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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!

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Well. It was a nice enough night when he set out on this stroll - now, with the first wisps of a foreboding fog rolling in, Anders is second-guessing the wisdom in wandering an empty, dark stretch of sand by the water. But he wanted an escape from the city, sharp-edged and too-bright as it all is, and the sound of the surf had a kind of soothing, lulling appeal.

Now it feels stifling, as he makes his way back, trying to trace his own shifting footsteps in the sand. As he gives light to a tiny wisp of mana, green and glowing and only a touch brighter than that eerie fog, and tries to raise his voice over it, when he sees what he thinks - hopes - is someone crouched in the sand, up ahead.

"I'm not sure it's such a good idea to linger. We won't be able to see the ends of our own noses, in this, before long."

Shaken out of the skull’s lure by the voice, Chloe blinks a couple of times. When exactly did the fog appear? How long has she been staring into those dark eye sockets? Her processing feels smothered in molasses for a moment, the words taking longer than they should to fully register.

“No. No, I think you’re right.” Scooping up the discarded high heels that sit beside her, the android gets herself to her feet. The beckoning bones make her glance back, but only for a second. Her gaze goes to the man, focusing on him so she doesn’t end up sitting herself right back down in the sand.

With the fog showing no signs of relenting, Chloe steps closer to him and offers a small smile. “That’s a useful trick,” she comments, nodding to the green light. What that light is and how it’s there are certainly a point of interest for her, but there are more pressing questions at the moment. “I’m not sure if it’s best to try and go back or to continue forward…”

The outline and movement visible through the fog, a figure ambles towards them. From the way they move, it isn’t hard to tell that something is wrong. Peering more intently through the mist, Chloe waves a hand so that the seemingly struggling, possibly injured, figure can find them.

“Hello? It’s alright, don’t worry, we can help you,” she assures the shambling shape. Even though her new companion didn’t sign up for Chloe conducting a search and rescue, she looks to him as if to say that of course they’re going to aid someone in need.

"Plenty more where this came from," he replies, waggling his light-limned fingers and offering her a grin. She's certainly a lot less frightening than anything he'd have expected to find wandering out here in this silent, foggy haze, though. Maybe it is just some ill-timed weather, after all - it's a lot easier to breathe with someone else around, at any rate.

The more the merrier even applies to that stranger stumbling in from the surf, so she needn't have to worry about him raising any objections, there. Anders lifts his own arm after her attempted wave, squinting now, as well, at that increasingly solid form staggering toward them. Hurt, he assumes, in a rare flash of healerly shrewdness.

"Yes, the shore's back this way. Get a bit turned around out there, did you?"

He feels an actual pang of uncertainty when no voice calls out to answer them, glancing sidelong at her again before taking a few more sliding, sandy steps down toward the surf. Something glimmers in the dark, a wavering gold glow - eyes - and a second silhouette joins the first, slowly lumbering toward them.

"Er... I'm not sure they're looking for help."

The more the merrier indeed, as the... whatever they are seem to be multiplying in numbers. More and more of them shuffle through the fog and advance towards them. Like the waves they emerged from, they just seem to keep coming.

Which would probably mean it's a good time to run. Only Chloe remains rooted to the spot, staring at them with bewildered horror. They look like... dead bodies. Even if it could only be a trick of the dim light, their awful appearance alone is enough to make her blue blood run cold.

"No. They're..." Whatever end that sentence could have, it isn't going to be a good one.

Processing not fully able to comprehend what's happening, she shifts into practical mode. Finger-lights aside, the man with her appears to be human. Or at least human enough to probably be comprised of squishy, vulnerable parts. She, however, is that touch more durable.

"Let's run. Start running. I'll be right behind you."

Running? Yes, running sounds good. Anders falls back another couple of steps, the surf and loose, wet sand sloshing around his heels as he goes. Those things in the waves, at the very least, are slow in their encroachment, and even as the nearest of them - now horribly visible through the ever-thickening fog in all of its bloat and rot - shambles closer, it maintains its plodding, gradual pace.

Anders doubts if it will forever, though. Too close, and he finds it all too easy to imagine them lunging, swiping, grabbing with those crumbling, skeletal hands. It's hardly his first encounter with the walking dead, though.

