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Entry tags:
- ! event log,
- a discovery of witches: kit marlowe,
- dc: harley quinn,
- detroit: become human: chloe,
- detroit: become human: connor,
- dragon age: anders,
- final fantasy: sephiroth,
- locked tomb: harrowhark nonagesimus,
- marvel: carter ghazikhanian,
- marvel: jennifer walters,
- marvel: loki odinson,
- marvel: wade wilson,
- my hero academia: takami keigo,
- oc: elenore evans,
- oc: saxsice king,
- penny dreadful: victor frankenstein,
- south park: kyle broflovski,
- uncharted: elena fisher,
- uncharted: nathan drake,
- uncharted: rafe adler,
- uncharted: samuel drake
Destination: Carcosa
✖ Carcosa
Ⅰ. THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The island's harbour is full of other ships, although not a single one of them seems to actually have a human being aboard. (You could certainly try to steal one, but doing so is an exercise in futility - you will find that even if you set off into the ocean you will wind up right back in the harbour again after spending a few hours lost in the fog.) Beyond the harbour is a glittering city of glass and gold. Curving arches and sharp geometric lines are the hallmarks of the architecture - an art deco paradise that whispers of decadence and hope for the future.
The people who crowd the streets wear suits and hats, drop-waist dresses and furs. Their faces are all blank smiles. It's the roaring twenties, darling, why do you look so concerned?
If it is your first experience of the Endless Isles, you have access to the High Temple. Should you wish, you may also seek out the island's own temple as well, which is located inside the city, in a district mostly forgotten by the residents. Don’t worry - your feet will carry you there.
The building is not large, and it is old and neglected. It has a domed ceiling, with panels of glass crisscrossed with metal painted gold curving upward. Whatever fine pattern may have formed there is lost to time; the glass at the centerpoint of the dome is gone, letting in the smell of the sea.
There are rooms equipped with beds spreading out like a spiderweb from the middle of the building. The temple proper is of course in the exact center, below the broken dome. In the middle of this circular room you will find dead branches gathered together to make a vaguely humanoid shape. This crude figure has been haphazardly painted yellow. A slab of concrete sits in front of it. There is not much to explore here; it is very quiet.
Either temple is a good place to simply rest, or meet some of your fellow Travelers. The High Temple of course has the Temple Chef and its usual Guardians, Flock, and Lantern.
The Island Temple has its own Guardians, which are small, pale humanoids with perfectly blank faces and small antlers like young deer. They will leave you alone unless you try to meddle with the central room. Doing so will result in one of them approaching you, and you will find yourself falling unconscious on the floor.
Ⅱ. THE MASQUERADE
Through happenstance, you find yourself in an enormous ballroom. Low couches are dotted everywhere, and a live band plays somewhere at the end of the massive space. A long bar takes up one side of the room, bottles sparkling under the light cast from the many cut-glass chandeliers hanging overhead. Champagne flows freely, and the scent of gin pervades the air.
All of the attendees are wearing masks.
You're dressed for the occasion, of course - you will find yourself wearing something reminiscent of 1920s America, with a small yellow sigil of some sort pinned to your breast. Ask any of the guests about it and they will tell you, "ah, it's a secret." You too, of course, are wearing a mask. You did not pick this mask, but if you look in the mirror hung over the bar you will find that it nonetheless hints at some aspect of your personality.
Which would be all well and good, except that you can't take the bloody thing off.
Moving around the ballroom, you will discover that a few other people also have the yellow sigil pinned to their clothing. It probably shouldn't surprise you that these people are all other Travelers, equally unable to take their mask off.
No, you can't unmask until you share something with your new-found friend: a secret. A REAL one, the sort you'd never speak aloud.
Of course, you can choose not to share. If you choose that route, however, you'll find that the mask is fusing with your skin. Leave it on past midnight when the cries of "UNMASK! UNMASK!" begin, and it will simply become your new face for the duration of the month.
Ⅲ. THE PLAY
Maybe parties aren't your style. No fear, there's plenty more to do and see in such a wondrous city. There's a theatre - the Meliora Grand as a matter of fact - and perhaps you're just the sort of person who would like to take in the arts.
The theatre has plush seats, and fabulous electric sconces lining the wall. Once you take your seat you'll find yourself looking at the stage, where a blood-red velvet curtain hangs. The theatre doesn't seem to fill up - indeed, it really seems that there's only you and one or two other people there. Curious.
