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.

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.]