daisy Holliday: unarmed]
p_a|rtBMluunarmed
[Broken Right Arm -- 6.5 damage]

unarmed

[Arrows]

May 10, 2020 4:47:20 GMT -5 Arrows said:

[Remus / Attack #1 / 5114]

[Remus / Attack #2 / 1058]

REMUS

Across the arena, this Colosseum of Casualty, a bounty of roses blooms from beneath the sodden sands. Their thorns are the swords of the tributes and their bright petals the spilling of blood. Growing forth from a layer of languish, they do not reach for the Sun's light. Instead, these flowing pools of petals rise up through the air in search of a dead moon. Hearts, heads, and limbs loiter the Earth, the sustenance of their roots. Remus has always dreamt of fields full of flowers, but those are the flowers of life and these are flowers of the fallen.

"Shut up! She's a kid! A fucking kid!"

Remus screams tearing the threads of his vocal chords crying out against the crowd's cruel crescendoing cheer. Again water wells in Remus' eye, but is entirely the result of hate. Around the circumference of the circular structure faces are following swords with excitement, begging for another child to cry on a final bed of ashes. This is not war, this is not punishment, this is wrong. What kind of country kills kids for a Rebellion and then cheers while they do it? Somewhere in District Four another family is sobbing in unison with this symphony of sorrow. What if she had just wanted to see the flowering fields too?

That's when the sword shines against the sky, its steel a sheen of stolen scarlet. The boy who had sliced the girl's head clear off her body welcomes the rejoice, showers in the abominable adoration. Every fiber of Remus' being flames into fury. The seconds that the boy stands swinging his sword around like some kind of hero, images flash through Remus' mind. Photographs of memories, fallen faces mutilated trying to stop this terror. Awful deaths that this boy is mocking. The deaths of Remus' family. This is the first time the sword has felt right in Remus' hands.

That's when the boy Remus punched speaks again, his voice the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. A victory speech, a fucking victory speech. Those are the worries of this boy. Literal limbs are lining the ground around him, and he is angry over some hypothetical speech of victory. Who are these people that they get to still be living when those who wanted a world of warmth are dead? His fist flies and Remus slides a step out of its way. The sword in Remus' hands begins to move too easily.

"No one wins this, this is an execution with a survivor."

A tear falls from Remus' face as his sword swings. It lands among the red roses emerging as a single poppy. Remus needs to see the fields, he wants to pluck the fragrant flowers and waft in the sweetness of their smell. But if he has to uproot and replace every rose in this place for a poppy first, then so be it. 

Remus attacks Eros Desrosier :: Sword
nZxGOi2ltzsword
{Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage}

sword

[ali]

May 10, 2020 5:24:04 GMT -5 ali said:

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #2 // 5077

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #3 // ####

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #2 // 5077

Desdemona Shaw

That I'd fallen for a lie
You were never on my side
Fool me once, fool me twice
Are you death or paradise?

As the little girl fell away, into the chaos, Desdemona let out a sound, something between a gasp and a scream that came from deep in her gut as the strangers sword sliced into her back. Turning to face the girl she had made the mistake of attacking. Her wounds stung as the air filled with sand and dust kicked up from the children clamouring for a chance to live. Desdemona had once dreamed of living too- for a long time- but like sand through her fingers, that dream was slipping away. The girls screaming filled her ears before she felt the cold sword slice into the soft skin of her chest.

"Please....." She sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she gripped the hilt of her sword, her knuckles and finger tips caked with blood. Her arms felt like lead as she struggled to hold up the weapon, her shoulders heaving with each breath she took. "Just...please..." she begged, though she wasn't quite sure what she was begging for as her knuckles gripped the sword tighter still. Sniffling, she scrunched her eyes tightly, Desdemona lowered her sword slightly, wanting to give up. 

You're a failure. You have been since the day you were born.

Opening her eyes, she gripped her sword tighter, her skin burning as it rubbed against the leather hilt as she let out a pained, agonising scream as she lunged forward, driving her sword towards the girl. 