The lights go down and the curtain is drawn open, revealing... well. Not much.
There are two chairs on the stage, a table between them. On the table lays a pallid face: a mask. Just a mask. Why not go on up and take a closer look?
Should you choose to touch the mask, you will feel a deep urge to speak to whoever else is in the theatre. You will, in fact, feel the desire to act out some sort of emotional trauma with them. Perhaps they suddenly look like your mother, your father, a lover who left you. Why don't you tell them how you really feel?
Naturally, you can both just sit in awkward silence instead. You'll be waiting until the morning to be let out, if that's the case.
Ⅳ. LOST CARCOSA
CW: the undead.
You find yourself walking along the beach at night. Along the shore the cloud-waves break, and black stars rise above you.
You can't quite pinpoint when you realise you are no longer alone. Maybe there is only one other person on the beach with you, or perhaps a few; you move as one down the expanse of sand until you realise there is something laying up ahead of you.
There is a heap of yellow cloth there, dry and tattered with age. It smells faintly of spices. Nestled among it is a jewel-encrusted human skull. Its empty sockets compel you to sit down in the cool, bone-white sand, to sit and speak to those around you about loss.
Everyone has lost something important to them. A person, a thing, a place, an aspect of the self. Something that's gone and you're never getting back. The skull grins endlessly, endlessly, encouraging you to speak about something you may not have laid to rest.
You can resist this compulsion. Maybe you were never good at sharing. Refuse the skull's silent request and you may continue down along the beach, or perhaps head back the way you came. As you walk, however, you will notice that there is a fog rolling in. It comes in off the sea/sky, obscuring the beach until you can barely see.
It's a terribly handy cover for the corpses that are shambling out of the surf. Wet, bloated, with eyes that glow a dim gold, they head for you silently. They wish to drag you back with them, into the depths. Better hope you can outrun or outfight them.
Bonus: What's that? You want a Carcosa playlist? You've got it, babes!
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The island's harbour is full of other ships, although not a single one of them seems to actually have a human being aboard. (You could certainly try to steal one, but doing so is an exercise in futility - you will find that even if you set off into the ocean you will wind up right back in the harbour again after spending a few hours lost in the fog.) Beyond the harbour is a glittering city of glass and gold. Curving arches and sharp geometric lines are the hallmarks of the architecture - an art deco paradise that whispers of decadence and hope for the future.
The people who crowd the streets wear suits and hats, drop-waist dresses and furs. Their faces are all blank smiles. It's the roaring twenties, darling, why do you look so concerned?
If it is your first experience of the Endless Isles, you have access to the High Temple. Should you wish, you may also seek out the island's own temple as well, which is located inside the city, in a district mostly forgotten by the residents. Don’t worry - your feet will carry you there.
The building is not large, and it is old and neglected. It has a domed ceiling, with panels of glass crisscrossed with metal painted gold curving upward. Whatever fine pattern may have formed there is lost to time; the glass at the centerpoint of the dome is gone, letting in the smell of the sea. There are rooms equipped with beds spreading out like a spiderweb from the middle of the building. The temple proper is of course in the exact center, below the broken dome. In the middle of this circular room you will find dead branches gathered together to make a vaguely humanoid shape. This crude figure has been haphazardly painted yellow. A slab of concrete sits in front of it. There is not much to explore here; it is very quiet.
Either temple is a good place to simply rest, or meet some of your fellow Travelers. The High Temple of course has the Temple Chef and its usual Guardians, Flock, and Lantern.
The Island Temple has its own Guardians, which are small, pale humanoids with perfectly blank faces and small antlers like young deer. They will leave you alone unless you try to meddle with the central room. Doing so will result in one of them approaching you, and you will find yourself falling unconscious on the floor.
Ⅱ. THE MASQUERADE
Through happenstance, you find yourself in an enormous ballroom. Low couches are dotted everywhere, and a live band plays somewhere at the end of the massive space. A long bar takes up one side of the room, bottles sparkling under the light cast from the many cut-glass chandeliers hanging overhead. Champagne flows freely, and the scent of gin pervades the air.
All of the attendees are wearing masks.You're dressed for the occasion, of course - you will find yourself wearing something reminiscent of 1920s America, with a small yellow sigil of some sort pinned to your breast. Ask any of the guests about it and they will tell you, "ah, it's a secret." You too, of course, are wearing a mask. You did not pick this mask, but if you look in the mirror hung over the bar you will find that it nonetheless hints at some aspect of your personality.
