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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
Which is why he just takes a stroll along the beach after the Ferryman finishes his orientation spiel. All that traveling crap is fine for dream-flavor but again. So much whatever. He doesn't even flinch when some leviathan pops up out of the water and squirts out some nasty smelling detritus onto the beach. Typical dream weirdness though the Jonah motif is a bit farther out than he'd expect of his dreamscapes.
But then one of the larger chunks of said detritus rolls over and shows off a truly tacky tattoo, faux gothic letters declaring 'X Marks The Spot' below a trio of gunshot scars and right above— ]
Jesus Christ!
[ Well. That's one point settled. This is definitely real. No drug-induced, concussion-laden, traumatic-brain-injury mindfuck would conjure up a naked Samuel Drake out of his subconscious, he doesn't care how out of it he is. ]
no subject
It isn't until he hears a commotion somewhere down the length of the shore that he heads in that direction, a familiar cry of 'Jesus Christ!' tearing through the calming soundtrack of the surf and sea breeze in an otherwise peaceful afternoon, and just barely catches a large gilled mass slide back into the waters, leaving the product of its regurgitation on the sand. ]
— Rafe. [ He stops in his tracks, eyes move between him and the sticky, mucus-covered shape lying on its side in the sand, groaning, and oh god — ] No.
You're shitting me —
[ Nate can't avert his gaze towards the sky quickly enough; somewhere back towards the water, pretty much to anywhere other than his very naked brother lying on the sand like a beached whale once he realizes what he's seen. ]
Sam? [ said to the beach. ] What the hell are you doing? What happened?
no subject
he's still attempting to get his lungs back to breathing rather than drowning in sea water when nate's voice joins the foray, and isn't this just a splendid fucking reunion. he'd really rather crawl right back into the ocean at this point. )
Oh, Jesus, here we go. ( at last, he speaks! barely, his voice rough from nearly hacking up his internal organs. he quickly shifts to cover himself, pushes down the flaring horror rising in his chest. you'd think all modesty would've been filed off after thirteen years of prison showering, but there's something very different about your brother and your ex-business partner seeing you naked against your will. ) Would you at least give me your goddamn shirt or something, Nathan? Christ. I am not walk-of-shame-ing my way back to that goddamn temple.
( and he's definitely not answering any questions until something more than just his hand is covering his junk, thank you very much. also very pointedly ignoring rafe at the moment. there's only so much he can deal with in his goddamn birthday suit, and rafe adler is not one of those things. )
no subject
Here, it seems, the Ferryman had put all the pieces in place for a mulligan, a chance to do it all over again, and... Well, obviously it's worse the second time around if only because it's got Sam's dick hanging out all over it even as Rafe's head whips around at the sound of Nate's voice. Not that he gets a chance to respond to it because once again— Sam. Who just has to open his mouth and add to the trash on the beach by speaking. His jaw clenches at the sound, teeth grit as he follows Nate's example and turns his eyes to the sky above rather than this fucking disaster. ]
Yeah, would you? There's probably some people still on the beach who haven't gone blind yet.
[ Not him, of course, but whatever. He can find bleach later. Then, since Nate did ask... ]
He got vomited up by a giant fucking fish. [ Usually it's the other way around with bad sushi. ] Don't waste any time, do you, Sam.
no subject
[ N ... ot that Nate feels particularly comfortable about walking around in his undershirt, but it's one thing having to bare his shoulders than being in Sam's position, walking back to the temple in absolutely nothing but his birthday suit. He starts to unbutton the crisp white shirt of his 1920s get-up, eventually tossing it in his brother's direction — at least he thinks it's his brother's direction, it's more of a backwards toss to avoid any accidental glimpses at Sam's junk.
This could almost be comedic, and maybe years down the line he and Sam will have a good laugh about the whole thing, except Rafe being here adds a strange kind of nostalgic factor to the whole situation. When was the last time the three of them had been in the same place? Fifteen years ago, hunting for Avery's treasure, scrambling to escape a Panamanian jail until —
He tilts his head towards Rafe, quelling the thought and focusing on the horrifying here and now. It's not great but it's preferable to remembering the way he'd lost Sam all those years ago. A naked Sam is still better than no Sam at all. ]
Was that what that thing was? I thought I was hallucinating.
no subject
thankfully, nate finally gets with goddamn the program, so most thoughts of murder are momentarily quelled. )
Thank you.
( pointedly, in nate's direction. he catches the shirt a moment later, pushing himself up, back turned on them while he ties off the shirt around his waist. it's not exactly the fashion statement of the year, but it's better than being completely naked (even if half of his ass is still enjoying the ocean breeze).
once he's partially clothed, he turns back and heads toward nate, more than ready to put this unfortunate situation behind him. )
Great, glad we've solved that mystery. ( so less like charybdis, more like jonah and the whale. the biblical irony isn't lost on him. he sets a hand on nate's shoulder, only slightly urgently directing him away from rafe. ) Let's go, huh?
no subject
He grimaces, eyes screwed shut for a moment before he gathers up the fortitude to keep those eyes square above Sam's waist. It's helped by the realization that the two of them are ready to walk away from him all over again which is simply unacceptable.