Desdemona Shaw [D2F] attacks  Desdemona Shaw [D2F] attacks Petra Vanburen, D1F [Dars] with Sword
Acf8EX5ieosword
[attack]

lyrics: no time to die by billie eilish

sword

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

May 10, 2020 23:54:40 GMT -5 D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] said:

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #3 | 5124]

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #4 | 1184]

[googlefont="Great Vibes"][googlefont="Caveat"]

Daisy Holliday

4. Cut at the Stem

Now, I felt real bad about shoving the little girl once I realized what I had done. I wanted to avoid them if I could. Once I got a good look at this young thing all I could think about was Rosie back home. Gosh, did I ever miss her. I missed all of the family. I was sure that they'd be watching this moment and probably telling me to beat this girl's ass. But I was starting to learn that it's not exactly easy when you're in here and thinking about who these people are, or when you see someone you love in them. I was getting in my head about it, and that's not a place I wanted to be. That's for damn sure.

I'm looking down at this girl that I shoved as she stands back up, and she's shaking worse than a tree in a tornado. I was starting to feel real bad about hitting the poor thing. But as I opened my mouth to give my apologies I hear her speak:

"I've never hit someone before. But I guess you - this whole situation - doesn't give me much of a choice."

It takes me a couple of seconds to process what it is she's saying. Shoot, she wants to fight me? But while I'm giving this a big ol' thought, the little sucker breaks my arm!

Having a broken arm ain't fun, I can tell you that much. She strikes me and suddenly my arm's hurting more than a cow in a butcher's shop. This pain gets me hollering as it shoots up my arm. What's even worse: she broke my punching arm! I was using that! At this point all it's doing is dangling down at my side and hurting.

After that I ain't feeling so bad anymore. She just made my journey home a little bit harder, the little sucker.

I look over at her and shout out, "That was my punching arm!" Then, with my other arm I pull my sword back out. Not going to lie, trying to hold that sword in my non-punching hand was a funky feeling, and I knew I was going to have a tougher time trying to use it than I would've with two healthy arms. But once again I heard Pa saying "no sense getting worked up over something you can't change." I couldn't unbreak my arm, so no sense dwelling on it.

With one speedy move I brought my sword down towards the girl. Now ain't a time to be a dweller.

It's time to be a doer.

Daisy attacks Nadia with her sword.
fDFm5qLEgqsword
Result: 1184 -- Deep Gash on Forehead -- 9.0 damage (Sword)

sword

[k!ah]

May 11, 2020 0:45:45 GMT -5 k!ah said:

Nadia Ivanov | d6f | post 4 | attack: 5081

Nadia Ivanov | d6f | post 5 | attack: 1129

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/Nx8fr6b.jpg); background-position: top; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-color: 403722; width: 375px; padding:8px; border: 0px solid #948C75;] n a d i a. ✸   ✸   ✸ "Yeah You're a soldier now Fighting in a battle. " Her fist connect with flesh. She hears a sickening crack. Followed by a howl of pain. Nadia cringes, all the blood draining from her face. What had she just done? She just broke a girls arm. She starts shaking again, taking a few steps back her hands raised in front of her. She felt sick. How could she be so cruel? How could she think that was something that her mother would be proud of.As if begging was going to save her now. "I- I- I'm sorry," she stammers, once again apologising. She was always apologising. Just like her father. Could she not think of anything else to say? The girl takes no notice of her apology, her eyes blazed with fury as her voice steep in anger, "that was my punching arm!" Her hands snake towards her belt, encases the hilt of her sword. Once again Nadia finds herself retreating. She wanted to be brave but when facing death in the face all she was was scared. "Please- please! I- didn't- I don't want-" She stumbled over her words, her mind scattered, struggling to put together a coherent thought. She was going to die. The though hits her as though the girl in front of her had taken another shot. As though she had buried her fist into Nadia's gut. She was going to die. Here surrounded, by the children who were butchering one another. Surrounded by children who begged for their lives. Surrounded by children who cut them down without a second thought. She just had to look to her left and she could see the destruction. A severed head lay in the dust, lifeless eyes staring right at her, deep into her soul. What had been the last thought to cross her mind before it was parted with the rest of her body? To her right was an arrangement of severed limbs. Limbs for crying out loud. A foot lays several feet away. Jagged flesh surrounded white bone. Blood pooled around it. Her stomach twisted. How long until part of her was thrown into the growing pile? How long until she was just another body to add to the count? Suddenly the flesh above her eyes felt like it was on fire. She screams, her hands flying to her forehead. She pulls one away to find it sticky with blood. Her blood. For a moment she can't do anything but stare at it, her body completely frozen. She face felt like it was on fire, and she could not hold back the pain cries. Her eyes travel to the sword in the blonde girls hand. A fresh layer of crimson liquid dripped from the end. Her blood. She felt the warm liquid drip down her cheeks, merging with her tears. I don't want to die. The thought drives her to reach for the hilt of her sword. What else was I supposed to do. Thats what the girl who saved her had said. She hadn't understood at first. But now she did. She didn't want to die- so what else was she supposed to do? She said the only other words that her father had spoken to her as they dragged her away: "forgive me." "To be free once more Yeah, that's worth fighting for."