Which would be all well and good, except that you can't take the bloody thing off.
Moving around the ballroom, you will discover that a few other people also have the yellow sigil pinned to their clothing. It probably shouldn't surprise you that these people are all other Travelers, equally unable to take their mask off.
No, you can't unmask until you share something with your new-found friend: a secret. A REAL one, the sort you'd never speak aloud.
Of course, you can choose not to share. If you choose that route, however, you'll find that the mask is fusing with your skin. Leave it on past midnight when the cries of "UNMASK! UNMASK!" begin, and it will simply become your new face for the duration of the month.
Ⅲ. THE PLAY
Maybe parties aren't your style. No fear, there's plenty more to do and see in such a wondrous city. There's a theatre - the Meliora Grand as a matter of fact - and perhaps you're just the sort of person who would like to take in the arts.
The theatre has plush seats, and fabulous electric sconces lining the wall. Once you take your seat you'll find yourself looking at the stage, where a blood-red velvet curtain hangs. The theatre doesn't seem to fill up - indeed, it really seems that there's only you and one or two other people there. Curious.
The lights go down and the curtain is drawn open, revealing... well. Not much.
There are two chairs on the stage, a table between them. On the table lays a pallid face: a mask. Just a mask. Why not go on up and take a closer look?
Should you choose to touch the mask, you will feel a deep urge to speak to whoever else is in the theatre. You will, in fact, feel the desire to act out some sort of emotional trauma with them. Perhaps they suddenly look like your mother, your father, a lover who left you. Why don't you tell them how you really feel?
Naturally, you can both just sit in awkward silence instead. You'll be waiting until the morning to be let out, if that's the case.
Ⅳ. LOST CARCOSA
CW: the undead.
You find yourself walking along the beach at night. Along the shore the cloud-waves break, and black stars rise above you.
You can't quite pinpoint when you realise you are no longer alone. Maybe there is only one other person on the beach with you, or perhaps a few; you move as one down the expanse of sand until you realise there is something laying up ahead of you.
There is a heap of yellow cloth there, dry and tattered with age. It smells faintly of spices. Nestled among it is a jewel-encrusted human skull. Its empty sockets compel you to sit down in the cool, bone-white sand, to sit and speak to those around you about loss.Everyone has lost something important to them. A person, a thing, a place, an aspect of the self. Something that's gone and you're never getting back. The skull grins endlessly, endlessly, encouraging you to speak about something you may not have laid to rest.
You can resist this compulsion. Maybe you were never good at sharing. Refuse the skull's silent request and you may continue down along the beach, or perhaps head back the way you came. As you walk, however, you will notice that there is a fog rolling in. It comes in off the sea/sky, obscuring the beach until you can barely see.
It's a terribly handy cover for the corpses that are shambling out of the surf. Wet, bloated, with eyes that glow a dim gold, they head for you silently. They wish to drag you back with them, into the depths. Better hope you can outrun or outfight them.
no subject
"Like talking to a cloud of crickets," he sighs, and he passes the drink that's slipped onto the counter top to her, keeping the glass with whiskey for himself. And because a cloud of crickets seems like a bit of a weird thing to say in the city, this era, he adds, "Same shit, no story. Lots of noise and nothing to tell for it."
And there's a depressing toast, and he tips his glass to her, enjoys the burn of alcohol across his tongue and down his throat.
no subject
"They smile too much. It's unsettling," is her incredibly helpful observation.
no subject
That is one of the things that makes them so creepy, the way their smiles are pasted onto their faces. "Anyone who's that happy has to have something wrong with them," he agrees; and aren't they just the jolly-most bunch around the block.
"So how do you get information from people who don't want to share it?"
It's not really a question. He knows a few ways to help loosen people's tongues, but he both doesn't care enough, and also doesn't think he'll much like any answers there are to have.
no subject
"Probably not in any way you'd want an audience for," she answers and nods to the party around them before taking another drink.
Zelda isn't convinced they actually know anything anyway. She had tried a minor spell. It had gotten her nowhere. Much like every spell she'd tried in an attempt to remove the mask. Her magic seemed to work fine in this place right up until it didn't.
"Did you have plans to try their suggestions?" Personally, she thinks she'd like to keep her secrets to herself. "Or should I introduce myself?"
no subject
Booker catches that one - the impression of understanding, and he twist around so that his back is against the bar, sipping at his drink. No, this wasn't a particularly great audience for an interrogation, even if there was someone out there who had enough wits about them to offer up any information.
