Hannibal at the Gates.
"What a headache. There was a reason I took a break from taking the lead, you know. So many different forms, making sure the citizens are enjoying themselves, setting up rankings for the billboard. Victinius, I am sure my age is wearing me down."
The morning of the Games had come. Tributes were being transferred by hovercraft to the location of the arena, deposited deep underground until an hour later when they would be in their tubes, ready to be whisked above ground. Florence Fanta, makeup-less and looking paler than usual, rubbed her neck as she stared across the control centre. Victinius and Hector stood beside her.
"Well, Ms. Fanta, I think the public will be just fine with what you've done. You are far too hard on yourself."
"Well surely the public can find something to be annoyed about! I'm sure those Training Scores we presented caused a quiet stir. You underestimate their ability to see flaws, Victinius. Which is why we must be perfect. If you could, Victinius, please bring me updates on the tributes, and new information regarding the holographs of Ms. Thrym and Mr. Alpine."
He nodded and scurried off. Hector stared across the control room, eyes scanful of the workers. "Ms. Fanta, I think you overestimate them. Give them something new or fresh—or, in this case, old yet fresh—and they won't know the difference. Facades are easy to play when you've got power on your side. Perhaps it is best to tell you now that President Talyn has asked me to oversee things. He wishes me to be an informant."
Florence stared at the people working, focussing in on a young woman whose intricate hairstyle was bent over her workstation, her fingers meddling with creating a tree. Inside, she was reeling, but the only indication of a change in demeanor was her lips, which were pressed into a line. Countless people had been working on this arena, and the training scores, and everything else, for months, but even now she felt scrambled, as though nothing was ready.
The screen that covered half of the otherwise metallic wall showed a split screen of the tributes in the Launch Room, and the arena, birds being added just so subtly. Green expanse covered the area, towering trees just turning autumnal colours. A stream, hidden in the trees, encompassed the circular arena. The Cornucopia, gleaming golden in the chilly afternoon air, stood in an expanse of open plain, trees surrounding it in a perfect configuration. No mountains nor plain were to greet the tributes. Only the simplest of arenas would suffice, the suffocating forest to be enough, the only breaks in the treeline were those of the river coursing around.
"Send them up."
---
Welcome to the Bloodbath! Your tribute has been prepped and readied and they are dressed in a warm thermal jacket, cargo pants, and thermal mittens that stick and conform to their hands. Shoewear, hatwear, and shirtwear are otherwise up to you. This is a pretty straightforward task. They rise into the arena, and when the countdown reaches zero, they either use flight or fight.
THE ARENA
The arena is nothing special. Like the dawn of the Hunger Games, simplicity is key in the arena, so that time may be devoted to destroying you late on. It is a large circular arena which you would not know is circular, and the only open expanse of sparse grass is the Cornucopia, which gleams with weapons and all things gold and glittery. Around the Cornucopia is lesser supplies though still needed. Outside the area of openness lie copses, towering oak and maple and otherwise coniferous trees to the West, and deciduous trees on the East. The trees begin to mingle at the Northern and Southern parts of the arena, to which the Cornucopia horn point North and its tail points South. A rushing river is approximately seven miles in from the trees, and it circle around the entire arena. Flora and fauna, both poisonous and not (though as a word of advice, probably poisonous if one isn't sure), dot the innards of the forest, and though fish swim in abundance in the river, many predators also lurk, though this shouldn't be a problem until later.
THE TASK
Simple, straightforward Bloodbath task. Write their first few opening hours, however you like. Note that if your tribute decides to run from the Cornucopia that they will have no supplies or food, which is vital. The order of importance of supplies at the Corncucopia range from the least valuable items near the tribute places, and the most important—such as weapons or first aid kits—are inside the Cornucopia, which are often grabbed by the strongest among tributes. Be realistic with your choices in this task.
There should be some bloodshed, though your tribute needn't be at the hand of the blade. The timeframe of this task is the rising into the arena, to nightfall just before the Capitol anthem plays. Do of this what you will.
THE DEATHS
A combination of your choice between a maximum of 5 IN-ENTRY DEATHS, and 4 BALLOT DEATHS. You MUST INCLUDE a list of deaths at the end of your entry, otherwise your deaths will not count. A reminder that all deaths will be tallied and those with the highest ballots (not with the second or third highest) will face a penalty for the next task. BALLOTS DO NOT DEDUCT FROM YOUR SCORE.
EIGHT PEOPLE WILL BE GOING UP FOR VOTES, WITH FOUR BEING ELIMINATED
WORD LIMIT
2500
DUE DATE
SUNDAY MARCH 6, 10PM GMT. (Note that it is not Saturday, as I'll be away.)
If you have any questions, feel free to contact me. And, as always, may the odds be ever in your favor.
YOU ARE READING
The Third Annual Writer's Game: Roots
ActionIn Panem, there was the unspoken rule: do not forget where you came from. Do not forget the ashes and blood that spilled for you to live here. The little penance of yearly tributes let no one forget, but as the years passed by, people became distanc...