"Wait—" The light in his hand shifts, cool green turning to warm, glowing orange, a fireball in his palm that he lobs at that first corpse with a careless, practiced ease. It bursts on impact, lighting up the dead thing as it knocks it back - and the silhouettes of numerous others around it, all clambering slowly out of the surf. Shit.

He turns back to her, holding out his hand (now empty, ordinary, human) with a wince. She doesn't look anymore durable, to him - and they could be separated in the fog in an instant. "You were saying something about running?"

Fireballs. Fireballs from someone's hands. Fireballs from hands and the walking dead. One day Chloe might not be so boggled by the bizarre events she now finds herself in. Today, however, is not that day.

Still. The 'walking dead' part of the scenario is the one to remain focused on. While she may have misjudged her new companion's abilities, she definitely isn't looking to hang around to see if any more of the grotesque corpses can be lit up.

Chloe takes his hand tightly, not wanting to lose her grip. Maybe she would manage to make it out of being set upon by the things but being dragged down into the sea's depths? Not so much. Nor does she want a terrible fate to befall someone who decided to help her.

Breaking into a run, the grand fleeing plan is somewhat hampered by being in the sand. It makes each step slower and more haphazard than she would like, and she continually looks to him to make sure he's not about to lose his footing. It also stops her looking back, although she can feel that they're still pouring out of the waves.

"Thank you," she tells him hurriedly, not wanting to waste energy or time on idle chitchat but it needs to be said. Even if they haven't exactly escaped the looming danger just yet.

"You can thank me if we don't die!" Anders replies, a false kind of manic cheer in the exclamation. He isn't much more graceful in climbing the sandy, shifting shore, but he's unwittingly quite a bit lighter, hand tight around hers as he bounds ahead in a few sliding strides.

The first of those corpses has yet to recover from his direct hit, still smouldering in the shallow surf, but the light it casts only serves to illuminate more of them, when he glances back again. Even if they can make it back to the city - now an ever more dubious feat, as thickly as fog clouds the air - they won't be out of danger if that horde keeps coming.

"No chance you've got a weapon of some sort on you, is there?"

A weapon? Chloe almost laughs, but doesn’t. “I’m really not… I’m not exactly the fighting type.” Any skill in that arena has never been part of her programming. She can be quite handy with a kitchen knife when it comes to slicing and dicing but that would be the extent of it.

Still, she searches for something that might make her vaguely useful if they’re going to have to face the corpses. “The heels could, you know, stab?” she offers, holding up the shoes in the hand not clasping his. The phrase ‘you could take an eye out with those’ might be disturbingly apt. Not a patch on being able to launch fireballs, though.

“The fire you can create… Can it encircle us?” She has no idea how magic – or what she figures must be magic – works but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

That's all right; Anders laughs for both of them, short and harried, as he watches her lift those shoes, brandishing them like - well. Not even like a weapon, really. Not ideal.

"Don't think I can enchant those!" Which leaves them an even less effective method of defense against the undead, sadly. He suggestion isn't a bad one, either, but unfortunately he'd already been thinking along those lines. He shakes his head sharply as they mount the top of the dune, sand sliding out from under his heels.

"I could make a much bigger fire, but I'd need some sort of cover." Heftier spells like that, they aren't instantaneous. And since she can't safely keep those things back, he'd rather not risk it. They're already only barely ahead of them - or as near as he can tell, they still are, with the fog so thick it's getting hard to clearly distinguish even her features, in the dark.

When a rotting arm snatches out of the haze, grasping at them, even that estimation seems a bit optimistic. "Watch out!"

Why does she have to be so useless? Why did she have to go wandering in the first place? Why did she have to go anywhere near the skull? If she’d just gone to the temple and stayed put, none of this would be happening.

But no. Chloe always has to poke and prod and ask. And never seems to learn well enough from it.

If it was only herself, that would be one thing, but now her carelessness is putting someone else in danger.

She tries to scan more than an inch around her to see if there might be some dry driftwood, something that could be set alight to make a torch that could whack any creatures that get too close. Nothing immediately leaps out at her. She doesn’t even have the luck to stumble over something that could be of use.

Desperate times may call for desperate measures. Or maybe she’s lost all sense of reasonable thought but really, who’s keeping score at this point?

