The Bloodbath

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

May 9, 2020 17:29:24 GMT -5 thompson harvard - d2b - arc said:

[ d5m september yorgos | post #2 | no attack ]

[ d5m september yorgos | post #3 | no attack ]

{ september }

Innocence has always been in my life. The young pony galloping around our fields, Noelle’s endless hopes of a real life fantasy. I’ve always known that look of being too young to know any better. To know that there was war going on or that death was imminent. Her fear was so - so large and it was sad to see. Especially in the world surrounding us. I feel like it was a crime to let someone die in fear and I wanted to help her. Get her out of this place. Because she didn’t deserve this. Or at least I think she didn’t. No girl would sob this hard if she survived a war. But maybe she’s traumatized by it. Surviving doesn’t mean leaving it; because war- this war, always lives in your veins.

“You just want to sit?”

She let out a nod just as I did. I don’t want to get into the fight just yet.

“Bu – but if you try anything, I’ll – I’ll kill you!”

Because that was realistic. After saying that she looks over at her sword and I felt a quick pang, because what if she actually did it, but she won’t. Imagine if she was playing up this sob show- baiting people in to befriend them and then bam no head. I stared at that sword with hesitance.

“I’m Robyne. District Ten.” An eerie, silent pause came between us. ”And I’m really scared.”

I nodded at that. I think we all could be - we have to be. Maybe they’re scared of not killing enough. Of dying. Of disappointing their family. We’re all scared of something here - that’s why some are fighting, some aren’t. That’s why some like us are taking the moment. I’m scared of becoming a monster and a killer. It must be odd to the Capitol that we’re finding ourselves in our own world separate from the fighting. And based on the cheering, our opponents are doing just fine on the death aspect.

The air was changing. It wasn’t this cold, fearful energy anymore wrapping around our lips and toes and fingers and hands. We didn’t feel that cold brisk breeze of hesitance to this battle. We both knew that eventually this cannot last forever. But admittedly, I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want us to get so trapped into this cage of comfort that we forget that we actually have to kill to win this thing. I glanced back at her and a flash of sadness washed my face. I didn’t want to be the one to kill her.

”I don’t think we’re safe here.”

She was right - we weren’t. God knows how long it takes before the Capitol starts sending trained animals on us when we don’t fight. And admittedly; I think that it’s best that this kumbaya doesn’t last forever. I don’t want to kill her, I don’t want her killed. I don’t want to even watch it happen. I don’t want to watch the sand get painted red by her blood. I don’t want anything to do with this damned place, but on death row, we have no option.

”Sadly, I think you’re right.” I got up from my position on the ground. ”As much as I wish we could stay here and avoid whatever’s happening out there,” I look out to see a head on the floor, ”I don’t think fighting anyone in this close of a space is safe. For either of us.” I unsheath my sword and step back and into the open. I want to say good luck, but we both know Robyne has little to no chance of winning this thing. ”I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t stay at the face of a burning lamb much longer.

[walks away from robyne and no attackie yet]

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

May 9, 2020 11:50:51 GMT -5 napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. said:

[ reed laghari | d7m | intro post | no attack ]

[ reed laghari | d7m | attack one ]

Hide, Reed, something within urged desperately.

His heartbeats came like the startled wing-beats of a bird, aflutter against frail rib-bones, hoping hopelessly to fly away home. But Reed had simply left one cell for another. This one wasn’t as damp, or as cold, but as the swords began to clash against one another in ruthless clacks, Reed knew he would rather spend eons in this dark, unmarked cell than a day on these sands.

Hide, Reed.

But he teetered instead, peering around from the shadows of the cell, one hand on the cell’s familiar walls, another clutched around the too-coarse handle of his sword. He quivered, as a rabbit caught in a snare would, and hated himself for it, for his cowardice and constant wavering.

If Ma or Dad were here, they would not quiver.

Gnashing his teeth, Reed willed himself to not.

Lagharis were not made for battle, their postures too angular and lean to hold swords, but his parents had granted him one thing that Reed valued: his graceful feet, those of a dancer’s. His footsteps were soft murmurs and on sand, as Reed took a few cautionary steps ahead, he found that they made no sound at all. Good, he thought with some sliver of relief, shoulder muscles bundling up less. I can hide, I can hide –

Then, something rolled near his ankle.

At first he thought it was a body flung from a nearby spar and scrambled away in an effort to distance himself, but seconds after that, Reed wished it was a body, not a piece torn from it. Glancing up at him from the now scarlet sands, was the head of a girl’s, cut away from the neck. He took in the color of her eyes, and that of that hair, a dreadful match to the sands’ golden hue, and then retched. He closed his eyes, but it was too late, the picture already graven onto his very skull.

