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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.
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secondfirst impression. He counters the turn of Simon's mouth (disgust, hm?) with a pleasant smile. It's doesn't meet his eyes, but it rarely does anyway. ]Most of us want to get home. I don't think you're going to manage it alone, so yes. Connections.
[ Oh, but there is a hint of impatience at the last comment. With a final sip he smoothly puts the half-empty glass on the tray of some poor server that had cycled around. Fine, Simon. Have it your way, even if it's at the price of Ryo's continued shitty ego being on display. ]
I'm doing fine, actually. I'm just pitying your social skills.
[ POT CALLING KETTLE, RYO. ]
I'm not trying to step on your toes. If I wanted to do that I'd ask you to dance.
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[Not with Ryo necessarily... Because he kind of Sucks and he is just going to ignore that dance comment-]
I prefer to work with a team, I always have, it's just...
[He thinks back to his childhood. Ryo is an astute boy, so he'll notice the glaze over Simon's eyes, and the idiot blond will seem far away, if only for a brief moment in time.]
There isn't even a Leader here. It's... Every man or woman or supernatural alien thing for themselves.
And some people don't even wanna go home.
[Because there is no home left to return to.]
You gotta be careful when makin' alliances.
[He glares at some of the other party-goers suspiciously.]
Pick the wrong person and they'll just up and stab you in the back.
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It would also save him from repeating himself in some ways. Will Simon realize and run away? He doesn't seem to be manic right now. ]
Is there anything wrong with being independent? [ He considers for a moment, choosing to just be blunt. This isn't him thinking Simon is open to work with him so don't get that impression, damn it. ] I'm more of the type to offer my help if it benefits me.
[ He doesn't trust anyone enough to band together out of the kindness of his shriveled heart. His pensive expression deepens into a frown at the familiar sentiment Simon complains about. Consider it the champagne's fault that he even continues to speak. ]
Yeah. My best friend is here and doesn't want to go back, either.
[ Simon doesn't get more from him on the matter and he tips his head in the direction his fellow Traveler seems to be glaring toward. ]
That's simple. Don't trust them. Use them as much as they use you.
[ DON'T LISTEN TO RYO, SIMON. FUCK. Be a good little boy scout. ]
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[Simon will use whoever and whatever to get what he wants. There's no doubt about that. At the very least, Ryo is honest about who he is.]
Back it up, wise guy.
[He picks up on that not so subtle hint of fondness when that dear friend is mentioned. In part, it's because he knows it well.]
How're you supposed to be so independent if you've got a bestie, huh?
You usin' him, too?
[Why is Simon assuming that it's a He.
Wait just a dang second, is this-]
Hold on a sec.
[3,2,1...]
Do I know you?
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The question makes his expression harden in an instant. His tone has the kind of finality to it that begs the blond to try and challenge Ryo. God, they're getting off to a great start. ]
I would never use him. He's the only one I trust.
Don't prod about like you have something on me.
[ It's emotional whiplash, going from possessive to perplexed and he waffles for a moment, making a frustrated sound. ]
You? How would I know you? I've never seen you before.
[ There's something in how he speaks that is mildly familiar, but he pushes that sense of unease aside. ]
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So then you're not so independent after all.
[Says the reigning champion of narcissism and hypocrisy-]
And, I dunno, you just sound familiar.
[Simon doesn't like it.]
I hit up a couple of people on the network when I touched down. Maybe you were one of them.
[But which one... Not Akira, not Wanda... And not the god guy. He was... More regal than whoever this is.]
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Do I?
[ He doesn't need to entertain this conversation. Ryo could very well just walk away and wash his hands of the whole thing.
Hell, he could even say he did a good deed by removing the pressure of alcohol from Simon's plate.
But he doesn't. The mention of the network makes him bristle before he can stop himself from reacting outwardly. Shit. ]
Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't. Does it matter?
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[Ryo may be an unpleasant, snot-nosed pain in the ass, but...
Simon can understand the whole best friend situation.]
He sounds important to you.
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Both. Both would have probably happened if Simon hadn't backed up the conversation a bit and reminded his fellow teen that yes, somewhere in his overzealous ambitions is a terribly soft spot.
But he doesn't like it being pointed out. ]
He is...
[ Even if it seems that Akira wants him dead, that doesn't change things. Ryo seems happy to pack as much regret into two words as he possibly can. ]
I'm giving him space right now though.