“What if we had something flammable? Like a liquid? Would you be able to do something with that?”

"I could light it up?" Anders replies, a little uncertain - though that could be just as much due to the things circling in the mist and his harried efforts to fend them off.

He lifts a hand as another one looms out of the dark, an invisible burst of force sending it sprawling backwards, fog swirling. He can't keep this up forever, though.

"What are you thinking?" Something like a grease spell crosses his mind, but in this dark and with so little visibility, he doesn't dare try it, himself. Too little control and too great a risk. Weren't there others out here, before, as well? Maker, he hopes they've gotten out, already.

As much as she doesn’t want to risk losing him in the fog, this is going to be a two-hand task. Her fingers slipping out of his, Chloe’s pace slows a little as her attention goes to her own arm rather than any of the ones clawing out at them.

The perfectly normal looking skin retracts, leaving her hand and arm a porcelain white. It’s awful, so awful, to expose herself in such a way. At least the thick mist surrounding them might have some benefit in that respect. Not to mention that it’s probably not quite as awful as being mauled by the undead masses. Or watching someone else be horribly mauled by the undead masses.

Opening a small panel on that white arm, she fiddles around inside for a moment. A clear tube serving as an imitation of a human artery is uncoupled from another it’s connected to. With the end pinched to prevent the blue blood flowing freely, she turns to him.

“Okay. We have access to flammable liquid. How much do you need to create some fire between us and them?”

He steps nearer to her in the gloom when she lets go of his hand, fretting already. The longer they stay still, though - even if only for a span of seconds - the more time those things have to crawl out of the ocean and surround them.

It's probably lucky, in that respect, that he can't exactly tell what she's doing with her arm, either. (A combination of the thick fog and a technological knowledge far too sparse and medieval to comprehend it at a glance.) It certainly wouldn't put him at ease to know it's a vital part of her she's holding, when she turns away - or that their flammable fluid is a somewhat more essential one than he'd guess.

"Depends on how flammable it is," Anders replies, before rethinking that line of query. They don't have time to interrogate it quite so thoroughly. He shakes his head, grimacing at the sound of sliding, shuffling footsteps as he squints through the dark, desperately trying to catch sight of that telltale glow. "Enough to lay down a barrier! It doesn't have to be much; I can make a whole lot more than a spark."

"Highly," is the quick answer. Which does prompt the concern that if she's not careful enough, Chloe herself might go up in flames. And her creator isn't there to save her. If anything happened to her, that could very well be it. It's quite the thought to swallow in the second she spends on contemplating it.

Releasing the tubing from the pinch, she directs the thirium's flow onto the sand. A blue line appears in front of them, as much as it can be seen through the fog. Just to be sure, she slowly swings her arm from side to side to make sure there's a decent amount both in front and to the side of them. Internal systems flash their warnings.

It's okay. There's thirium at the temple.

She clasps the end of the tube again, ready to add more if it's needed. "Enough?"

"Plenty," Anders replies, with a sharp nod. He sounds less certain - though it's not for the spur of the moment plan they're perhaps foolishly enacting. It's just— He still can't quite tell what she's done, even if that dark line in the sand is barely visible, to him, now. And that should worry him - more than either of them has time for, right just now.

So he doesn't ask, he simply motions toward the flammable liquid spread across the sand, and a gout of flame pours from his palm. Instantly, the dark is set ablaze, thick fog drawn back for a few extra feet of visibility. But the fire stops the corpses nearest to them from reaching their clawing grasp out once more. It was a closer call than he'd have liked, even in their haste.

But there are still too many of them - and a little fire won't stop even a handful of waterlogged zombies forever.

"Now let's get out of here, what do you say?"

As he sets the fire, Chloe quickly sets to reattaching one tube that carries her blue blood back to the other. Both the panel and her skin back in place, she takes hold of his hand once again. Maybe that's presumptuous but the fog still pervades outside of the blaze. That and it's just comforting.

"Yes. Please." So before the fire dies down, it's time to get running again. The action sparks more system alerts but there's nothing she can do about it now. Her motions aren't as smooth or as swift as they could be but she isn't a dead weight dragging him down.

