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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.
Kyle Broflovski | South Park (adult au) | OTA
Kyle was not prepared for a fancy party. Really, being essentially kidnapped, put on some sort of spooky boat, and told that the fate of humanity may or may not rest on his ability to better himself as a human being? That was all fine. Weird, but fine. He's used to weird. But a fancy party...
He didn't dress himself, which he supposes he ought to be grateful for. The suit he actually doesn't mind, but the mask is definitely far, far too creepy. It doesn't want to come off, either. That's disturbing.
It doesn't take too long for him to figure out that everyone who has a Scrywatch also has the weird pin on them somewhere. He approaches one of these, tall and awkward but his hair mercifully slicked down, and asks, "So this is definitely a trick of some kind, right?"
ii. Play | I'm sorry if it got that bad
The theatre is gorgeous, and Kyle can't help but wander inside. The entire city seems to be stuck in Great Gatsby mode, and he's pretty sure movies existed by then, although he's not entirely sure if they had sound yet. At any rate, he likes films and decides he may as well see if something is playing.
His disappointment when the curtain opens and reveals instead a stage with a table is great. He waits, though, expecting some sort of bullshit "art" with some guy in all black yelling nonsense words or something to start. He starts fidgeting in his seat, and eventually yells, "START THE FUCKING PLAY!" in his shrill voice.
When nothing happens he gets up, grumbling, and stalks to the stage and hoists himself up. "This is so stupid," he says, picking up the mask from the table. He stares at it a long moment, eyes glazing over with confusion. Finally he looks at the audience, at you as a matter of fact, and blinks.
"...Dad?"
iii. Beach | I'm sorry I can't help you
"This isn't right."
That's the sunning observation made by the too-tall ginger walking close by as you make your way down the lonely beach. Kyle makes a sweeping gesture at the sky. "The stars are wrong," he says. "I think they're stars. They're... I dunno, if I look too long at them they hurt my head. And that," he says as he points ahead of you both, "is a human skull."
Not that a human skull is the creepiest thing he's ever seen, but it's not comforting.
Kyle stands a few paces down from it, staring into its vacant sockets. Eventually he sits down in the sand. "...hey," he says. "You ever think about how much it sucks to grow up?"
iii. Wildcard me bb
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The whole outfit seems better suited for Mike than Matt, really. The peach and yellow striped shirt beneath a white waistcoat and matching set of trousers seem like they could have been ripped out of the back of his brother's closet for just such an occasion. But it's the mask -- absent any eye holes and with its gold filigree twisting up the sides of his head into the illusion of small horns -- that completes the strange picture.
Matt is armed with a snifter of amber liquid that he occasionally swirls but doesn't sip. "What kind of trick do you think it is?" he probes.
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He shakes his head. "Seems pretty sus, to me. Hey, do you think if this is really the 20s that all the booze was made in some dude's bathtub or something?"
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There's plenty to be wary of, but the second the stranger mentions the alcohol, it's the only thing Matt can focus on. The mask may hide the upper half of his face, but it doesn't obscure the way his nose curls at that. Boldly, he lifts the glass for a whiff. "I'm pretty sure we're safe there. I'm not tasting any lingering notes of armpit."
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Kyle exhales. "Well, that's a good thing at least. Probably not part of whatever weird trap or puzzle this is. Okay, so next thing then: can you take your mask off? Because I can't."
no subject
It's safer to keep a clear mind, though the little pleasures of freedom have already proven tempting. He sets the snifter on the tray of a passing waiter with a surprising amount of grace for a man whose eyes are literally covered by the mask in question. "Sure I can," he insists. To think otherwise seems preposterous, even if the straps do seem to be cutting into him. Matt's happy to demonstrate, but the first tug has him yelping in surprise and pain.
"All right, what kind of joke is this?"
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His musings on how the hell the guy managed to pull that trick are cut short when he tries to remove his mask and fails. Kyle sighs.
"I kinda had a feeling that might be the case," he says glumly. "Yeah, I tried yanking mine off earlier and it wouldn't go. I tried again like, ten minutes ago and it actually kinda hurt. So I'm worried."
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"Okay, tell me what you see." He reaches for the boy's elbow and turns them both in an about-face to survey the largest part of the crowd. As Kyle scans at his behest, Matt concentrates on how many of the others seem panicked and if anyone appears to have figured out a solution. "Has anyone out there got their mask off?"
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"So far I only see the waiters and bartenders with no masks," he says. "And I really am pretty sure everybody with the little pins we have all came here on that dumb boat." He glances at Matt, calmed by the fact that he seems to be taking all of this information and processing it carefully.
"None of the people without the pin seem upset. They're all having a blast."
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ii.
Until it looks like he's addressing him.
He glances over his shoulder and hopes to hell someone else is back there.
"Uh. Spotlight must be in your eyes, bub."
o daddy
"Dad, what are you doing here? Oh, fuck. Are you in trouble? You are, aren't you?" Kyle sighs and pushes his hands back through his hair. "Jesus Christ, dad, what NOW? Is this another international incident?"
