Usually, the tribute's outfits for the arena aren't accessorized. But today, the last thing their stylists hand them before the countdown begins is a pair of heavy black glasses, polarized and thick-lensed. They look at odds with the thick, winter gear they've been outfitted in.


It's a long rise to the surface today, inside their individual little tubes, much longer than usual. They start to feel the cold only about halfway up, and to hear the wind. It howls across the surface as they reach it, pressing all of their clothes flat against their bodies. And the reason for the glasses is immediately apparent.


20 - 19 - 18


The sky is white. The ground is white (and gray and black and blue but mostly white), the far-off sea is blinding silver. Everything in sight flings light around, fractures it into scintilating rainbows and sheer white beams of reflection. It is strong, cruel light, and it bears no heat at all. The surface is so cold that the little metal trackers ache in everyone's arm, and the countdown has to continue at a deafening volume to be heard.


 12 - 11 - 10 -


The circle of silver pedestals is the only regular shape to be seen. All else is fractured and split, the most uneven footing imaginable. And at the center of the circle, the Cornucopia sports icycles hanging from its lip, almost to the pile of supplies tucked all neatly inside its mouth.


4


3


2


There's a lull in the wind just as the gong sounds, letting it peal out across the frozen glacier, and echo off the high rock cliffs in the distance. And the ice answers, with a loud crack that seems to come from miles down.


Let the Games begin.

It is early morning, when all the animals suddenly go silent. The day before, those paying close attention might have noticed some restless behavior, but who wouldn't be restless trapped in the arena.

The eerie silence only last a moment of two before suddenly there is a deep growl, an awful sound of rupturing, and then the whole world is shaking.

Part of the old building, the part closest to the ocean, sways precariously, holding on for one moment, before it, and a large section of the cliffs crashed into the ocean.

They send a wave surging out, away from the land. However, when it hits the invisible edge of the arena, although a large amount of the force presses right through, there is still enough caught with in the force field to bounce back, sending a sizable wave that manged to crest over the top of the cliffs, washing away anything too close to shore.

The force field manages to hold, clearly better built than what would normally surround an arena.

When everything settles, half of the building now sits in the ocean. One the west side, many of the halls and rooms are now open to the air. The path to the ocean is gone, and several older, weaker trees have collapsed to the ground as well.

In the Capitol, the electricity stutters, before going out. It is restored quickly in many places, but some are without electricity for up to 45 minutes.

OOC| Death roll will be posted shortly, so feel free to use this as inspiration to your plotting there. Feel free to ask any questions here, but please use that post for OOC plotting.

For some this is starting to be routine. For some it is new, and little is done to ease them into it. The peacekeepers are never warm on these flights, but they are rougher, quieter today, and after having their tracking devices inserted or reactivated, the tributes don't see them until they are lead to small, metal rooms.

They are dressed quietly by their stylist, and the stylist move quicker this time, dressing them in heavy cargo pants, boots, thick socks, an undershirt and sweater. A light, plastic jacket is laid over the top, with a hood and plenty of pockets.

They are lead to tubes, with a reminder not to leave the pedestal. The tubes are metal this time, thick, the door sliding closed over them and leaving the tributes in the small, dark area. Entombed until they start the smooth rise to the surface.

25 - 24 - 23

Rising to the surfaces, they can see before them a building, ravished by time but still standing. Behind it, cliffs fall to the ocean, glittering in the sun for miles and miles, a dark blue distance that offers no escape. Behind them, the last trails of fog lead into a forest, still spotted with the lingering remains of the buildings that had once stood there. The air is cool, crisp, and the warmth of the sweater can be appreciated quickly.

20 - 19 - 18 - 17 - 16

One wall of the building before them is gone, exposing deep into the building's heart. There, about 50 yards into the ruins, lies the cornucopia. It's weapons and supplies are scattered among the ruins, dropped haphazardly among crumbling walls and exposed rebar.

11- 10 - 9 - 8

Warned not to move from their pedestals, they are given the last 10 seconds to plans their attack.

5

4

3

2

The gong sounds, clear in the crisp air. Let the games begin.

