etcircenses: (Default)
Panem Events ([personal profile] etcircenses) wrote in [community profile] thearena2015-05-25 01:44 pm

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.]]
earthborn: (a warcrime in progress)

[personal profile] earthborn 2015-05-25 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)
The boom of lightning at close quarters is not unlike the explosive blast of a grenade. It's terrifying, physical in a way that sound seems to have no right to be. Shepard tries not to think about the words, concussion, or burst as she comes to Karkat, eyes wary over the chaotic battlefield. The explosion that took him down isn't the only one, and it seems unlikely to be the last; the Gamemakers are in fine form today, striking down Tributes like the lightningbolts of God.

Shepard scoops mud over his burning clothes, then rolls him over. He's filthy, but the ground is dust and mud, and that'll do well enough to stifle the flames. She knows from experience that it's better to be filthy, whatever the injury to Karkat's delicate sense of pride, than to burn.

"C'mon, kid, no lying down on the job," She growls, pulling his sleight weight over her shoulders. Hope you like crinoline, Karkat, because the now-crushed witch-hat Shepard was wearing is your new pillow, "We're getting out of here."
crabmunicator: (081)

[personal profile] crabmunicator 2015-05-25 09:21 pm (UTC)(link)
He wasn't even struck directly, and he wasn't paying attention to other people more than necessary when it happened, so he frankly has no idea what just hit him. Not in specific. He'll see later on the TV screens of the Capitol, but right now everything in pain and burning. There are some tears in his costume, and spots of red blood; little splinters and chips of wood have embedded into him on the side that had faced toward the strike.

He feels more than hears as Shepard shows up to dole mud and dust onto his clothes, and while the lack of being on fire is welcome, it doesn't stop him from hissing at the irritation to what damage his skin has sustained.

"What--Shepard?" He sees her hovering over him, and moving, cut out against the bleak sky, and he sees her mouth working too. "Shepard, I can't h..."

He cuts off with another hiss as she pulls him up. He finds that, whoa, he really can't move, even as he tries to shift his limbs to either push at her or hold tighter. What should he be doing? Everything hurts, and he winds up with a face full of crinoline, and he can't make sense of what the hell is going on. She hauls him off the ground with a dizzying rush.

"Stop spinning," he groans as his eyes squeeze shut, and he still can't hear a damn thing.
Edited 2015-05-25 21:22 (UTC)
earthborn: (win and then go to war)

[personal profile] earthborn 2015-05-25 10:01 pm (UTC)(link)
In a clear violation of his request, Shepard spun on her heel the moment she had him well seated across her shoulders and pelted for the alley she'd emerged from, keeping low to avoid projectiles.

One day, when she was finally free to act, there would be things to say to the kind of stylist who dresses a woman for the arena in a dress with no shoulders, but for now Shepard is just glad that the bastards had let her have a sturdy bra, because between Karkat's weight and the ever more tattered skirts, things might be getting positively indecent. In any other situation, it might even have been funny.

It'll make a good story, one day, right?

"Don't you dare throw up on me!" She demands like a threat, knowing how futile it is, knowing he might not be able to really hear her, even shouting over the booming chaos, "Just hold on, dammit!"
crabmunicator: (044)

[personal profile] crabmunicator 2015-05-25 10:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Karkat makes a threatening hrrgh, but manages to keep the contents of his stomach where they belong. For one, Shepard would kill him. For two, no she wouldn't, but he'd never be able to live down the shame. He presses his face more into the crinoline; his limbs are useless, but at least his neck is cooperating.

"I said stop," he mumbles against her hat.

He'd be more worried if he could put a name to all what's hurting. It's not like his first arena, when he was beaten three quarters of the way to death and choking on blood from a punctured lung. His leg barely bothers him now, which is a welcome change from the past month, though that might just be the keraunoparalysis.

With his eyes still shut, he doesn't see the passing scenery. He just knows that Shepard is carrying him. Maybe he trained too hard? Is she taking him somewhere? He can't think straight, not really, but if he's going up to his room maybe he can just sleep this pain off. It'll be better in the evening, more manageable. Some rest sounds nice...

His breathing starts to slow, and he doesn't say any more.
earthborn: (strategy without tactics)

[personal profile] earthborn 2015-05-26 03:58 am (UTC)(link)
She didn't stop. Shepard had never once in her life given up on anything. Through death after death, life after life left in her wake, she moved onward, and upward. You could either stand by her side or be ground under her heel-- or, in Karkat's case especially, carried on her back.

Deafened by the bedlam of the Cornucopia and the noise of the Gamemaker's retaliation for the inborn powers they themselves had permitted the Tributes to use, Shepard was unaware of Karkat's mumbled protestations. She did not feel the way his breath slowed, and it would be some time yet before she realized the futility of her heroism. Karkat Vantas was beyond her help.