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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.
no subject
"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it if I wanted to?"
"Krakoa," he says. There's probably some stops he should have included in there, but fuck it. He's left those behind now. "You?"
no subject
Kyle glares at Quentin for a while. Eventually he says, "I don't think I could stop you. I don't have superpowers. But you sure as hell don't look like you can throw a punch. So if you ever take over my body without my permission? I promise you this: I will smash your fuckin' teeth in."
Kyle frowns, clearly never having heard of it before. "Where's that? Oh. Uhm. South Park, Colorado."
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"Oh no! Raggedy Andy thinks I can't swing my fists around like some knuckle dragging primate!" He smiles devilishly and narrows his eyes. Boy, he likes knowing he might not be so many steps from making this guy want to man handle him. "That shit. Is for sapiens."
"In the Pacific. It moves around a bit," he says. "It's new."
no subject
"Keep pushing, asshole," he grits out from between his teeth. "'Cause you and I both know that if you're saying you're above it? It means you absolutely SUCK in a fight." These threats are comical coming from somebody with Kyle's build - he's more of a stork than a gorilla.
But as angry as he is, he can't stop his natural curiosity. "A moving island?" he asks. "That's actually pretty awesome."
no subject
Of course he pushes it. He's physical incapable of not pushing it. "Actttttually, it means I'm so far above it wouldn't even be considered a fight so much as a murder," he snorts. "I thought you said you know how psionics work?"
"It's not just moving. It's sentient. It's a living thing. We've hung out. It's pretty chill."
no subject
"Yeah, probably," Kyle says. "Possibly made in a bathtub and liable to make us go blind, but yeah. You wanna check it out"
And just like that he's back fo simmering rage. "Actually, unless I'm mistaken, in order to avoid me kicking your ass you had better hope you think fast enough to stop me before my body moves. And I'm not sure you are."
Kyle gets up and stretches. "C'mon, let's try the bar. You can tell me about living on a sentient island over cocktails."
no subject
"Yeah I do. I had one before I came in here," he looks around a little aimlessly. "But I don't where it's been since I went all Shakespearean soliloquy and frankly I would't trust someone not to have spiked it by now. Some real fucking rabble came through that temple earlier..."
Picking himself up he smirks at Kyle. "Ten million brilliant thoughts per second. If I get so much as a whiff of your motor neurons firing up with hostility..." he snaps his fingers next to his head and a crackle of the pink energy that sword was made of envelopes him. "You better hope there's a first aid kit full of finger splints in that sack of crap they're handing out at the temple." It's all well and good, but at the end of the day it does depend on one thing— whether or not he's paying any fucking attention.
"Kay," he gets a couple of steps and then stops to look at Kyle over the edge of his glasses. "But if you get me drunk just to take a swing at me I'm gonna turn your brain into a funnel cake."
no subject
Kyle snorts. Rabble. Nobody says rabble unless they're LARPing as a medieval king. And Shakespearean soliloquy? Kyle is beginning to suspect that underneath his I'm-too-cool-for-your-mainstream-culture haircut and irritating confidence this guy might be a nerd.
Kyle watches that pink energy crackle with some surprise, because it really is something he doesn't see every day, but it's also a far cry from the weirdest thing he's ever seen. At Quentin's threat he bares his teeth in a smile as genuinely happy as it is savage. "Guess we'll see which one of us needs medical attention first," he says.
He stops when Quentin does and rolls his eyes. "That wouldn't be fair," he says, as if trying to take on someone with superpowers could possibly be considered an evenly matched fight in any way. "I just wanna try something era appropriate. It's not like I regularly get to trip through time. And it's not like I'm gonna get hammered, jeez." Not much of a drinker, this one.
no subject
"HA!" his laugh barks at Kyle's threat. "Great. I can't wait to see if you're hiding some kind of superpower behind the world's most boring alter ego, or if you actually think you stand a chance," he grins back, matching the vicious mischief in Kyle's smile with his own. Maybe this will be fun after all.
"It's never as much fun as McFly makes it seem," he mutters of time travel. "Do whatever you want, but unless there's something else to do I'm not opposed to getting wrecked."
no subject
"Go ahead," he says. Then, less certain of himself, "I don't really know what's IN real cocktails. Are they very sugary? I can't have a lot of sugar."
no subject
While he waits for the attention of the bartender he picks at a tray of finger foods, gives something a sniff and stuffs it in his mouth. "Meh, the one's co-eds order are. The classy one's aren't. A gin and tonic is dry as fuck. What are you on a diet?" he asks throwing Kyle a funny look.
no subject
"Gin, right. Okay, I'll tell him to make me a gin something." Kyle shrugs lightly. "I'm diabetic," he says. "I had renal failure as a kid, so. Trying to avoid that shit ever again, thanks."
no subject
He looks Kyle up and down curiously. "Weird. You're kind of thin for that aren't you? Is there something I should be prepared to do if your blood sugar hits the roof?"
no subject
He actually smiles a little bit. It does wonders for his face, softening its edges enough that he no longer looks like an angry little rooster. "Nah, I should be okay, I'm pretty used to monitoring it by now. But thanks."
no subject
"So wait. Do you need insulin?" he asks after a sizeable gulp of his vodka. "Is that like.. a thing this place doled out for you?"
no subject
Kyle sips his gin and tonic. It tastes a little like pine needles, he decides. But not unpleasant. "I do," he says. "And yeah. The, uh, High Temple? They had a kit for me there." He sips his drink again. "This is nice," he says. "Thank you. I really only ever have beer back home."
no subject
He shrugs when he's not sure anyone cares but him.
"Beer's good. But if I'm going to drink I want something higher octane. I don't suppose they did a lot of Jägerbombs in the roaring twenties though... How old are you? Like twenty two?"
no subject
Now that they're not bitching each other out, Kyle can appreciate the fact that Quentin actually seems pretty smart.
He laughs a little. "No, probably not. Uhm, twenty-four in a few weeks, actually. You?"
no subject
"Twenty-two," he says. "Happy birthday I guess. Hope you didn't have plans." Maybe they wont' be here by then he supposes, but given the way things have gone so far Quentin does't seem to be banking on a short stay.
no subject
Kyle sips his gin and tonic. "I didn't," he admits. "Unless you count a shitton of final papers as plans. You go to school?"
no subject
"No. Thankfully that's over with. Just." Eyeroll. "What do you study?"
cw: gory violence mention
Kyle shrugs. "Political science. I'm going to law school next semester." Or at least he had hoped so. He supposes this is all stupid small talk, but he's at a loss for what else to say. Quentin has driven him crazy already, but he doesn't much relish the outta of just hanging out alone.
no subject
"To be... a lawyer? Or a politician?" he asks. Even if it is small talk, Quentin's just glad to have found someone who's not only about his age, but not easily chased off. He can make with some small talk for that. What else is he going to do? Hang around with Wolverine?
no subject
"To be a lawyer. I wanna work in civil rights, or to help prevent huge corporations from fucking people and the earth quite so much." Somehow, his drink is gone. Huh. "I have no illusions, I know I can't fix everything, but you gotta try, you know?"
no subject
He looks deadpan at Kyle a moment as if trying to assess how serious he is about that sweet but stupid little philosophy. He raises his fresh drink "Frankly my dude, I don't gotta anything."
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