“Saints help me,” Reed said, then flinched at how hopeless he sounded. He had to help himself, and right now, Reed had to run, to hide and not let himself be sought after. He composed himself, as best as he could, and was about to hurry away when something flashed at his side. The blow was barricaded only by the arms he put up all of an sudden. Reed’s breaths dried out in his throat, coals over winter flagstones.

Standing ahead of him was a boy, gaunt features and sharp jaw. A boy who would kill him, if Reed gave him a chance to. No, he thought terribly and brandished his sword, the heft of it wrong in his hands but offering meager comfort.

No, I won’t let him kill me.

“I am not dying here today,” the words tasted false within his mouth and came out too soft, too gentle for a threat but Reed swung anyways, hoping to grant them the cadence of truth.

[ Reed attacks Beauden | Sword ]

BsO5vItBVjsword

1025 -- Severed Left Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage (Sword)

The saints answered him with blood. A fine mist of it splayed out across the bone-white sands, looking as innocent as red roses blown away by a gentle wind. But what contrasted its innocence, was the severed hand that unfurled its dead fingers upon it.

Reed suddenly wanted to retch once more, but he was quick to hold it back, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. The dark spots that blotted his eyes began to whirl. “Leave,” he said, and it came out all too reedy, too gossamer.

Reed tried again, and this time the words sprang out from a deep place within him, full of hurt and pain: “leave me the hell alone!”

sword

[alex 🐺]

May 10, 2020 8:55:49 GMT -5 alex 🐺 said:

May 9, 2020 12:17:58 GMT -5 alex 🐺 said:

d12f | sutton phillips | attack #1 | 1120

d12f | sutton phillips | attack #2 | 1118

d12f | sutton phillips | attack #3 | 1022

She blinks and feels instant pain. If only she could carve her eyes out, replace them with dying stars, with supernovas and blind herself to this pain. If only she could strip herself of her skin and paint herself black. If only she could forget herself the way the boy seems to have forgotten himself.

His words, melodic from his tongue like the whispers of an oracle was over her and she is enthralled, spellbound.

“No one made me murder all those Capitolite soldiers. It was my job, you go in, you kill or be killed.” His bloodlust is apparent, dripping off of him in waves, honey from his lips, the gospel of the gods. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He moves closer to her and she can smell his desperation. It smells sour, like poison in the water well. She takes a step away from him, his vitriol threatening to cause spillage, to seep into her heart, but she has no anger towards him. He was killing her and she had been taught to fight back. The time for anger is over. Her, in this arena, feelings and emotions matter much less than her will to fight, her will to survive.

“I wasn’t in the war to win or lose, no matter what side you’re on you’re a monster to someone- we were all monsters.”

Her taunt lands and his face changes, the mask slipping, but he bites back just as hard. A viper in the shadows, coated in crimson and sweat beading his face as he strikes.

“Do it, attack me. Make daddy proud.”

Sutton jumps, tries to deflect his arm, but his blade slices through her ankle, and she falls onto the floor, dropping her sword as thunder strikes behind her eyes.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Her countdown has begun.

The dust swirls around her, fragmented and she breathes in the tributes who came before her, their bones coating her lungs.

If only they could give her strength, if only they could give her the will to fight. She breathes, a broken marble statue cracking at his hand and she doesn’t even know his name.

Darkness swirls in her eyes as she pushes herself to her knees, and then with the help of her sword, brings herself to her feet. The stump of her right leg digs into the dirt and she blinks tears away.

Blinks away the pain, blinks away the injustice, blinks away anything holding her back.

“At least you acknowledge your evil. You live in it. You take and take and take from a girl whose name you don’t even know and for what? To please them?” Sutton points with her sword to the crowd, spitting blood from her mouth.

“You think you have control but you’re just a pawn. We all are. My name is Sutton. I hope you remember it for the rest of your life.”

The sword in her hand shakes and it’s the last thing she will ever hold. Crimson stains her skin, coats her cape red and she thinks of wolves and girls. She is not star-stained, is not bathed in light and coated with the cosmos. She is more anger than human. She is the girl, bested by the wolf with sharp teeth, but the girl could bite back too.

“Remember it, asshole.”

[d12f sutton attacks d11m henry; sword]

oWysAq0PQvsword

1022 - MISS, +0.0 dmg

sword

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

May 9, 2020 17:00:00 GMT -5 umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] said:

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Two | 1121

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Three | 1143

Her sword sliced through the other girl's back, a satisfying cut through cloth and skin and muscle and maybe even a little bone. Petra cracked her neck and moaned.

