The Bloodbath

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

May 12, 2020 1:57:39 GMT -5 gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. said:

[

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 5 | roll ]

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 6 | 5110 ]

Slowly, reality dawns.

You don't expect it to make your stomach roll, but there's something there that you don't fully know if you'll be able to process if you're being honest. It's—it's not regret, exactly, but maybe something like it. You don't even remember fully deciding to go for the girl's skull, just know that her speech had been drawing you in and pissing you off and then.

Well, and then.

Your grin is bloody, you think, and at first it doesn't register with you that it's not your own blood you're tasting. The taste of iron on your tongue isn't unfamiliar, remember when you caught a bullet in your gut and spit up blood for what felt like ages before the medic was able to dig the thing out of you and sew you back up nice and good. Absently, one of your hands goes to your stomach and traces the little circle with your pointer finger, hand still wrapped tightly around the hilt of the girls' sword. Oh fuck, you really killed her with her own weapon, you're—Come with me, the boy who cheered at the crowd says and wraps his arms around you. Did you ask him to fucking do that? Your brow knits together and your eyes are locked on his face and oh.

Damn, he's kinda pretty, huh?

You pull yourself up on him, fingers twisting into the fabric of his uniform of their own accord. There's an edge to his jaw to match the knot in your brow and him grabbing you like this makes you want to rip his throat out with your teeth. But then he's holding your chin between oddly delicate fingers, forcing your eyes up into the stands where the small crowd of people was cheering you on. There's a couple of grumbles, a boo or two, but—then he's distracted again, and you think you were about to shove him away to try and clear your own head but he's already gone, swinging his sword towards... you double take. 

Is that kid missing a hand?

Don't go anywhere, he'd said, though it takes you a second to realize it. "Hey," you say, stumbling away from the wall. You're clumsy and uncoordinated, and red splashes of blood are swathed across your uniform and there's dark spots in your vision and you think that if your brothers are watching they're probably horrified by the exact truth of the person you are but. "You don't tell me what to do."

[ 9f xime shoves 10m jasen, unarmed ]

EbySPS3eSvunarmed

[ 5110 - bruised right shin - 2 dmg ]

You think when you say it that you're sporting another hooked grin, lopsided and terrible when you 

Maybe it's the people cheering for you that sets your teeth on edge more than anything else, not so much him telling you what to do. Maybe it's the assumption that he thought that was something that you'd want, something that you'd be happy to attain, as if a rat like you would be fucking grateful to be forced into the light like this.

You like your shadows.

You've never been here for the show, for the drama or that damn pizazz. You're not here to make sure the whole nation knows your name or to bring glory to your district—you're here because the Capitol's men dragged you kicking and screaming from your shadows and told you to try and kill everyone here, or else die trying. You like the chaos and it splits your face in half when you smile thinking about it, but—he doesn't fucking tell you what to do. 

He's one of the 23 you gotta kill, after all. 

"Careful what you wish for," you spit towards the kid who—oh fucking hell, he picked up your leg. It. Huh. Are you... are you laughing? Something inside of you can't ignore the hilarious irony of his picking up your own leg and swinging it like a weapon just after you've picked up another girls sword and stabbed her in the goddamned face with it. "Pretty boy has a history of making just that happen."

You level your sword at him, the pretty one—well, they're both pretty actually, now that you take a second look, but you keep your own weapon leveled at the one who took your leg off in the first place.

You don't like the things he makes flutter in the pit of your stomach.

unarmed

[fireflyz]

May 11, 2020 23:22:43 GMT -5 fireflyz said:

[ d6m quin | post #5 | and we out ]

[ d6m quin | post #6 | lol ]

"I am charming."

He wouldn't call this meltdown predictable - he was never particularly good at identifying the motives of other people anyway - but this was definitely something he had seen before. The people who felt so threatened by any challenge to their identity that they had worked so hard to construct that it made you wonder how strong their foundations were to begin with. He saw it in himself, too - questioning every part of him that he thought to be virtuous and good when he inevitably fucked something up. Even as he taunted his opponent and turned a cheek to the idea that they were anything alike, one brash and the other near begging for life, the truth was that they would always be one and the same.

"You happy now?" "Close as I can get." "You got your hit in, and now it's my turn."

