Destination: Carcosa

[polymods]

✖ 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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Clarke Griffin | The 100 | OTA

[epitaphs]

I. The Temple.

[ Clarke makes her way through the glittering city in something like a daze, still unsure she's not dreaming, stopping briefly at the High Temple to collect the supplies she'll need for the rest of her journey and then continuing onward, obeying the will of her feet as she'd occasionally done when her heart threatened to lose all of its own.

It ought to have been a relief to learn that humanity isn't over and done with after all, but she has more questions than she even knows how to shape into words. By the time she enters the temple, she's found a few. ]

Does anyone know who's actually in charge here?

II. The Masquerade.

[ Clarke has rarely had the occasion to dress up, and the memories those times she had all come tinged with assorted horrors. Mount Weather, stuffed to the brim with precious antiques and stolen lives. Sanctum, and the loss of her own body to one who wore it like the costume she found herself in now. No matter how playfully the fringe on her dress swings, she can't find any festivity within her once she realizes that she can't be free of the mask she wears, a thing both beautiful and sinister in equal measure, a symbol of the corrupted Earth she thought she'd left behind.

Struggling with it has proven futile. If there's a way to undo it, she can't find it alone. Perhaps the person standing next to her can be of some assistance, and she can help with theirs in return? ]

Hey, any luck getting yours to budge?

III. Lost Carcosa.

[ She finds some comfort in the quiet of the beach, the cool breeze off the waves, the gentle crush of sand beneath her feet. She's just slipped her shoes off to dig her toes into it when she spots the object ahead and feels its call, irresistibly tugged forward even as the shape nestled beneath the fabric reveals itself.

She's seen so much death that she no longer flinches from the sight of it, but takes it in, the beauty and cruelty of it. She can't say why it occurs to her to unburden herself here, to this grinning bejeweled thing. But she plops into the sand next to it, weary from so much change in so short a time, and begins to speak. ]

Madi would've loved it here.

[ ooc: Brackets or prose both fine, will match you! Want a prompt that's not here? Hit me at speaksincolor to plan. ]

I.

[unkindled_madness]

[There's a very tall man studying the temple's effigy, and at her question he glances at her in a brief assessment.]

Apart from the so-called "Ancient" who brought us here? No.

[Which would be more frustrating if he'd had longer to settle into the idea that this isn't some bizarre dream. It makes more sense in a dream for the natives to seem so... one-dimensional, and lacking even in the capacity for leadership.]

[epitaphs]

[ She looks at him, silently assessing him for any sign that he might be some level of threat to her. It's automatic; she's scarcely aware that she's even doing it, but experience has taught her too well that anyone can be enemy or ally, sometimes both in turn. ]

You'd think they'd give us a little more of a hint as to what we're meant to do. The locals are supremely unhelpful, I've noticed.

[unkindled_madness]

[Oh, he could definitely be a threat, and he's accustomed to being seen as one. He hasn't found clothes to replace the robe yet, so it hides his physique some, but there's still something military in his bearing. Calm, but alert.]

So have I. But even if they were, I wouldn't put much stock in what anyone says we're meant to do.

[epitaphs]

[ What a coincidence; so is Clarke. She's not very tall by comparison to this hulking man, but she carries herself with confidence, if a touch more weariness than she might've once. She prefers to be a helper, or failing that, at least an explorer. She runs a hand over a section of wall, fingertips coming away slightly dusty. Whoever's keeping this place as protected as it is doesn't seem to care for maintenance.]

I don't trust it, and I don't like it. But we're here for a reason. I didn't come here to take a nap.

[unkindled_madness]

What sort of reason do you imagine?

[He might come off as a little skeptical, but he's curious. Being from different worlds, they must come from all manner of backgrounds, so she might say something he wouldn't think of.]

[epitaphs]

If you buy into the speech the Ferryman gave us, we're here to earn our redemption, aren't we? I guess I was expecting a sort of test.

[ She's already had one of those back home and failed spectacularly, but that doesn't mean she can stand just sitting around waiting for something to happen to her. ]

III. Lost Carcosa.

[medeiun]

[ The beach calls to Maleficent too — someplace that stands apart from the sharp golden angles of the city, away from its manmade sleekness and perfection. As much as she can appreciate a grandiose appearance (she certainly knows how to make one of her own, with all the leather and whatnot), for her such things are a mask, a protection. When she removes her leather headpiece and lets her long hair free, lets herself look like a fae creature, she feels a breath of relief as she steps towards the waves and breathes in the salt of it.