[Nadia attack Daisy Holliday with sword]
jtqbpz3L2Rsword
Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage

sword

[Cait]

May 10, 2020 1:02:18 GMT -5 Cait said:

[d10f - robyne hawn - post 2 - no attack]

[d10f - robyne hawn - post 3 - no attack]

robyne hawn

“I’m sorry.”

Me too, me too. We didn’t belong here – but I didn’t know that, not really. We’d sat in silence for all of five minutes, making the most of our final breaths before the bloodshed stained our lungs. Like the eye of a hurricane, we were the calm weather at the centre of the world – but I knew nothing about him. He could be a rebel, or a fighter, or a Capitol worshipper. I’d probably never know which.

I don’t think it matters to me in the end. But I’m scared of him and what I don’t know. A storm can change so quickly, and I could be thrown into the strong winds in a single moment of imprudence. So I keep my guard up, in fear of his true colours being revealed. It’s easier to pretend we’re both as innocent as one another.

I wanted a friend, but those aren’t allowed in here. And I think it’s for the best. It just makes the killing harder.

He must realise it, too. For as quickly as he came, he is on his feet with his sword back in hand.

He speaks quickly, and I’m grateful for it. There’s no time for me to panic for my life, or cry that my time is up already.

He won’t hurt me.

But as he turns his back on my newly shed tears, I realise he already has.

Don’t go.

I’m not ready to be brave yet.

I watch September leave, hesitantly at first, before finding his legs and candor and swinging his sword with bone-chilling ease. A scream escapes my mouth – I’m too slow to capture it with my hands. It’s wishful thinking to hope the others are too engrossed in their killing match to ignore me. It’s only a matter of time before someone else comes seeking out the kids who can’t even hold a blade.

My second harsh truth:

I can’t trust anyone in here.

Red blurs my vision as limbs fly through the air in the distance. Blood. More than I’d ever thought of witnessing, my parents sheltered me so. But the others don’t seem to even blink, one attack after another, desperate for a hit.

I force my eyes away from the falling body of a girl to my right – not me, not me – only to come face to face with a sword in the sand. It taunts me, gleaming in the sunlight. Challenging me to try. I’ve probably never held anything as heavy as it before, let alone tried to wield such a thing.

Are you strong enough to try?

Waiting, waiting, as the war rages on.

I don’t want to die.

But I don’t want to be a killer.

The two don’t add up, but I want them to so badly.

As I struggle to find a way to make 1 and 1 equal 3, September’s words ring through my head.

“I don’t think fighting anyone in this close of a space is safe.”

He’s right.

All around me children lunge forward, hungry to live. Ready to fight for that right.

I wish I could do the same. But I’m not a monster.

Maybe out in the open, I’d stand a chance. Not in combat, but in evasion. But how long could I run rings around the arena before the novelty wore off – before a sword was sent flying through the air, aimed at the ‘X’ over my heart?

Would I find out?

Maybe, if I stay here, in the shadows of my cage, they’ll forget about me altogether. Nobody had to know, right? They’d save a girl who just wants to see their mum last time, give her dad one more hug.

Right?

The crowd erupts into a cheer, as if in agreement with my thinking. It should be a relief to hear; it sounds like a death sentence.

I don’t know what to do; all I can do is sit and cry.

Make it stop.