Then the sword comes down through the air and Quin narrowly dodges it, the blade whistling against his cape. His heart thrums painfully, but he taps a finger on his chin as if he's contemplating more than what's to come next.

"Did you wanna try that one again?"

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

May 11, 2020 17:19:18 GMT -5 D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza] said:

juno del air / post three / attack 1193

juno del air / post four / attack 1067

I watch as the girl's world slowly falls apart. And I would pick up the pieces if I was the same Juno who played dolls innocently with bullets unaware of their danger. But something has shifted since then: I have seen wars of many kinds and always let them pass me by, their shrapnel leaving scars over my body but I never stood in the line of fire. Yet today, things are different, and everything has changed. 

The pieces of her life are jagged and sharper than the sword I hold. They are threatening in their own delicate way because within them lies the dreams I have damaged in favour of following my own. I battle a part of myself that claws away at the survivor because it should be completely selfish to want to live over someone else, over a stranger, over somebody who has a story that I do not know and may never know. Someone might just die to my blade and that ultimately comes down to my own want to live.

There's a tear in my eye when her hand comes off, because as the blood begins to mount on the sword, the dust is blown away. And there's an ugly reflection for a girl to face who is so sure that she is just Juno, because I am just Juno, and I never wanted any of this. Life continues to play with me like a puppet on a string, though, and this is just a continuation of the broken histories I have lived and breathed before. 

I live in a minor key, but I need to learn to love being sharp.

"We shouldn't be fighting each other," she speaks from across the way, an undying determination escaping from the breaths between her words. "We should refuse to fight each other, then these games would end. Without entertainment, they would serve no use." 

And though it seems perfect when she talks about it, practice would not match the same perfection. I may be a dreamer but I am not a utopian; I stand in a powerful land where I am powerless when stripped of the things I have been given. They could take away this sword as easily as they gave it to me, they could take away the cheers from the audience, the cameras and the world that watches so eagerly and I would be nothing. Nothing—nothing all over again.

The Capitol are not my friend. My grandparents have tried to shove their policies down my throat with breakfast, lunch and dinner for the past two years but I would chew until I choked. I've seen them kill people in the streets in the name of justice, such a broken justice, and I've seen the rebels shoot in the name of the exact same thing. And it doesn't change anything—we go around and around in circles until we lose our sense of direction and walk unknowingly into a landmine. I trust only in the love I feel for my brother, and fighting for him offers some release from the pressure of needing to be bigger.

We should be fighting them," her stump rises into the air and sways towards the people sat in the crowd, "not each other."

The tear falls. Before it can reach the ground, she charges forward into my shoulder. There's a little fight left in her yet, and that is admirable given the circumstances, because the stars are falling around her and her entire body is burning but her mind stays collected.

"Please don't make me do this," I say, turning half of my face away from her. I don't want to look but the wreck of a girl in front of me is both horrible and inviting all at once. "I am just trying to live, just trying to get back home to see my brother again. I'm just like you—I am just—Juno." Over my shoulder, some hearts have already disappeared into the fray. The bodies on the ground make me think of my sister, and I feel the heartache all over again.

Stop and start. Lark is watching and life is a broken record. "They did this to us, I know, but they are the world. Nobody wins against the world."

[ d3f juno del air attacks d5f paks ]

25XIH0SB6Vsword

[ 1067 -- Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage ]

sword

[kap]

May 12, 2020 11:56:27 GMT -5 kap said:

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 8/Attack 4 | 1083]

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 9/Attack 5 | 1186]

[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 cut into his neck with my sword, but not deep enough to do what needs to be done. Not deep enough to do what I don't want to do. Not deep enough to kill.

I'm dreading that kill, but if I wish to survive any longer, it needs to happen. If I want to go home, it needs to happen. It needs to happen. I can't die here. Not now. Not yet. My parents and my siblings need to see what I'm capable of, even if they wouldn't have wanted me to fight. They need to see that sometimes, fighting is necessary, when it comes to survival.

The boy I'm fighting is losing blood rapidly. I can tell that much. The problem is, I'm hurt, too. Physically and mentally, I'm wounded. He attempts to seem menacing with his sword, but doesn't scare me as much as me did before.

