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!

Network · Logs · OOC · Memes · Plurk

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Benedict Bridgerton ✦ Bridgerton ✦ OTA

[sketchbookings]

✦ i. the temple

---

[ It's a strange city, to be sure. Far stranger than London, certainly not even remotely class to Mayfair or the crowded streets of the city proper (not that Benedict's ever full experienced the city proper). But the streets here are crowded. The people who walk them unnerve Benedict. He can look past their strange manner of dress, which seems to suit their surroundings, but he can't ignore the blankness in their gaze.

Benedict just tries not to make eye contact.

It's not hard, at least. He's never seen buildings built this way, or this much fine glass outside of churches and grand halls. Perhaps in his gawking, he accidentally bumps into you.

Otherwise, his feet just seem to naturally carry him until he finds himself at the island's temple. He looks around, taking note of the beds. Benedict hopes he won't have to find himself here for the night, but with little idea of where else to go, it's worth knowing that there's at least space here. Then he finds the peculiar figure of sticks. ]

Do you think it's some sort of ... Homage to a god?

[ He's not quite sure what else it might be. ]


✦ ii. the masquerade

---

[ Benedict never thought he'd find solace in a party. Lately, he's spent much of his time trying to avoid them, or at least leaving early, bored and uninspired by London's high society. But for all of that, a party is something he knows, and something he's spent much of his life learning the ropes of. Sure, the suit and mask aren't exactly what he'd pick for himself. The colours, at least, are reminiscent of some of his own clothes, so he accepts that it could have been much worse.

He does notice the pins, and the common thread amongst the wearers doesn't escape him, either. ]

One would assume that if one were to have anonymity, it'd be at a masquerade.

[ He says it to whoever might be near as he picks up a glass of champagne, referring to the pins that signal them out as travelers. ]


✦ iii. lost carcosa [cw: family death]

---

[ He's never seen a skull before. Why should he have? It's a ghastly sort of thing and Benedict hadn't realized it's the sort of thing one can be glad about until now. Though there is something beautiful, if not macabre, about a skull encrusted in jewels.

Regardless of how he feels about it, he can't quite take his eyes off it.

As Benedict looks at it, he presses his lips together. His face takes on a thoughtful expression as he works through what it is he's feeling. He's never been the sort to share. He barely shares with his family and here he is, wanting nothing more than to tell the first person who comes across him something that he barely speaks of at all. ]

My father passed away. Ten years ago, sometimes it feels as though it were yesterday and other times it seems a life time.


✦ iv. wildcard

---

Choose your own adventure! Any prompt is fair game, or hit him up on scrywatch, or feel free to contact me if you want to discuss something~

iii.

[unkindled_madness]

[Sephiroth is studying the unfamiliar constellations when the stranger speaks. He glances in his direction, expecting him to be addressing someone else, because certainly two strangers who happened to encounter each other on the same stretch of beach ought to go on ignoring one another, but... there's no one else here.

In other circumstances, he might be annoyed to have someone abruptly confiding in him, but maybe he's feeling introspective himself, and it piques his curiosity. Things like family are entirely outside his realm of experience, so... sometimes he wonders about them.]

...are you expecting condolences?

[It's not said with sarcasm. He honestly doesn't know if that's the appropriate response here.]

[sketchbookings]

[ The perplexed look never leaves Benedict's face. It's possible he's as confused by the statement as the stranger is, which is odd, given that Benedict's the one that said it in the first place. ]

I'm not entirely certain what I'm expecting.

[ Benedict glances back at the bejeweled skull for a moment. ]

It was a bee sting. It seems so silly, that such a small thing can bring down a man.

[unkindled_madness]

[A bee sting? Sephiroth has seen plenty of death, but very little of the mundane kind. To be so fragile as to be killed by a common insect sounds utterly pathetic, but even he knows better than to say as much if he isn't intending offense.]

...I didn't know that it could.

It seems... insulting.

[sketchbookings]

Yes. It does, doesn't it?

[ He'd never thought to see it that way, but now that the man's voiced it, Benedict finds he can't help but agree. Perhaps that's what's bothered him all these years. Edmund Bridgerton had been a good man, a strong man, and brought down by something so mundane as a tiny bee. ]

He deserved a better death than that.

[unkindled_madness]

Hm.

[Deserving of a better death... But is there really such a thing as a good death?]

I think the best death one can hope for is a swift one. People glorify dying in battle... but it's still death, in the end.

[sketchbookings]

[ He frowns a bit. It seems like such a cold way to look at dying, which is already an unfriendly subject. ]

Do you think? I'd think that the best death one can hope for is one from old age, where you can think back on a life well led, surrounded by family.

✦ ii. the masquerade

[shapeshistory]

[ He's never been to a masquerade before. Or a ball. Or any actual, completely fancy party, despite how he dresses and acts. Sure, his mask is a little tight, but in all honesty, who gives a shit? He's having fun for the first time on this fucking island.