[OOC: Check here if your character ran for the cornucopia to see your results. Post here to play those out.

Characters on reserve have until Wednesday, Nov 14th to be eligible to tag into this arena and this post, but anyone who did not sign up for the Cornucopia will be handwaved as having not not been part of the Cornucopia battle.]

WHO| Some and Eliot and anyone with Eliot.
WHAT| Some's not willing to kill yet? That just means it's his turn first.
WHEN| Just a few nights into the games.
WHERE| The second largest island
WARNINGS/NOTES| Death, maneater.

The prison- arena, they'd called it an arena- was hell. Some had escaped the first day without fighting anyone, had only fled into the undergrowth, hiding away from the sunlight. Whatever the woman who'd accompanied him after the hovercraft ride had rubbed into his fur had been protecting him, but he didn't trust it, especially not after his swim. His fur had dried in stiff, sticky spikes, and he didn't dare take the time to groom- time spent in that was time he needed to be watching out for other contestants. He didn't want to kill anyone. But that wouldn't keep them from trying to kill him.

At least they weren't all humans.

He moved at night, from the bigger island to the next one, the other one with trees, hoping that fewer of the tributes would have gone there for refuge. He built himself a canopy of the leaves, though handling them made his palms itch and redden, and endured the day beneath it, low to the ground as a turtle. Once, he heard a few of them pass close, chasing or being chased, and he huddled small. He waited, even though hunger twisted at him.

Only at night could he make himself come out. Insects whirred in the trees as he pushed up his thick blanket of leaves and slunk out, keeping to all eight limbs, his long, lean body low to the ground. He moved silently, listening, and heard nothing, until he reached the beach. There, he opened his eyes wide to take in all the light he could, and stood slowly up on all fours, then up to only his hind legs, making himself as tall as he could, staring out to sea.

There was nothing but stars. As far as he could see, there were no lights, no other land.

Something struck him a moment later, sharp and fast. He yelped and dropped back to all fours as the big white bird wheeled away, and another just missed raking his face with its cruel beak. He cursed himself for not noticing them wheeling above him. A third dove, and he covered his head with his arms, turning to run down the white sand beach as fast as he could, to leave them behind.

For some, this is the third visit to the arena. They know the tension by now, the electricity to the air as they're taken from the Capitol by hovercraft, the windows blacked out to preserve the element of surprise. Perhaps they are beginning to form rituals of anticipation or dread on these quiet, somber flights. New tributes have a tracking device implanted in their arm while old ones have theirs reactivated, both in movements so swift they'd be easy to miss or to mistake for each other.

After the craft, left alone in a cold, steel-lined underground space with their stylists, each tribute is dressed quickly; This time, the costume is a lightweight body-suit, pale green and mesh-like, with a thickly padded belt for flotation. By the time they are dispatched into the clear tubes, perhaps they will have noticed the sound. Quiet but steady, a regular booming like timed, distant explosions, the sound penetrates the underground station like a heartbeat as the tubes all rise up.

25 - 24 - 23

The steady thunder crescendos as they reach the surface, rise into the dawning light of a blinding equatorial day, and as the tubes drop from around them, the source, the unending waves of open ocean fling salt spray into their faces, chilling skin right through the thin body-suits.

20 - 19 - 18 - 17 - 16

The Cornucopia lies half-buried in white sand between outcroppings of reddish rock on the small island, barely big enough for the wide circle of tributes. Scattered around it are the weapons, the supplies, the brightly-colored bags they've been told to expect. Beyond the sandy islet, the reef stretches out, low-tide baring long stretches of it like a path through the sea, arching around to the other islands.

11- 10 - 9 - 8

They've all been warned, don't step off your pedestal early.

5 - 4

3

2

The sound of the gong, long and clear, rolls out above the roar of the waves. Let the games begin.

[OOC: Don't forget the OOC Arena post, especially those of you running for the Cornucopia. Every single one of you needs 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.

Characters on reserve have until Wednesday, August 8th to be eligible to tag into this arena and this post, but anyone who did not sign up for the Cornucopia by Saturday, August 4th will be handwaved as having not not been part of the Cornucopia battle.]