Perhaps I should've been more scared, though, I realize, as his weapon cuts deep into the back of my head when I'm not being cautious enough. I could die in just another swing. I can feel it. Then again, so could he. He's vulnerable, even if he doesn't realize it.

Am I more vulnerable, though? I'm not quite sure. I suppose I'll find out, when it really comes down to it. I couldn't let my confidence waver right now. It wasn't the time. This was the time to fight.

I had no choice. I had no choice. I had no choice.

I didn't like being a fighter. It wasn't natural for me. The thing was, it was needed right now. I looked at him, straight in the eyes, hearing his words and spitting out my own.

"And unlike you, I'm still in one piece, kid."

~

lyrics: "Bad Dream" by Ruelle

[D8M Alistair Ranger attacks D2M Arcturus Dorado]
YNc713MyVysword
[1186 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage]

sword

[pup]

May 12, 2020 14:00:22 GMT -5 pup said:

[arc dorado | attack #8 | 1067]

[arc dorado | attack #9 | ####]

My sword finally slashes against his head as my own head feels increasingly light. This fight was almost over, I could see through my quickly fading vision that he was losing steam also. I had a chance. I still was able to be the one in power, to be the one who managed to control my fate. I could still be the one with that crown on my head.

"And unlike you, I'm still in one piece, kid." He says, staring me down. From what I could tell, his eyes were still full of discomfort. They were the eyes of prey, not the hunters. It reminds me why I am here, why I am fighting, why I will win.

He swings at me, and I desperately hop backwards on my one leg, sending more blood spilling over me. It was gruesome, but the warm feeling on my legs held together my sense, bringing me back to reality and out of the blood-loss haze. It was the only feeling I had left. I lock my eyes with his, staring him down.

"Not for long," I say, my face set dead. No more grinning, no more laughing. This was the line. This was it.

I raise my sword, falling at him with as much force as I could with one leg.

I better not miss.

---

[attacks Alistair 8m with sword :hellkim:]
0wB0vuNvFvsword
[]

[arc sues ripred]

sword

[cass]

May 12, 2020 0:08:18 GMT -5 cass said:

henry hughes | post 8 | attack 1171

henry hughes | post 9 | attack 1093 & 1146

HENRY -

Sometimes I don't sleep at night
I hear the wind in the moaning trees
I wonder how my child will fare
With wars and bombs and thieves

At the moment that Henry Hughes swung his sword a breeze picked up. It picked up so quickly that you would have believed that this was the first instance of a Gamemaker impacting an arena. We all know this isn’t what actually happened, but to save the man some pride we will believe it is what happened.

In that moment it blew, kicking up a cloud of dirt directly in front of Henry. Some of it found a home in his eyes, causing him to blink, feeling the dirt get trapped against the delicate surface of his eyeball. At this same point in time Quin moved, and between the two coincidental actions Henry missed his hit.

For fucks sake.

”Yes, I do want to try that again,” Henry sighed, running his free hand through his hair, before taking a step backward. He honestly couldn’t believe what had just happened, and he didn’t want to think too much into it, his head hurt. This time he changed his grip, grabbing the sword with both hands, more power, more accuracy. He couldn’t miss his attack this time, he could already feel the crowd losing interest in him. One kill wasn’t enough for these guys, and with people beginning to drop like flies he needed his name to be heard.

This time, he wouldn’t miss. "This is over."

- HUGHES.

[11m Henry attacks 6m Quin -- Sword]
1EY5HT0Pl2sword
[block]

sword
[1146 -- Shallow Cut on Left Bicep -- 3.5 damage]

[Permission from both Fireflyz and Lalia to do two attacks against a peaceful tribute.]

sword·sword

[sidney]

May 12, 2020 4:39:54 GMT -5 sidney said:

jasen hargrove / 8th post - 7th-8th attacks / 1198 & 1090

J A S E N

It’s almost painful, watching the boy before him splay himself out onto the ground, as if he’s trying to dig his own grave and save the Capitol the trouble. Jasen wonders to himself if this is in fact his goal: to die on his own terms. Despite the sight of him reminding him so much of his brother and the way he laid face down and cried into the floor when the Peacekeepers came, still it makes his blood boil. But honestly, at this point, what hasn’t made his blood boil since he entered this place?