She'd passed the strange arrangement once already, the spread of ancient things: cloth, spices, the skull of some unknown entity. Maleficent did not care at all for what feelings it stirred in her; she'd made her way past it without closer examination. Yet now, as she's heading back up the beach, she sees a young woman sat before it.

The dark fairy pauses, her red mouth tightening. It is not her business to interfere with; the girl has made her own decision, and yet.... she seems to be human. Perhaps not strong enough to resist the skull's call, or perhaps willing to and not knowing what dangers that ancient magics could hold.

Maleficent draws closer, a tall and sweeping figure, horned and winged, the features of her inhumanly sharp. The girl says something — 'Madi would've loved it here' — and the older woman stares, hesitant, before she speaks in her cool voice. ]

It is not wise to share yourself with it. [ The skull, she means, her hard eyes gazing down to stare at its empty sockets. ]

[epitaphs]

[ Clarke glances up with a sigh and a weary half-smile, the spell momentarily broken enough that she pauses mid-confession. She hasn't talked about Madi much in the days that had followed her loss, the wound still too raw to touch. She wasn't dead, precisely, and she wasn't condemned to the life of silent agony that might've been her fate, but she was still gone. Clarke had still failed her. ]

Yeah, probably not.

[ She takes in the other woman's appearance with a wary sort of interest. People don't have wings, where she's from. Or horns. Perhaps she's something from the ancient myths, angel or demon or something else entirely. Clarke's seen enough by now that very little would actually surprise her. ]

I'm guessing you're not from Earth.

[medeiun]

[ There's a concern that whatever spell the skull emits might have ensnared the girl too powerfully for her to be reached — but thankfully, she seems to come out of it, looking up at Maleficent. The dark fairy stares intently down at the blonde's eyes, as though studying them, trying to see if the thing's affected her physically or not. Sometimes magic gets in, turns one's eyes an odd colour or shows itself beneath the skin.

Perhaps she was able to stop whatever this is before anything unfavourable could happen. ...Or perhaps this is only a temporary lapse. Maleficent will try to coax the girl further away from this display. ]

I am from Earth, [ she answers calmly, eyes still intently studying the girl. ] Though perhaps not your Earth. Is there magic where you are from?

[epitaphs]

I'd say no, but I've seen strange enough science to account for what most people would call magic. We don't have wings, though. Or horns.

[ She's not judging the other woman's appearance; if anything she sounds faintly admiring. She looks intimidating, but the fantastic features only add to her imposing beauty. Clarke wouldn't mind a set of wings, herself.

She eyes the skull with newfound wariness. Death was common enough where she's from that she hadn't associated this with any magic, but now... ]

Is that thing magic? Can you sense it?

[medeiun]

[ Maleficent has only barely glimpsed "science" — what Mankind does with its advancements and experiments. Yet she can understand how the two might compare. Humans can do.... creative things with their sciences. Dangerous things, typically. Threatening.

She gazes down to the skull as the girl addresses it again, her sharp eyes slowly looking over its surface, the two empty sockets. She takes a moment to answer, considering it. ]

I can sense that it is... ancient. As for whether it is magic.... I am not sure. [ She admits. It seems to be beyond her capabilities. If it is in fact magic, it comes from something far greater than herself. ]

There is also the possibility it may be cursed. A dark magic placed upon it, unable to be detected....

[ ...A thought eases into her. ] You did not touch it, did you?

[epitaphs]

[ Clarke looks at it skeptically, but can't quite suppress a small shudder at the way the thing's eye sockets seem to bore into her soul. She'd thought it was just her own melancholy paired with a natural fascination with this oddity just sitting here. Now, though? She's still skeptical, but she's not ready to rule out the possibility of curses. ]

I didn't touch it. I thought maybe it was someone's idea of art, or some kind of ritual.

[ Either way, she'd instinctively avoided touching it. Looking at the strange winged woman who seems to have far more expertise with such things, she's suddenly glad. ]

iii.

[pilferings]

You uh — might not want to do that.

[ Before Nate can get the last word out by way of warning, the young woman has already started conversing with the jewel-encrusted skull, its deep dark sockets eager for more conversation, more words. It'd given him the heebie-jeebies just coming across it, and he'd had to resist the pull to talk and spill his whole goddamned heart out. But the skull obviously has an appeal, and whoever left it out on the beach probably knew what they were doing too. Or ... something far more sinister happened to them, abandoning the skull to random passersby. Like them.

Nobody leaves something this seemingly valuable out in open air like this, not on purpose, not without some kind of compensation — which probably means bad news. ]

We ... should probably get going.

[epitaphs]

Who made you the creepy old artifact police?