Take me home.

template by Chelsey

[shrimp]

May 9, 2020 15:41:58 GMT -5 shrimp said:

[zephyr] kestell | post #2 | —

[zephyr] kestell | post #3 | 1012

[attr="class","w460"]

_\|/_

Sailors have cursed the sea, the winds, and their fickle nature for as long as man has sailed out on the waters (and as long as scholars have written of them). But you know the morning breeze is just as evil as the nighttime typhoon. She is what she is, shifting and turning and carrying a tune across the grassy hilltops that have turned golden and parched, soaring through unkempt gardens and taking root in small nooks made of gypsum or stone. She is languid and she is tempestuous. She is everything until she chooses: a storm of endless possibility.

You take a deep breath and she is in your lungs as you walk away; if you believed in one God or many you would surely be muttering prayers, begging for penance, for forgiveness, for the power to take matters into your own hands. For the screams around you have turned from one kind of horror to another: a roar that erupts and blisters, rendering your temper to a simmer, the edge of it melting. Your heart beats, but not with the adrenaline of the tribute who roars along with the crowd, the head of his victim still wobbling on the sand-swept floor. There is still a fire ignited in your belly, but there is also the heaviness of a sinking stone.

You are already disgusted, you want no part of it. You want to be back in your archives, or back home with your parents, or back in the ruins of your University, But to do so there is only one way forward. You must submit today to rise above tomorrow. Still, though your facts are indisputable, you want to scream.

Is it so wrong, to want to live?

You spiral into another: it is not on purpose, but it doesn't matter—you picture a sword cutting through your stomach, a sword stabbed through your chest, a sword grazing across your throat, a sword cutting off your head—and your fear takes root as you leap backwards with a short yelp, swinging your own weapon with pure momentum, little drive in your grip. It goes wide, of course it does, and

"Is your first reaction always to swing at people?" and you can't help but think are you fucking kidding me and move to respond, indignant—"Is my first—" before their own sword gets caught in your eyes and you stumble to the side, feeling a quick flash along your thigh. And oh, now this is real, and now this is personal. You couldn't hit the tribute who had stared at you like a deer, alarmed and unsure and in the path your Mother's headlights as the two of you screamed and hit the brakes on the car. But this one isn't; this one fights back and then expects you to stop swinging.

"Well tell me, then," you respond, your voice arid, your grip tightening. "You've got any better ideas?"

Stepping forward you swing haphazardly, the weight of it still unbalanced and foreign. Your eyes narrow, nearly close, but you will yourself to stare at their face. A choice has been made. So they deserve to see your eyes, flickering like candlelight.

"I'd love to hear them."

[zephyr] attacks september | sword
1LZ2pOG|fDsword
1012 — Deep Gash on Back of Head — 9.0 damage

[newclass=".w460"]width:460px;[/newclass]
sword

[cass]

May 10, 2020 21:23:26 GMT -5 cass said:

henry hughes | post 4 | attack 1098

henry hughes | post 5 | no attack

HENRY -

A storm is gonna come
Who's the one now watching you?
Who says your rights are wrong?

She fell. Just like that as his knife slid into her leg and he pulled it out she was done. Henry Hughes turned around, turning his gaze to the crowd who roared, cheering him on for his victory. Celebrating her death. He loved this, he had to find another one, someone else to take out. This wasn’t the end, not yet, he wasn’t ready.

It had awakened something within him, a feeling that he had buried for three years within that cell. The blood that covered his sword glimmered in the light of the day, and he ran a hand over it, shuddering at the warm contrast against the cold steel. It was like a kiss on a cold winter's night when his mother had tucked him into bed and brushed one on his head. He blinked, vanishing the image from his head, flicking the sword aside, to watch as the blood-spattered into the dirt.

When he looked to his right he froze. His brow furrowed in confusion, and slowly he took a step closer, he peered, staring past a screaming boy, watching as a limb went flying to see a kid sitting in a cage. There, it seemed she had remained in the same spot since the beginning of the chaos, curled up, looking terrified, and ready to die. Henry moved forwards, hand tightening around the hilt of his sword, eager for a new fight. She looked useless, he knew that, there was no way a thing of that size could even pick up a sword. Maybe he could have some fun.

The pain in his arm ebbed, fading into the background, along with the screaming around him. He was an animal, honing in on his prey. With a delicate sidestep around some girl's head, he reached the front of the cage, where the young girl sat. She had short choppy hair that flowed around her terrified looking eyes.