This is the most fun he's had in a while, dolled up in a fox mask and clothes completely foreign to him, but it doesn't take much of a glance around to discover that he's one of the more flashier people in the area. He takes a certain amount of pride in that, on his fifth glass of champagne already, barely buzzed, and dear God, the man next to him is wearing an extraordinary shade of blue. He picks up another glass, quickly emptying his own and setting it on the tray before the other passes, and quirks a brow beneath the Fox mask at the stranger who's refilled his as well. ]

Perhaps it's meant for comfort in familiarity. A singular identity may be hidden, but the commonality remains.

[ He holds his glass up. Cheers. ]

[sketchbookings]

[ The stranger certainly has a particular sort of style. It's quite jarring, and Benedict can't imagine anyone he knows wearing anything even remotely close to it, but the man seems to be unbothered by it. Perhaps even enjoying it, and Benedict notes that the man's mask is another elaborate one compared to his own rather plain one.

The comment makes the corner of Benedict's mouth quirk up in a crooked and amused little smile. ]

I suppose you're probably right. Though is it meant for us to feel comfort, or for them to single us out?

[shapeshistory]

Both. Neither. A warning. [ That's his going theory, anyway, and he brings a hand up to adjust the fox mask. It's uncomfortable, or at least getting to be, but he doesn't think too much of it. The thrill of the party, and all that. ]

Marking Travelers to blame a whole group if anything goes wrong. [ Or maybe his first comment was accurate--maybe it's just a simple little mingle where you can talk to other travelers and spot them by their little pins. Jack takes a rather large sip of his champagne. ]

This place is already a fucking mess, what's a little more mystery?

[sketchbookings]

[ Hmm. Benedict doesn't like that idea, that this singles him out for being a scapegoat. He sips at his champagne and tries not to let it unsettle him too much, which is easy, because the man's language is so sudden and unexpected that Benedict nearly chokes on his drink. ]

I've never been terribly good with mysteries.

[shapeshistory]

You have the swagger for a dinner party, however. [ His gaze flicks across the crowd, though it's almost imperceptible with his mask. He swears it's itching, much to his chagrin. Is it getting smaller? Whatever. He turns his focus back on the other. ]

Not everyone is as comfortable as you are in this setting. [ There's an air about the other, like he was almost born for this. It's envious. ]

Jack Rackham, by the way.

[sketchbookings]

[ He decides that's a compliment. It'd be worse, really, if he didn't seem like he belonged, after spending his whole life doing this. Still, something about it seems ...Dissatisfying.

Benedict puts on a smile, because that's what you do in these situations. ]

Benedict Bridgerton. A pleasure, Mr. Rackham.

✦ i. the temple

[extrasensory_problems]

[ He doesn't know what is more interesting about the strange effigy in the center of the room, the fact that it almost resembles a person or that there seems to be some kind of low throbbing energy coming off it. Either way he's been starting at it for a while so when Benedict speaks he jumps at the sound of the other man's voice.]

Yeah...maybe a God. Or some kind of weird Lord?

[sketchbookings]

I have known some rather peculiar Lords.

[ Benedict's voice is thoughtful. Everyone's met an odd or eccentric fellow, but he can't imagine any of even the more narcissistic lords he's known to erect such a thing. At least not something so plain. ]

A protector? Not unlike smaller talismans people might carry with them.

[extrasensory_problems]

[Carter tilts his head, trying to look closer at the slab in front of the strange stick figure.]

Maybe? But that slab kind of looks like somewhere where you'd do offerings.
Or a sacrifice.

[sketchbookings]

[ Oh.

Benedict hadn't thought of that. Why should be? It's a dark way to see things and it sends an unpleasant chill down his spine. He takes a moment to clear his throat. ]

Let us hope that's not the case.

[extrasensory_problems]

[Carter throws him a nervous smile and offers his hand.]

Yeah, I'd really rather not get sacrificed on my first day on a weird island. I'm Carter by the way.

[sketchbookings]

Benedict.

[ He happily shakes the offer handed, glad to be at least making acquaintances if not friends. ]

It's a pleasure, Carter. Hopefully we manage to survive to our second day here, hmm?

iii

[nightschool]

[He doesn't mean to head toward the shore in his wanderings, but that seems to be a running theme on this island--moving outside the bounds of conscious control, losing time, drifting to and from strange places.

And so the shore is where he goes, and if he's surprised (aghast; there's no doubt it is a cursed thing) by what he finds at the end of his stroll, it registers too deep to breach the surface among the many other jolting revelations of the last few days. A numb malaise has had him in its grip since stepping foot on the island, and though he does not want to sit with the ghoulishly grinning skull, he settles down by himself without complaint for his own solemn communion, arms curled around drawn-up knees, shivering occasionally in the cold sand. Although better than a robe, the breeches and shirt he'd acquired in the city aren't thick enough for a vigil so close to the water.

