purgastory | week one: overflow

week one: overflow

week one: overflow.

The fog spits you right out.

The forest you were once familiar with has now vanished, revealing several different locations. These places feel different, perhaps more permanent...? You will also find a new item on your person, added to the rest you arrived with. A small compact mirror. Maybe you can use this mode of communication as you explore the next maze. And speaking of maze... there is more fog to greet you at the border if you choose to leave. Thick, sprawling fog that obscures your vision and muffles your steps as you walk on...

Further off the fog parts, revealing a winding rain-slicked pathway, where the shadow of a crenelated tower looms in the distance. The rain is cold and heavy, a ceaseless force driving you to seek shelter. The wind is equally relentless, howling gusts that strip the warmth from your bones. You could turn around and go back, but that wouldn’t solve the urge inside of you, would it? There is something you must find, and that you are still looking for. Luckily, the journey up the path is far shorter than expected, and upon closer examination, you can see the lights glowing from the tower’s many windows. Light. Perhaps a sign of shelter, warmth, and… answers?

Closer and closer, the wind gentles, the lights grow brighter. You can hear the faint notes of music, laughter and chatter. The tower is encircled by a massive wall, but the iron gated entrance is fortunately easy to spot and even easier to pass through. The rain subsides to a fine mist, streaking your surroundings in vague, gauzy shapes, until you finally enter the courtyard proper.

i. fontaine de french

In the courtyard lies a wide, shallow pool, with an elegantly carved marble fountain placed in the center. There are large stepping stones that cut across, towards the fountain and then past, all the way to the other side. You could walk your way around, but it would take infinitely longer compared to simply taking the path across.

Regardless of which path you take, the water within will beckon, at first shining with the reflected light of the tower, and then taking the shape of a memory. One remembered, or one imagined. Whichever it is, the memory will have a specific theme of either temperance or gluttony:

✦ A concrete memory of a time when you demonstrated or experienced a form of restraint or repression. Maybe an act of forgiveness, whether from yourself or another. Maybe a refusal to speak a lie or a truth. Maybe a rejection of someone’s offer. Or maybe something more physical.
✦ A moment when you wished you had better control of yourself, a moment when you wished you hadn’t given in to a temptation, whether your worst impulse or an object you wish you had.
✦ A memory or fantasy of a time of indulgence, whether purposeful or mindless. A time when you had all that you wanted. A time when you let yourself go and enjoyed.

ii. banquet of giants

You enter the tower, stepping inside to complete darkness. The marble floor starts to shift beneath you, spilling you down a gentle slope, all the way down until the ground gives way into something soft and velvet, arresting your descent. The lights finally flicker on, large halos of flame burning from massive candlesticks lining either side of what looks to be a long hallway. The soft, velvet cushion beneath is a rich red carpet, spilling out and over the sides of what looks like a sharp drop. And as your senses adjust, you finally understand where you are.

You are on a gigantic, massive table. The carpet is in fact a velvet table runner, set with candlesticks and enormous vases of flowers. The place settings are made up of porcelain plates and silverware, considerable in size. This is a banquet not for humans, but for giants. You hear a booming voice echo around you.

Dinner is served.

The table comes alive: gloved hands lift forks, napkins, crystal flutes, and even you, if you’re not quick enough to dodge these gargantuan fingers. If you are, then the path forward seems just as arduous – the table is so long, and every side seems just out of reach. Trays land in front of you, interrupting your every step. The tablecloth twists, slowing you down. Knives and forks come perilously close to stabbing, and the flutes fall down, aiming to trap you under the glass. And the giants, whose features you cannot see, but whose hands snatch and grab. Once snatched, you are flung onto a porcelain plate, pinned into place by a massive fork.

What would you like to order? What brings you the most joy? Speak your desire, so you may have your fill. The voice calls to you. The trays open, and the fragrance of what you desire most floats in the air. Food, safety, knowledge, precious riches, true love’s first kiss – you can taste it on your tongue, and all you have to do is speak the words out loud. If you choose to speak, you will start to grow – dimensions shifting until you’re in a normal sized room, sitting on a normal sized table.