He has no idea what he expected; he knew what this was—a fight to the death—but he doesn’t think he expected this. His hands stained in blood, limbs scattered across the ground around him, and an insatiable hunger for more. More what? Of that he isn’t entirely sure. But he loves the way it feels when he cleaves another body part and the crowd screams out his name.

He wouldn’t mind more of that.

Fuck, you two can’t let a good bitch talk, huh?

“You talk too fucking much.”

Jasen saunters forward, towering over this boy for a moment before bending at the knees so they’re eye level. He looks to the sword and Jasen follows his line of sight, clicking his tongue a few times.

“No, no. I don’t think so,” he says, wrapping his arm around the pommel to free it from the earth it’s sunken into. “But thanks for the second sword.” He grins, but it fades when the boy reaches for the leg he’d just chopped off.

If you’re going to kill me, you better throw my head into that damn crowd. I’m not dying quietly.

It only excites him; he loves it when they fight back. Or in this kid’s case, flail desperately because it’s all they can do. “By all means,” he starts, pushing himself back to his feet, both hands now wielding blades of destruction.

“I’d prefer it if you screamed.” 

( attacks beauden )

d_FXWMeCYUsword

[ Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage ]

The blade sinks in and it feels like vindication. Completely unwarranted; the boy had done absolutely nothing to him, but it felt like revenge. For everything he’s ever been through. For all the pain this world has ever given him. For the family that betrayed him and he betrayed in return. It feels good. Like a release of everything he’s kept buried deep in his chest.

So he swings again.

He hopes inflicting just a little more pain will ease his own further.

( attacks beauden )

sword

[ Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage ]

( permission from rave & lalia to attack beauden twice! )

sword·sword

[Arrows]

May 11, 2020 18:04:09 GMT -5 Arrows said:

[Remus / Attack #3 / 1012]

[Remus / Attack #4 / 1143]

REMUS

The boy's head blossoms with a burgeoning blood red crown. Remus' sword shines in the matching sheen of sorrow. There's no remorse in Remus' eye as he watches the other boy bleed, he's made his choice. Something sticky slides across the apple of Remus' cheek, his fingers find a splattering of red. The warm metallic mixture fills the space beneath Remus' nails and he shudders. He had been a scout, but now he was a soldier. A child standing in a clearing of corpses. This isn't what is supposed to mark the making of a man.

"Then go live its ending."

Remus says aloud to the other boy before he is gifted with another gaping wound. This time the pain pulses from his thigh. The urge to fall slams into Remus' stomach, but he refuses. Out of pure spite, he won't let himself lay in a bed of ashes that aren't his own. Instead he turns to see the carnage, the cyclic killing that has advanced into absolute slaughter. Petrified limbs lopped off of bodies stretch out towards the sky as though in defiance of the Divine. Broken bodies lay scattered across sands in eternal silence. It's everything Remus was fighting to destroy. Up until this moment, he's never been so face to face with the failure of the Rebellion.

Nearby, Remus catches sight of a sword's glare. It dives through the air, yet bites nothing but the breeze. Beneath its angle of attack is the guy from earlier, the one Remus shoved into the sand. He's still as sewn into pacifism as he ever while another boy is swinging a sword around his skin. Remus can't hear their conversation over the crowd's caterwauling, but he doesn't need to. Remus has seen this kind of thing before.

"It's a mercy kill Remus. He will never be able to fly with a broken wing like this."

That day by the beach with his Father had been incredible. The waves had washed in an entire assortment of sea shells for Remus to collect and the tides were nothing but soft shifts in the sea. That was when Remus had found the bird, a seagull with a badly broken wing washed in a low riding wave. Remus' Father took a single look before ending the bird's life with a short knife. Sometimes death truly isn't the cruelest punishment.

The boy's sword finally finishes off the peace seeker, and Remus watches him fade into a fall. It wouldn't have been humane for that boy to live through this. It would have been like living life with a broken wing. It's a mercy kill. Remus bows his head briefly bidding the boy farewell before pushing through the pain of his leg to approach the killer.

"That boy came to me first and I told him why I'm fighting. He had no reason to fight. So, " Remus says raising his sword "Do you?"

