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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
This is a nice distraction, though. Odd, because Benedict doesn't necessarily want to talk about this, but talking about home - or, really, anything apart from their predicament - helps put his mind at ease. ]
London, I should imagine.
[ He certainly hasn't seen Anthony here. Or any of his family, which is a good thing, but selfishly Benedict wishes they were here. He may be twenty-seven, and Anthony may only be a couple of years older, but Anthony is still his big brother. There's a security that comes with that. ]
He wants to get married. I'd like to say I pity the poor woman who ends up his wife, but she'll be very lucky. He'll make a good husband.
no subject
Ah. I, as well. [He has to question, however, if they mean the same London.] I called it home before all of this.
[He shifts minutely, relaxing his hold on his knees to press dips in the sand with his heels. Like the warning, another thought crosses his mind to spare the other his wry commentary, but in the end, the reminiscence isn't all sorrowful. It sounds as though the man has someone waiting for him. Someone to find his way back to.]
Such is the fate of many a man in London expected to begin their own families, not only the first sons.
no subject
I wish it weren't. I've nothing against the idea of family. I very much love mine, but I'm not certain I'm meant for that life.
[ Which doesn't mean he won't do it. It's what his family would want for him, and it's the proper thing to do. Though Henry has presented a compelling alternative, and Henry is married after all. Could Benedict be so fortunate as to find a wife of convenience and love? ]
Though I suppose if I'm here, it's hardly worth concerning myself with.
no subject
I envy your clarity.
[Muttered so quietly the sound of the surf might as well carry it away. Truly envious, for a moment, that someone else's crossroads seems much easier to stand at the junction of and contemplate. He wishes he had such authentically simple desires. That he had ever had such authentically simple desires. Had he ever been able to boil all of his wants and needs and ambitions and aspirations down to such uncomplicated terms? He doesn't think so.
Louder:]
Maybe this journey suits you, or you will suit it.
no subject
[ The corner of Benedict's mouth curves up, a hint of a crooked and amused smile as he lets out an amused scoff. He feels like nothing about this place suits him, except, perhaps, for the strange masquerade, and the irony of it isn't lost on Benedict at all. ]
I don't know that there's much room for improvement in my life. [ As soon as he says it, he realizes how horribly self-centered that must sound, and his face immediately shows his regret. ] I'm sorry. That came out horribly, didn't it? I only meant that, well ... For all that I want something different, there's nothing very wrong with it, either.
no subject
He bows his head back over the sand, gaze on the grooves his heels have dug, as if his wish he felt the same complacent satisfaction is a physical weight on the back of his neck too heavy to resist.
There's a guileless liberty toward what one has and what one wants that give away mannered upbringings, something he'd already suspected by all the rest of Benedict's outward trappings. He can't resent the sentiment, or what truth might be behind it--he's spent so much resentment on other people, from other miraculous times and places. He can only shake his head.]
Why apologize for being content with life, despite your losses? I am no one to judge it.
[And however their silent host feels about it, it goes on grinning and winking in the low light.]
I mean only that you may get your taste of different. In abundance, I fear.
no subject
[ Benedict lets out a sort of a laugh, and he cracks a bit of a bigger smile, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat. He's never been as good in a social situation as Colin, or even Anthony, really, who might not be the world's easiest conversationalist but at least knows how to handle himself. Benedict finds himself much more content to hover in the back and only engage in conversation when he must, and even then preferring to stick to people he's already acquainted with.
But he certainly can't let the talk stay so melancholy. It's not proper, is it? At least not with a stranger, and Benedict shouldn't have brought up his father or his brother or any of it in the first place. It's the least he can do to try and turn it around, if only a little. ]
I'm Benedict. [ An introduction will erase the problem of them being strangers. ]
no subject
[For who would expect so tangible a touch from some mysterious, unfathomably powerful deity? If that is what it is.
Talking to the sand, he doesn't see the attempt at levity but hears it for what it is, and hopes the other's fight to reclaim distance from the skull's truth-telling suffices to cover the ever so slight quaver to his own voice. The skull's compulsion hasn't faded for him. Words tremble behind his lips, the scent of spices strong in his nose. A desire to spill in a torrent how he has longed for what is arcane and new and different for so much of his life, and now only wishes he could go back to a time before his world expanded with these things.
But he shouldn't say it, should he? And for much the same reason: it seems an act of cruelty to follow up such a personal confession with sorrows the man would not understand, or perhaps even be ready to believe, if he has yet to comprehend that human faces can hide what is just as uncanny as the boatman's inhuman one.
Still, given the choice, Kit would rather say nothing than strain at the pretense of niceties. It's a noble attempt, laughing in the face of the skull, but shedding melancholy strikes him as a losing battle and one he can't muster the energy to wage himself. However, he tries, if nothing else than for the coincidence of meeting another Englishman. He turns his head and broaches the beginnings of a smile--the end result resembling more of a grimace on his haggard features.
You must try.]
