thearena | Arena 14: A Grimm Age

Arena 14: A Grimm Age

The morning breaks to a familiar routine for most of you. Bright and early the Tributes are roused by their escorts and stylists, escorted from their rooms and to the waiting hovercraft. The flight takes them a few hours out from the Capitol and after landing they are escorted quickly into an underground complex to be prepped. Tributes will find to their dismay that their outfits are a little less practical and a little more costume this time around, the ratio of which depends entirely on the whims of their stylist. Peacekeepers will appear almost immediately after they've finished dressing to put them in the waiting launch tubes.

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They rise up from the ground and -- phew, what's that smell? The Tribute's look around them to see a full-on medieval village, constructed entirely from wood and thatch. There are empty pens that might have once held pigs and chickens attached to the houses and a well is visible down the street. What commands attention though is what's in the centre of the village square where the Tribute's are standing; a pyre built around a tall wooden stake. Those who look amongst the piles of twigs and wood will see the gleam of weapons, as well as backpacks containing survival supplies. This is your Cornucopia, Tributes.

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Anyone who tries to look further afield, over the roofs of the houses, will see the main feature of this arena looming above them. The castle stands tall and forbidding, a monstrous sized building of stone with flags bearing the emblem of the Capitol flying from its parapets. From here, if they squint, they can see the drawbridge is down and the portcullis is open. For now.

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A triumphant sounding of trumpets is what signals this arena's beginning and with it those Tribute's with powers may feel a sudden tingling in their bones, a rush of energy as those powers are restored to them. Any with constantly active abilities will find a light illuminates immediately over their head, signalling that something about this powered arena is going to be a little different from the last. For those who try to use their powers right off the bat... well, they'll be in for a nasty shock.

[[OOC: A mod reminder that this arena is designed to punish Tribute's for using powers. If your character will attempt to use powers at any time in week 1 of the arena it needs to be reported here to be RNG'd by the mods for chances of success or injury.

There will be a thread on Death Roll posts for subsequent weeks power usage to be reported.]]

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The opening of the arena, as much as Maxwell hated to admit it, was something of a relief. No more waiting, no more wondering; something - at last - focus on besides... everything else. With so much to do, there would be little time to worry over what he felt.

Taking a deep breath as the tube rose slowly through the dark, he smelled the arena before he saw it. Cool and damp and earthy. Like the aftermath of a recent storm. The sky came into view, overcast and gray, but still he squinted slightly, lifting a hand as his eyes adjusted and the new arena came into view.

His first thought was of Crestwood, the Old Crestwood that had risen from the depths of the lake as the water had drained away. Except there had been so much obvious destruction there. Here... it looked like everything had simply stopped. Everything except the rain, at any rate.

It took him a moment to realize that the Cornucopia was meant to be the strange stake before them, and he didn't get a chance to study the supplies piled haphazardly around it. As the count ticked down he felt it.

A tingle, at first, like an itch. Then stronger, racing across his body, down his limbs, into his hands. Into his left hand. Building, burning, hurting, sudden and fast.

Gasping, he grabbed at his wrist, watching in confusion and surprise, as the skin across his palm ripped. Crying out, he sank to his knees as instead of blood, the pale green light of the Anchor spilled free.

If it wasn't one thing, it was yet another.

The inrush of flux caught her by surprise, the amp in her skull suddenly engaging with her nervous system in a rush of feedback that was loud, abrupt, and painful; Shepard couldn't help the flinch, or the flare of blue-white corona. The beacon lit above her head almost as soon as the biotics did, and she lost time looking at it-- the field had moved on, rushing in for supplies and weapons in a bloody-minded mass. Soon, a bloody one.

Shepard wasn't the only one caught by surprise-- Max was lit up like a flare, his hand glowing with putrid green light. He looked almost as radioactive as she did, and whatever it was doing to him was obviously painful

Well, alright, Inquisition. Once more into the breach, as they say.

Shepard pulled Max up by his uninjured arm, lifting him bodily if he wouldn't stand on his own. She slung that arm over her neck and shoulders as if his weight meant nothing to her and pulled him towards a likely-looking alley between the dark and ruined houses. The cornucopia was purest chaos around them, lightning-flashes and deafening thungder-booms at close distance, light from every direction as people's beacon-flares went off, or they discharged their powers;there was no point in speaking, action would have to be words enough.

Maxwell was all but recovered by the time they'd reached the alley. The Anchor had always... been uncomfortable; it was the surprise of it, the suddenness more than anything that had driven him to his knees.

Trying to slide off his rescuer's shoulders, he leaned against the rotted wall of a house. Hand held close to his chest, it flexed, the pale glow winking across his face as his fingers opened and closed.