"I'm sorry."

Of course she was. Petra had been sorry a hundred times, knife in hand, complete strangers standing in front of her, completely unaware of the fate that awaited them. She would've been cruel not to be sorry, but then, now that she wasn't sorry, what did that mean?

Sorry didn't matter. Sorry couldn't matter.

"What else am I supposed to do?"

She cried. Weak. Just like Petra had thought. Her father's words echoed in her head oncemore:

"Never start a fight," she hissed, "Always be prepared to win one."

No sorry. No room for sorry. The person on the receiving end of your swung blade or fired gun didn't really ever believe you, anyway. And at some point, you even stop believing yourself. It was better to embrace the monster, Petra had learned, than try to slay it.

The girl ran away, clearly not experienced in combat, swinging at someone new with a closed fist.

"No, no, no," Petra called after her, "Did you hear what I just fucking said?"

Petra hadn't started this fight; she was prepared to win it.

She bolted forward: a study of grace and gore. The way she moved seemed cruel. Every rise and fall of her chest was a sin, every step a promise of pain. This was the Petra that had been so carefully crafted over the years. Not a pretty face. Not a girl who ran and hid, or who crawled through vents and covered her ears. A fighter. Something more and something less, all at once.

She raised her sword and aimed for the heart, a guttural scream escaping her lips as she plunged.

[ petra attacks desdemona shaw, 2f ]
zclobwZQscsword
[1143 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage]

sword

[sidney]

May 9, 2020 12:59:47 GMT -5 sidney said:

jasen hargrove / third post - no attack / none

JASEN

It’s clean. More smooth than he ever would have expected. Like there was no resistance, nothing but soft flesh and a blade to cut through it. In a big upward arc, with a hard and quick jerk of his elbow to the right, her head is cleaved from her shoulders. A girl whose name he never bothered to learn, but whose life he ended in the blink of an eye. It’s a horrible feeling. It’s an amazing feeling. The body takes two more steps, awkwardly, before falling to its knees in a heap as the head rolls a few feet away.

It’s a horrible sight.
It’s a beautiful one.

“Be thankful it was quick,” he whispers as he bends to one knee where she’s come to rest atop the dust, “and painless.” For a moment, he just stops. Stabs his crimson-stained sword into the earth and just watches the blood as it soaks into the sand, what’s left of her spilling out at his feet.

It’s a horrible thing.
And then they start to cheer.

It’s an amazing thing.

A few cry out his name. Jasen! Jasen! Jasen! Keeping the chant in tandem with rhythmic applause. And he can’t help but smile, even if its for just a moment. It certainly wasn’t the reaction he was going for, if any. But they offer their praise up like they’ve just seen a god and only Jasen can save them. It’s hard to resist, such admiration, even if it’s in the face of such violent brutality, but it’s been so long since he's felt like he's done something right.

Here and now, taking this girl’s life, he maybe thinks he finally has. It was either her or him. No sense dwelling on the fact he just killed someone—not when the crowd was yelling and begging for more.

After all, he had promised a good show, hadn’t he?

( no attack, instead jasen turns to the crowd and thrusts
his sword in the air. he lets out an encouraging scream.
and then turns back around to face the 22 others left. )

[Iphigenia Damask [D8F]]

May 9, 2020 12:14:26 GMT -5 Iphigenia Damask [D8F] said:

[8F, Iphgenia Damask, 2nd post, no attack]

The violence does not take long to begin. And Iphigenia closes her eyes as she watches limbs and blood fly everywhere. She can hear the crowd roar even louder than before, and as she opens her eyes she sees a head that has been severed from a body. Her hand finds her mouth as an audible gasp escapes her lips. She wants to go over and close the eyes of the dead, to tell everyone that they really do not have to fight. What is the Capitol going to do if all twenty-four (now, twenty-three) just sit down and choose peace? They could be the ones who start a dialogue. Maybe they can bring the peace that Panem so desperately needs.

She steps forward, her speech ready when another girl is right by her side handing her the sword she dropped. The girl seems kind, and she is certainly beautiful. But she does not understand that the sword was dropped on purpose and not by mistake. Before she really had a chance to say anything the other girl was pulling it out away mockingly, there was a certain playfulness on her voice though Iphigenia refused to call it cruelty.