Remus has seen nothing other than selfishness and monstrosity, but he can't convince himself that he is the only one here holding on to something more. How about him? Does this boy treasure flowering fields or Capitol crowns? Does it even matter anymore now that they are all becoming killers?

Remus attacks Henry Hughes :: Sword
j_SsyIxaTBsword
{Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage ; +1 Blades}

sword

[Deleted]

May 12, 2020 14:45:52 GMT -5 @fabulousraven said:

Beau / no attack / 5

beauden mortuus d12m / no attack / 6th post

b e a u d e n .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

I can't believe I am taking this personally. Insultingly, you talk too much - and your killing me painfully, slowly. I don't want to think that it's a part of the show, part of the brutality, there are so many ways to die and this is the one wrapped for me. My own little present from destiny, red silk tied around my arm and it unravels from my wounds. 

It's my own ending on this horizon and I can't even dare myself to blink. Can't convince myself to let it happen, he slashes at me twice and I heave as I collapse on the floor again. Sutton is dead, I can barely lift my eyes from my grave and watch my personal kill run faster than I can dream now. It's blurred for me, as I feel the acidic burning of bile pushing from my gut up- don't leave me here.

Come back, 
please,

it's just a silent prayer. He had said something about those Saints, and it's tragic how fast death can make you spiritual. Maybe his god did choose him, in whichever strange way, and I was always meant to be some one else's blood thirst. 

But I have always been a bit too proud for my own good. The stain of vomit bleeds into my mouth and I can hardly swallow it before the boy turns me over, placing his sandle at my throat. I have one hand, one option; to fight. 

"By all means, I'd prefer it if you screamed,"

"just fuck me already,"

I spit on his leg, digging blood and vomit and spit and sand and if it's the only part of me that lives on, god fuckin' damn it if I don't get one part of me out of here. Head, hand, spit, just the sound of my voice, I'm not dying here entirely. 

The sweat and sand burns in the wound on the back of my head, my grip prying as tough on the girl's tan leg as it can. "Happy your-" I squirm in the sand, pushing my feet along the ground, 

"- brat -" and look at his partner. District partner or not, she hardly struggles less than myself, "can watch." I struggle to keep him from crushing my throat, I struggle to keep him from crushing me at that. 

"Let her join in! Fuck it!"

I hit his leg with her leg and a bit of me dies inside from this situation. I only hope I join that bit sooner than later.

[ tl;dr jasen steps on his throat daddy omg ]

ZLCUMIlKZT1-69
[this doesnt do anything i just wanna roll dice LOL]
[hi lalia omg uwu]
1-69

[shrimp]

May 11, 2020 20:14:52 GMT -5 shrimp said:

[zephyr] kestell | post #4 | 1177

[zephyr] kestell | post #5 | --

[attr="class","w460"]

"Not exactly," they say, as your sword, heavy in your hand, swings wide of their frame. "Just interesting. The fact that war is what brought us here, yet we still continue to do it and feed their flame."

Interesting is a fun fact in a periodical, a a deep dive into history, the mythos of the universe. It's what keeps you up at night with a slip of paper and a cipher book. It's what brought you to the library each day, and then the archives after your world turned to ash. It's what your father would say to you at dinner as he tucked into a glass of wine and murmured, hearing your thoughts but not truly listening, poking at the burnt bits of tempeh and pretending it was a char.

Interesting is not a war.

"We're all cowards," your foe continues, as you hear another tribute speak out, voice not booming but not a whisper. They, with their sword already cast on the ground, speak of peace, or of a warped version of it: of equity amid sacrifice, and teamwork, and the lives of "thousands if we just accept peace into our hearts and do this right."

When scholars spoke in large quantities, you knew that even if you understood their logic the sheer abstractness of it bounced against the inside of your head, shifted problems from human to theory , turned it all into a game to solve. It is all a puzzle to ponder over, until the fire burns too bright, and you're left with a singed hand. Yet in this instance you see the bodies lying out in front of your gaze, just as the medics laid body after body, some foreign and some too familiar in front of your eyes, the final tremor of an institution still dancing in your irises.

You do not stifle your gasp when the tribute, distinct with their candor and hope, is speared through the eye.

_\|/_

"Is that cowardice to you?"

