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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
Usually, he'd be too suspicious to take a drink from a stranger, but Simon is alone here, and he could really use a friend or at the very least an ally at present-]
...Thanks.
[Sheepishly, he takes the glass, although he doesn't drink from it just yet. Seeing someone who also doesn't take to this tailored suit business is comforting. He is hesitant to trust an adult, seeing as he supposedly hasn't needed one for eight years. Please note: He absolutely has, it's fucked up his morality and ability to feel, and um... Yes. Moms, Dads, Gender Neutral Parent Figures... SOS???
But he has always had Grace. His only constant.
And she, too, is gone for now.]
Um, who're you?
Cw: mention of drug usage
He knows how to treat it as well. He simply doesn't have his bag here. He doesn't have the heavy sedatives he'd given to Vanessa at her worst. What he does have, well, it's not with him. It's in that bag the temple guardians gave him and he personally needs that. Which means he has to try another way. He can shove his own anxieties down and work.
Step one is to use his body to try and block the rest of the room. It's a sad attempt from a man who likely hasn't eaten a full meal in far too long. He makes for a awkward rail thin curtain.
Cool surgeon's fingers light gently on the young man's arm. He counts the pulse as he goes. He needs to get that heart rate down!]
I'm a doctor.
[It's as simple as that.]
And I rather think I should escort you to a window where you might sit and catch your breath. Come with me?
i spoke 2 soon im laughing (cw: pedophilia mention)
I think I'm good right here, thanks.
[He's not one to enjoy parties or large gatherings, but he is aware of the fact that everyone here can see them. Despite his seemingly nervous demeanor, his abandonment by the Cat at the age of ten has certainly led him to be fairly wary of strangers. Younger children and kids his own age are one thing, but adults? They're only worth entertaining when they have something he can use to his own advantage.
Simon carefully slips the patch of skin with his Scrywatch into the nearest pocket of his tuxedo, concealing his orange reading. Thankfully, that's not the wrist or elbow this guy was feeling up.]
Sooo, haha... Doctor, huh? I hope ya don't mind my askin', but uh...
[Akira had mentioned that he was born in 1969, meaning that while he and Simon were around the same age, he hailed from the past. So far, Simon has encountered a god, a demon, and a witch. None of these things exist in his own world, and so there's a chance that this man could be a vampire or something, someone trying to get him into a corner and feast upon his measly flesh. That or he's just a regular old pedophile.]
Where did you go to medical school?
[The blond knows full well that this answer could be a lie too. Either way, whatever the man says, or how he says it, will give Simon at least a little more information.]
no subject
But the young man jerked away and Victor isn't going to try to force it. He'll just have to prepare himself for if the blond collapses.]
If you insist. But I really do recommend a quieter area.
[In Victor's defense, he doesn't consider that sort of thing. In his time period, the blond would have been considered an adult, socially. Which is why he's treating him as such and not trying to demand that the other sit down before he falls down.
But at least he's got the young man focused on him for the moment. Even if it's just to ask for his credentials.]
Cambridge University. [Which explains the English accent.] I graduated five year ago. Perhaps I should have led with that but I thought it might be an emergency and I needed to do a quick diagnosis. I'd hate to have been too late to prevent anything.
no subject
In fact, he's rather proud of it.]
Riiiiight. Class of...?
[Simon is trying to get a year. He's aware that the vernacular may be confusing for the other man, but that's part of the fun.]
Listen, buddy! I'm fine. I don't have any "medical conditions" or whatever you call 'em.
[His tone is intentionally very overly saccharine, tame enough to sound almost sincere, but not quite.]
I just hate parties. Not really keen on goin' to these sorta shindigs without my friends. I'd say, "You know how it is," but uh.
You don't seem the type to have many friends.
[wow??? simon plz... don't bully a fully grown man??? he could cut u open with a meat cleaver]
In fact, you're looking a little pale over there, doc. Are you sure it's me we should be worryin' about right now?
no subject
1886. [Yes. Enjoy the man for whom modern concepts such as a zipper and cotton candy are just that, concepts.]
Of course not. There's surely some other explanation for the rapidness of your breathing or heart rate. Perspiration. Elevated temperature. [He could continue, layering all the signs of a nervous breakdown well on it's way to happening. But he stops because he does actually understand.
His expression goes tight. It's true. He doesn't have friends. Not anymore. They'd all left or shut themselves away. It's just himself and the looming shadow of his creatures. His tone goes a bit arch.]
No. I am fully aware of how tedious as these sort of things can be. Even more so when it seems we've been given no choice but to attend. [And in clothing he would have never picked for himself.] And yes. I am quite certain it is you I should be worrying about. But in you insist, I'll simply wait. I've no interest in joining the dancing and even less interest in the food and drinks.
[Which means that for the moment, Simon is stuck with him. Victor isn't going to just walk away until he's sure that he won't be coming right back to treat the man if he faints.]
no subject
[Simon may not be all that built- Years of climbing and jumping and well, running have kept him thin, along with that recent growth spurt and nervous habit of rationing meals.]
Hate to break it to ya, doc-
[That last word is spat out sarcastically.]
But there's about 200 years between us, and I'm not about to let you sic some leeches on me 'cause you're too stupid to know any better.
[Simon isn't bothered that the other man hasn't left. He's angry and this is an easy target, provided that they stay amidst the crowd. It doesn't help that not a single soul the teen has met in person as of yet is a normal human, so he doubts this one too.]
Not into food or water, huh? Why, lookin' for a different kinda meal?
[His eyes narrow.]
There's no use in hidin' it.
What creepy creature of the night are you supposed to be, huh? Vampire? Warlock? Werewolf? What.
[He will not make the same mistake he did when he was ten.]
I know better than to trust the likes of you.
no subject
I beg your pardon! I hardly use leeches. That's ludicrous. [And to be called stupid. Oh. He's deeply insulted. He is certain he's absolutely smarter than this young man.] And you think you know what to do if someone was to suddenly fall ill or find they need a bone set or an operation performed? And where did you go to medical school?
[And while this hasn't been his goal, it seems at least the kid isn't panicking anymore. Are they making a scene? Probably. But hey. No one is collapsing from hysteria here on the ballroom floor.
And then Victor really stares at the young man. So he knows about that sort of thing. About the wives of the devil and of the affliction that effected Mr Chandler. And about the vampires. The dark circles and the red rims of his eyes might give that impression, even more with how cold his hands are and how pale he is. But Victor knows he's living. He knows better than anyone the line between the two.]
I don't know what your dealings with that sort of thing is, but I can guarantee you that I am fully human. I'm simply more advanced than most my peers.
no subject
Simon simply watches the seemingly frail man fume, noting that he does really seem frustrated. If he is some wacky witch doctor from the 1880s, that means the guy can at least do a decent wound patch-up. He'll file that away for later. Simon is no stranger to rough injury wrap-ups, but in all honesty, they're not his favorite thing to do and he outright despises the mess. Seeing as the Apex is mostly made up of children, he's also got the largest and steadiest hands to do so, despite his sometimes poor coordination.]
Oh yeah?
[Simon's voice grows colder, though the bite from it dies down. He'll need some more information before he puts even a sliver of trust in this loon.]
How so?
[The words don't mock, not quite. They are bereft of any emotion at all.]
Tell me your story, pal.
I'm all ears.