"You cannot achieve peace with violence." she said simply. Iphigenia did not want to be a hypocrite, nor was she a martyr, but she had strong believes on what her limits were. Taking another life to preserve her own was not the way. She was already got to be burned and not be able to ever see her family again in the afterlife, she could not also carry the guilt of knowing she stole someone's life for the rest of eternity. "Why do you?" her eyes again took on the scene around them, "What are we gaining but nightmares and hurting others? Those cheers are celebrating the death of people our age, children and teenagers. They don't care about us, why are we continuing to engage in something that if we were to survive our children could suffer through as well? Our siblings. I don't want any of my sisters, or their future children to have to stand here and witness this. Do you?" 

[Iphigenia watches. Talks to Ximena. No attack.]

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

May 10, 2020 9:02:46 GMT -5 D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza] said:

juno del air / post one / no attack

juno del air / post two / attack 1175

There are a hundred fires.

Yet somehow, the devastation they leave in their past is nothing compared to the disasters in my mind. There's an ache in my head because there is so much to think about in such short time, and for all the things to think about, there is also an action to perform. Except to me, this is not a performance—it strays too far from beauty. And I like beautiful things: daisies and primroses, the sun being caught on the window pane to create a spectrum of light—and I know the ground beneath my feet does not hold any flowers, only empty space which threatens to swallow us whole.

This is a crime scene. Because I can draw similarities between this and the memories that replay in my eyes. The helplessness of seeing everything but doing nothing, how small you become when it feels like the world awaits your every move, the breaking of your heart that comes with acceptance and the patching it back up again that comes with moving on. Around me, I am reminded of how my parents took a life. And I wince at the thought of it, but everywhere I look are reflections of the same torture. This must be a call to action: I failed the first time—standing in silence, unbreakable, unbeatable because I was nothing but a stranger.

I could have saved his life. 

Not everyone gets a second chance to become a saviour, especially powerless people like me. Really, I am the pathetic type who cowers from incidents like this, favouring my innocence over any kind of violence. But isn't it so inviting to stand outside of the silence with one foot and balance on a fine but powerful line? Even though it's only for a moment, to feel it is to become it, and with blazes burning all around, perhaps this is what it calls for.

Lark's heart beats in my ears.

The sword finds itself in my hands. Heavy and cold, it hides my reflection behind dust that has been kicked up from the other tributes. Heavy and cold, it feels like it requires the strongest person to wield because it is so heavy and cold, and I am not brave or bold. I am just Juno, I remind myself.

And thinking of myself makes me think of Lark, and I just know that he will be watching from behind the couch, cushion tucked between his knees and his face. Scared of everything around me with a hope that it'll mean I'm strong, holding his hands over his heart to try and send me some of his own hope so that I know that we are in this together. So that I can feel him in my orbit. Yet the vision of his sweet face in my mind only reminds me of the things he may see his sister do, the unbearable things, the horrible things, the nightmare fuel that might wreck a relationship for the sake of a crown.

A relationship matters. A crown does not, but still, it's more than a crown—it is life and all the dreams I have taken for granted. It is a twisted sort of freedom away from grandparents who keep our speech under lock and key. It is liberation from their restraints, the breaking of our family chains so that it is not just I who gets to live, Lark does too.

I am scared and I am ethereal. All I have to do is change everything.

So, in protection of two hearts, I cross one.

[ d3f juno del air attacks d7f alexei daine ]

koBwPUgDDMsword

[ 1175 -- Severed Left Ear -- 8.0 damage ]

sword

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

May 10, 2020 9:25:35 GMT -5 gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. said:

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 2 | — ]

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 3 | 5127 ]

You don't know what it's like to feel your heart beating in someone else's chest.

When your father died, you remember screaming. You remember being nine cursed years old, hiding in the trees as the squadron decided to take on the tank engine rolling through the forest on its way to the nearby Capitol outpost. You remember so vividly every series of choices that led to that particular moment. Your dad deciding to leave nine and take you with him. Your dad deciding to train you to hide, to move quickly, to protect yourself above all else.

But still, you're heart has never felt love, not the way that you think other people feel it, not the way that your comrades used to talk about it or the way they used to sing about it in songs under the stars. You didn't hold the rebellion in the marrow of your bones, didn't fall at your knees to worship your leaders. You liked holding a gun and you liked it when your captain told you to point it at another person and you liked being told that your worst instincts were your strengths.

Somewhere from the stands, you hear cheers erupt once again, and you cast your eyes around frantically, trying to figure out what's happened. Is it something that you should get into? A fight that you should throw yourself into? Across the sand, you see a girls head rolling and watch on as a boy cuts through another girls ankle, slicing her foot clean from her body. Maybe a better person would blanch, but you just look to the stands and can't help but feel something like jealousy bubble in the pit of your stomach when a boy with pretty cheekbones raises his sword up to a chorus.