As the twinkling of the city finally pierces through the fog, Chloe relaxes a little. Not that she stops running. Not until they're definitely in the clear.

"Thank you. Again. Those are some very impressive skills you have." As she speaks, she still looks around them to make sure no more of those hands are reaching for them.

Even if he minded her grabbing his hand again, it's as much a practical measure as anything. But he doesn't, the comfort of some point of contact in the swirling morass of the fog a mutual thing. Though it still can't beat the incredible relief of escaping back onto those brightly lit city streets. (He never would have thought he'd find them so appealing.)

"They are, aren't they?" Where there's room to breathe, there's room to laugh - even if he still pauses to look back over his shoulder. Ugh. He can practically feel hands on him, bony and rotten.

He shrugs that phantom fear off with a shudder, his gloating good humor tempered to a somewhat more sincere concern, when he turns to her again. "You're pretty handy yourself, of course. Do you carry around mysterious flammable fluids with you all the time, or was that just a stroke of luck?"

Inevitable as questions were going to be, it doesn't make Chloe any more keen on answering them. Rather hypocritical of someone who asks so many questions herself. "Oh. Well. Just luck. I mean, it was a lucky plan. We made quite a good team." She smiles a smile designed to be lovely in the hopes that some pleasantries might take the focus away from the specifics of said lucky plan.

"And now we're not being chased by... horrific things, let me introduce myself. I'm Chloe." As much as she would like to do the 'everything's fine and I'm all good' routine, the lost liquid does need replacing.

Her brow furrows, not wanting to place any more burdens on him but not fancying wandering about alone much either. "I'm sorry to ask even more of you but would you mind walking with me to the temple? I'm a little... Maybe we could both do with a little rest and quiet?"

If there were any less adrenaline in the air, and he were any more predisposed to leaping to such absurd conclusions as presuming someone might actually have flammable blood (well, and still be alive - or not Oghren), he might have pressed it. But, for the moment, her quick dismissal strikes him as odd, but no more so than the assumptions he's already made. Or, frankly, than an army of bloated, salty corpses marching out of the sea.

So he leaves it be, with another (slightly less harried) look back over their shoulders.

"Anders." He'd offer her his hand, but - considering. He offers the one in his a reassuring squeeze instead of a shake. "And that I can do easily. Uh, besides, we might want to find someone to tell about what's going on down there? Perhaps of the authoritative sort?"

Just a thought. He isn't so sure they're not going to find those things slouching their way into the temple, too, if they linger there long enough. And obviously no one else should go down to the beach, tonight, if possible. Not without warning.

Those are concerns for a little later, though, as he gives her that narrow, studious look again. "Are you hurt? I didn't see any of them get you, but - who could see anything out there? In any case, I could help. I am a healer."

"It's lovely to meet you, Anders. Despite the circumstances." She gives his hand a squeeze in return, grateful for his presence, his agreement and his merciful lack of any further questioning. "Yes, absolutely. I'm not sure how authoritative they may be but there are beings at the temple we could alert?"

Though she isn't sure how much they might be able to do, exactly. Or how much they might care. Though that's too dark a thought to linger on for too long. As is the thought that the undead crawling out of the sea may be part of a grander test of character. Or perhaps a punishment for those who defy the lure the skull seemed to have.

"Oh, no. I'm fine. Please don't worry." Still, she glances down to her arm to make sure it appears nothing other than human. "And you? You're alright?" She looks him over for any obvious signs of injury that she may have missed before. "Are you tired from using your... abilities?" As it seems better to let the man himself to give the precise terminology rather than assume.

"As good a place to start as any, I suppose." Though he sounds less sure about that than the words imply. He sort of doubts those little creatures running around the temple care one whit about any of them, or anything they do, that doesn't have to do with their place of residence. Or whatever it is that eerie dome and its horrid approximation of a sculpture was built to pay homage to. But that kind of thinking isn't going to help either of them.

If those little things don't seem to care, perhaps he'll just come back down to the beach, himself, to make sure nothing is crawling up from it, still. But, later.

"Entirely unscathed! Not a scratch on me, fortunately enough." He nods, pretending not to see her glancing down at her arm. Pretending not to wonder what it was, exactly, that he saw out there, in the fog. "And there's plenty left where that came from. It'll take more than a couple of fireballs to run me out of magic."

