![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
- ! event log,
- a discovery of witches: kit marlowe,
- dc: harley quinn,
- detroit: become human: chloe,
- detroit: become human: connor,
- dragon age: anders,
- final fantasy: sephiroth,
- locked tomb: harrowhark nonagesimus,
- marvel: carter ghazikhanian,
- marvel: jennifer walters,
- marvel: loki odinson,
- marvel: wade wilson,
- my hero academia: takami keigo,
- oc: elenore evans,
- oc: saxsice king,
- penny dreadful: victor frankenstein,
- south park: kyle broflovski,
- uncharted: elena fisher,
- uncharted: nathan drake,
- uncharted: rafe adler,
- uncharted: samuel drake
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!
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.
iii lost carcosa
He hears Anders's startled cry, though, and speeds up. Hawks is known for being very fast; he moves from leisurely to quick, catching up in really just a moment. He's there just after Anders trips backward. He'll offer a hand if needed as he touches down near Anders on the sand.
"You okay?" he asks. Though he follows Anders's line of sight to...a corpse?! He doesn't jump, but he starts a bit and his eyes go wide. "Oh shit, is that what I think it is?"
no subject
"Well, it isn't a party favor," he replies, as he dusts himself off, straightening up. He's far enough from the skeletal remains that he doesn't feel the need to spring right back to his feet, instead peering down at the skull in its faded robe - it has a curious draw.
"Poor sod probably washed up in a storm. ...After someone took him apart and redecorated a little."
no subject
"Well, I hope they fired that decorator," he answers right away. He inches a bit closer, wings fluffing in the cool air.
"You think this is related to that whole redemption shtick, or there's just like some pirate movie graveyard out there with shambling ocean skeletons?"
no subject
He shakes his head, pulling up his knees, the desire to stay sitting on the sand far greater than any instinct to get away. It's not as if whatever killed the shambles of a thing lying on the sand is likely to be around, still - the bones that remain are dry and half-buried, the cloak sun-bleached and torn. The only danger here is that pressing need to speak, and maybe not just to the stranger beside him.
"I miss it there, already. Not even just the city, you know? Even the constant rain and the knee-deep mud around the Keep has a sort of nostalgic charm, now." Even if it's hardly been long at all.
no subject
Normally, he doesn't sit on the ground. It requires too much rearranging of his wings and all that, which is a nuisance. But it feels really strange to just be standing here like he might change his mind and fly off at any moment. Or so he figures that's why he feels like he should sit down there next to Anders at last. That at least almost makes sense.
Either way, he manages to sit there on the sand, wings and all, head tilted to one side as he listens to Anders. The mage's words don't mean anything to him, of course; he lacks the frame of reference necessary to get the direct references. Keep? Like...a castle, maybe?
"Well, if we save this place or whatever, I assume they send us all home," he says. Whether he really believes that or not is anyone's guess. It's possible that Hawks himself doesn't know how he feels or what he thinks yet, but that's fine for now. He's sort of playing this whole bizarre situation by ear right now.
He doesn't share his own losses, at least not just yet. He's not good at talking about himself in any real way, not to strangers, and not to dead-men-tell-no-tales over here either. But he'll get there. He's more interested in listening to Anders first.
no subject
"I don't think it's going to be that easy." His shoulders slouch forward, as he turns back to that eyeless stare and feels the slow waves of its compulsion roll over him. Perhaps if he felt more hopeful, himself, he would find it easier to resist - but the truth of it is he's too used to this kind of loss. He feels it acutely even without the help of their silent friend, there.
"I suppose that's only fitting, though. I've never had anywhere I could call home for long. As soon as I think I've finally got it, someone else who thinks they know what's best for me comes along and takes it away again."
no subject
His gaze follows Anders's gaze back to the skull. Ugh, creepy, right? But there's something about it, too, and even Hawks can't really resist it.