Shepard put her hand over Max's sternum, partially obscuring the glare with her arm. Behind them, only chaos, a fantastic bedlam, and as she glanced back, Shepard picked out a single figure among the battlefield, fixating on it like a cat chasing a single nigh-invisible mote of dust. Karkat.

"Hey!" she had to shout to be heard, even now, "You okay?"

For just a moment, Shepard is still, and the ridiculous of her isn't to be overestimated. Her hat is held around her neck by a string-- it's used to be very fancy, all crinoline and velvet flowers, with a tall point and a wide, floppy brim. Max's arm had shredded it, and the lace of he sleeves was more hole than fabric now, long skirts rucked up and torn at the waist to show a slim line of freckles and skin. Shepard's witch's costume had been ruined almost immediately.

She nodded, as if deciding that he'd be fine, "I'll be back."

He was surprised that it was her, but there wasn't time to voice it. Or to even thank her.

The Cornucopia was out of sight, but he could see the light -reds and greens and blues against the wall behind her. He could hear it, all but drowning her out, even inches from him. Screams and explosions, flying stone and wood and bodies.

He could smell it. Blood, and ozone. Magic.

"I'm alright."

He pushed against her hand, trying to stand on his feet again.

"I'm alright, but I need to find--"

She watched him speak, mouthing the words awkwardly around his grimace, and nodded once, firmly.

"If you're--" a blinding flash lit the alley, shadows leaping up, sharply defined in strobe-light, and then gone. The sound split the air so loudly that it seemed not to be sound at all, but instead a ringing void where sound should be "...If you're here, I'll help you. Good hunting."

Of course, she didn't think he would wait. She wouldn't have, in his place-- but if he did, she would soon return. Once Commander Shepard makes a promise, she's gotta keep it.

Edited 2015-05-25 21:51 (UTC)

"Be--"

The world flashed white, blotting out his vision. It snapped back an instant later, but black lace remained, bubbling at the edges of his eyes as his ears echoed numbly.

He'd been hit with lightning before. Enough to know how damn close he'd been then.

He gripped back at her arm. A warrior's hold on her elbow. From one leader to another.

"Watch yourself."

Shepard gripped him back, eyes bright and smile more manic than grim. This was bedlam, a field of explosions and electric arcs, but minus the armor and the percussive chatter of gunfire, this was where she belonged. This was more like the battlefields she knew than any yet faced in an arena, and Shepard thrilled with the familiarity of it.

"Good hunting," she repeated, and then darted away, falling by habit into the crouching gunman's run that might even now save her from whizzing projectiles and bolts from above.

She had a kid to save.

A beat later, Maxwell moved to follow her, intent on finding the others if he could, or at least in falling in back to wait for them if he couldn't. But he rounded the corner of the house-- and stopped.

He'd been in battle. Had witnessed dueling mages. Had even been aware that besides his fellow Thedosians many tributes had abilities and magicks of their own, even if they didn't call them such.

But none of that really prepared him for his first, unleashed Cornucopia.

For a moment he could only stare, eyes trying to keep with the action, trying to pick out familiar faces - bodies - the chaotic field. That fireball, was that Dorian? That arc of lightning, could that have been Adella?

Then he spotted the lights. The unnatural flames, among so many others, floating above the chaos. A blaze to match the one below as the great stake smoldered, he thought at first, but then he noticed the way they split. The way they moved.

Followed, as one combatant, then another, fled from the field.

Looking up, he spotted his own, and he moved back around the corner, a hand gripping at the flimsy wall in guidance as he watched as the fire followed, the flames flickering merrily like some strange pet.

Markers. Why he couldn't say, but that was surely what they were.

Time seems to slow, in a crisis, as the brain remakes its priorities away from generalization and communication dwindles down to the simplistic back and forth of flight, fear, barked imperatives, and acts of violence.

It didn't take long for her to find Karkat, to put him out and shoulder the slight burden of his body. It took almost no time at all to sprint back to where Max lingered at the mouth of the alleyway, a distance not more than fifty yards; it might just as easily been a thousand. Soon she moved past him, the kid's head lolling on her shoulder-- that he wasn't conscious was no surprise, given the circumstances.

"Alright?" She could admit to surprise: he had stayed, and for that Shepard was grateful, "Let's move!"

To be fair, he hadn't exactly meant to. Maxwell had fully intended to push back into the fray - he had been among those supposed to run - or to move back at least. But he'd gotten distracted, and was still studying the dancing flames above his own head when Shepard suddenly reappeared.

A good thing she was on his side.

Attention ripped from the marker, he looked after her, glanced back the Cornucopia, then sprinted in her tracks. Drawing even a few beats later.