You roll your eyes at the girls' response, her dedication to her so-called fucking 'peace.' It's never been a state of being that had any interest to you, seemed boring, seeming predictable, seemed like a slow and steady march towards death.

You'd rather look death in their goddamned face, spit it in if you get the chance.

"You can't achieve peace period," you say, shaking your head. "What would you do if my answer was yes?" You palm open both of your hands and reach out for the girl standing before you, a standing figure of peace. Determined to take that away from her.

There's no room in here for calm, and you intend to bring the night.

[ 9f xime shoves d8f iphigenia, unarmed ]

cWsf29vKUvunarmed

[ 5127 - bruised right foot - 2.0 dmg ]

"What if there was no other solution?" you don't suppose you're trying to be cruel, not really. If anything, you'd guess it's your morbid sense of curiosity, a dull thudding kind of slice through the front of your brain that makes you wonder if violence isn't the only answer.

unarmed

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

May 9, 2020 22:28:50 GMT -5 revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay said:

d3m eros desrosier | post 1 | no dice

d3m eros desrosier | post 2 | 5078

E R O S

desrosier

My father built me a kingdom made of pumiced wooden scraps and angular tree branches when I was younger: my own little haven of thorns and roses. Whenever I would play with the neighboring children, we would pretend that I was the king of that castle - and I would make them kiss the base of my fingertips because that was where the tarnished silver rings I stole from my mother's jewelry box were swathed.

"Bend before your king," I used to drawl with a cheshire grin on my face, "You have been hereby sentenced to death insubordination!" My mother used to read me books that I wouldn't be able to understand so I could catch too-big words.

I would smack them on the backs of their necks with a ruler my brother carved from gophers-wood and fall back with them in a fit of giggles. But those were just a memory — fading back like the tide from the shore.

"No one wants this, to be burned and thrown beneath boots," the boy from four starts. The boy's eyes dart too a head, completely severed from its body. I could see the dark pools of her eyes - dark and cold like the cell they locked us behind. "Looks like somebody has been busy," I chuckle, meeting the boy's tear-stained stare, "No, that's not funny, that's not funny at all."

I heard the sound before I felt it, his fist against my flesh, the squishing sound it made under the pressure. "What we look like doesn't matter. They'll just burn it all away. This isn't a joke," he spluttered. I could feel the way my skin burned and ached, the way the lilacs and blues mixed like watercolor against my skin.

"Now look what you did — my victory speech will be ruined now!"

eros attacks remus d4m | unarmed

eBvCRVfIAzunarmed

5078 | miss + 0.0

unarmed

[k!ah]

May 9, 2020 19:19:23 GMT -5 k!ah said:

[Nadia Ivanov | d6f | post 2 | no attack]

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

[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 Play it just for me As the seasons change Remember how I used to be. " “What else was I supposed to do?!” The girl begs, her eyes beginning to fill with tears of anger, frustration, and Nadia is pretty sure, fear. “We have to fight, this is what fighting means!” But before Nadia can respond the girl moves. Nadia assumed that she was about to launch herself once again at the blonde girl who cried red. But it was not that girl who shared the impact of two bodies colliding. It was her. The impact had enough to steal the air from her lungs. To have her gasping for the life saving breath.  Then she see's why. The glint of metal- of death- dancing off sunlight, now sliced into the skin of the girls back. Not hers. She watched has it sliced through her flesh, like a knife on butter. She watched as blood began to seep from the deep incision, spilling to the ground. She watched as she fell.  That hit was meant for her.  That girl had taken it for her. She had shoved Nadia out of the way of its dangerous path only to be in a position where she had to endure the consequences. Nadia felt the tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill. Why? Why had that girl saved her?  Nadia couldn't understand so words she was all to familiar with escaped her lips, "I'm sorry." Nadia hit something solid, but not the ground as she had expected. Her fall being broken by the warm body of another tribute. She staggers forward slightly, trying to regain her balance,  her eyes snaking behind her to see who had caught her descend. Her skin began to crawl. She had seen this girl earlier, waving around her sword, practically inviting people to walk into it. And that is what she had just done. She had just walked right into someone looking for a fight.  Her heart raced. and once again she was apologising.  "I'm sorry... please." "Now I can't go on I can't even start I got nothing left Just an empty heart."

[Nadia is shoved into Daisy]

[D1f Jade Morin - Alyssaimagine]

May 9, 2020 17:14:53 GMT -5 D1f Jade Morin - Alyssaimagine said:

( paks d5f / intro / no attack )

( Paks d5f / post #2 / attack )

[attr="class","w460"]

What do you think it's like, Jornoth?" Paks asked, curiously. "Fighting other people with real swords, I mean."

