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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.
River Song || Doctor Who || OTA
2
The mask may conceal much of the other woman's face, but the Doctor knows that hair anywhere. There's a hint of a smile at the corner of the Doctor's mouth as she approaches River.
"Hello, sweetie."
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The mask hardly gives her pause as the other woman approaches; she's tangled with worse. Assuming the masks actually mean anything at all. But those words...
"How do you...?"
She trails off, staring back at her from under the mask for a long moment before reaching out to wrap one hand around her arm, subtly pulling her closer.
"Doctor?"
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"Great. Masks fusing with faces. At least it ended well last time, all things considered." Her eyes dart around their immediate surroundings. It's only the people with mysterious yellow symbols that seem to be struggling to remove the masks.
The Doctor looks back at River, gives her a once over. "You look- nice dress." The mask thankfully conceals the way she blushes like a school girl while looking at her own wife.
She reaches into the pockets of her trousers, then grumbles. "Ah, empty pockets." That's right, her sonic was gone when she arrived here. So much for using it to break the seal between skin and mask.
"Thoughts?" She asks, looking at River.
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At least some things never change, no matter how many faces the Doctor wears. And true to form, she's already moved on to the problem at hand.
"I've started to get a suspicion," she admits. "You aren't going to like it much more than I do."
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"What's your suspicion?" The Doctor turns her attention to examining the mask on River's face. She reaches out a hand to lightly trace a finger along the line of demarcation between skin and mask. It looks like it should hurt and yet for The Doctor, it's only an irritation. She assumes the same is true for River.
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"It's fine, Sweetie," she murmurs, almost in answer to the unasked question.
It doesn't hurt. It doesn't particularly bother her at all aside from the fact it's covering the majority of her face and she has no way of removing it. She's dealt with much worse.
"Secrets. Uncover your secrets, uncover your face. In a manner of speaking."
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"Secrets?" she questions, as if she can't imagine what secrets she could possibly have. "What secrets are we suppose to uncover?"
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River knows who she married. She's loved them for lifetimes. But some days...
"No two people lie more than us." She doesn't have to say, even to each other. It's implied well enough. They've both always hidden their truths.
Secrets are a safety net. They keep people from asking too many difficult questions. Keep the past from hurting too much, old wounds from ripping open.
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"There has to be another way."
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"I'm flattered, Sweetie." One hand comes up to trace the yellow sigil pinned to the Doctor's suit. "And I believe they need to be wearing this symbol, marking them as one of our fellow Travellers."
At least, from what she's been able to tell.
What River isn't doing is offering an alternative. She hasn't found one yet. But even she isn't sure if it's easier to tell your secrets to someone you love or a near stranger.
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That didn't make the prospect of confessing to a total stranger sound any better, though. She runs a finger along the edge of the mask and thinks, brow furrowed, although it's concealed by the blasted mask. But the cogs are turning and she's trying to think of a secret she can share.
"Oh, just ask me something. Something you've always wondered. Something you've been sure I'd never tell you."
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"Doctor, there are so many things you never tell me." And her chest aches even for saying it. Darillium had made up for much, but not nearly all. There are so many things that remain unsaid between them.
Every question she wants to ask that matters seems cruel, and there isn't any part of River that wants to hurt her wife. Nor is she certain she wants to hear the answers, the honest answers. "Did you stay with me because you knew how it ended, because it wasn't indefinite?"
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03. The Play
As she enters, she sees a woman heading for the stage. Curious. It’s not out of the realm of possibility for it to be part of the performance but surely there would be more in attendance if this was a scheduled show? But really, why would she think that anything would run as it should?
Hovering in the aisle, she watches as the scene continues to unfold. Glances around her to see if there’s anyone else in any of the seats. Whatever is transpiring, it doesn’t seem to be for the enjoyment of a tangible audience.
Carefully approaching the stage, Chloe sits herself on the edge of it as she doesn’t want to crowd the woman. “Are you alright?” she asks gently.
