The New Carcosa Guestlist || Core NPCs

Booker T. & The MG's - Green Onions

27 | 5'8"
Triggers: bella, bainbridge, fbi, agent, fed, bella bainbridge, government

Bella is a junior FBI agent from Washington sent to count the missing and close the files. She parked her rental car by the cannery and decided the investigation was over before it started. Bella usually spends her shifts smoking in the driver's seat, reading old comic books while the town rots around her.

She is a strict rationalist, not out of conviction, but a little out of laziness. Acknowledging the supernatural would mean writing a report no one would believe, so she blames the fog, the meth, and the tides, or whatever bullshit the world has.

She seems like a joke, a lazy cop collecting a paycheck, but that heavy .357 on her hip is worn smooth from the range. An unnervingly good shot too, waiting patiently for a target that is worth the effort of pulling the trigger.

Elliot Smith - Miss Misery

28 | 5'9"
Triggers: esther, dunham, esther dunham, that photographer

Seattle ate Esther alive and spat her back onto the rocky shore of her hometown of New Carcosa. She came back home quietly, wearing her grandfather's bomber jacket and carrying a film camera trying to recapture the times in her childhood when the town used to make sense.

She wanders the coastline for hours, snapping photos of rusted hulls and dead trees. There is no art to it. It is just a reason to keep walking.

Strange noise in the alley? She walks toward it. Light in the deep woods? She follows it. She masks her exhaustion with a dry, cutting wit, making jokes at the edge of the abyss just to hear something other than the ringing in her own ears.

They Might Be Giants - Birdhouse In Your Soul

24 | 5'1"
Triggers: deidre, keane, deidre keane

Deidre came to New Carcosa on a Miskatonic grant to prove a point. She drags a backpack full of microphones and wires through the mud of the Tall Pines Tract, desperate to record something that proves the dark is alive. She thought the fieldwork would be a romantic dive into the unknown.

She was wrong. She is a coward playing at monster hunter. When the fog rolls in and the woods go quiet, her hands shake too hard to hold the dials. She believes in every horror story, which is exactly why she cannot stomach them.

You usually find her hiding in the sterile light of Meridian Coffee, nursing a lukewarm espresso and scribbling frantic notes she will be too afraid to read later.

This Mortal Coil - Song To The Siren

22 | 5'7"
Triggers: madoka, olmstead, madoka olmstead

The Olmsteads are old money rotting on the vine. They came from Massachusetts in the forties and kept their bloodline as tight as their purse strings.

Madoka is the product of that closed loop. You will find her down at the harbor, draped in an oil-stained fisherman's coat that swallows her delicate lace and pristine skirts. She leans against the railings and watches the boats with those wide, unblinking violet eyes.

She is-bit petulant and warm in equal measure, but her friendliness feels like a cat toying with a mouse. She speaks in riddles because the truth is too boring, or perhaps too terrible, to say out loud. She treats the town like a terrarium, pressing her long fingers against the glass.

Dead Can Dance - The Host of Seraphim

36 | 5'7"
Triggers: chelle, nun, sister, church

Chelle washed up on the town's shores a decade ago with a blank mind and a quiet certainty of God. She runs the small parish and offers a soft shoulder to a town that desperately needs one. The locals gossip about her figure, their leering eyes lingering too long on the habits that cannot hide her curves, but they trust her completely.

She is deeply superstitious, treating the town's strange tides and ominous weather with a reverence that borders on dread.

She never opens her eyes. She says she does not need to. She spends her evenings sitting alone in the dark pews, her head tilted toward the windows, listening to the fog press against the glass. She hears something out there in the damp, and she waits for it with the patience of a saint.

Kylie Minogue & Nick Cave - Where The Wild Roses Grow

19 | 5'5"
Triggers: dixie, dalton, dixie dalton

Dixie lives where the pavement gives up and the mud takes over, sharing a rotting porch with her grandmother and enough mismatched firearms to arm a militia. She’s a Texan native with a meek smile and a thick drawl. She the type to lectures anyone who will listen on ballistics with the fervor of a preacher, though the local joke is that she couldn't hit a barn if she were locked inside it.

She compensates for her terrible aim with an uncanny knowledge of the local woods. She knows every sinkhole and game trail in the Tall Pines Tract. Yet, when the sun dips below the canopy, she turns back. There is something in the deep timber she refuses to track..

She is quick to laugh and quicker to reach for the knife on her belt. Watching the tree line like she is waiting for the dark to try and take something from her.

Nina Simone - Sinnerman

37 | 5'10"
Triggers: rocco, amato, preacher, rocco amato

Rocco "Preacher" Amato appeared in New Carcosa like a bad omen, a rugged man in a tailored suit and a black trench coat. Town gossip insists he is a Vatican operative, sent to observe a town that God forgot. He deflects the rumors with dry, cutting wit, holding doors and offering old-world chivalry to people who instinctively do not want it.

He treats the town's ghosts as cold, hard facts, viewing its hidden monsters through the lens of divine purpose. But charity doesn't explain why his knuckles are always bruised, or why the silver rosary never leaves his grip.

There is a darkness behind his eyes that makes the locals cross the street to avoid him. He walks the streets like a man in constant penance, the beads clicking in the damp air. It is entirely unclear if he is praying for salvation, or keeping something caged.

Radiohead - Fake Plastic Trees

29 | 5'11"
Triggers: jae

Jae is the hometown boy who actually made it out, only to drift back with a worn leather satchel and a tape recorder. He’s the guy women stare at and men want to buy a beer. He remembers your name, asks about your kids, and makes you feel like the only person in the room.

He spends his days wandering the docks and the diners, collecting stories from a town that has too many of them. But there is a strange weight to his charm. He lingers a beat too long after the conversation ends, his tape recorder spinning softly in his pocket.

He refuses to give his last name, and he watches the town’s gears turn with a patience that doesn’t fit his easy smile. Nobody knows what Jae is looking for, but he is always listening.