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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.
Deadpool - Readjusting All Expectations Since...er...forever!
Although wasn't this the "mirror mirror" chica?
(Actually no. That's the Evil Queen from Snow White. Also, it's "Magic Mirror on the wall", not "mirror mirror".)
"No shit, really?"
(Yeah, it's a thing. People get it wrong constantly. It's also not uncommon to get Snow White and Sleeping Beauty confused.)
"Yeah, what the heck. I was two kinds of wrong there."
(Yeah. This is NOT the one who's into how hot she is.)
"I guess she doesn't have to be. I mean, she's played by Angelina Jolie. She's automatically stunning."
(Focus, man. Focus.)
"Magic?" His focus drifts from his yellow boxes back to Maleficent. "Oh, no, no Doctor Strange stuff going on here. Just good old fashioned mad science. I used to be a normal guy with cancer, then they experimented on me to see if they could make home grown mutants and now I'm a fucked up kiiiind of? mutated guy with cancer. It's not as amazing as it seems. Under this mask, I look like a wilted mushroom."
He taps his chin in thought. "You may be onto something with that question though. That's pretty deep. Maybe that is why I just carelessly throw myself into the massive lustrous and yet dangerous wings of others. I must have a death wish or something. I mean, I do, me and Death are star crossed lovers, but that literal aside is beside the point. Hey I've always wondered, have you ever gored someone with those horns? Are they sensitive? What happens if someone touches them?"
Is he reaching up to grab a horn? Of course he is. Because why not? He is terrible and that is what a terrible person would do. But uptic, how many people does Maleficent meet who are utterly unafraid of her?
no subject
.....Angelina Jolie? What is this Angelina Jolie?? What a peculiar name.
The only reason she hasn't gone full Maleficent: Mistress of Evil on him is due to her shock — but that's quickly bubbling into anger — and the fact he clearly has some power of his own. If he were a normal man, she would be sending him across the room right about now. But that one little fact keeps her from doing such, even though that venomous green of her eyes is beginning to flicker up in her irises like angry flame.
"....You were experimented on?" She's trying to keep up with him. He has been mutated.... She's heard of experiments, as of late. Atrocities committed against the fae, but he is... a human? His own kind did this to him?
Admittedly, she's curious, even as she's giving him the death glare, listening to him prattle on about death wishes. Of course, it's right about then that he reaches up and grabs one of her horns, and all snippets of curiosity or respect of his powers goes out the window. Maleficent's eyes flash and the acerbic green colour flickers from her very body, her magic revving up. An arm snaps up so that her hand can catch his throat, and she squeezes it — long, sharp nails curving around and inwards, most certainly cutting in.
"I shall show you what happens if someone touches them." Her voice is ice-cold, her jaw tight. "Can your healing ability work even if you die? Or if you're in pieces...? Little ones, strewn all around."
no subject
He contemplates this for a moment. "Although...if I'd followed that advice, I'd just be a nobody instead of Marvel's biggest cash cow. I'm absolutely better than Wolverine. Don't let anybody tell you any different. Sure, he has a book now and I don't, but that's only tempHURK!"
His ramble is cut off mid-sentence by a strong grip closing off his windpipe. Also puncturing it with fancy nails. Can't forget the punctures.
"..aw...you done got your nails did...just for me...my windpipe is...honored! They so...pretty!!! No seriously...who does your nails....I need a rec..."
He is kind of flopping and flailing against her, but how much of that is pain and how much is him just taking full advantage of being this close to Maleficent? All of the ellipses are labored, bubbling breaths with a punctured windpipe though so that much at least is legit.
"I wouldn't....do that...." He actually sounds serious. Sort of. "Unless...you want...extra me's....that are just the worst..."
no subject
....And yet, he's continuing to chatter away, even if inbetween gasps of breath. Commenting on her nails...! Is he truly insane?! The fey scowls at him, and a growl accompanies it, lip drawn upward to reveal sharp teeth, the sound low and menacing as it ripples her throat. He truly must have a death wish. And yet..... he's warning her against it.
"What do you mean, extra me's? Answer me now." She doesn't understand, practically snarling the words at him as she forces him closer to her face, not gentle at all as she yanks his body closer, eyes fixed on him. He is warning her not to kill him; she wants to know why. Demands it, and though she loosens her hold on his throat just a little so he can (maybe) speak better, her other hand grasps the front of his clothing, long fingers curled tightly into it.
no subject
Those movies, man. They could never capture the whole story, could they? Or had she been impatient in the movies? It was entirely possible he hadn't been paying quite enough attention for some reason or another. Or he'd just been ogling her the whole time. That was a pretty bad habit of his, too.
"Oh...we're going for...intimacy now...life dream...achieved..." Of course, her demands for answers can't be ignored forever. This isn't her movie - this is the real deal threatening him with death and dismemberment for not answering her in a prompt fashion.
"Once I had a big fan...she collected my lost body parts and...put them in a fridge. They regenerated...into another whole...me. I had to fight...him. Me. Whoever. It...wasn't fun. He was...a jerk. Also...way less...handsome. Definitely not your...type. Not like...me."
no subject
"You are capable of regeneration?" Ironically enough, Maleficent has very recently learned that she, too, can return from death. She can be reborn into the Phoenix, whose rare ancestry she claims. But that knowledge had been obtained before she could make much sense of it, adjust to it; she'd soon enough been brought to this miserable place.
Of course, what he's talking about is quite different than rebirth; he could manifest a double. .....And she certainly doesn't want more than one of him in her vicinity. Maleficent scowls again, giving his throat another sudden squeeze for good measure before she lets it go. She keeps her other hand curled into his clothing, however.
"Know this, mutant. I shall spare your life so as to spare my sanity. But you have made an enemy and you shall regret it."
no subject
(Wolverine isn't a mercenary.)
"Sometimes he is!!"
(Is he though? Eh. I guess the comic nerds can pull citations if so.)
He blinks at her last remark. "Oh I'm not a mutant. I'm more like mutant adjacent. If I was a mutant they'd let me onto their swanky members only Krakoa island, but they're JERKS and so they won't and it makes me so mad. I don't want their stupid island anyway. It's stupid. And Beast is an asshole on it. And Xavier is probably being a fascist. And..."
He blinks again. "Hey wait, how did I make an enemy? I mean, I do it all the time, but I thought you liked being admired?" It isn't that he minds - like he said, he makes all kinds of enemies because he's so easily hated, but he is curious. It's good to keep a list of why people despise him.
no subject
Why? For a very simple reason.
"You touched my horn."
She's just going to ignore everything before that, all of his drivel about what he is, these... people he keeps referring to. He's someone she'll keep an eye on and she'll quietly try to learn more about "mutants" or mutant adjacents, but right now, she only focuses on her grudge-holding abilities. And Maleficent can absolutely hold a grudge.
"You shall never make that mistake again," she informs him coldly, finally fully letting go of the man. That green hue to her eyes slowly fades back into the usual golden irises, and the surge of magic around her settles. Her wings flutter, sorting themselves back out as much as possible, though there are certainly a few feathers sticking out in odd directions, from the scuffle.
no subject
Not that he figured that much mattered to a woman like Maleficent. Double standards were kind of a Thing amongst the villains of the world. Hell, he wasn't sure if he counted as one himself or not these days, but he sure had plenty of them himself.
He glances at his hand and wibbles a little. "I'll always treasure the hand that touched your horn..."
(You really aren't making it better.)
"So an eye for a horn doesn't make us even?" Then something occurs to him. "Wait your horn is sensitive, isn't it?!? It's basically like I just groped you in public!!! That's why you're so mad!"