Matrim's Dice

Yes! Come join!

Bryson raised his eyebrows. Now that was interesting! He'd have to talk to Wizard later. Preferably not in whatever dead language he was speaking in now.

"I can..." Bryson paused. He wasn't certain what exactly he could do. "I'm not sure, actually. Just standard magic, I guess." He shrugged. "I've devoted myself to studying the various cosmos magics, but evidently forgot about my own."

Bryson perked up, walking over. "I'm sorry- couldn't help but overhear the word wizard. I'm something of a wizard myself." He stuck out his hand for a shake. "Bryson."

Bryson stood, with some difficulty. “I’m happy to go anywhere.”

As the morning of the next day bled into afternoon, Mat began to grow seriously concerned. He'd been hearing cannon shots off and on all day, which was as much a cause for the concern as it was the antidote for it. By his count, there were under ten tributes left, and he hadn't seen anyone in days. Were they all banding together? Was he so far off into the woods that he was forgotten by even the Gamemakers, not to mention the others? At least the cannons told him that there wasn't a massive alliance brewing, though he never really considered that possibility. The Capitol wouldn't allow their annual bloodsport to be unraveled by friendship. Upon entering the arena, the idea of waiting out the games in peace seemed like a hopeful fantasy, but with each BOOM that sounded, it became more real. Mat started to fidget, glancing over his shoulder repeatedly, as his mind began to finally consider the chance of survival, but he pushed the thought down. It was too dangerous to allow himself to think that way. Mat sighed, popping a berry into his mouth. When he first had discovered them he had found the taste sweet, but it seemed dull now that he had eaten so many. It was time for a change. After examining his tree, he climbed part way up and snapped off a branch, one that was both thin and strong. Then, he searched for a rock- a sharp one. It didn't take long to pull up a stone with a point facing into the ground, and it was shaped in such a way that made Mat wonder if it had been purposely placed here for exactly what Mat was about to make. This next part was harder, though. Eventually he settled on some long pieces of grass, tied around the stone and the stick, and he mentally thanked his mentor for forcing the knot tying lessons on him. Mat had resisted those, finding them unappealing and useless, but he was grateful now. Hefting the completed spear, Mat nodded his head. It wouldn't hold up as an actual weapon, but should work wonders on the little fish he'd spotted in the creek earlier.

Isn't Dallin the one who really likes scary movies and zombies and all that? Seems like he'd be into that kind of thing

Doing nothing became easier as the day went on. Boredom, Mat found, was a skill. And not one they taught you before coming to the arena. The Gamemakers and the Capitol would like everyone to believe in the intensity of the games, but Mat wasn’t feeling it. Which was fine. There were cannon shots that had absolutely nothing to do with him, and that was winning. He wouldn’t think about what that meant, couldn’t think about that. It was just brutal reality. As the sky dimmed, and as he drifted off, Mat counted stars. Doing so reminded him of better times, and it was comforting now that he realized he could allow himself to remember. Again, he pondered whether the sky was the real stars or a manifestation, but he also decided it didn’t really matter. The memories of counting stars all his life allowed him to fall asleep smiling, and in the Hunger Games, that was a miracle. He couldn’t take the feeling for granted. No doubt excitement was coming his way soon.

Linus brought Prince to a stop, then quietly lit a torch as the fight raged around him. He stood at the ready, charging toward any withergeists that broke through, driving them back towards Poliar.

“No,” Linus said, but it was a lie. Why did people always assume that he was young? Maybe Yonath just called everyone ‘lad’.

Linus stuck back, as per orders. He complained to himself about running second, but in truth he was often glad for the position once a battle began. Recon was where he felt useful, but second was where he felt safe. As safe as you could be out here, at least. He felt the chill of a withergeist, but brushed it off, simply shivering. Focus. He had to focus. No matter how many times Linus did this, keeping his composure was a fight. He won, as he always did.