Henry plopped himself down beside her, just in time to hear her whimper. “You know, I killed that girl right there,” he lifts up the sword pointing to Sutton’s dead body. “It’s fun, you should just give it a try,” he turned to face her, raising an eyebrow, “didn’t your Ma ever tell you to at least try something before deciding you didn’t like it?” Henry pulled the sword closer, running a finger along the edge of the blade.

”You just gotta embrace it, it ain’t too bad, killing someone is like riding a bike, you stab ‘em, they bleed, just like if they fell off the bike. You kill ‘em they die, you know, people die riding bikes,” He didn’t think she was actually going to get up and attack anyone. She was useless, she sure as hell looked like she was going to shit herself. He took a tentative sniff, well, at least she hadn’t shat herself just yet.

- HUGHES.

[pup]

May 9, 2020 22:52:28 GMT -5 pup said:

[arc dorado d2m | attack #3 | 1007]

[arc dorado d2m | attack #4 | 1102]

Although we each had our own time to slice at each other, our own distractions, our own mistakes, we kept barely landing hits on each other. Our blood dripped rather than pooled together, and the crowd was getting bored. I needed to show that I could step up to this, get some real action in. If I was going to be a victor, I couldn't be the one who sat there the whole games scratching someone like a deranged cat.

He says that he highly doubts I'm his worst nightmare. Oh, how little he knows.

As my last hit lands on his thigh, I grin at him. "Ok, babe." I say with a small laugh, "This clearly isn't getting us anywhere." We're too evenly matched. It would be best for me to save my energy, kill a few smaller kids to get the crowd riled up for me, then head back over to hopefully get in more than just a few scratches. I brandish my sword, pulling it into a defensive position just in case he chooses to slash at me once more.

I take a step back, it would be easy enough to kill him later on. When he's tired and worn down, I'll make sure to turn his head into a nice decoration. It'll be a token of the start of my victory. I grin, "Kill ya later."

I promise you'll see how much of a nightmare I am.

Moving away from him, I make sure that he's not following me, readying himself to stab me in the back. Honestly, that's what I should be doing, but I'll have time for him later. Now, I need to stop falling behind. The crowd's cheers rain like thunderclaps down into the arena, encasing everything with their screams for bloody murder. Someone else had fallen, a few limbs had gone flying, and the crowd was a mixture of boos and applause, but none of it was for me. That needed to change.

I turn, baring my teeth into a grin as I brandish my sword. There was a boy, just a bit smaller than me, who was just standing there, waiting for someone to walk over and kill him. I almost laugh when I see the sorry sight. He'd be a lot easier to kill than my last murder crush.

"So are you just waiting around for someone to kill you or something?" I say to the kid, raising my sword with a wink, "Cause I can help you out with that."

---

[attacks Alistair 8m with sword :hellkim:]
_ETCDRcVQCsword
[dg on right calf - 8]

sword

[kap]

May 10, 2020 19:34:12 GMT -5 kap said:

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[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 5/Attack 1 | 1173]

[googlefont="Marck Script"]Alistair Ranger

"Wake me up,
Won't you wake me up,
I'm caught in a bad dream,
Caught in a bad dream"

~

I hear a voice speak to me, just before the blade brandished by the voice's owner cuts into my right calf pretty deep. I let out a yelp in response. My hands start shaking, but I have to stop them and get it together. There's no time for deep breaths this time. I don't know what my moms and siblings are thinking of me right now. I don't know if they want me to fight or not, but I'll never know unless I actually do fight and make it out of here alive.

My family would never be able to tell me how they felt if I didn't see them again, so there was no choice. I would either fight my way back home, or die trying. I hear cheers erupt from the crowd as a second tribute falls at the end of someone else's blade. I didn't want anyone to cheer if I killed this boy, but I couldn't stop that if it happened.

I tightened my grip around my sword. I had to keep repeating it to myself. I have no choice. I have no choice. I have no choice.

"I- I'm not just some piece of meat for you to hunt and kill!" I snap back at him.

I swing my sword, refusing to let myself close my eyes no matter how much I want to, just to look away and forget what I'm doing. Although, deep down, I'm hoping it meets its mark. It makes me feel like a terrible person, but I have to defend myself if I want to make it home.

I have no choice.