"Yeah, I guess I just got lucky. Having the quirk I do saved me from living on the street or whatever, but...I gotta play by the rules, be the hero I'm supposed to. Everything comes at a cost, I guess. Trade offs." He tears his gaze away from the skull and looks back to Anders. "Dunno what that transient life is like, though. Not since I was a kid."
no subject
"I'd have gladly taken a life of hardship, alone on the road, over being locked up in a tower, beaten and berated endlessly just for the crime of existing." There's no keeping the creep of anger out of his words, nor the slant of his expression, now, brow furrowing as he stares down at that skull, impassive yet endlessly entreating in its blank, dark gaze.
"Making yourself useful just to stay alive, though, I suppose we do have that in common."
no subject
"That's awful, man," he says. His voice is mild, but he means it. He doesn't blame Anders for that creep of anger. He'd be angry too. Who wouldn't be?
He looks back at the darkness in the skull's empty eyes.
"My dad always seemed to hate me for existing, but I'm just unlucky like that. I mean, I turned out fine and everything so I shouldn't complain, but things like that get to you, right?"
His mild tone never changes; he's too used to coming across like he doesn't care, like he's unaffected or lazy or whatever it is. Old habits die hard.
"I guess it's not surprising that different worlds lend themselves to wildly different experiences, but maybe the similarities matter here when we're all stuck with questions and not answers."
no subject
"My father is the reason I spent so many years locked up in the Circle. He sold me out to the Templars the first chance he had. Like it was nothing. Like I was." And admitting it aloud, perhaps for the first time ever, makes him feel no better. That wound is still open and raw and ignoring it for nearly two decades hasn't improved things much.
"If these are the answers we're supposed to be looking for, then I don't want them."
no subject
Hawks doesn't know these words, at least in context, Templars and Circle. Bad places, bad people. He gets the gist.
"Dads suck, man," he says, but his tone finally changes, like it affects him to say it. He's not even allowed to use his family name. Most people don't even know his name. "We're better off without 'em." He most certainly was, and it sounds like Anders was too, but that can't erase all that damage. Another similarity there; Hawks has never addressed or dealt with any of that trauma from his childhood. The Commission wasn't really all about that kind of help. So, repression it is!
Whew, this is a lot of shit to lay at someone's feet when you first meet them. He didn't even catch the mage's name in all of this. So he wrenches his eyes away from the skull and back to Anders.
"I didn't say they were good answers." And what this has to do with so-called redemption, he's not sure.
He has no idea about the spell of the skull, or if they're stuck here trauma bonding or any of that. But if they're going to keep doing this weird comparing scars thing, he does at least want to know who he's talking to.
"I'm Hawks, by the way," he says.
no subject
The name his father gave him is something lost, too, but he feels that compulsion less, now. He shudders, as if shaking some unpleasant, unwelcome sensation off, at last, only glancing sidelong at his new acquaintance beside him, brief. Cruel, unvarnished truth is an unpleasant sensation, novel and terrible after so long without. Like plunging into icy, dark water, and feeling every muscle seize up, only barely breaking free of that frozen, breathless sluggishness.
"I think I'd like to get out of here."
Before whatever that black compulsion was comes over him again. He doesn't suspect the skull (isn't even really thinking about it, anymore, actually), but he knows that he doesn't feel - right. Not at all.
no subject
So that's another thing they have in common, that use of another name. Hawks doesn't care these days; his hero name is pretty sweet, after all. But these are weird things to realise you have in common with someone.
Hawks can't make the connection to the skull and this weird compulsion either, but whatever.
"Man, you said it," he says, hopping off the sand with the help of his wings more than actually standing like a regular person. His wings are second nature now, though.
"Let's head back to town. Looks like some fog's rolling in, and this seems like a bad place to get stuck."
no subject
He jumps a little, himself, startled by the sudden, unexpected motion of those wings he hadn't even noticed, before. Fortunately, they're not the first pair he's seen, around here (or felt distinct pangs of jealousy over). And his mood at the moment isn't exactly conducive to asking more questions. So Hawks is spared the third degree (if not maybe a little too much staring), as Anders dusts off the sand, standing a little less emphatically, himself.
"Fine by me. I'm getting a little sick of all this nature, anyway." The city's little better, but maybe for the moment it will be.