[ Yep. Same asshole you talked to on the network lovesick for his best friend. Check. ]
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[...No.
Simon's muscles tense, though the nature of it is subtle. His nerves haven't been lessened by alcohol, mostly due to the fact that he refuses to partake, having never tried anything like it before.]
Is that why you're downin' so much champagne all of a sudden?
[He notes that the other has yet to introduce himself.
But Simon has a feeling he knows the name. That is, if his guess is the correct one.]
Pardon my French, but you don't seem to be handlin' it very well.
[The more nebbishy of the two takes a marked step back.]
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He stands his ground when Simon retreats, giving him an unreadable look. ]
Why would I be taking it well? Would you if your best friend was scared of you?
[ That's what it all fell down to, ultimately. The anger, the loathing... it was all because Akira was scared of what Ryo was capable of, and while that's not him yet, it will be. Maybe. There's something in his tone that's challenging Simon to call him out.
Champagne or not, he's not nearly drunk enough for this night. ]
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And yet...]
No.
Without her, it'd feel like...
[He wonders if he should say this out loud. He does, hoping that the other just won't remember.]
Life wouldn't really be worth livin', I guess.
Is it the same for you?
[What Simon doesn't realize is that his mask, if tampered with, will now indeed come off.]
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It doesn't sound like Simon actually wants to admit to what he does, so for whatever reason, Ryo lets it pass. He's tired. ]
I don't want to think about that. Maybe it's a blessing the world is trying to end.
[ Delivered unsarcastically. Christ. ]
At least he's got a fighting chance of surviving. I did something right.
cw: ig???? like suicidal ideation jesus christ
Simon recalls ending their previous transmission in a fit of fright, though here he steels himself, curious and in search of more information. If Ryo is the friend that Akira mentioned, someone who would be around the same age and supposedly an individual to be avoided, that would indeed make him a threat. If he were to go off of other conversations, the young man standing before him was the treacherous sort. Not to be trusted... And dangerous enough to somehow be involved in the end of humanity as they knew it.]
But he didn't want to.
[But Simon wants so badly to be something before he dies. Whether that is the highest number wielder, or someone who earns more than just a friendly place in Grace's heart, he couldn't tell you.
He just wants more.]
Did he?
[There was only one other teenager in this place that Simon knew of, and he'd been pretty sad.]
sounds about right.
I would never intentionally hurt him. I'd rather die. [ His attention returns to Simon. ] I don't need to defend myself to you.
[ It's conversational, if not a tad clipped. There's a hint of defensiveness beneath it and in the way his lips thin into a grimace. ]
That's between he and I. I'll ask that you don't try to interfere if you know what's good for you.
[ Listen he's not dead. He's just being mildly threatened. ]
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[Simon's eyes narrow. He, too, is possessive of Grace, though that quality doesn't really rear its ugly head until later, because he trusts her. Because in all this time, she's been the only one never to betray him, the only constant in the harrowing life they've stupidly come to believe is better than the ones that they've hailed from.
While far less safe, at least they have each other. And, as horrible as it is, they can dictate things on their own terms.]
I haven't seen him.
[Simon waits before he says anything further, searching for a signal of some sort, a way that would tell him how Ryo's abilities work. Surely he couldn't have destroyed the Earth by being a normal teenager, oh no. Something had to be up.
Hadn't he said his own father had tried to kill him? A horrible thought, but what if it was to prevent something far worse?]
He doesn't seem too thrilled about ya.
Or anyone else, for that matter. Not from what I hear, anyway.
[Don't say it, don't say it-]
Guess you haven't really got a leg up on the rest of us anymore, though, huh?
sometimes my icon names get me...
[ It's hissed between clenched teeth and he takes a step closer. There are no powers that show themselves, not now. It's a souring temperament that's rearing its ugly head, making his expression tighten. He's not fond of someone challenging him when he's hurt, and yet, here Simon is, prodding him in all of the tender spots. ]
A leg up? How is my friendship a competition?!
[ Even back home, he hadn't felt as if his bond with Akira was any less with Miki trailing around in her singular simp parade. She was just annoying. Simon... well, he's annoying too. At least the girl didn't have it in her to do anything beyond call him pretty and question Akira's willingness to just pick up and go the moment he asked. ]
We're all fucked here, in case you didn't get it through your thick skull Simon.