~

lyrics: "Bad Dream" by Ruelle

[D8M Alistair Ranger attacks D2M Arcturus Dorado]
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[1173 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage]

swordoEzPZtJ37A

[aya]

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alexei daine

It ceases to feel like real life the second a head is pared from its body and rolls across the sand, red ribbons left in its wake. The boy who struck the blow clearly does not regret that he'd done it, instead he thrusts his bloody sword into the air in time with the chants of what must be his name — Jasen! Jasen! Jasen! — Jasen the Executioner — and turns his violent gaze back to the fray.

Alexei looks away before they lock eyes, lest she become his next target. She's not afraid of anyone — of anything — but if she wants to walk out of here alive, avoiding the sort of boy who's reveling in cleaving a head from its shoulders is probably a good decision. See? She's got a plan. Ha. And her sisters chide her for never thinking things through.

But don't fight must inevitably come to an end on a hundred-yard field filled with kids swinging swords. Everyone else has already decided that they don't want to die. She looks away from the foot left ownerless in the sand. She looks away from the boy from her district hacking a hand from another's wrist. It feels surreal. It feels too real. Alexei tightens her grasp on her hilt, as if this will be enough force her hand to remain attached to her body. She was just caught off-guard before. The field is empty of obstacles, and nothing will come in from the picturesque sky.

A girl sidles up near her, crouched as though to strike; Alexei steps away. Go fight someone else. She wills it with a glower, and within seconds her wish is granted by whatever entity sent her here for wanting some place to prove herself.

(Prove what, she doesn't know. She doesn't know. She wanted to do — something. Not this. Not this.)

Steel screams at her — Alexei has half a second to weave her head, to keep her skull from being split like firewood, but doesn't make it far enough. The bite is blinding. She blinks, and blinks again, everything but the adrenaline receding.

Her left side sounds underwater. Under blood, actually, she supposes. Deep breath, and she steels herself to strike —

"Leave that girl alone," someone intervenes, positioning herself between Alexei and her assailant. "And fight me instead."

It isn't until the interceder thrusts her sword that Alexei realizes that that girl is her. "Hey!" she protests. Head pressed into her shoulder to staunch the bleeding, blood streaming down, the spluttered indignation is half as intimidating as she means it to be. "Mind your own business! I got it. I don't need..."

Alexei loses her train of thought as Jasen the Executioner takes notice of the scene. He squares up, and all of her anger towards the girl who looked at Alexei and seen someone helpless and in need of a defender recedes. Her blood goes cold when he tells her "Your wish is my command." — like she knows what's about to happen right before it does. She knows how wishes are granted here.

The hand of her would-be protector falls with gravity, and Alexei looks on in horror, no longer able to pretend that she does not see the carnage. Mirror twins, they've both been handed more than they can handle — but hasn't everybody?

She's not petty enough to raise her voice above an irritated whisper when she mumbles "Who needs protecting now?" Instead, Alexei takes a deep breath to summon every ounce of belligerent courage she has, and holds her head high when she turns to take on Jasen the Executioner. His name still rustles through the crowd, a violent breeze, and she has nothing clever to quip back. What's the point of snarking at a willing monster, a champion of monsters? She retorts with her blade.

[attacks jasen - sword]
fXww25ZYT2sword
[1182 -- Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage]

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[gamemaker kelsier]

May 9, 2020 20:50:09 GMT -5 gamemaker kelsier said:

[Babe Adroxis 9M, attack 3, 1018]

[Babe Adroxis 9M, attack 4, 1006]

b a b e .

"I do what I want
when I'm wanting to
My soul?
So cynical."

His blade slips in too delicately again and Babe furrows his brow, the learning curve of the sword throwing him off. Maybe it's just that he's never had an opponent who moves so fast but that can't be it, either, maybe people are just a lot easier to catch with a bullet.

"Arc, your worst nightmare, death himself," the other tribute says to him, taunting him, but he's just a boy, not an old storage room with a skylight in a dimly lit warehouse with a bloodstain on the wall. He's not his father holding a gun or Cy falling to the ground, lifeless.

"I highly doubt that," Babe says, not really trying to taunt, perhaps he's just a natural.

Arc backs off after another small slice and promises to come back and kill him later, which Babe just responds to with a shrug. Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Once Babe finally figures out how to use a sword, it'll be over for all of these tributes. He grins to himself at that thought, if only that false bravado was real.