So he fixes his eyes on Nate instead, voice a jeer and a cajole and a challenge all at once because he won't let Sam ruin this again. ]
What, you guys leaving already? We barely got a chance to chat the last time.
no subject
Nate is more than happy to go along with Sam; honestly, the sooner they get him off the beach and to some place with a few more clothing items than his little brother's borrowed shirt the better. But Rafe manages to catch Nate's glance, and it's stupid of him, really, to have spared another look over his shoulder towards their former 'associate'.
(Truthfully, he's still quietly processing the fact that Rafe's here at all.)
But the damage is done, so he pauses in his stride. ]
You know, we've never really been the 'sit down and catch up' kind of party. What the hell do we have to chat about?
no subject
no, whatever conversation rafe seems to think they need to have, they are definitely not having right now. he's not about to rise to that particular bait, even if nate seems more inclined to, because of course rafe knows exactly how to reel him in. under different circumstances, it might get more of a rise out of sam, too, but with nate present, well ... there are some things he just doesn't need to know yet. some things he knows rafe is privy to and would be more than willing to share at sam's expense. not today satan.
so, with a bit more warning in his voice, hushed but not quite a whisper: )
Nathan, let it go. We don't need to do this here. ( which isn't suspicious of him to say at all, why do you ask. then, pointedly to rafe: ) Whatever kumbaya bullshit you think this is, why don't you can it.
no subject
That's not what you were saying in Libertalia, but then again. [ He sucks his teeth, disappointed. ] We did get a little cut off.
[ By Nadine's frustration boiling over, by Sam's clinging to an impossible con, by Avery goading them on and on to the finish line. But as annoying as may be, they are well and truly side-tracked so why not take the time to finish the conversation?
...But. Something is off. He can't put his finger on it but it's there, like the tang of salt in the air or the clammy paleness of Sam's ass in the morning sun. Even if the incomparable Drake Brothers™ were simply doing their best to put up a united front against him, he can't imagine Nate would be able to hold it long — for all that raw talent and intelligence he'd always been too emotional, irrational. There's no way he could still be tolerating Sam after finding out the truth of Sam's bullshit, the breadth of the deception. His eyes narrow slightly at Sam, a silent promise that those lies haven't been forgotten by a long goddamn shot. There's just no coming back from a betrayal like that—
Is there? No. No way in hell. ]
no subject
[ Before Sam can physically usher Nate off this beach and back up towards land, he lifts a hand. He's going to need a second here to catch up, looking between his older brother and Rafe. What Rafe says doesn't make a whole lot of sense, like he's talking about something that either happened without him or simply hasn't happened ... yet.
Christ. Is that possible? Nonono, that's the stuff of science-fiction novels. ]
What do you mean 'we got a little cut off'? We just got there. Barely saw any of it before the Ferryman showed up.
[ The confusion is pretty clear in his expression as he looks back to Sam for a direction here. An explanation. Either that or Rafe's up to something and he's spinning them around on purpose.
Maybe. ]
no subject
he shakes his head, shrugging unhelpfully. )
Yeah, no idea what the hell he's talking about.
( does he actually want to engage? not really. but nathan seems a little preoccupied, and trying to drag him away from whatever this is is only going to look a hell of a lot more suspicious than playing it out a little further. probably. assuming rafe can keep his goddamn mouth shut about the elephant in the room that nathan hasn't caught onto yet.
then, to rafe: )
Last I saw you, we were stealing that cross from right under your nose.
( you know, just in case anyone forgot. and, at least until now, they'd managed to evade rafe this long, which is something he would love to get back to doing. any minute now. )
no subject
Nnno...
[ The "o" drags out expectantly as the gears turn in his head, waiting on a punchline that's slow to show but ought to be there. Hell, if he didn't know better, he'd think this was another con— Some new cheap trick pulled out of Sam's sleeve because he refused to admit he's already played himself out. But again: Nate. Much as it pains him to admit, Nate is one of the best in the business (alongside himself, all right) but that's as far as research and exploration and all the hands-on stuff that really counts.
Deception? On a very rare occasion, maybe, but even Nate's not that good an actor. Rafe would be able to tell. He knows that much. ]
Last we all saw each other [ deja vu as he rolls his wrist, pointing a finger to circle all three of them together again ] was a cliff overlooking the town after Nadine wiped the floor with you.
[ Said as conversationally as discussing the weather as those gears speed up. Rafe's never been one for fantasy before, too focused and rooted in real possibilities to let his mind idle like that, but doesn't mean he's never heard of time travel and considering all else he's seen in the short time here... Would it really be so impossible? Could he really be the best step ahead here—?
There's just no coming back from a betrayal like that. Unless you were still walking towards it.
His eyes slide back to Sam, heavy lids hiding a gleam of excitement as his voice remains level, blithe. Just a couple old pals rather than the butcher eyeing an unexpected but wonderfully fatted calf. ]
And Nate here was filling me in about Hector Alcázar.