Still. It wasn't all too bad to have someone around who didn't get instantly squeamish at the thought of the vaguely unscrupulous.
"I'm Booker," he tells her, by way of answer - the last time he spilled a secret a mad scientist maimed and tortured his family, and would have in perpetuity if they hadn't been rescued; he had no desires to be repeating those mistakes.
no subject
She doesn't want to be here, but she doesn't want to be home either. There's still grieving to do and a Goddess who refuses to answer her prayers and bring back her niece. She downs the rest of her drink and motions for another.
"Zelda Spellman," she offers in return, satisfied they seem to be in agreement. "Where were you before the boat?"
no subject
It's something else they have in common, if they ever get around to getting that personal- not wanting to be home, isolation and exile lying in wait for Booker, though at least there there's a whole world to disappear into, not just the streets of this island. But there's half as many people to potentially run into here too, and while he has a tentative truce with Nicky, and Nile seems to think they're both idiots... same shit, different bottle.
"All over," he answers vaguely, though it is pretty much true. "Most recently Europe. Grew up in France. Spent a bit of time pretty much everywhere." Joys of living a few centuries, and the curse of never getting older. Had to clear out before people realized there was something off about you. "Yourself?"
no subject
"Greendale. In the States." She takes a sip from her drink. "A wicked town."
Once upon a time, it may have been said with some delight, but now there's an edge to her words. The last year, Greendale had shown them nothing but misery.
no subject
Greendale - Booker hasn't heard of it, but he doesn't pretend to have a good handle on the names of places anywhere. Wicked is an interesting way of phrasing it, and it doesn't sound like it's in the 'great' way that some people are using the word these days.
"What's so wicked about it?"
no subject
"Every town has its problems," she says instead, then quite suddenly adds, "It's where Lucifer Fell."
no subject
Booker regards her for a moment, wondering if that's just a figure of speech. Where Lucifer Fell - either way, he gets the same sentiment. "Ah," he nods, and he takes another sip.
"You didn't leave?" It's a product of his own mostly nomadic lifestyle. When the heat got to high in one place, you just moved on until they forgot you.
no subject
Perhaps she should have. Perhaps if she had, Sabrina would still be alive. But it's pointless to dwell in what ifs when the likely truth is her parentage would have caught up to her in the end, regardless. But perhaps Faustus...no, she won't go down that road. She takes another drink.
"Who could have predicted he actually meant to return to our realm, and in our lifetime?"
It's more than she would usually reveal to a stranger. But he's exactly that. A stranger. In a place where Greendale and everything that happened there is meaningless.
no subject
Lucifer fell he can take at face value, but the talk of realms and lifetimes is too close to the expression, and he leans back, curious. "You're talking about Lucifer?"
Not that Lucifer is actually a person. But just so they're on the same page here.
"I felt that way too," Booker shares, and it's also not something he tends to share, but it urge to talk comes from the anonymity of the masks and the strangeness of the island. "Didn't imagine I'd ever be able to leave." He shrugs, and offers: "Still time. To consider it. If we ever make it back, that is."
no subject
It's always possible she's having him on, but she does seem particularly bitter about the whole thing. Of course, to her, Lucifer is indeed a person, one she'd first worshiped and then come to despise.
"Nothing but trouble." It seems less for his benefit and more of a personal observation.
But as to his suggestion, "It would be easier now." With Ambrose free, Hilda married, Sabrina...gone. "But I hate breaking in a new place."
no subject
The man himself - doubt dictates that Booker still doesn't believe her even after the confirmation. Lucifer? Actually existing? That thought has a ripple effect that Booker isn't keen on processing.
Well, maybe it's just a nickname for someone. And inside joke. Yeah, that's more likely.
The trouble part is a given but Booker nods his head in sympathetic consternation anyways.
"The world's your mollusks. Some places have got to be easier than others."
no subject
She shakes her head, gently swirling the liquid in her glass. "There's the coven to look after."
no subject
Booker takes a drink, content to sit in the silence as her thoughts percolate. Whatever history and events had led up to this moment must be significant, to weigh on her so, regardless of the accuracy of her claims. And if they are true, all the more reason to leave - though he doesn't have the ability to grasp more than a fraction of the situation, it's clear that she's tired. Done with it.
"They can't look after themselves?" he asks curiously - he's not sure what the coven is, but there's an air of responsibility there that he does understand. "Wouldn't they want you to do what's best for you?"