There is a desperate plea in your thoughts, even as you readjust your frame of reference. Despite the stakes, the lives on the line, your choices matter even if the outcome does not change. You cannot know the future, and maybe Fate has already spun the thread, but it does not invalidate everything you stand for and fight for and breathe for, for every reason that you swing a sword and wish for tomorrow. You cannot dispute your own weakness: it scorches through you like a wildfire, searing everything, leaving scars. But you can admit when you have crossed into dangerous territory, and how many steps you can take in a different direction.

You frown, and bite the inside of your cheek. When you first met [sonder], you took their name for granted, but the definition rattles in your ears as tributes bleed out on the ground. With a quick movement of your blade, which turns to three (your skills lie with a pen and a flashlight and an archivist's wit), you tear half of your cape away from your costume, then squish it tightly into a ball.

"Catch."

You pelt it at their chest. "Tie it 'round tight. Maybe this will keep your thoughts straight."

You move to leave, but turn once more before you go.

"Not cowards. Just trapped."

[zephyr] does not attack
[zephyr] listens to iphigenia's speech, and throws her cape at September

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

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

May 12, 2020 10:22:44 GMT -5 napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. said:

[ reed laghari | d7m | no attack ]

[ reed laghari | d7m | attack three ]

Reed crouched low near the two boys with their drawn sword, trying desperately to make himself disappear. He knew the tricks now, on how to not seem conspicuous, to wield his body in a way that drew interest or repelled it. But here, none of that mattered. Reed was in clear display as a prey, a rabbit in a snare.

But a rabbit that had teeth, a prey that had faced its predator face to face. The blade clutched tautly within his rope-raw grasp had blood at its tip, shining the same way the blood that stained his hands did – like molten rubies, like stolen sapphires. He was bleeding because he’d decided to fight – not quiver. Reed found some meager comfort in that.

As he shifted his weight between graceful feet there, his bottle-brown gaze took in the commodities that happened across the sandy grounds. But all they truly saw was red. The blood trickled more and more out of his wound as Reed gradually felt himself drift, thoughts ebbing away.

He was here, but not here.

He was here, but also there, in a stony cottage that smelled faintly of herbs and fresh vegetables. Harp-strings waned and waxed in gentle crescents of sounds across the air and there were three figures in the kitchen, dancing, their feet quiet but their silhouettes graceful. Every spin they did was the twirl of a blade, every movement a rush of wind.

He was here, but also there, lying bare on a dirty mattress in a darkened room that smelled as though alcohol had been spilled in every corner of it. His cheeks were damps; he’d been crying through the cold night – but quietly, so that the soldier beside him wouldn’t wake up. He tapped a muffled rhythm against the mattress’ surface and prayed.

He came back to his body with a small gasp, clenching onto the hilt of his sword a little more tautly. The start contrast between the two memories, one being Reed’s hope and the other being Reed’s despair, made them war in his chest. But they both reminded him of one thing: he had a family to survive for, and had done everything in the past in order to do so.

A small fray began ahead of him between the two boys from before, both lean and able-bloodied. But it was the boy with hair the color of golden corn-silk that attacked first, arcing its blade viciously through the air. He knew it’d landed its mark from the blood that stained the ground.

He recalled what he faintly heard before: "That boy came to me— told him why I'm fighting. He had no reason to fight— do you?"

Reed did not care for the other boy’s answer, his blade already brandished and at the ready for a swing.

He had a reason to fight. He had a reason to want to escape from this saintsforsaken place, scathed but alive. I am going to see them again, Reed gritted his teeth, my family, I am going to dance with them again. His steady feet carried him quietly across the sands.

It was a graceful dance, timed to the rhythm of his staccato heartbeats as he swung. 

[ Reed sneak attacks Remus | Sword ]

exRuj0ereysword

1062 -- Block -- 0.0 damage (Sword)

sword

[cass]

May 12, 2020 19:29:01 GMT -5 cass said:

henry hughes | post 9 | attack 1093 & 1146

henry hughes | post 10 | attack 1075

HENRY -

Sometimes I don't sleep at night
I hear the wind in the moaning trees
I wonder how my child will fare
With wars and bombs and thieves

The boy collapsed, and Henry bent down, wiping the sword blade on his clothes. The crowd roared, and he straightened, thrusting his fist into the air in victory. Another kill to Henry Hughes. Had any of the other tributes killed two people in this Arena? He didn’t think so, so in the eyes of this crowd surely he was the best one here. Taking a moment to dwell in his delight, as the crowd cheered he waved, spinning in a circle, before polishing it all off with a dramatic bow.