Jornoth had grinned at her back then. He'd been older than her brother, and Paks had always gotten along best with him. As she grew older, he'd be her closest companion. She had never gotten along with the others the same way: there were too many expectations. Her father's ideas had been poured into her siblings, so her brothers expected her to be a good housewife just as her father did. With Jornoth things were different. He liked her for who she was, not what he wanted her to be. He may have been her cousin, but he was closer than her brothers and that's what mattered.

"It would be awesome!" Jornoth had exclaimed back then. "All good stories have sword fights!"

Paks sat on the tree branch, swinging her legs as she dreamed about it. Jornoth had been right: all good stories had sword fights. Paks had always dreamed of being a hero in a story, even if she knew that would never actually happen. She wanted to fight, and she didn't really know why she did. Paks wanted something to fight for, to believe in and that had never changed. Jornoth was six years older than her, and in a just a couple of years he would go off to be a rebel. He'd found a reason to fight, and Paks would never get that chance.


...........................................................................

By the time Paks had been old enough, the rebellion had lost. At first, it had seemed that all of her childhood dreams had died with it. How could she ever fight now? Sure, she could become a Peacekeeper. They fought, and Paks had seen it, but they weren't good and that was important to Paks. She didn't want to fight just to fight. Rather, she wanted to fight in order to change things. She wanted to fight to improve people's lives and help those who were weaker than she was. She wanted to stop the neighborhood kids from bullying the weaker kids, just as much as she wanted to stop that power hungry Peacekeeper from stealing from the poor livestock owners. She'd seen that before too, and the owners could do nothing. If they did, the Peacekeeper would just arrest them and make up some crime.

That's why when Jornoth had told her about whispers of a new rebellion, Paks hadn't even hesitated in agreeing to join him. She'd set out with Jornoth just after she'd turned eighteen years old. She had known another rebellion would be extremely dangerous, and it would be small. Her chances of dying for it would be high, and none of that had mattered, because at least she'd get the chance to fight for something she'd believed in. Who cared if she died like a hero in one of her books? It would be worth it, at least that's how she had seen it. In fact, she still believed in that. If she could join a rebellion, she would.

Unfortunately, life had other plans for her. There was never a rebellion: when they had arrived at the old abandoned cabin there were only Peacekeepers. They had all worn grins on their faces and looked at Paks and Jornoth like mice stuck in a trap, and perhaps that's exactly what they had been. The days following, they would tell them how they set the whole thing up while they worked on torturing them. They had suspected Jornoth all along, so they'd planted people to whisper in his ear. He told other people, Paks included. Over the days, they would capture more than just her and Jornoth. They'd had plenty of people whispering rumors.

Sometimes they'd enjoy torturing them in front of each other. Eventually, they separated them completely and Paks would always wake up gasping for breath, wondering where he was. Even now she was worried more about him than she was of herself. Was he alive? Did they separate them only because they had killed him? Paks knew that she'd never get answers to those questions now. She was at the end of her line and only death awaited her. Even knowing that, she still couldn't help but to think about it. She failed to protect her cousin.

That's when it happened. A sword, then blood. So much blood, so near her. Her heart raced against her chest, and her first instinct was to check herself. Had it gotten her? Did the blood belong to her? It smelled so strongly of iron. It didn't appear to be from her. Paks shook her head, clearing her mind. Now, she needed to pay attention. How could she let herself die without even being aware of it? She looked over at the girl she intended to protect and knew the blood came from her. Her gaze narrowed and she looked for the guilty party.

Another female. She didn't know who she was, and she most certainly didn't know why that girl would attack another with no arm. Had the other girl no sense of shame? She grit her teeth, and glared at the other girl. Sure, neither of them had a choice when they were dragged her, but they did have a choice when it came to participating in this foul game. Even if she felt that she needed to fight, Paks didn't see why she'd choose someone so weak.

"Leave that girl alone," Paks growled, stepping in front of the girl protectively. "And fight me instead."

Paks may be trapped inside these Games, but she would never let such unjustices go. She would defend this girl until her dying breath. If there was one to make it out, then Paks hoped it would be her. She had no reason to be in these Games. What harm could such a girl do? She tightened her grip on her sword and struck out against the other girl.

[attr="class","w460"]

Paks attacks Juno Del Air
EBEr8L2KZAsword
( 1195 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage )

sword

[Deleted]

May 9, 2020 14:25:13 GMT -5 @fabulousraven said:

beauden D12m / miss / 2nd post

beauden D12m / sword / 3rd post

b e a u d e n .

