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

Comments

[ungodlily]

"There are some things you can't forget, even if you wanted to because they're a part of you. She's a part of you." In more ways than one, if it was her life and blood that facilitated his change. It made sense he'd be still be torn over her, even after centuries, and even fear losing that. The raw emotion made Sharon uncomfortable and she dropped her gaze back down to the skull. She was never good with things like this. Then again, she's never had much experience with them, either.

"And even if you did forget, I think some things are etched onto our souls."

She knew some things lingered long after the memories have faded like childhood scars. She knew because she spent eighteen long years with no memories of her past and yet those years were spent haunted by a fear she couldn't even put to word.

[vladpire]

It wasn't so much a smile as much as it was a look of appreciation. That she understood him and his pain enough to have a rather enlightened view on bearing it. Vlad nodded slowly, hearing her own pain in her answer and reaching over to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "As they should be, Sharon. Our souls hold the most important things in ourselves, good or bad."

He had so very much bad on his, which is likely why he clung to the good so tightly. "I am grateful for your words, and your ear. It's... nice to be heard. To have someone willing to listen." To have feel he could speak of things long past and not have someone think him mad.

[ungodlily]

Sharon doesn't understand many things about people or the world but she knew pain. She knew how to give it, to take it, to enjoy it, and recognize it in others. Vlad didn't hide his and in the back of her mind, she wondered if it was because of that pressure, gently nudging on wounds she often kept well buried.

For a breath, the moonlight made the skull appear to grin up at her. It was just the shadows, the shift in the clouds, that's all it was she told herself. A thin fog began to roll in off the crashing waves.

The moment Vlad reached out, she tensed lightly but didn't shrug his hand away, offering him a raw sincere smile instead (almost as if to assuage him that her tensing wasn't his fault). His appreciation meant a lot, to know she'd done something, as little as it were. She knew what it was like to have to keep that pain to yourself.

"You ever need an ear again, gimme a yell, all right? I can't say I've got a wealth of advice but I know that we can't always keep our suffering locked away."

"If our souls hold the most important parts of ourselves, holding that pain has to eat away at it. A... a disease to the soul."

[vladpire]

There was a scent to pain, even emotional pain, much as there was to fear, sorrow, joy, arousal. They left marks that traced the air and he could scent hers as easily as he could hear her blood thrumming along at the pace her heart pushed it at. She wasn't afraid. Not in that moment, anyway. But she was in pain, and pain was something Vlad knew well. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it strengthens in its own way, like callouses built from work and labor. Painful at first, yes, but with time, they shield the skin from worse wounds. Pain is... tricky. It's elusive. It comes in so many forms, it's like trying to catch a thought on the wind."

One last pat, and then he took his hand back. She may not have said anything, but he'd noted the tension. Whether she accepted it or not, it still clearly wasn't something she was entirely comfortable. Pressing the matter wouldn't gain him, or her, anything. "That aside, Sharon, I think souls are hardier things, not so easily worn away from pain and sorrow. Evil can leave a mark, yes. Wicked things done of one's own volition, that's more of a stain on the soul than pain."

Was he talking about himself? Possibly. It was hard not to look back at his life and wonder where he could have changed things.

[ungodlily]

"People always want to say pain makes you stronger in the end." Her gaze was filled with something raw and old and then she blinked it away. She wasn't dismissing him, just didn't think she had it in her to agree or to try and explain.

After he removed his hand, the tension in her shoulders loosened though didn't quite disappear; she doubted she'd ever feel comfortable enough anywhere here to ever let her guard down enough for that. Still, Vlad's observance and care were a breath of fresh air for her. Most people were unobservant to her discomfort, or worse, simply didn't care. But he was proving he was a better person than most of the people she's met in her life (not that there's a wealth of options there).

"...do you regret the things you've done?"

Do you regret your stains? Because Sharon might have regretted them as just Sharon da Silva, as just those pieces Alessa had deemed worthy of saving and protecting, but now she'd do it all again. She'd do it again if she had to and she'd enjoy it. But she didn't see anything evil or wicked in him, just a man pushing through a lifetime of pain.