[ Clarke's not stupid enough to touch the thing, so she just looks mildly annoyed at the newcomer who'd interrupted her confession. She hadn't heard him approach, which alarmed her. But it had been a long few days, and she'd been lost in her thoughts. She'd have to be more careful. But she could handle herself just fine.]

I'm good, thanks.

[pilferings]

You're good — really.

[ Listen, Nate understands he probably looks ... old enough to be her dad, and so this might appear to come from a place of ... weird parental authority or something (which is already a terrifying thought in and of itself, Christ) but! Creepy skulls that prey on someone's innermost thoughts and can probably do a hell of a lot more, besides? He's dealt with creepy, cursed artifacts on many occasions. He's advising based on experience.

Of course he can't do more than gently nudge her on the right path before anything truly horrible happens. ]

Happened to go to a school for my creepy old artifact police badge, actually.

[ And now we're introducing dad humour — Nate, you've gotta stop. ]

What part of the skull with eye sockets that could see into your soul and draw secrets out of you doesn't raise a couple of red flags, huh?

[epitaphs]

[ She rolls her eyes to disguise the barest hint of a smile that threatens to peek out. Some part of her realizes that baring her soul to a clearly cursed artifact isn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but on the Clarke Griffin scale of horrible things it's actually not all that bad. ]

How do you know it's drawing anything out of me? Maybe I just thought it looked like a good listener.

[ It's not even the first skull she's talked to. Come on, dude. Does she look like this is her first rodeo? ]

[pilferings]

[ Clarke, please. Get yourself some real-life, not-skull friends to confide your secrets to.

The sad thing, or the tragic thing is — Nate can kind of understand this kid. Not because he grew up talking to skulls or anything, but that sense of defiance, a refusal to budge unless he wanted to? That instinct is woven into his DNA, makes him the reckless treasure-hunting, career criminal he is today. Whether that helps or hinders him in dealing with teenagers just like the one he used to be, however, remains to be seen. ]

Trust me, that thing's not a good listener.

[epitaphs]

[ Look, she's not good with friends at the moment. They tend to die, or, you know, go to space for six years, leaving her alone on a planet. Skulls are safer; at least she can't kill them again.

Probably. ]

Yeah? So far it isn't trying to give me any advice, so that's a point in its favor.

[ She eyes the thing again. Okay, sure, it's creepy. And there's definitely something a little off about how it makes her want to talk about things she super doesn't actually feel like talking about. ]

Say it's actually dangerous. Think we should leave it here for others to stumble onto, or chuck it into the ocean?

ii.

[kneecaptain]

Not at all. Guess I'm too much of an open book.

[ It's just a simple red domino mask; it doesn't cover up the grin in his voice. Maybe Bucky doesn't want to remove the mask, especially in a crowded room like this one.

It's been a long time since he was at a fancy-dress party and not pretending to be someone else. It could be that he's still pretending. ]

Yours is still stuck, too?

[epitaphs]

[ Clarke's got baggage aplenty she isn't keen on sharing, but she also isn't thrilled with having this thing obscuring her peripheral vision all night. Or bending to the whims of the Ancient -- or whover had control over the workings of this place. ]

Yeah. I don't suppose you've got a scalpel on you.

[ She's not going to tear her face off in an attempt to remove it, but if she could pry at the edges, maybe -- it's worth sacrificing a little skin to see if maybe it just needs some encouragement. ]

[kneecaptain]

Just the knife they gave us back at the Temple. [ Which hasn't got the precision of a scalpel. ] Kind of tricky to shave with, but if you're desperate.

[ He'd probably stop her before she actually cut off her own face, but he wants to see how far this thing goes, too. ]

[epitaphs]

[ She's got hers on her, too, but she's already come to the same conclusion regarding its efficacy. She's not that desperate. Not yet. ]

It's fine. Maybe they turn into a pumpkin at midnight.

[ That's definitely how that fairy tale goes, right? ]

[kneecaptain]

[ He laughs at that. It isn't a happy sound. He's amused, he isn't happy. ]

Yeah? How do your shoes fit?

[ Bucky wonders how many people here are used to fancy dress parties like this. It's been a long time since he was at an gala without his dress greens, without the armor of a uniform. He looks fine in a tux, though. ]

[epitaphs]

They are literally the most painful things I've ever put on my feet.

[ Fashion is weird. She'd found it novel to the point of being charming at first, but an hour in these things and she's ready to stab someone with one of her heels. She's entirely too cognizant of the fact that, should she need to run or even walk a reasonable distance, she's screwed. ]

We didn't have many excuses for fancy parties where I came from. How about you?

[ It's not really trading secrets, but maybe they could work up to it casually. ]