You can call me Kit. A strange way to meet, to be sure, but not the worst.
no subject
[ He recognizes the melancholy, to a degree. He’s seen Anthony brood and mope plenty of times. Of course, he’s never been much help - Anthony likes to be surly in private. But something tells him that perhaps it’s best not to leave Kit alone. At least not until Kit tells him to get lost.
So Benedict just smiles in response to the grimace. ]
I can’t really say I know anything of the arcane, but every so often i get this strange feeling when something is about to happen. I was out riding when my father died, and when it happened, my whole body went oddly numb. I wish I’d gotten one of those feelings before I arrived here, it might have given me a chance to brace myself.
[ It’s not something he tends to share with people, but sitting here on the beach seems to bring it out in him. ]
If I keep this up, you’ll know my entire life before the night is through.
no subject
And the only death I'm mourning is one that hasn't happened yet.]
A--feeling, you say.
[Worse still, rather than determining if this newest admission is at behest of the man's will or the enchantment, Kit can't help but be interested, despite the grim context. The light of curiosity enters his eyes. He believes it implicitly; the description rings true of every sensitive human, witch, and daemon prone to strange feelings. Second sight of a kind?
On the second try, his smile curves with more honestly-felt sentiment. And at the same time tinged with apology for playing the part of audience.]
Tell me, if you like. I have nothing but time to listen.
[If his return truly hinges on absolution, he won't be going anywhere for a while.]
no subject
He's not sure he's exactly helping the melancholy, but at least it's leading the conversation away from sadder things. Benedict shrugs one of his shoulders and he seems almost shy at the prospect of talking about it at all. ]
I don't really know what to say about it. I've not told anyone of it. I already feel rather on the outside of things, I hardly need to give myself any more reason to detach.
no subject
[The reach for humor is still weak, but it's there. However, it hardly takes him longer than the span of a few breaths, considering the skull between each, to dampen it.]
I understand being on the outside. I've existed behind that divide my entire life. [He feeds the enchantment what it wants, one flat, even-toned morsel after another. Truths he's long come to terms with.] I didn't expect that to change until I met someone who made me feel... a part of something, finally.
[And it had been good, that feeling of belonging. Not perfect, and not what he would've wished in a perfect world where hearts get their desires, but as close as he could wish. For a time. Before Diana Bishop, and the harder truths she brought.
The skull pulls it all out of him--the fresh shame, the old aches. The loss in facing what he'd always known: that he was living in a house of cards that had to come down eventually. He just hadn't expected it so soon, or so catastrophically.]
But I doubt I'll ever see them again, in this world or mine. I don't know that there's much to return to without them.
[There's a sort of wretched, hollow relief in letting the confession slip free, although it does nothing to lighten an already dark night, or his heart. He shakes his head ruefully, meeting Benedict's eye.]
There, now you know something I haven't told before. Does that help to even the scales?
no subject
I'd hardly ask you to tell me anything you didn't wish to, just to set us on even playing field. But I'm glad you feel that you can.
[ Even if it's not really Kit's choice, and it's just whatever odd enchantment has settled over them. ]
Perhaps you'll find some new purpose here.
no subject
The corner of his mouth tenses as if he might attempt another smile for the optimism shown his tidy little crumb of admission, but he doesn't make it beyond that. How can he explain there is no purpose without Matthew? He can't, not without dragging the other further into dark rumination like the skull has them. Saying the words out loud brings his pitifulness into relief. He's a poor example of appreciating what he has: his father lives; Matthew lives, and will live long after, and yet he's only able to clasp at the thorns of what he doesn't have.
If he were truly out to do the other a favor... he'd finally stop this unnatural influence, at least for the man's sake.]
Thank you. But I think my journeying may be short-lived.
[With that ominous prediction, he scrubs a hand into his tousled hair a moment, working himself up to the act, before beginning to unfold cold-stiffened limbs to rise.]
Would you care for a walk? I'd say it's past time we let this grisly thing be before the tide comes in. You can tell me about this feeling of yours. I confess, I thought my confessing might tempt you into it.
no subject
[ It's getting a touch chilly, just sitting here, and maybe even a slight bit of exercise might be enough to shake the cobwebs of melancholy.
He stands, brushing the sand off of him. Ever the gentleman, Benedict offers a hand to Kit, too, to help him stand. ]
I may have made it sound more interesting than it truly is. I've no way of telling if what's about to happen is good or bad, just that I seem to know it will be something of importance.
no subject
And it is undeniably cold. The hand he briefly clasps with Benedict's after a second's considering glance is freezing to the touch. Maybe once he would've rebuffed a kind gesture when he's halfway up and it's unnecessary to get him the rest of the way, but here... he takes it without comment, ceding a grateful look.]
Is it making a stranger privy to details of your life that inspires such humility, or is that just how you are?
no subject
I didn't quite inherit the boldness that the rest of my family seems to possess. Though of all traits to have, humility is hardly the worst, wouldn't you agree?
no subject
Not the worst-- [Agreement, echoing the framework of their meeting.] But hardly incumbent on you when it comes to such a gift. It's a rare thing, that intuition. Even despite the tragic circumstances.