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"You left me there." She laughs, but there's no real humor behind it. "In a computer. I told you, so long ago now, that you, that wasn't any kind of life. It wasn't a life I would want. And foolishly I thought if you did it anyway, you must be coming back, but that was never the plan, was it?"
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“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, not trying to figure out what role she might be playing in this scenario, merely giving a heartfelt response to the pain on display. While more could be said, this isn't her space.
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"I waited." There's a subtle shake of her head. "I don't even know how long. But you never came. When they called me to help, to save you, I was there, only for you to tell me I should have already been gone."
She stands, reining in her emotions. "It doesn't matter."
For better or worse, this is how their life has always been. The Doctor always thinks they know best, never takes the time to consider how it affects the people closest to them. And River has had quite enough confession time with her husband for one day. Except that when she turns to face her again, it isn't the Doctor at all.
"Oh." And then everything she's just said hits her again like an emotional tidal wave, and with a little more gravity this time, "Oh," followed rather shortly by, "I'm so sorry. I, quite inexplicably, thought you were someone else."
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The words, and the feeling behind them, resonates with her. It sounds like there are differences in the circumstances being described and her own but there’s enough to tug at Chloe. Her gaze doesn’t leave the other, the android’s brows furrowed in recognition of the hurt. And of the dismissal of it.
When the shift happens, Chloe is ready with a small smile. Now the outpouring makes more sense. Well. Insomuch as anything she’s experienced thus far seems to make sense. Anyway. The exact hows and whys don’t immediately matter as much as the person does.
“It’s alright, please don’t worry. You’ve nothing to apologise for.” She pauses, diverting her gaze downwards for a moment before bringing it back to the woman. “We can talk, if you need to? Or just sit. Or I can leave, of course, if you’d prefer to be alone.”
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And though she prefers to keep her emotions, her secrets, to herself, she is grateful for the other woman's show of compassion. It's been quite the day, and she's been wrung out emotionally between not being dead and seeing the Doctor again.
"You see, I shouldn't be here." And she realizes as she says it that none of them should be here, so she clarifies, "I shouldn't be anywhere. I died. Some time ago."
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Because she isn't alive.
"I'm sorry," is the first thing she can think of to say, woefully inadequate as it is. Chloe's hands clasp together and rest in her lap to again stop her from reaching out. "Do you..." All of the dozens of questions she could ask feel dreadfully inappropriate.
"If there's a story to be told, I'm happy to listen." It's only an invitation rather than attempting to pry, giving the woman the space to vent or try to make sense of things if she wants to.
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It's easier to talk if she isn't looking at her, doesn't consider she's still sharing her story with a stranger, so she looks straight ahead.
"My husband and I were time travellers, never quite meeting in the right order. When I first met him, he'd already known me for years. And the day he met me, as far as he remembers at least, was the last we spent together."
And she knows she can't really blame him, not his younger self. He hadn't known her yet.
"He knew, all the time we were together, and the best solution he could come up with was to download my consciousness into a computer, leave me in a Library. He never even asked. And he couldn't say goodbye."
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Her gaze drops to her hands. “Maybe he couldn’t bear to let you go.” Her voice is quiet, a little distant.
Quickly, she blinks and looks apologetically to the woman. “I’m sorry. It really isn’t my place to say anything like that.” Demeaning what’s been shared with her or the experience was not on Chloe’s agenda at all. Especially when it had been said that it wasn’t any kind of life she would want. Languishing in a computer, waiting to be uploaded once again…
“You were aware? When you were in the computer, I mean.” The way she describes it makes it sound like more than a means of storage.
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But a question has been asked, and she guesses, it isn't an unreasonable one. "Yes. It was like...being in a simulation."
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"But it was safe?" she ventures. "I mean... There's a difference between being alive in some form and living but... You were safe?" A tight lipped smile follows soon after. "Please tell me if I'm prying too much."
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"It's fine, sweetie," she says gently, and she finds that she means it. "Yes. I was safe."
River smiles, though it's faint and doesn't quite reach her eyes. "He left me in a library, with every book ever written. I guess he expected that would be enough. He was young then."
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