polylogs | Destination: Carcosa

Destination: Carcosa

✖ Carcosa

Ⅰ. THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The island's harbour is full of other ships, although not a single one of them seems to actually have a human being aboard. (You could certainly try to steal one, but doing so is an exercise in futility - you will find that even if you set off into the ocean you will wind up right back in the harbour again after spending a few hours lost in the fog.) Beyond the harbour is a glittering city of glass and gold. Curving arches and sharp geometric lines are the hallmarks of the architecture - an art deco paradise that whispers of decadence and hope for the future.

The people who crowd the streets wear suits and hats, drop-waist dresses and furs. Their faces are all blank smiles. It's the roaring twenties, darling, why do you look so concerned?

If it is your first experience of the Endless Isles, you have access to the High Temple. Should you wish, you may also seek out the island's own temple as well, which is located inside the city, in a district mostly forgotten by the residents. Don’t worry - your feet will carry you there.

The building is not large, and it is old and neglected. It has a domed ceiling, with panels of glass crisscrossed with metal painted gold curving upward. Whatever fine pattern may have formed there is lost to time; the glass at the centerpoint of the dome is gone, letting in the smell of the sea.

There are rooms equipped with beds spreading out like a spiderweb from the middle of the building. The temple proper is of course in the exact center, below the broken dome. In the middle of this circular room you will find dead branches gathered together to make a vaguely humanoid shape. This crude figure has been haphazardly painted yellow. A slab of concrete sits in front of it. There is not much to explore here; it is very quiet.

Either temple is a good place to simply rest, or meet some of your fellow Travelers. The High Temple of course has the Temple Chef and its usual Guardians, Flock, and Lantern.

The Island Temple has its own Guardians, which are small, pale humanoids with perfectly blank faces and small antlers like young deer. They will leave you alone unless you try to meddle with the central room. Doing so will result in one of them approaching you, and you will find yourself falling unconscious on the floor.

Ⅱ. THE MASQUERADE
Through happenstance, you find yourself in an enormous ballroom. Low couches are dotted everywhere, and a live band plays somewhere at the end of the massive space. A long bar takes up one side of the room, bottles sparkling under the light cast from the many cut-glass chandeliers hanging overhead. Champagne flows freely, and the scent of gin pervades the air.

All of the attendees are wearing masks.

You're dressed for the occasion, of course - you will find yourself wearing something reminiscent of 1920s America, with a small yellow sigil of some sort pinned to your breast. Ask any of the guests about it and they will tell you, "ah, it's a secret." You too, of course, are wearing a mask. You did not pick this mask, but if you look in the mirror hung over the bar you will find that it nonetheless hints at some aspect of your personality.

Which would be all well and good, except that you can't take the bloody thing off.

Moving around the ballroom, you will discover that a few other people also have the yellow sigil pinned to their clothing. It probably shouldn't surprise you that these people are all other Travelers, equally unable to take their mask off.

No, you can't unmask until you share something with your new-found friend: a secret. A REAL one, the sort you'd never speak aloud.

Of course, you can choose not to share. If you choose that route, however, you'll find that the mask is fusing with your skin. Leave it on past midnight when the cries of "UNMASK! UNMASK!" begin, and it will simply become your new face for the duration of the month.

Ⅲ. THE PLAY
Maybe parties aren't your style. No fear, there's plenty more to do and see in such a wondrous city. There's a theatre - the Meliora Grand as a matter of fact - and perhaps you're just the sort of person who would like to take in the arts.

The theatre has plush seats, and fabulous electric sconces lining the wall. Once you take your seat you'll find yourself looking at the stage, where a blood-red velvet curtain hangs. The theatre doesn't seem to fill up - indeed, it really seems that there's only you and one or two other people there. Curious.

The lights go down and the curtain is drawn open, revealing... well. Not much.

There are two chairs on the stage, a table between them. On the table lays a pallid face: a mask. Just a mask. Why not go on up and take a closer look?

Should you choose to touch the mask, you will feel a deep urge to speak to whoever else is in the theatre. You will, in fact, feel the desire to act out some sort of emotional trauma with them. Perhaps they suddenly look like your mother, your father, a lover who left you. Why don't you tell them how you really feel?

Naturally, you can both just sit in awkward silence instead. You'll be waiting until the morning to be let out, if that's the case.

Ⅳ. LOST CARCOSA
CW: the undead.
You find yourself walking along the beach at night. Along the shore the cloud-waves break, and black stars rise above you.

You can't quite pinpoint when you realise you are no longer alone. Maybe there is only one other person on the beach with you, or perhaps a few; you move as one down the expanse of sand until you realise there is something laying up ahead of you.

There is a heap of yellow cloth there, dry and tattered with age. It smells faintly of spices. Nestled among it is a jewel-encrusted human skull. Its empty sockets compel you to sit down in the cool, bone-white sand, to sit and speak to those around you about loss.

Everyone has lost something important to them. A person, a thing, a place, an aspect of the self. Something that's gone and you're never getting back. The skull grins endlessly, endlessly, encouraging you to speak about something you may not have laid to rest.