But they have a pull, these bones. Absorbed by his urge to peel aside his paralysis numbness and reminisce, he's surprised when someone else does just that, putting words to the mournfulness bubbling in his chest. He lifts his chin above his knees and blinks, taking in the human for perhaps the first time.

A father? It serves to pierce the numbness. For a moment, the only sound is the surf crashing to shore.]

Pain is inconstant that way; it can seem nearer, and farther, and nearer again. [Like the tides.] I'm sorry for it.

[A husky, halting offering. He hasn't spoken much with the others bearing the metal bands so far. But regardless whether he was the intended recipient or not, it's not the sort of confession that ought to fade away unremarked upon.

The giant's skull certainly won't be doling out any consolation to anyone's grief.]

[sketchbookings]

[ Benedict's not certain if he's relieved that the man's replied, or if he wishes that the stranger had stayed silent. He realizes now that he's said the words that it's not something he's really spoken of at all. He thinks about it, certainly, but none of them ever seem a need to bring it up. Benedict can understand that. The men of the house, of course, are expected to not be so emotional, and everyone else - save Daphne - was really much too young to have had any real memories of the man.

But Benedict had gotten nearly seventeen years with his father. He wonders if he might be the same as he is now, had Edmund Bridgerton lived on, and more than that, he wonders what sort of man Anthony might be.

Benedict opens his mouth and closes it and opens it again. The compulsion to share seems to linger on. ]

Sometimes I feel as though I lost a brother, as well. My older brother, Anthony, was only eighteen when he had to assume our father's role. It rather forced him to grow up a touch faster than he ought to have, I think.

[nightschool]

[Contrarily, Kit ought to be thanking the other for breaking the silence and dashing his fears he might have been the only one feeling the temptation to use the beach as a confessional. But whose story is it to listen to, his or the bewitched skull's? Regardless, he's listening, anyway, looking closer at the man who seems to totter on the verge of some release and turning his solemnity onto this intimate glimpse of lives capsize by that most cruel master: death. Focusing on a stranger's pain tugs him out of his head, keeping him in the present.

Does he know, he wonders? Has he realized it's magic at work, likely loosening his tongue? Perhaps... Kit should warn him if he has not gleaned it already. But the thought comes only after a delayed moment reflecting on the man's accent and diction, closer to familiar than not.

The water churns; hisses. He shakes the hoarseness of disuse out of his voice.]

Where is he now?

[England, he'd hope, and not here, if they are indeed countrymen.]

[sketchbookings]

[ It's better that Benedict doesn't hear the word magic. He's already very aware that it might be a thing, but he's not quite ready to accept it. One thing at a time, really. He's still sort of processing being here. Magic is low on his list of things to wrap his mind around.

This is a nice distraction, though. Odd, because Benedict doesn't necessarily want to talk about this, but talking about home - or, really, anything apart from their predicament - helps put his mind at ease. ]

London, I should imagine.

[ He certainly hasn't seen Anthony here. Or any of his family, which is a good thing, but selfishly Benedict wishes they were here. He may be twenty-seven, and Anthony may only be a couple of years older, but Anthony is still his big brother. There's a security that comes with that. ]

He wants to get married. I'd like to say I pity the poor woman who ends up his wife, but she'll be very lucky. He'll make a good husband.

[nightschool]

[A Londoner. A hint of common ground, confirmed. They're as mystifying as Carcosa itself, these glimpses of shared origins in the thick of the unknown. And yet, selfishly, he derives some comfort in the recognizable even as they discuss being separated from it. He can hear the echo of familial affection and admiration in the words; it's a counterpoint to their macabre host.]

Ah. I, as well. [He has to question, however, if they mean the same London.] I called it home before all of this.

[He shifts minutely, relaxing his hold on his knees to press dips in the sand with his heels. Like the warning, another thought crosses his mind to spare the other his wry commentary, but in the end, the reminiscence isn't all sorrowful. It sounds as though the man has someone waiting for him. Someone to find his way back to.]

Such is the fate of many a man in London expected to begin their own families, not only the first sons.

[sketchbookings]

[ Benedict smiles a little, glad to have found someone from home. Sort of. A kindred spirit if nothing else. ]

I wish it weren't. I've nothing against the idea of family. I very much love mine, but I'm not certain I'm meant for that life.

[ Which doesn't mean he won't do it. It's what his family would want for him, and it's the proper thing to do. Though Henry has presented a compelling alternative, and Henry is married after all. Could Benedict be so fortunate as to find a wife of convenience and love? ]

Though I suppose if I'm here, it's hardly worth concerning myself with.