Mat

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.

Linus resheathed his sword and gave Prince a light tap, and off they went. The horse had served him better than most of his fellow soldiers ever had, and the two of them had shared a bond ever since Linus had named him. Calling a smaller-than-average warhorse 'Prince' usually earned some eyebrow raises, but if there was ever a horse deserving of the moniker, it was his.

In a different time, Mat smiled. He was home. Laughter filled the room, his own. He could hardly remember what home felt like, and it hadn't even been that long since he was here. For a moment, he allowed himself to take it in, the simple dining room and dirty floor, the empty walls. The life of a cattle raiser required none of the fanciful decor that the Capitol flaunted. It was the truest way to live. "Mat," a soft voice said. He knew that voice, knew the exact tone of it. Mat looked to the side, to see a girl standing there, smiling. Beautiful, with golden hair that fell past her shoulders. A face Mat had known all his life. He took a step towards her, then stopped, closing his eyes. "No," Mat whispered. "This is a dream." He opened his eyes again, and she was gone. Mat started awake, and immediately felt a spike of alarm. What good was a bush disguise if he was sleeping? He'd positioned the mud so that it only worked if he stayed at a certain angle, an angle he almost certainly hadn't kept while asleep. He doubted he'd been asleep for long, and clearly had been undisturbed during that time. Then the dream came back to him, and Mat winced. So far he'd done a good job at suppressing the memories of home, but now it all came flooding back. He did his best not to think about his past life, his family, her. The times he had left behind were too good to carry with him going forward. Once his name had been selected, all that had been left behind, and he couldn't revisit it until after he won. If he won. No, now that he was finally allowing himself to think about what he had lost, it wasn't a question. He would win. He had to. If not for himself, for all of them.

Linus sighed. Second again. I want to be recon, almost no one wants to be recon, but I get second every cursed time. Maybe he'd have to put in a word with Poliar. Still, he smiled. He was killing withers, and that was what mattered. At least he wasn't running point. He saddled up, adjusting his belt and the powder pouches attached to it. Onward he looked, gripping the reigns in one hand and unsheathing his sword with the other, raising it to the sky. "May the Stars shine upon us." The phrase was one he uttered at the beginning of every hunt. It hadn't failed him yet.

Linus snorted. Reports from the locals didn't mean squat. A number that large had to be exaggerated, but he didn't doubt that there would be plenty of the things.

Linus eyed the collapsed messenger, pursing his lips. He'd probably be fine, just a bit of battle shock. Unless it wasn't. Linus wasn't a doctor; he couldn't tell a broken rib from a dismemberment. He shifted his eyes to Poliar. Linus was eager to leave, but he knew his place. He was a good soldier, and wouldn't move until his commander said the word. He'd seen too many men die to disobedience to do anything else.

The Hunger Games, Mat found, were surprisingly boring. As a kid he hadn't really seen them- his parents watched as little as they legally felt like they could, and kept Mat away from it for most of his younger years. Everything he had seen was action-packed and brutal. But Mat was sitting in a tree, doing absolutely nothing at all. He wasn't complaining, though. He hadn't ever planned to look for a fight. If he could make it to the final three with his hands clean, then wait until the other two did themselves in, he'd be happy. The Capitol probably wouldn't, but Mat was caring less and less about that with every passing second of boredom. He sighed, adjusting himself in the branches. Mat had revised his earlier dismissal of the trees, realizing that it was all about what tree you chose. This one was the right height and had properly obscuring foliage, and did its job well. He figured he could wait out most of the games up here if he wanted to; there was a stream nearby and enough berry bushes to last a good while. It was extremely uncomfortable, though. Mat sighed, lowering himself to the ground. Even if it was the best strategy, he found he couldn't force himself to stick to it. Mat had heard stories of tributes going nuts in the arena, and he'd figured it was from starvation or violence, but Mat felt like if he sat in a tree for a week he'd go crazy too. There had to be a better way to lay low and pass the time. Ah, Mat thought, remembering something. Painting. He called it painting, at least, though it was name his mentor had resented. Camouflage, she had said. It's just camouflage. Well, Mat had an artistic side, what could he say? Plus, calling it 'painting' at least let him pretend he was doing something normal. Working quickly- the cannon from earlier had sounded far-awayish, but he also didn't know if that mattered, and there were plenty of other tributes- Mat picked his way through the undergrowth to the stream bank. He pulled out some large leaves and cupped them, then filled them with as much mud as he could. Mat nearly started right there, but considering the stream was likely a hotspot for other tributes decided against it. The bushes next to his tree would be better. As he worked, he grew increasingly skeptical about this whole thing. Painting a mud mask had come naturally for him during the weeks of training, but that was out of the arena, with a mirror. During the games was an entirely different thing. Still, he did the best he could, and when he felt good about it he inserted himself into the bushes, allowing leaves to stick to his face. Hopefully, they'd aid his disguise. What was he disguising himself from, again? He hadn't seen anyone since he had snatched the pack yesterday. Maybe it was less about the disguise and more about passing the time. Well, he'd burned a bit of the day away. Now he got to sit in a bush. Mat closed his eyes. This was going to be a long week.