You can resist this compulsion. Maybe you were never good at sharing. Refuse the skull's silent request and you may continue down along the beach, or perhaps head back the way you came. As you walk, however, you will notice that there is a fog rolling in. It comes in off the sea/sky, obscuring the beach until you can barely see.

It's a terribly handy cover for the corpses that are shambling out of the surf. Wet, bloated, with eyes that glow a dim gold, they head for you silently. They wish to drag you back with them, into the depths. Better hope you can outrun or outfight them.

Bonus: What's that? You want a Carcosa playlist? You've got it, babes!

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Sephiroth.

[He returns that smile with nothing more than an arched eyebrow. Is it already that obvious that talking to people isn't his forte? And he's put such a... non-zero amount of effort into his social skills. He can't really be insulted.]

And, that's fine with me.

[He takes one more glance around for witnesses before making a choice and striding on up one of the gangplanks. Might as well act as though he belongs here.]

[ It's a little obvious. But it's also just Anders' natural talent for talking his way out of not so ideal situations that prompts the suggestion. Or at least what he considers a talent - although he's charmed his way out of plenty of trouble, he's irritated his way into at least half as much more.

Either way. He follows Sephiroth up onto the ship with the same careless bravado, as if they're exactly where they're supposed to be.

Once on board, Anders can't help but stop for a moment to admire the view. He may not be fond of the strange, too-bright, too-glossy city they've been unceremoniously dumped outside, but even it has a certain charm from the deck of a ship. ]

It's a bit nicer than the one that brought us in, isn't it? [ Roomier, too. ] Where do you suppose we should start looking?

[ Though he's already making his way toward the stairs leading up to the helm, and the door set between them - the cabin the first obvious place to check. ]

[Apparently that was a rhetorical question, since Anders is going ahead without waiting on his answer. It's strange to him, but he can't say if it's strange in general. He's so accustomed to a chain of command, to people waiting on his order. Is this how people behave when they view you as an equal?

The cabin is the obvious place, so he'll follow, throwing a glance back from that vantage before entering... but he isn't admiring the view.]

Odd that the entire harbor should be so deserted. I wonder if the arrival of our ferry had something to do with it.

Or perhaps all the guards simply went on break at the same time? And then quit.

[ It seems as likely. In truth, Anders imagines it's far more likely that they just have... other methods of protecting their fleet. Boobytraps? Wards? Although he detects nothing magic about the ship, and trips no wires, even as they cross the cabin's threshold. Still, he steps cautiously.

Sitting on the heavy desk at the far end of the room there's a more familiar sort of lantern than those buzzing electric ones they have in the city, and it lights when Anders picks it up, kindling such a tiny flame a spell as easy as blinking. ]

Then again, I'm not usually so fortunate.

[Sephiroth throws him a wry look for that suggestion, but anything else he might have said is derailed by Anders lighting that lantern.

Was that magic just now? You can still cast?

[It might be a minor spell, but it has significant implications to Sephiroth. He'd taken Anders for human, but where he comes from, humans aren't capable of magic without materia, and Sephiroth's equipment was taken from him. Even such a little thing shouldn't be possible, unless he isn't dealing with a human after all.]

Well I wouldn't be much use here if I couldn't.

[ He'd be little more than a mindless husk, still sitting on that boat, waiting for someone to come and boss him around. Thoughtless, will-less, empty. But it doesn't occur to him then that perhaps not every kind of magic is so closely tied to those who can cast it.

A frown creases his expression, a brand of wary defensiveness in it that hardly suits his careless facade. ]

Why? So I'm a mage. That's not a problem for you, is it?

I would call it the opposite of a problem.

[Anders says it like it should be no surprise, but also like it's not something everyone can do. Well, not everyone is trained in materia usage, but... Sephiroth is looking him over, wondering if he's missed something.]

How is it that you're channeling it here?

[ He seems somewhat mollified by that response, though a hint of his caution remains. He hasn't really dealt with much direct questioning in respect to his magic yet - or at least not from anyone who didn't seem ambivalent to it, or innately understanding, at most. This feels like less steady ground. ]

Well, I'm still alive and in possession of all my faculties, that's how.

[ Anders shrugs, gesturing vaguely with a hand. ]

And there are no Templars around, handy with a Silence. That helps, too.

[Well, that... does answer his question, somewhat. It certainly implies it's an innate ability, though how he came by it...

Sephiroth cautiously turns his attention to the desk, because they came here for a reason, but he isn't letting the subject drop. He can search and talk at the same time.]

...I'm going to guess that you've never needed materia, or any sort of... conduit.

Well, a staff tends to help. Maybe a lyrium potion here and there.

[ But, of course, neither is strictly necessary. They're tools to aid in casting, but only that.

He lifts a shoulder again in a halfhearted shrug, setting the lantern down in the middle of the desk and shuffling aside a sheaf of papers. ]

If you're asking whether I was born with it or simply lucked into an incredible talent for slight of hand, though, it's the former.

That's... unusual, in my experience.

[Unheard of, actually, something attributed only to certain monsters or the long-dead Ancients. Supposedly, the "Travellers" come here from different worlds. How different might they be? Could they have discovered different rules his world knows nothing about?