As he stood up, he was met with steel, a blade cutting into his chest. It was like fire against his skin, spreading throughout his body. He felt the blade bite into his bone, scrapping at the nerves. For a moment he’s worried that the blade has hit his lung, as his breath catches in his throat. But, the taste of blood in his mouth was from the dead guy who had swung into the side of his face.

Henry stumbled backwards, fingers tightening around the sword as he let out a low hiss of pain. He screwed up his face, taking a deep breathe, feeling his chest expand tightly against the painful wound. It sent lightning bolts of agony through his body and he breathed again and again until the pain was manageable. He could feel his strength dying, the blood from the wound in his arm was still coming, and now this fresh wound on his chest. This stupid outfit had nothing he could use to try and stop the bleeding.

He wasn’t ready to die yet. Now he was facing a new challenge, a new threat, another reason for the crowd to call his name. The boy looked angry, spouting some nonsense about the boy that Henry had just killed. It all was honestly a load of shit, this was a death circle, and if you didn’t fight you died, the kid didn’t fight so henry had killed him. The boy in front of him was fighting, did he think he had performed some miracle act of kindness by not killing the other one? Did he really not think someone else would have come along and killed him?

”Um, to kill? Wasn’t that the entire reason people fought? Hadn’t he just been part of a war where it had ultimately been about one side defeating the other? It was always about defeat, and defeat really meant death, people had to die for one side to lose. “I was a killer before this shitshow, I’ll be a killer after.” He shrugged, wincing as his wound protested against the movement. He could kill people in hell, he could kill people whilst he lived, he was sure he was the monster in people’s dreams.

The guy certainly thought he was a monster, but in reality they were two sides of the same face. Both with blood-covered swords and wounds to match.

Henry looked past the guy, in time to see another person come out of nowhere.”I’d maybe duck if I were you,” he said to the eyepatch guy. The new attacker jumped at the man with an eye patch, and Henry watched as his sword missed. He facepalmed, shaking his head, wondering if this guy was the one who really needed the eye patch.

”He was standing still, mate and you missed,” Henry said. This was a clusterfuck. Bout time he joined in.

- HUGHES.

[11m Henry attacks 7m Reed -- Sword]
X6s1pGSi5Dsword
[1075 -- Stabbed in Bicep -- 8.5 +1 damage]

sword

[kap]

May 12, 2020 18:11:45 GMT -5 kap said:

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 9/Attack 5 | 1186]

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 10/Attack 6 | 1044]

[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"

~

More tributes are falling around us but I can't focus on it, no matter how much it makes me want to yell and scream and cry. My attack misses, and I don't know what went wrong. I can feel death calling to me, for me to come to it, but I'm not ready yet. The boy speaks to me again, but this time, I ignore him. Perhaps not letting anyone's words distract me would be my best bet.

His blade cuts me, and I try my best to keep on standing. I don't fall. I don't lose a limb. I'm still in one piece, even if this boy didn't think it'd end up that way. Although, I'm not sure if even I thought it'd end up that way.

My siblings and my moms, watching from home- were they ready for me to die? I hoped so, because I sensed it coming oh so soon. I just hoped they were ready. Oh how I hoped they were ready. I wasn't ready, but that didn't matter. They just needed to be. I couldn't let this break them.

I mutter to myself to try to keep my confidence up, but at the same time, I know I have to be ready to die if I don't take him down with this next swing.

"Alistair, you can do this," I tell myself quietly. I'm not even sure if the boy can hear my words, but these words are not meant for him. They're meant for me. This boy can't matter to me. If he matters, then what type of terrible person am I for what I've done to him? I speak to myself again, still quietly. "You're strong, Alistair."

I raise my blade and strike for what may be the last time.

