CARCOSA

This is the city of Carcosa.
No, not that Carcosa. This is the obligatory Carcosa that every campaign has.
It's that weird town that the party will likely never learn the story of.


Carcosa is, these days (years?) not much more than a large village on a rock.
The sea around the island is dark. The sky is dark.
Because that is what the King remembers.
(or other ruler-denomination of your choice)

A long time ago, Carcosa was a thriving, if small, archipelagic kingdom.
They fished a lot. Had a few islands just covered in livestock and a few strange farmer-hermits.
It was a good place to trade, and many coastal cities would make the trek so see the markets, because so were the other coastal cities, and it was a good stopping point for long-distance travels.

So it was very upsetting for everyone when the plague struck.
Whether by curse, infected parasites, tainted food or failed magic, the disease washed over the land.
It was a curse of hunger. Appetites swelled. Food dwindled.
Inevitably, the well-few fellow villagers started looking delicious.
And so, unpleasant descriptions of islands falling into flesh-rending chaos aside, Carcosa fell to home-grown ghouls.

The King was not happy.
He would peer out of his tower, and see his land awash in teeth and claws.
For whatever reason, by blood or artifact, the King of Carcosa at the time was not a man of small power.
In his first, and only, act of sorcery, he stalked over to his throne, sat down, and began furiously to remember.


It is now several decades on.
No-one goes to Carcosa anymore.
If you would, however, navigating the eternally darkening sky to the last remaining island, past the waving, excessively clothed fishermen (if you waited a week, you would not see them catch anything or go back to shore), you would reach the grim streets of Carcosa.
There is not much colour, everything seems like a dim shade of grey. At least, until you get closer to the castle. Don't get too far from the castle.

The streets are not desolate, however. Various people are bustling about on various tasks (whatever they are).
You may notice that they all wear a lot of clothes. No skin is within sight. Also, there's the masks.
Every citizen of Carcosa (except the king's Aide, when in the castle) wear a mask. It looks like they pillaged a party or something. Or just got bits of wood with holes in, in some cases.
If you are polite, and don't point it out too hard, you may choose to visit one of the many shops.
Let us walk into Egelbert's Apothecary.
A humanoid shape that you assume to be Egelbert will be stood behind the counter.
It's voice is... vague. Whispery? Faint? It's sometimes like having someone talk to you in a dream, where words are often missing, but meaning moves on regardless.
Egelbert only has a few products in stock, but is perfectly happy to prepare something for you if you'll come back later to pick it up.
If you stand around in the shop for the duration (the thing behind the counter won't stop you), or you were to scry the shop, or leave an eyeball in there, you might wonder why Egelbert will not move.
When you return to pick up your purchase, you will happily be given whatever you requested.
The shelves are always clean, if grey. There is nothing behind the counter.
If you steal something from the shelves, you'll note that the bottle doesn't feel like glass, nor do the contents move like liquid. Or, at all.
This theme will be found everywhere on the island.
If you go too far from Carcosa with something you have taken (not purchased), it will fade after a few miles.

This is, partly, because the inhabitant of Carcosa are ghouls.
They've been ghouls for several centuries now, and would really, really, like you to not mention that.
Unmask one, and you'll have a slavering ghoul and not an affable shopkeep or inkeep or somethingkeep.
The Carcosans will be upset at this, and try to reclothe the poor person, and ask you to please leave and not do that again.
They're all a second's concentration from returning to the monsters they are.
They know this.
They also know that they would rather be people, thank you very much.
Because the only reason that they are memories of people in the memories of a town, is that the King is busy remembering them.
The King's Aide, who has a human if withered and grey face, will tell you that no, you can't see the King.
He's very busy.


He's been busy for several centuries.
He'll always be busy.
You have been walking inside the King's memories, anchored to the land and people.
The King is, probably, mortal.
He's just too busy to die, even though he does nothing more than sit in his cobwebbed throne (there were a few spiders before they starved) with his eyes clothed.
He's not sleeping.

The memories are only so strong, and weaker the further they are from the King.
The ghouls wear these memories as much as they do the clothes.
The more you ask questions, prove strangeness, the more you are damaging the memories.
Startle the King, or kill him, or even just hit with a stick, and until concentration can be returned, you'll be on a sinking island full of ghouls.
And probably the only living things there.

You may try to reinforce the King's remembering, if you can find out about it.
You may purge this island of flesh-eating undead, when they are flesh-eating undead and not the memories of villages (don't get too near to the sheperds. Or the fishermen. Or the east end of the Island. Really. Half-remembered, living memories are not a good thing to have in the vicinity of real things).

The people will go around doing what the King remembers them doing. But he can't remember what he doesn't know.
He doesn't know how to cook a meal. Or to spin yarn. Or to mix a potion. Or craft a blade. So you get what he remembers. He's never seen a sheperd kill a sheep. Nor does he remember what a sheep looks like, up close. Or what exactly it is that fishermen DO.
He has no time for doubts and questions.
He has remembering to do.

People don't visit Carcosa anymore.