[vladpire]

"It's better to think that something you suffer through makes you stronger than to think that it's chipping away at your will to live. People often lie to themselves. Sometimes, though, it's not a lie. What works for one doesn't always work for another." He didn't hold her disagreement against her. It was her right to feel how she felt, after all. He didn't know her pain or her struggle. He'd seen other boys, other princes and lords' sons brought to the Turks for training who'd broken under the tempering that had made him what he was. The Turks' methods were not for everyone. But that was their goal. They weeded out those that couldn't bear their methods. Easy for them to do when they gave not a whit for the wellbeing of their wards.

He was quiet for a moment after her question, breathing in deeply as he considered it. Flippant answers in such a moment seemed wrong. And he was starting to like and respect Sharon. "I regret that some of the things I've done seemed to be necessary. I've done terrible things, Sharon, but I did those things to lessen having to do more. I became a monster to keep that burden from others. Regretting the necessity seems... fruitless." He looked at her face, trying to read the thoughts that flitted through her eyes. "Do you?"

[ungodlily]

She seemed curious about the phrasing of his response ("seemed to be" is what caught her attention) but then he turned the question on her and she frowned. She had to take a moment to consider it. Some part of her wanted to lie. It always seemed like the safest option when getting to know someone else (too much honesty and you've left yourself open for some pain). Somehow, she swallowed that desire back, her response instead holding a grim sort of certainty to it. "...No. No, I don't think I do."

"The terrible things I've done, I did them for myself, Vlad." She didn't feel as if the reasoning behind her actions was much of an excuse. Still, it tumbled out of her mouth, "When I was eleven, I was burned alive." She stopped there a moment, mildly shocked at her own words as if she'd never spoken them out loud before before she continued, heart thumping like a drum. "And it broke something inside of me in two. I couldn't see or think beyond the pain and the rage."

"When I realized what I could do to them all, I didn't hesitate. I didn't care what the consequences would be, I would see them suffer."

[vladpire]

He said nothing in response to what she divulged to him for a moment. Truly, she didn't look like someone who'd been burned, but then Vlad's own scars from his time with the Turks had been erased when he'd imbued the curse. Years of wear and battle and torture had just vanished. He also didn't look like a creature of the night; like someone who could command the storms, feast on blood, and turn into a cloud of bats. Which is what kept his tongue still as he listened. His world had many strange things in it he hadn't entirely discovered. It seemed only fair that other worlds had their own oddities. And the way she spoke, the fury she contained... well. He'd seen that fury before. He'd felt it. Vlad certainly recognized the language of vengeance she spoke in.

"I am sorry to hear that you suffered. And at such a young age." That had been the age he'd gone to the Turks himself. He knew a child's fury, a child's betrayal. "If they were willing and capable of doing that to you, then they deserve your wrath and the consequences of your surviving the suffering. Are you familiar with the adage of 'reaping what you sow'? They sowed sour seeds, and their harvest was poisoned because of it." Vlad Tepes III was the last living or unliving individual to cast stones of accusation and judgement on someone claiming revenge on someone harming them or what they loved.

[ungodlily]

In truth, had Vlad never disclosed what he was when they'd first met, Sharon would have never felt comfortable enough to divulge what she just did. She hadn't seen any proof of what Vlad claimed he was but, given the absolute insanity of what they're dealing with here, it's easier to accept than it should be.

She swallowed. Her throat felt tight and she realized how suddenly uncomfortable she was, the apology doing little in relieving that. She could hear that he meant it though, could see it in his expression and hear it in his tone.

"They'd been sowing those seeds for centuries," Despite the anger that may coil in her chest, these words were heavy, "They picked the wrong girl and got what they deserved. But that doesn't change what I've done. ...Or that I'd be willing to do it again."

And that she was almost proud of the stains on her soul.