~

lyrics: "Bad Dream" by Ruelle

[D8M Alistair Ranger attacks D2M Arcturus Dorado]
o1NsSBAUR6sword
[1044 -- Shallow Cut on Left Calf -- 3.5 damage]

sword

[Cait]

May 12, 2020 5:07:52 GMT -5 Cait said:

[d10f - robyne hawn - post 5 - no attack]

[d10f - robyne hawn - post 6 - no attack]

robyne hawn

For a moment, I wonder if the boy in front of me truly does have a heart. I can’t hear it beating out of his chest like mine does, but it would be impossible over the roar of the crowd around us. I fight the urge to reach out and rest my tiny hand over his chest to feel its rhythm. It doesn’t feel right. He looks like a boy who doesn’t know how to love – anymore, who hurt you? – but I’m always giving out benefits of the doubt.

He sits back after tying off the cloth on my arm, hands on his knees, eyes searching my face. Longingly, I decide, but for what? A solution? A way out? For him, or for me, or for both of us? For himself, of course. He doesn’t owe me anything. I’m reminded of this when another body falls to the ground out of the corner of my eye.

Lifeless. Another heart stopped beating. If only we could preserve our own.

But then he speaks, and I see his heart was never whole to begin with. It was always cracked, always damaged.

“You belong in this place.”

I don’t understand his words. How could anyone belong here? How could he say that anyone deserved to die like this?

I want to understand, and I want to agree with him. Maybe that was the secret to surviving this nightmare: if you believe you deserve it, you can defeat it. But I’ve never done anything.

Maybe that’s just the problem.

“You think it’s okay for all of us to die? All of this, just for nothing?” I look into his eyes, a stupid little girl desperate to understand the big, wide world around her. Or maybe I don’t want to. I shouldn’t ask questions like that; I can’t handle the truth.

I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m so tired.

His next words are barely audible, but they send chills up my spine and I’m shaking, again, again, for an entirely new reason.

“If the others get you, they won’t be gentle.”

“They’ll draw it out and you’ll suffer.”

He rises to his feet – slowly, purposefully. Hesitantly, almost, but it doesn’t sit right on him. He knows it, too, for that split second of uncertainty is already gone. After all, I’m just a wounded deer, and he knows it. He holds my gaze, no doubt ready to pounce at my first attempt to flee.

But I won’t run. I’m so tired.

“You don’t have to do this.” Please.

But his mind is already made up.

“I’m going to make it quick.”

I cower away from his weapon, flat out sobbing, waiting for the familiar sting to come. I spare a second to consider that thought as it runs through my head – what sounds so wrong with a sentence like that, and the familiarity of a flesh wound.

When his blade finds my skin, I collapse. This time, I know the cut is no accident.

template by Chelsey

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

May 12, 2020 15:43:05 GMT -5 gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. said:

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 6 | 5110 ]

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 7 | 1107 ]

Something—something lurches in the pit of your stomach.

You don't quite think that you know how to make sense of it, but a part of you had thought that by shoving him, then he'd turn his attention back towards you. You're not exactly sure why you want that, but you've given up trying to explain the things that you want and the things that you don't a long time ago.

You think—is it petulance?

It is.

The boy with the cheekbones swings his sword at the other, and then he swings that boys sword at his as well, and you're simultaneously pissed off that he's stolen your move and that he's stopped paying attention to you. It burns, sears, slips through your body right alongside the incomprehensible pain of the place where your leg used to be.

You don't give him a heads up before trying to demand his attention.

The handless one hits the heartless one with your leg, and it's the final fucking straw before he's even begging to let you join in on the fun.

[ 9f xime attacks 12m beau, sword ]

pCJXqiQ1M|sword

[ 1107 - sc left calf - 3.5 ]

"Call me brat again and I'll feed you to a set of crows," you say, but your swing is more clumsy than it should be, your whole body off balance and alight with the worst pain you've ever felt in your entire life. You're of half a goddamned mine to shove one of those swords in your hand up and into the wound, use it as some kind of peg.

You won't.

But the idea crossed your mind, you won't lie.

"You're not the only one who gets to have fun," you say to the one after you've swung at his new target. "He even asked for me."

It's not for you to question where his attention is directed, not for you to question. It's certainly not for you to care about. But if you have to try and stab his pretty new toy to get his attention again. Well, you're not above spilling a little blood.

You're not even above spilling a lot.

sword