[ It'd be an embarrassment if he was wrong, but he's damned sure of it now. ]
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[Though that unkind grin Simon is now sporting would suggest otherwise.]
Friendship's all just fun n' games. That's why it hurts soooo much when they stop talking to ya.
[He's hurt, too, and insecure. Violence and bringing harm to others he sees as less than, weak, or undeserving of his sympathy, because yes, that is a prize to be won as well-]
Quit takin' all your anger out on me.
[Simon despises being spoken to in such a condescending tone. Especially by someone who is even the slightest bit younger.]
It won't make him come back to you.
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[ That your head is up your ass because that's the only reason you'd continue to prod the fucking bear. If Ryo really were to take out all of his anger, he'd happily knock himself into red. As it is, he remains at orange.
Who the hell talks like this to someone that's supposedly CAUSED THE APOCALYPSE? Said bringer of doom and destruction sways in place and he looks troubled. But his face slips into a carefully neutral mask -- as if he needed a new one. A deep breath is had, held, and let out. Imagine he's counting to infinity to not deck this kid out. ]
You're wrong. He spoke with me earlier tonight.
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[Spoken like he doesn't mean a word of it. Every hint of his tone is so overly saccharine it just feels rotten.]
If you're on such good terms, where'd he go, huh?
[Simon's voice is light and airy.
Partially to mask the bitterness he feels himself- Things would be so much easier for him if Grace was here too.]
Listen, pal. Like you said, if we don't all work together, we're pretty much doomed.
I'd like to do that. But what I'd also like is for you to quit bein' such a jerk! I can play nice, I promise.
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Is this your version of playing nice? I don't really think my joke about a sensitive stomach is quite on par for you being so flippant about the one thing that matters to me.
[ How... clueless. Ryo really does oversimplify his impact on others when they aren't Akira. Disbelief has settled in. He wants to slap the blond but doesn't. Ryo settles for shooting a hand out to grasp at the lapel on Simon's very smart jacket. It's a secure grip and they're companionably close, although his voice drops. ]
You ran at the idea of what I could be. It's clear you don't want to work with me.
[ As if he's aware of the crowd around him, he releases his grip and steps back, swallowing back a few choice words. This wasn't the place. ]
no subject
[Simon slaps Ryo's hands off his person. It's clear he doesn't like being touched, not by him.]
I'm just tryin' to figure all of this out! None of it makes any sense to me.
[He hesitates to mention that he's alone in this. Technically, he isn't. Somehow, making friends was easier as a child.
Is that because he trusted people more easily? Or is because now, at his current age, he's just that hard to care about?
Wow. That hurts.]
You say you care about your friend, but you're just the worst. He doesn't even want to go with you! Urgh.
[As angry as Simon is, that all sounds frighteningly familiar. But in the end, hadn't he and Grace made up? He so desperately wants to go back to that. To return to the friendship that he does remember.]
He's so messed up right now.
Doesn't it hurt to see him like that? God, it makes me sad, for cryin' out loud.
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[ Technically, Ryo doesn't even know himself, but what teenager really does? It doesn't matter that his hands sting from the slap (it's forgotten) -- they find a home at his sides, anxiously tapping at his thighs. There's a hint of the desperation he's felt this entire time, having to sit and wait for Akira to be okay enough to look him in the eye.
It's hard when you're being blamed for something you haven't accomplished yet, doubly so when it's by someone you love. ]
I'm doing my best, and here you come, strolling in as if you know him better because he unloaded on you. We've been best friends since we were children. Of course it hurts!
[ The confession leaves him with a bad aftertaste. It's still not good enough, and he loathes that this kid's the one that's seen him vulnerable twice, granted he doesn't trust Simon an inch. He's slipping, as far as being emotionally elusive. That will have to be remedied. ]
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Familiar enough to give even Simon, who isn't the best at situations like these, reason to pause.]
Look, I don't know him like you do. And I don't know you, either.
[That much is obvious.]
It just... Kinda hurt to see somebody else so strung out like that.
I take it you've tried talking to him? Have you... I dunno, tried givin' him a hug or something?
[#hugsnotdrugs]
You seem like the type who'd be really bad at that kinda stuff.
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[ Maybe he pauses long enough to look over his shoulder. Spotting nothing, he shrugs and tries to ignore the tension settling in. ]
Akira is sort of oblivious to certain things.
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