He pulls open a drawer, searching through its contents.]

Where is it you come from?

'Unusual'? What's unusual about it?

[ That edge of something leery slips back into his expression, as he rounds the desk's other corner, poking through the opposite drawer. (Nothing worthwhile, though.) ]

I'm from Ferelden. But that doesn't have anything to do with my being a mage. That was just bad luck, on my part.

I'm afraid I've never heard of Ferelden.

[So whatever it does or doesn't have to do with being a mage is lost on him, but clearly Anders expects him to know. It's common knowledge for him. And if that's the case, then he doubts Anders will have heard of it, but it's worth confirming--]

I come from Midgar. No one there does magic without materia, myself included.

Of course you haven't. No one else here has, either.

[ He sounds less bitter about it than he tries to - but admitting that fact is singularly more isolating and frightening than most of the rest of this whole ridiculous mess put together is well beyond his capacity for candid honesty. ]

So no one there is a mage? You must have the dreariest parties. [ Ha ha. The humor doesn't quite make it into his tone, this time, bitter or not. ]

How does anyone do magic without being born with it?

[Of course he hasn't. Would it be impossible for two people to have arrived from the same world? Maybe not, but Sephiroth won't expect it. And that's... fine. He can get by without the familiarity.

Sephiroth spares him a glance and a raised eyebrow for the attempted joke. Anders could be correct for all he knows; he doesn't do parties.]

Materia, as I said. It holds the knowledge and wisdom of the Ancients, allowing us to call up magic as they once did.

Though some have more talent for it than others.

I suppose you had to be there.

[ There's less humor in his puzzled dismissal, now, as he tries to parse the meaning in that explanation. Without asking a hundred more questions, though, he doubts if he likely will. Better to pare it down to just the pertinent ones. ]

So these Ancients did all of your magic for you? And now you just sort of pick up what they left behind?

[Sephiroth blinks. He's never heard it put that way, but--]

I suppose that's apt. It's human nature, isn't it? To use what we haven't earned.

[He turns away from the desk, scanning the room for anywhere else one might tuck things away. He wouldn't have expected a map to be something one hid, but rather kept conveniently accessible.]

Unfortunately the opportunity to do so here seems... lacking.

And take what isn't yours.

[ He pauses in poking along the frame of a completely innocuous painting hung on the wall - some uninspired landscape that reflects nothing of the scenery, here - then shrugs and moves on. ]

Though I suppose if I'd been dead and gone for a few centuries, or whatever, I wouldn't really have cause to care what anyone did with my magic.

[There's a shelf with a few books... none of them atlases. Apparently these sailors just have their routes entirely memorized. He thumbs through one of them anyway, but the conversation is proving more fruitful than the investigation.]

And now? Is your magic something that can be taught?

[ ...Or maybe there are no routes. Maybe these sailors just play pretend, sailing in circles around their creepy city on its creepy island. The same way everyone there seems to be playing pretend that they're all just so pleasant and everything's just the way its supposed to be.

—A train of thought Anders doesn't intend to share. Even he thinks that's a bit too on the nose.

His own search has become lackluster, as well, as hopeful as his halfhearted shrug. ]

Not unless you're secretly a mage. And I'd think you'd know, by now. We tend to manifest early.

I suppose it is unlikely.

[He could have gone on pursuing it. How early and in what manner does it manifest? He's been using materia since he was a child... But he doesn't want to bring a conversation with a near stranger anywhere near his childhood.

Moreover, most children don't have access to materia, so to suggest it masked some innate ability would be to suggest yet another abnormality in him, and he... doesn't want to go there, right now.

He replaces the book where he found it and turns.]

I wonder if this ship has ever actually been sailed anywhere.

[ It's a favor to both of them, really, that the conversation doesn't turn to childhood things. Anders has no greater desire to speak of his childhood to a stranger, or anyone at all. Ever, ideally.

He shakes his head, turning for the door again. Having a look around below deck is still probably a good idea, just in case, but at this point it seems more like sightseeing than fact-finding. ]

Maybe it's new? Still a maiden, sans the voyage? We're obviously a lucky pair. Perhaps we just chose the wrong one.

Perhaps.

[Said with a healthy dose of skepticism. It might be more plausible than the notion that the harbor's entire personnel simultaneously left on break, but not by much.

He follows Anders out the door, and a glance tells him the place is still deserted. Nothing about this is right, and he wonders what the point is. Part of an elaborate but not wholly convincing illusion? A temptation, to "test" them? A way to taunt them with a potential means of escape?]

Or perhaps they're all exactly the same.

What, like set dressing?

[ He's voiced the thought aloud before he realizes how eerily it lines up with what he'd already been thinking. (Or trying not to.) Not a pleasant feeling. ]

A big sham, just to make us think - well, what?

That is the question, isn't it? What any of this is for.

[They've been placed in this location with minimal explanation or direction--none of which he buys--but he's beginning to feel he underestimated the degree to which this location was... staged for them.]

We're being toyed with. Perhaps someone simply wants to see how we'll react.

Destination: Carcosa

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