"Not too far!" he shouted across to her, double-taking slightly when he spotted the face slack in the nape of her neck. "Is he alright?"

Edited 2015-05-26 22:56 (UTC)

She used her free hand to gesture a vague affirmative, "He'll keep!"

The maelstrom at the pyre was dying down-- something in the woodpile was smoldering, likely as not from the lightning. Still, here and there, there were strikes, fireballs, and more dangerous rumblings, but the rule of the Cornucopia was to move in fast and get away faster. Now, moreso than any arena in Shepard's experience, it seemed prudent to vacate the premises.

Which meant, when Max indicated that they stay nearby, that Shepard cocked her head, then smirked as she nodded her assent. Find out which way the herd is running, then go the other way.

"Lead on!" Hopefully to somewhere a little more sheltered, "We can check the kid when we're secure!"

Maxwell expected her argue, and was grateful when she didn't. Nodding, he took the lead, winding away from the Cornucopia until he could the sounds of the battle had fallen back to a dull roar. Until the houses around them had begun to drift further apart and trees began to crop up in the distance. Far enough away that he could again hear himself think.

Skidding in the loose mud, he looked back, noting the smoke curling against the sky, the sparks and arcs of light still striking up in great booming claps, then turned to look around them.

"Here," he pointed to a nearby house. "We can wait here, if it's safe."

He didn't dare assume with the arena.

The landscape of a rural community was as alien to Shepard as any number of exoplanetary forests. More, even-- but she'd had nightmares like this. Picked over grain-fields and ghost towns. If the architecture in those towns had been more prefab than wood shack, it didn't negate an ounce of the wariness in her step.

"Only one way to find out," The houses made for an attractive target, easy shelter and defensible choke-points, all in one, "Might get lucky."

She jerked her chin to indicate that he should take point. After all, of the two available options, he was the least burdened.

He moved ahead of her, passing by an open window first and peering inside before he reached for the door. Water had seeped and swelled in the wood, it protested, sticking against the jam before giving way with a dull thop and a creak of rusted hinges.

From the doorway, he lifted his marked hand to survey the shadows within before taking a cautious step inside. Turning as he moved, he looked up toward the ceiling, patches of gray sky peeking through where the roof had worn and leaked.

He waved Shepard on as he continued.

"It's quiet. I don't think anyone else has come this way yet."

With the Cornucopia to sate them for the moment, they were likely holding onto their traps and tricks for later.

Shepard stepped into the gloom behind him; it was quiet. The dilapidated nature of the shack made for a haphazard shelter, but distance and the sparse protection of the walls still muffled. There was a somewhat distant boom, the trailing edge of the battle at the Cornucopia, but for the moment this place offered a respite. Safety, of a sort.

It was a good opportunity for Shepard to find a wall and ease the kid down against it. Karkat slumped down almost immediately, limp as a doll, and his horns scraped against the wood on the way down. She knew, almost without looking, what he had gone, and at the sound, Shepard's face twitched, a micro-expression that could not be helped.

Well, Max could just damn well avert his eyes if he didn't want to see it; if she were lucky, maybe his eyes wouldn't have adjusted to the gloom.

Automatic efficiency guided her hands, palm on his chest, fingers at his throat. He was already cool to the touch, and when she prized open an eyelid it was flat, clouded by death.

"Damn it."

Shepard said it quietly, and hatred rose up like bitter bile, full of acid burn. She left her hand on his unmoving breast for a moment, breathing slowly, counting the seconds against her own heartbeat, until the tide subsided. Her face was a mask, eyes fixed on his unmoving face. She did not need to vow, not even to herself, that she would see the Capitol burn. It was as inevitable as the heat-death of the universe.

Something cold touched her hand, and she pulled the chain out of his shirt to examine the boy's token. One sharp jerk broke the chain, and she pocketed it without speaking.

"I need to take care of this," She told Max, not caring if he saw or understoof, and lifted Karkat's body both arms, and cradled him. He seemed lighter, now that she knew, and the realization of her own idiocy in carrying him this far, "I'll be back soon. Hold tight."

Burying him would be futile, and letting him rot nearby would attract attenion-- practically suicide. Dignity in death, that was never how the Games worked; you left bodies where the Capitol could take them, and you were grateful you weren't among them.

At the low curse, Maxwell looked, but he said nothing realizing quickly what had happened. There was no judgement, no comment, only a sad sort of understanding.

Her friend might have been among the first, but that would hardly be the last they'd have to witness before the arena came to an end. He could only hope that would come quickly, when they did... or that he could go first.

That might have been best, for everyone.

Nodding, he turned away to leave her to her grim duty. Moving deeper into the house to look for supplies, minding the living while he still could.

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Arena 14: A Grimm Age

Maxwell| Open to Shepard

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