(⇀‸↼‶)
"I dunno who you're seein' out here but you got the wrong guy, bub. Maybe even the wrong place. You drunk? You eat somethin'?"
eeeheeheehe
Kyle tosses his hands up in the air. "Look, Dad, I just... I just can't handle this right now, okay? I love you, you KNOW I love you, and you're a good dad but... Dad, if you're here because you're in trouble again I can't just drop everything to save you, okay? Please don't make me."
no subject
He hops on the stage and holds his hands up in front of him as if to negotiate the kid down from this kind of talk. Whether he's out of his damned mind or this place has already thrown him into some kind of emotional breakdown who's to say. What's for certain is it's quickly reaching into the kind of territory that Logan knows he's neither fit to deal with nor deserving of being privy to.
"Hey, look see? I ain't your old man. And I don't need savin'. Take a breath, bub. Take a seat. Get your head on right."
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"Don't treat me like I need to be calmed down," he mutters. "I'm not Mom. I'm not."
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"Uh, your Dad, he's... I'm not gonna make you do nothin' all right? I'm not in any trouble, kid. Nothing I can't handle anyway. And you... you just. Jesus this is really more of a Chuck and Jeannie job, kid. You don't have to drop nothin' for me. Yer a kid. Kid's ain't supposed to have to do that for their parents. That ain't how it works. I know that."
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"You're really not? You're okay, and you're not gonna drag Ike into anything?"
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iii. Beach
"One moment you're suckling sweet on mother's milk, the next you're painting a face on a scarecrow because you don't trust yourself to get the bayonet all the way in." Morbid? Perhaps. Irrelevant? Only just, and if one squints hard enough Prior figures anyone can see anything they wish to whether it's there or not. Perhaps in Kyle's world it's not scarecrows and bayonets, but sure as he is in his few short decades on earth, Prior's sure of this: every generation must grow up earlier than the last.
His distant thoughts aren't drawn any closer by the flare of the lighter, and as he takes a long draw on his cigarette, he allows himself to be fascinated with watching it disappear into the rolling fog. The sound of the water lapping at the shore reminds him of home. He can picture Sarah — his dear, sweet Sarah, sulfured yellow and carefully maudlin — being windswept, her bright orange flare of hair covered in tiny specks of surf.
Prior huffs.
"They don't even let the balls drop anymore before they're shoving them out the door and ask them to save the world," he finally says through his smoke. He doesn't count himself among his declaration, apparently: No shoves had been needed — he'd practically ran out the door to get away from his childhood.
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Kyle blinks, clearing his gaze a little, and looks at Prior thoughtfully. He looks back at the skull. It sees nothing, of course. Or maybe everything.
"I guess that's what it's like where you're from, yeah," he says quietly. "It's not exactly the same for me, so I actually feel a bit like I'm whining now. I was thinking just more about how as you grow up you lose how easy things were when you were little. I mean, things weren't always good - they were bad a lot, I guess - but I feel like I could just adapt so much more easily."
He looks back at Prior again. "You really had to grow up fast."
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"Things probably weren't easier, you just didn't know any better," Prior points out. "Survival instincts and all." Even if his had parents that cared and were willing to share their own perspectives, odds were pretty good that through a combination of sheltering and underestimation, they left poor Kyle to fend for himself (emotionally, if not otherwise) more often than not. Certainly more than society says is right.
"You're right, though." He ashes his cigarette, turning this way and that to observe the length of the beach. "This isn't right."
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He opens his mouth to say It's creepy, and instead says, "It's lonely." He starts slightly, surprised at himself, but it's true - standing on this beach it feels like perhaps the only people left in the world are Prior and himself.
"I wish we could go back. To being kids, I mean. Even when it was crazy at least I had friends I could count on."
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He glances over at Kyle and nods before crouching in front of the skull. Prior puffs are his cigarette and then takes the burning butt, turning it in his fingers and then reaching out to wedge it between the teeth.
"At least we're not entirely alone now," he notes, although he seems to be gesturing to the smoking skull as if it's the company they're keeping.
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"I'm thankful for that. Back home I don't actually see that many people outside of classes. I'm used to being alone, but I really wouldn't want to be, here."
He looks at the skull again, now hidden behind a thin ribbon of smoke. "It's gotta mean something, right? You don't just bedazzle a skull and leave it on the beach."
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Sighing, he sits. The sand is soft and forgiving and even if he's bound to find it unpleasant in all manner of crevasses, he realizes he doesn't mind the inconvenience. Not for himself or Kyle, who he gestures to offer a seat nearby. Just the two of them and their friend with its blankly knowing stare.
"What do you study?" And then, a minor correction: "What did you study?" Because he's clearly not studying now.
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He sits down beside Prior, surprised to find that it's not nearly as creepy to do as he'd thought it might be.
"I was pre-law," he says. "So I was majoring in political science. My folks really want me to be a lawyer. I'm not really sure if it's what I would have chosen for myself, but it's not like I had some burning passion to do something else, so... I dunno. I wish I could have taken a year off to decide. But you can't go back, can you? You're pretty much stuck with whatever decisions you make."
He offers Prior a little smile. "I must sound really, really sheltered to you."
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cw: descriptions of adolescent sexual deviancy, child abuse, csa
cw: descriptions of adolescent sexual deviancy, child abuse, csa
cw: descriptions of adolescent sexual deviancy, child abuse, csa, child prostitution
cw: descriptions of adolescent sexual deviancy, child abuse, csa, child prostitution
cw: religious insensitivity
cw: religious insensitivity
cw: religious insensitivity, era-specific antisemitism
cw: religious insensitivity
cw: religious insensitivity
cw: religious insensitivity