With Arc gone, Babe steps back for a moment to inspect himself. He's bleeding from a few cuts but overall, things could be worse after that little skirmish. Had he just made a friend? It kind of felt that way. Tara would be proud of him, she was always telling him to get out of his comfort zone.

He's joking too much maybe, he recognizes the feeling, the rising panic making its way towards his lungs and then up and out. The sounds of the arena are too familiar, ache too much. Metal on metal, cutting into flesh and the words and roars that people make when they're dying, he's been here before in the thick of it. This is nothing new but it puts him someplace else. A field beneath him and a line of children in front of him, bullets whiz over their heads but some don't; some just meet their mark and he can't save them as they fall.

Children of rebels, rebel children, they tell them they deserve to die.

He watches, entranced and suddenly alone for a moment as a tribute lands a deadly blow on a girl and she stops moving. He doesn't know her name, nor the tribute's but he leaves her there on the ground because a hunter doesn't keep hitting something that's already dead. He watches the boy move off and sees the telltale sign of someone who has killed before many times and liked it.

There are people like that in Nine, leftovers from the Rebellion that can't quit only because they miss the taste of killing so much. Babe watches him move off, catches the exact moment his eyes fall on a small girl still sitting in her cage and doesn't have to be close to see that he's found his next target.

But she's just a girl, and she isn't fighting back.

Babe finds his feet moving towards the cage, better judgement trying to steer him away from the other killer and his prey but Babe only speeds up. It's that hope inside of him, that need to believe that things can be better that's kept him fighting in the shadows these past three years that propels him and he gives up on struggling with it. He doesn't have to ask himself what Cy would have done because he knows already what Babe would do.

The girl looks terrified, he doesn't need to question what he's doing or maybe he just can't. He's fought other kids before, so many times but not like this. Protecting other kids has been his natural state for three years now, the idea of killing them is difficult to comprehend and maybe that's why he can't land a hit on Arc.

He steps into the cage with a livewire and swings his sword out protectively between the two tributes. He's half aware of how stupid this move is, that it's painting a vendetta on his back in red ink but Babe doesn't care, he doesn't fear death, he's already died plenty of times, but this girl hasn't.

"Find someone else to harass," he says to the male, "She's busy."

He doesn't even shake.

[babe attacks robyne with sword]
mV2aSTOR9_sword
[Shallow Cut on Left Bicep -- 3.5 damage]sword

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

May 10, 2020 11:06:07 GMT -5 umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] said:

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Three | 1143

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Four | 1141

And then, the girl begged. The aggressor, the one who had started this, the one who ran up to Petra, sword drawn, lips pressed flat together, eyes full of horror, heart that just wanted to continue beating. It was just like those Capitol soldiers, who were so capable of ending a life. They could gun down children in the street on their way to brunch, but the second they found themselves on the sharp end of a worthy adversary's weapon, they always begged. Even the deadliest, even the most prideful. Petra had heard the words spoken from every kind of mouth, and in every kind of language.

She hadn't heard anything good enough to sway her yet.

But, she supposed this was different; the girl did not wish to be there any more than Petra did, but that was an aside she didn't have time to pull over and admire. She had a destination in mind, and it required every ounce of fucking focus she had.

Survival was, and had always been, something rewarded to only those with a perfect record. Only those who beat every close call and who lived through every beating got to survive. Everyone here, up until this point, had been a survivor, she realized.

Then she saw a boy nearly remove a girl's only remaining leg, and she decided that some were luckier than others to have had that bragging right.

The girl countered and it was easy enough for Petra to dodge completely, a casual sidestep to the right as the girl barreled past her. Poor dear. Poor creature. She turned about-face, sword tip dragging against the dry dirt of the tiny world they were both trapped in: fish in an aquarium.

She had no choice. No more than Petra did. She wanted to live. Just as much as Petra did.

As she pointed the blade at the girl, her heart was no longer in it and she wrote it off as boredom, rolling her eyes as if unimpressed.

Focus, she told herself, but the girl truly looked pitiful: gaping wounds caused by Petra herself, lips trembling, eyes whispering an apology with every studied gaze.

She sighed.

"For fuck's sake! Stop looking at me like that!"

[ petra attacks desdemona shaw, 2f ]
fN6O|GwI|8sword
[1141 -- Block -- 0.0 damage]

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