“I’d welcome any better suggestions, of course. Have you seen anyone who appears to be an authority?” The people she’s seen in the city don’t really have that sort of air to them. In fact, they haven’t seemed to care about much at all. They’ve been all vacant smiles and bustling about their business, casual, unassuming and oblivious.

“Someone would have to care, wouldn’t they?” she wonders aloud, curious as to his opinion on the matter before she shares too much of her own. No need to darken the night further with ideas of the undead purposefully being part and parcel of whatever machinations may be at play.

A relieved smile on her lips, Chloe gives a nod. “Those creatures clearly underestimated us.” It’s said with the kind of confidence that’s intended to bring a little levity. Create a tiny bit of breathing room. “So it is magic.” The smiles turns a tad embarrassed and self-conscious. “I’m sorry if I seem ignorant. I’m not very well-versed in, well, spells and such. It is fascinating, though.” Apparently Chloe is quite content to fill that breathing room with chat.

"You'll have to get them from someone who knows better. I'm fresh out," Anders replies, shrugging as he watches the oddly placid city street pass by. No one here seems to care at all, not for the disheveled strangers running in terror from the suddenly impassably foggy beach, nor for anything else at all.

"I've got a funny feeling we're going to be searching a while for someone who doesn't think all this is perfectly ordinary, actually." Or at least not interesting enough to bother with. Unless those few or any help around here are all hiding out somewhere they've simply overlooked - and that doesn't exactly lighten his spirits in the least - they simply don't seem to exist.

Well, beyond their fellow Travelers, anyway. But Anders is just as reluctant to start looking for leadership among a bunch of lost strangers. At least outside the moment.

"You'd be the first to say so who wasn't well-versed in spells and such." His own smile is thin and not especially light, a rare failure of the careless facade he tries so hard to project. But it doesn't leak into his tone, this time, at least. "Usually it's frightening more than fascinating."

For a little while Chloe remains quiet. To hear her thoughts about whether or not the horde on the beach will be of concern to anyone echoed serves as both a relief and deeply troubling. For all the grand spiels on personal journeys and redemption, the Travelers could be expendable. In service of goals larger than, and unknown to, themselves. As oblivious as the city-folk in their own way.

Those who are above the common masses have no need to divulge their true natures, do they? Their true intentions. Why win or lose the game when you can create it in the first place?

Before she gets too lost within her own thoughts, Chloe blinks a couple of times. Looks back over her shoulder at where they've come from and finally to Anders. "If we can't seem to find any assistance, I think I'll go back. To warn people to stay away, at the very least." And if she can stock up on thirium at the temple, possibly more. She might not be able to do much, but something must be better than nothing.

Although uncommented upon, the slight shift in his demeanour is noted. Yes, she can imagine others being afraid of such a power. The way her smile and eyes soften suggests some level of understanding. "If you don't mind me saying so, I think it's amazing. Out of all the frightening things, you're certainly not one of them. Far from it."

For once, Anders hadn't minded a moment of quiet. Usually, he can't help but fill any awkward (or pensive, or otherwise) silence that comes along, out of habit as much as for his own sanity. (He still isn't fond of the quiet.) But after that? It's impossible not to get a little lost in one's thoughts. Especially when it comes to next steps.

He practically blanches at hers (if he wasn't pale from that horrible encounter still, already), surprise cutting through the darker thoughts lurking in his expression. Also, the very uncannily similar ones.

"You can't go back out there alone," he insists, a touch incredulously. She's unarmed, and by her own profession, not exactly equipped for a fight otherwise. ...Not that he's rushing to volunteer himself, either. No matter what he was just thinking. Some foolish notions are best kept to oneself.

Not unlike his simply unparalleled - and priorly unrealized - desire to have someone call his magic amazing. Well, someone other than another mage, secretly desperate to convince themselves of the same. It's not a prevailing opinion in Thedas, outside those small circles. His expression contracts oddly, not quite a smile (too surprised) lurking under the surface, but at least that distasteful edge has mellowed out of it. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment, in spite of how hard I've tried to be absolutely terrifying. It was all the handholding that ruined it, wasn't it?"

Destination: Carcosa

lost carcosa

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