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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.
Quentin Quire / Kid Omega | Marvel Earth-616 | ota
the masquerade
the play
wildcard
The play's the thing
Of all the people on the island to have wandered upon, it had to be the pink-haired wannabe-anarchist asshole that Kyle had met briefly at the High Temple. Kyle couldn't quite remember his name - Quinto or something - but he well remembered his attitude, which was basically Reddit incarnate. Loud, demanding, selfish, and completely convinced of his own intellect and righteousness.
They'd hated one another pretty much at once.
Once his immediate wave of dislike abates somewhat, Kyle realises that the guy was just screaming at the air. He sure didn't seem to think that's what was going on, though. Kyle approaches the stage, feeling a strange sensation of time doubling back - he half expects to see an assortment of stuffed animals on the table, but it looks like it's just a mask.
"Dude, who the hell are you talking to?" he asks nervously.
cw: suggestions of suicide
"You! You egomaniacal corporate mascot! For someone with ALL the answers surely you should have known THAT. It's YOUR choice to kill Evan. Not mine! Don't try to drag your dirty laundry home to ME."
He looks to the table where that mask still lays but Quentin sees a blade instead and just like that his mind fabricates on in its place. A small sword. Stout but sturdy and flickering with a flame of the same pink energy it's manifest from.
"You came here to convince me to to ruin my life for another shot at your own. But I'm not dumb enough to make the same mistake twice. And I don't trust anyone over 30."
He turns the blade towards himself and claps both hands over the hilt. Prepared to drive it into himself. "So where would it leave you if I took myself out of the equation?"
cw: suggestions of suicide
"Listen, you bald fuck--" he starts, but then somehow there's a knife and the crazy little punk turns it on himself. Kyle puts his hands up at once.
"Nonono," he says, "wait! Just. Wait a second." He swallows, practically hearing the click in his throat.
"If you kill yourself, it won't affect me at all," he says slowly. "Not really. I'm not you. And nothing you can do will change my mistakes. And you're right, they're mine.
"But I don't want you to die, dude. Even if you're a pain in the ass."
cw: implied suicide
"What's the matter, Quire?" he laughs, and makes it quite apparent if it weren't already. It's himself he thinks he's talking to. ""If you know the future, if you know how evvvvvverything shakes out, what do you have to be afraid of? Unlessss you have NO idea what happens if I take the reigns of this for both of us. Admit it. You're even more terrified of what you don't know then you were when you were me.
"But I'm not."
And he drives the sword into himself just below his sternum. The ethereal energy that it make of envelops him. Burns bright hot pink and Quentin collapses to the floor with the kind of thump only a dead weight body makes.
Re: cw: implied suicide
First aid. Okay. He took first aid when he was a camp counselor in high school for a few summers. Yes. Don't remove the object. Apply pressure to the wound.
Kyle bends over and presses his jacket to Quentin's body, near tears but determined not to let him die.
"You're gonna be okay, dude, you're gonna be okay," he says breathlessly.
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Nevertheless Quentin's breath is absent until the weight of Kyle's palms driving into his chest knock the wind out of him and some sense of reality back into him.
He comes around with a cough and a wheeze and a reflexive pawing at his chest as if he too expected a hole to be there.
"Fuck!" he gasps. "Did it work? Did I kill him?"
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"Dude," he says seriously. "There was nobody here. You were screaming at the air when I came in. I thought you were having a psychotic episode. When you saw me you started yelling at me instead. I tried to talk you down, but..."
Kyle exhales shakily. "It didn't work. Dude, I'm so sorry. You're really okay, right?"
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"Ugh, it's like deja vu and a hangover got into a bar fight," he mumbles rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms in a feeble attempt to clear his head. "I didn't know it was you ok? I thought I was some place else. I thought you were someone else. Forget it. I'm fine. No fiery cosmic birds or shadowy horsemen showed up while I was out right? Then it's all just fucking fine."
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"Yeah, I gathered," Kyle says dryly. "Apparently someone who looks like Guy Fieri." He laughs a little. "Which, okay, makes freaking out slightly more understandable."
He gives Quentin a look that clearly telegraphs the fact that he isn't entirely convinced that he's not just babbling nonsense again.
"No, nothing like that. ...cute outfit."
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He heaves a sigh of relief that nothing was actually relived no matter how real the moment felt, but just quietly he's back to his charmingly defensive self. "Shut up! Same to you! Not like I picked anything in this low-rent Baz Luhrmann wet dream!"
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Kyle holds up his hands, still snickering a little. "Whoa, settle down, dude, I was being serious! It's a lot better than the robes we had before." Kyle's actually pretty pleased with the suit he got, although whatever pomade was used to slick hus hair down gave up the ghost ages ago.
"I think it looks kinda cool. Quinton, was it?"