Linus felt himself relax, though he probably should have stayed straight, and raised an eyebrow at his commander. He hadn't said a word, and Poliar had known exactly what he was thinking. Maybe Linus had gotten taller! He'd have to stop standing up straight if that was the case.

Bryson raised a finger, in what he hoped was a signal for yes, please.

Linus was standing straight. As straight as he could! It wasn't his fault he was so short. A memory sparked; a few years back when he had saved his entire squad because of his size. So usefully short, he mentally added, as he often did. Those men were all dead by now, of course. Still, Linus respected Poliar a great deal, and did his best to straighten. Though he had to force himself not to raise his hand in a mock salute.

Just thought you'd repay the favor, huh? That's not quite what happened, though, if you meant Vulture during D4- it was less that you pocketed me and more that you just weren't there. Vulture was absolutely my most confusing slot for the majority of the game (in alignment and ID) but I ended voting you so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ We don't talk about Weasel because I legitimately didn't catch the openwolfing until like a minute to rollover so good job there :P. Good game overall, I thought, I did village read you D1. ^^^^^^^^^^

Bryson blinked, adjusting his glasses as he sank further into the depths of his chair. The seat... bothered him for some reason. They were undoubtably comfy, but he preferred a nice, hardwood, sturdy-backed chair to the cushy beanbag. He was a special kind of person in that regard. He kept quiet about that, though. Icona had clearly tried to make this place ooze comfort, and Bryson appreciated that even if it wasn't exactly his cup of tea. What is this place, anyway? The first thing he wanted to do was explore the outer edges of the realm they inhabited, but he figured he'd have even greater places to explore if he was patient. "Adventure?" Bryson asked. "I'm in."

Craven had heard of ghosts before, though had never seen one. He remembered a long time ago, before meeting the Fellowship, when he had met a man who claimed to see ghosts every night. That man had been scary. And very old. Craven wasn’t scared of ghosts, though. “Why are we here again?” he asked, trying not to sound nervous.

Lesson learned >> Not voting Weasel there was my biggest mistake of the game for sure. Shame you didn’t praise the Ja though. I also learned that I probably should use Illwei PMs more because that was sort of working. I definitely came up with that on my own smh :P. Edit: @Illwei I definitely knew who you were at the time I PMd you lol Other ID reads were fine I guess, JNV was a surprise (well done!), so was Archer and wilson, and Stick, and Araris… got Tani and Devo though

In light of the recent slowness of SE, in player counts and game threads alike, I think a good step to take would be to design and plan to run rulesets that can work with a smaller player count. Something like 6-8, but also games that work with a more traditional group of around 15. I'm not about to let SE die as we wait for more people to sign up for games, and I'd much prefer an extended period of small-scale games to waiting for large scale ones that may never happen. But really, I've only been around here for two years. What do the rest of you think? Have low-activity periods such as this plagued the subforum in the past? Will this resolve itself naturally? I don't want to force anyone to play when they feel they don't have the time or desire to, but I do want to allow those who do have the time and desire to play (such as myself) to do so.

As the sword lowered, Mat felt his tension slowly ease. It didn’t disappear, by any means, but he undeniably felt better. For a brief moment he considered going for the sword and finishing her off, but the thought was gone as soon as it had come. He couldn’t stoop to the Capitol’s level, that’s what they wanted him to do. “I’ve—” Mat started. He was going to say I’ve climbed a tree, yeah, it wasn’t a very good idea, but at the last second he decided against revealing anything about himself or the trees to this girl. He wouldn’t attack her, but he thought it best to keep some advantage. “I’ve tried. I think I’ll try again.” He dashed off before she could reply. Mat shook his head. I’ve got to stop running into people. For a little while, he walked, but soon the sky darkened enough so that any spot to rest looked as good as another. Mat drifted off to the sound of cannons firing in the distance.