[vladpire]

"You may not believe me when I say this, but I have tread a similar path to yours. The Turks... well. Their ways were brutal and ruthless. They stole the lives of those under them and they demanded nothing but obedience. And they too chose the wrong land to go against and they suffered for their folly." If they'd left him and his people alone, if they'd honored the pledge he'd made to pay tribute and live in peace- well. He wouldn't be here now. And who knows how far their reach would have gone in the world had he not cut the head of the snake off when he did.

He knew that pride; the pride of surviving when it was so unexpected. He had no doubts she'd earned it. And he bore his own stains on his soul that he wouldn't erase for what he'd gained from them. "Monstrous behavior breeds monsters, and they shouldn't be so surprised when those shadows come home to roost."

[ungodlily]

Sharon had no reason not to believe Vlad, not when he's seemed so genuine. She knew how truly awful humanity could be and she knew it was even worse the further one went back in history, not that it ever got much better in her opinion. For whatever horrors they'd forced upon him, they deserved the pain they suffered in return. The painful truth of the matter was that regardless of the vengeance taken, it would never ever be enough.

"It's hard for them not to be surprised when they believe they're doing the right thing. I mean, you can do anything if you do it in the name of God." The words came out sharp and bitter. God is such a convenient excuse. She scowled, though not at him, "Hell, one part of the Order thought what I did was a sign they were right. The other saw it as a sign that I was to give birth to their god."

It tainted her vengeance, though it hardly stopped her from letting it continue.

"Did the Turks know why they were suffering? Or did they close their eyes to their own sins, too?" It wouldn't surprise her. For some reason, awful people can always find justification for their actions.

[vladpire]

"Ah, yes. The shield of faith to hide atrocities behind." He was a man of God himself, or at least still had faith in the Lord. He was cursed by evil, it would be foolish to believe otherwise. But he'd both heard and been witness to horrible things, monstrous things done in 'the name of God'. Genocide. Torture. Evil excused as being done to evil, so it was clearly not evil. Faith allowed for people to ignore their own hypocrisy. At least his own acts of horror were done with foresight in what he was doing and why.

He sat there with Sharon, listening to the sounds of the night around them, to the sound of pain and anger in her voice, and he wished he could do more than just listen. Sometimes it was enough. Sometimes it wasn't. He sighed at her question, thinking of Mehmed and his arrogance. "They followed their leader. They were not given free thought to think for themselves. Mehmed... thought himself infallible, thought himself above the rest of the world. We were his toys, his subjects. I don't think he was capable of seeing his own actions as a sin or as anything but the way it should be, because he'd sunk himself in the illusion of being something he was not. Untouchable." Vlad had shattered that illusion rather violently.

"You've suffered, Sharon. Would you change what you'd done in response?"

[ungodlily]

All the worst people in the world thought they were untouchable, that they had certain rights over those beneath them. They were right more often than they weren't. She felt a flutter of satisfaction at Vlad's response. The world was cruel and justice was rare, so rare that she took a hint of delight every time it was taken. And justice always had to be taken.

Sharon shifted the way she sat, moving from the balls of her feet to her knees. Her lips pressed into a thin, thoughtful line at the question, clearly uncertain. Would she? Could she have? The idea made her chest tight and cold and anxious. Finally, she shook her head.

"I don't even know if I'd have been able to even if I had wanted to." She admitted, throat tight, a lump forming. "I meant it when I said I broke after the fire, just not how you would imagine. See, I couldn't move or speak, or even think through the pain. All of that, it splintered... I think it splintered my soul."

"And another me was born from that. She was all of my rage without the limitations of my physical body."

[vladpire]

She spoke of something he wasn't entirely unfamiliar with, though he wouldn't say his soul had been splintered. More like stained. But he'd heard of similar things happening to others; traumatic events making their minds do things unheard of to protect themselves. He may have been burned to 'death' by the sun himself, but that wasn't nearly the same as suffering at the hands of others as a child. Not to that degree. "Then they were taken by the thing they created. If they'd left you be, this... other self wouldn't exist. That rage wouldn't have been kindled. They were the architects of their own destruction." And he had no sympathy for those that preyed on children, no matter the reason. Too many claimed the necessity of innocent blood for a just cause.

When all the innocents were used as sacrifice, what else was left but the monsters?