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

He is a handsome boy, I must admit. A chiseled jaw, there's a week of starvation etched into my skin already that is almost impossible to see in him. Just the sweat, the fear, the nerves. 

In every way, I inhale this last moment, where I am the predator. 

I flinch, and the second is gone. 

"I am not dying here today,"

"FUCK,"

It's a blinding white light and I hold onto nothing but my limp arm, I can't hear the sword drop to the ground. Not the sand beneath my feet making way for my flinch, "holy fucking shit," blood coats my wrist. My forearm, my only palm left- my one hand, my only hand. It's a pain, to fear, to anger, I am not dying here today, you motherfucker, 

I can't help but scream. Help me all that someone doesn't run and shove a spear down my mouth as he finds his ground in front of me; I am the prey here, the lion meant only for a gladiator's first kill. Fuck, it can't be me, choking on my own blood who dies, it won't be me. 

"Leave me the hell alone!" 

"You took my fucking hand!"

And he is still scared, a stupid kid, over the blood that stains the sand and my feet and my legs and arm and face and skin and bones- "god fucking damn it!" - there's a swirling in my brain, the same if you drop ink in water. It's muddy, the pain taking my focus more than anything around me and I can not help but imagine how it must feel to have this happen at your neck. 

At least she had died faster. 

This kid is fighting in self preservation and I always knew a cornered animal would bite the fastest. When I'm able to control myself again, I grab to my sword- I picked a fight I thought I could win, now I just have to pray I was right. Maybe he was smarter than me, to sit in a corner and wait until everyone was weak. 

Unfortunately, it's too late to regret it. "I'm going to fucking bury you."

[we slice and dice reed baby] 
pLsDoEcd0ysword
[1181 -- Stabbed in Chest -- 9.5 damage]

I try to pin him to the ground, run my sword through his chest and stake him - fuck my sword. I'll take his when he's dead, I'll take his hand and carry on- I will leave. Politely, like he asked, as the last one standing. 

Do I want to kill him? Six seconds ago I would say no, 
that I have to. 

Unfortunately, it might be something personal now. 

sword

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

May 10, 2020 10:16:24 GMT -5 thompson harvard - d2b - arc said:

[ d5m september yorgos | post #3 | no attack ]

[ d5m september yorgos | post #4 | attack (1164) ]

{ september }

Upon leaving the burning lamb, I could already notice the war had already started. Swords were swinging, a head was rolling (that was a first) and the sand was no longer it’s beige color. The scattered ash and blood had turned the ground into the red and black that fit the environment. Hell was supposed to be everything that Heaven wasn’t. Red, black. Dark like the heavy volume of which sin pours into this place, filling every single crevice, cage, scribed name on the colosseum. It fills the cheers of the audience members as the first head rolled and the first death was confirmed. They were the flames that surrounded hell and enveloped it. Capsulated every single whisper of sin - murder and treason. It was filled with every single milliliter of hate that the Capitol felt towards the districts for rebelling. I could feel the whispers of death in my ear as the swords had been swung. The chants. The pleas. The fates had no time to waste inside of this arena. They had already faced death and the most cruel, soul-whipping, soul-shaving punishment for thousands of years. They did not feel sorrow for the lost lamb or the hungry wolf. They had already faced the starving cannibal of humankind; this was just another day on the job.

I saw the girl from my district in the corner of my eye. She had stepped herself in front of an armless girl, almost like a shield. Like a mother deer protecting it’s doe or the mother holding her child underneath her arm, shielding them from the filterless grey world. Words - I have no idea what - escaped her lips and she quickly retaliated against the girl who I assume attacked the doe. The mother deer always does her damn best to protect the innocent doe, but what happens when she dies? The doe is left without a fighting chance. The doe is nameless to us but the heart of a family. I wish we had that knowledge. The ability to know the story of our prey; the name, the home. I wish we could have a moment to know what they’ve got to fight for back home or what they don’t have to fight for. Like Appa. Appa never had a home to fight for because it was just as dusted as the ashes upon this arena. I wanted to be able to take them - shelter them in our barn like we used to during the war. Get to know those soldiers and their motifs and if they wanted to live as a fool or die as a warrior.