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And apparently he doesn't have to. Or at least not as viciously as is his reflex. "It's a little fucking ivy league for my taste," he grumbles and peels himself off the stage floor.
"Quentin. Or Quire. Whichever you want." The lingering dizziness is unexpected and leaves him grabbing for the table and catching sight again of the last thing he touched before he lost himself. That mask. "Hey, don't touch that thing. I think that's what tried to break my brain," he warns.
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"The mask?" He studies it, making no move to touch it, frowning lightly.
"Not going to lie, dude, part of me wants to poke it in the spirit of scientific curiosity. But also not real keen on a broken brain."
Instead he gestures at the audience. "Did you wanna sit down? Whatever you did to yourself was pretty intense. I could probably find you some water or something." A little more carefully he adds, "How did you do that, anyway? It looked like you just made a knife out of nothing."
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"I'm fine!" he insists. God forbid someone think he's not completely in-control. The only person he's come across close to his own age no less. But as always his bark is a lot more intense than his bite. Even after his insistence he shuffles towards the edge of the stage like someone who can't quite stop the room from spinning. "Was it pink?" he asks knowingly. "I'm a psionic," he says before pulling a face and wriggling his fingers demonically. "Spoooooky brain powers."
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Kyle keeps close as the other man walks, because like hell is he about to let the guy pitch over the side and crack his head open. At Quentin's explanation he frowns, not because it's upsetting but because of his tone.
"Okay, one: I know what psionics are, I read science fiction, and I know about crap like MK Ultra and Project Stargate or whatever. Two: does that make you a mutant? My friend Carter is a mutant, he has spooky brain powers too."
You're not his first telepath, Quire. Oh the horror.
"I'm Kyle, by the way. Not that you asked."
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"Thanks for the dork credentials, Pointdexter." As miserable as he is, there's a smile on his face now. The slightest most antagonistic little smirk when he looks at Kyle with something different than his usual condescension. It's curiosity breaking through his insistence that he's too cool to care about anything. Curiosity for this lanky redhead who thinks Project Stargate and having a mutant friend is something worth bragging about.
"Not like mine," he decides. Because it's a competition. "Well, Kyle. It's good to know you're not completely sheltered. Maybe there's hope for you yet. But I'm not just some mutant. I'm an omega level mutant. I'm the kind they scaremonger people with in the papers." And then this little tirade turns on no one in particular. "And frankly, I'm pretty fucking TIRED of places like THIS, run by CREEPS, trying to turn me into some kind of exotic PET!"
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"Fuck you, Pinky." Kyle lowers himself off the stage with ease due to his height.
"Might be like yours," Kyle says. "You don't know that. He said he's had it since he was little." Kyle's not entirely sure what the hell an omega level mutant is, but he can guess.
He looks around the empty theatre. Whatever else, it is beautiful. "It's not just about you, though," he muses. "I mean, one hundred percent, whatever is running this is a fuckin weirdo creep. But it's not like you're the only one who was dragged here. And like... okay, maybe you and Carter have these superpowers. But other people don't. I know a girl who is just really smart, but she can't shoot lasers out of her eyes or something. And - I swear this is true - I saw Ryan Reynolds. I think he's lost his fucking mind, but he's just an actor."
He gestures to himself. "I'm just a student. Pretty poor choice for an exotic pet."
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"I bet I do. Mutants like me are one in a million." He's heard that a lot. That it's not all about him. But so long as he's wrapped up in something he didn't sign up for Quentin's approaches everything with the intention of figuring out what his place here is specifically.
"Why? Because you're boring? There's a reason most people have cats and dogs and hamsters and not like hyenas and Siberian tigers. Sure one's boring but it's a lot easier to keep in captivity. Maybe you're like those friendly labs they stick in big cat enclosures at the zoo to keep them docile and occupied."
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cw: gory violence mention
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masquerade
At least it leaves him free to drink. He's carrying around a snifter of amber-colored liquid and deftly positioning himself away from the brassy band and their swinging tunes. "You're stuck too, I take it?"
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"No, I just hang around open bars for the ambience," he sulks. "What have you got to complain Goldfinger? At least yours leaves room to have a drink."
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He's happy to continue the ignorant ruse by sipping his cocktail. Matt even adds a faint "mmm" for dramatic effect, to really drive home the innocent ruse. "You're right. Why would I complain about something grafted onto my face, as long as I can drink to forget it? You don't seem to be lacking any oxygen, it seems."
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"Yah, wow you must be a doctor," he grumbles. "Do you have any idea how these things come off or are you just here to gloat about your gin and tonic?"
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"I'm afraid I'm just as stuck as you are. I could get you a straw? Or maybe you could tell me if you see anyone out there who doesn't seem to be caught in our current predicament."
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It's easy to say his manner of extracting information might need a little work, But when he could have just reached into someone's head and pulled out what he needed maybe this version of Quinten is some kind of improvement.