The Gamemakers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gamemakers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2012-03-31 11:30 am
gamemakers) wrote in thearena2012-03-31 11:30 am
Arena 01: Ready, set, go!
There's no word, before they arrive, of what the Arena will look like, what hazards and advantages it will give to the Tributes. It was a topic of interest in the news coverage beforehand, it always is, but as always, it's a closely guarded secret of the Gamemakers. They're gathered from the Training Center, individually, and taken into the hovercraft, where everyone is implanted with a tracking device, buried deep in the muscle of their forearm. It's harmless, but cutting it out would not be.
The hovercraft delivers them to an underground bunker, with only their stylists, and there they receive their one advance clue about the Arena; their clothing. Each Tribute is dressed in thick cloth pants and shirt, given sturdy hiking boots with thin neoprene socks, and a short, weather-proof jacket with deep pockets and a plastic hood. Nothing more.
There's just time to say goodbye to the stylists when the countdown starts. Each Tribute is directed into a glass and metal tube, which then ascends. And the countdown keeps going, a loud projected voice.
25 - 24 - 23 - 22 - 21
It's noon in the Arena, the sun brilliant on water, on cliffs, on the snow high above them. Twenty-four pedestals stand in the span of a wide tide-flat, surrounded by stony mud encrusted with oysters, cut through with rivulets of glistening water.
18 - 17 - 16 - 15
Through the middle of their circle runs a thigh-deep river, the run-off of the massive waterfall that stands a short ways back in the woods, and in the middle of that is the Cornucopia, blinding gold in the sunlight, reflecting the sea and the trees and the mountains.
9 - 8 - 7
They've all been warned, don't step off your pedestal early.
4 - 3
2
And then the gong, rolling out to echo off the cliffs and water, seeming to ring forever.
[OOC: Don't forget the OOC Arena post, especially those of you running for the Cornucopia. And here are your fellow tributes. Every single one of you ought to post to this post. There will be a Cornucopia thread, and anyone else feel free to post as you will. Please add a tag with your character's name.]
The hovercraft delivers them to an underground bunker, with only their stylists, and there they receive their one advance clue about the Arena; their clothing. Each Tribute is dressed in thick cloth pants and shirt, given sturdy hiking boots with thin neoprene socks, and a short, weather-proof jacket with deep pockets and a plastic hood. Nothing more.
There's just time to say goodbye to the stylists when the countdown starts. Each Tribute is directed into a glass and metal tube, which then ascends. And the countdown keeps going, a loud projected voice.
25 - 24 - 23 - 22 - 21
It's noon in the Arena, the sun brilliant on water, on cliffs, on the snow high above them. Twenty-four pedestals stand in the span of a wide tide-flat, surrounded by stony mud encrusted with oysters, cut through with rivulets of glistening water.
18 - 17 - 16 - 15
Through the middle of their circle runs a thigh-deep river, the run-off of the massive waterfall that stands a short ways back in the woods, and in the middle of that is the Cornucopia, blinding gold in the sunlight, reflecting the sea and the trees and the mountains.
9 - 8 - 7
They've all been warned, don't step off your pedestal early.
4 - 3
2
And then the gong, rolling out to echo off the cliffs and water, seeming to ring forever.
[OOC: Don't forget the OOC Arena post, especially those of you running for the Cornucopia. And here are your fellow tributes. Every single one of you ought to post to this post. There will be a Cornucopia thread, and anyone else feel free to post as you will. Please add a tag with your character's name.]
no subject
This...this was madness. And they did this yearly? The murder...it was so useless.
((This NPC dies here at the cornucopia, free feel to take care of that))
no subject
His gaze catches on a woman not terribly far away. She has a pack in hand but isn't moving. Shock, Ken thinks, and winces at the sight. She's a sitting duck, as good as gone. He watches as another tribute comes up behind her and thrusts a weapon in her back.
The white haired girl clearly knows what she's doing and it doesn't take long for her to spot her next target. Ken grins slightly and beckons her forward. The footing in the river is horrible but Ken hopes it'll cut down on the woman's graceful movements.
He takes a few deep breaths, biding his time, and dodges the first swing of the machete without any trouble. He ducks the next and blocks the third swing with his arm. Ken's other hand comes up to grab the woman's wrist and he yanks, trying to dislodge the machete. He gets a foot in the stomach for his trouble but manages to keep his hold.
That's enough of that, he decides and headbutts the girl right in the face. She staggers backwards, blood freely flowing from her nose, and drops the weapon in shock. Ken follows through with a punch to her jaw and one to her stomach. Once he's sure she's still dazed, he scoops up the machete.
Beggars can't be choosers. With a quick motion, he brings the blade to bear, slicing the woman's stomach. Blood wells up instantly but is barely visible under the tattered jacket. It's not the neatest work he's ever done and if she could somehow get medical attention, she might survive, but here, the woman's as good as gone.
Ken frowns a little and contemplates another strike before he turns away and steps past the other tribute. The other woman lays not far away. Sometime during the scuffle, the pack she held has disappeared but it doesn't matter. Machete in hand, Ken starts towards the shore.