I wasn’t sure where I aligned on that chart, a fool or a warrior. I hope I’d live, but I knew if I’d be a fool for wanting to live. The endless nightmares that I can already imagine having of the rolling head, the sobbing lamb. The bloodily painted arena being able to fill my nostrils, as if the scent of horse shit at home wasn’t bad enough. The feeling of being so endlessly tired of fighting but not giving up. I had moved away from Robyne’s cage by this point, I figured that I should let the lamb feed itself on the topic of life or death and for that moment, my world felt calm. I didn’t feel scared, I didn’t feel the need to charge into battle like some of the people here. I wasn’t an Argos. But I wasn’t a Noelle, either; standing, kneeling, sitting in her head dreaming that this was just a fairytale gone wrong. I knew this was real. I knew that this would either be my death bed or me wishing it was five years in advance after my nth day of light, becoming Venus, and never knowing when darkness would finally let me rest.

Soon those thoughts of the stars and planets were interrupted by a meteor - what felt like one in my heart after I felt the impact of a body against mine. I jumped, of course, turning around to face a girl whose district I had no clue of, turning around in the same panicked fashion as me and then swinging at me without a second guess. My insides felt the pressure of my gut sucking in and my body backing out of the mission of her sword. My heart felt the true fear that filled me in that moment like the pouring rain fills the trough at home.

”What the-” I let out a breath of disbelief, catching my heart back to speed, ”what the fuck?” I felt my voice rise slightly in a mixture of anger and confusion. I’m definitely no warrior, but I’m not a fool. My life does not go on pause when threatened. I am not the sitting duck or the old animal on the side of the street, ignored by the world as their world comes to an end. ”Is your first reaction always to swing at people?” I was no burning lamb or death written doe; I was the buck.

Like a buck with his antlers, I fought.

[attacks zephyr (1m) with sword]
c5U3Xl71G_sword
[sc - 3.5]

sword

[kap]

May 9, 2020 20:24:59 GMT -5 kap said:

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 3 | No Attack]

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 4 | No Attack]

[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 didn't know what to do, standing there, sword in hand. I was sweating, nervous and uncertain. I looked around at the others who were fighting. They slashed and punched. Kicked and swiped. I didn't want to be like them. Would I have to be like them? I hoped not.

I took another deep breath. I saw some tributes still remaining peaceful like myself, and wondered how long that would last. If someone came after me, I would have to decide if I would remain peaceful, too. It made me wonder how long it would be until that happened.

Were my moms and siblings back home watching all of this? Did they think I was being pathetic? It made me wonder. I really hoped I wasn't disappointing them. They'd been the ones who taught me that fighting was wrong, but would they still think that in this particular set of circumstances? I wondered.

~

lyrics: "Bad Dream" by Ruelle

[Alistair does not attack]

[cass]

May 10, 2020 9:27:49 GMT -5 cass said:

henry hughes | post 3 | attack 1028

henry hughes | post 4 | attack 1098

HENRY -

But each man unto himself
Is an island in a raging sea
We're the boat to anchor or sail
Of the two, which will it be?

The blade cut into her flesh as she jumped to try and avoid it. And the sword bit into her ankle, slicing right through. Suddenly her foot wasn’t there anymore, separated from her body. She doesn’t scream. Henry stared, confusion furrowing his brow, he had done this before, time and time again and people always screamed. They always begged for it to be over, the agony of losing a limb driving them made. But instead she stands, driving her stump into the dirt and faces him with tears in her eyes.

“At least you acknowledge your evil. You live in it. You take and take and take from a girl whose name you don’t even know and for what? To please them?”

He hadn’t chosen this. Why did no one understand that? She looked at him the same way those kids had when they’d lured him into the forest and beaten him half to death. She stared at him with eyes that blazed with anger and blame. They spat hate, they simmered with disgust.

Freak. Monster. Evil.

How is that decided? Who decided that someone who was born this way was evil? Where was the line that determined he was the bad person here? She was hacking at him, throwing a sword in his direction, and trying to kill him as well. He had been born this way. He had been born this way. He could remember the times he had sobbed into his mother’s lap pleading with her, asking her why it was so wrong to be himself? He didn’t understand, he had never understood. When he was five years old and his father found him pulling the wings off a fly he hadn’t known what that had meant. He didn’t-

”No,” a hand was against his head, fingers digging to the skin. “You don’t get to decide that. I am not evil, all I am doing is being the person I was born as, this is who I am,” he spat out the next word, “Sutton.”

She had no idea that he asked every single person he had killed for their names. He knew them all, and they weren’t there to haunt them, they were simply items to collect. He was a collector, he was Henry, he was normal. This was his normal.

Her next swing missed and Henry looked at her and he wondered if she had an answer for him. ”Who got to decide that the thing you think is wrong with me-the thing I had no choice over- makes me a bad person?” He asked.

- HUGHES.

[d11m Henry attacks d12f Sutton - sword]
Up5wNlYNi5sword
[1098 -- Stabbed in Calf -- 8.5(+1) damage]

sword