Or maybe you don’t say anything at all. Maybe you receive help from a fellow appetizer (that’s you guys), or the spoon scoops you up, throwing you into a bottomless gullet…

iii. chapel of truths

The tower is made of sprawling staircases and ramps, and numerous rooms, some beyond repair, others spectacularly gothic. The next room you walk into looks like a chapel. Stained glass windows of bloodied saints and oil paintings of grotesque, twisted figures line the walls, the pews are covered with a thick layer of dust, and the books of worship are covered in scrawls and scribbles. The pulpit is covered in some dark residue of what looks suspiciously like blood.

Whether you come as a supplicant or a priest, the booth will encourage both characters to confess a sin to each other. This is a time of sharing, whether it’s a heavy burden, or something inconsequential. Whether you willingly share something private or bait one another to confess, the door will not open until both parties take part. And if both parties refuse? That’s alright. The door will stay closed, the candles will go out, and you will be plunged into darkness, eternally serenaded by the dulcet voice of a choir or a sinful chant...

Or at least until you finally submit.

iv. botanical garden

Finally, after an interminable amount of time, you seem to reach the very top of the tower. The rooftop opens into a large, spectacular greenhouse made of glass, filled to the brim with brilliantly colored flowers and plants, as well as clouds of butterflies. The air here is warm, a stark contrast from the rest of the tower and the rain outside. There are soft cushions on the floor, nests of pillows, and other areas to finally relax in, you know, before you have to make the trip down.

Because you do have to make the trip down, don’t you? Eventually. For now, enjoy the flowers filled with species native to your worlds, or ones you’ve never seen before:

🌸 Hot Pink Camellia: It has a reassuring, faintly spicy scent. Once inhaled, you feel the urge to touch the nearest person… Gently, like a hand-hold, or perhaps more aggressively? You can’t really kabe-don against the glass greenhouse walls, but there are plenty of trees. Maybe you want to bridal carry them around a bit. You’re feeling the urge, y'know? The more you try to temper it, the stronger the desire to touch...
⚫ Black Tulip: This one smells like smoke, leather, and horses running wild in a meadow. You are a winner. The champion. You feel compelled to challenge your arch-rival to a game of your choosing. Cards. Jumping jacks. Pocky. Russian Roulette. The objects are all there, hidden amidst the tulips. Or maybe competitive swimming, which is fine. There should be a pool somewhere in this greenhouse. You refuse to let up until they agree. Fight me. Fight me.
🔵 Blue Sunflower: A salty fragrance, one that reminds you of the sea. Suddenly, you can’t hold back the tears springing to your eyes. You are arrested with longing, despair, and grief. You must confess the weight of it to someone, or you will just explode with the tragedy of it all. What tragedy? Maybe you know exactly why you’re sad. Maybe you are obsessed with a potential scenario in which you could be sad about. Are you making this up? Does it matter when you feel this sad…?
🟡 Yellow Cactus: It doesn’t seem right to get up close and smell a cactus, but that’s alright, because the fragrance wafting from this plant is overpowering. It is the smell of roasted coffee beans, of tea, of your favorite drink of choice. You feel compelled to talk about your favorite things, whether that’s a food, person, or activity. You are going to talk their ear off about how much you love hiking, mindless doom-scrolling, or almond croissants.

mod notes.

✦ Hello, sinners! This week's log features both the aforementioned maze and our central locations! Feel free to write central-specific or maze-specific prompts. Or both!
✦ There is no rhyme or reason to the tower decor, like a patchwork of different eras and aesthetics. There are gothic staircases and creaky elevators. Maybe you walk into a Versailles rip-off, maybe you walk into an Olive G*rden. The world (tower) is your oyster.
✦ For Fontaine de French, mods will not be policing what memories (trululus) or fantasies (delulus) you choose to have your character share, but please keep to the themes of temperance/gluttony! Moreso, memories must have a canon basis, even if they’re headcanon. However, fantasies can be from alternate route paths (otome/visual novel/AU style) as long as they’re within the set parameters. There will be more opportunities for this in the future, so don’t worry about not being able to give out your lore. Have fun!
✦ Questions specific to this log can be directed to the #mod-questions channel in the discord!
✦ Maze Runs are available for this week!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Yuma stands stiffly by a wall. His usual smile is faint, and his brow is creased in bewilderment as he watches the party's goings-on without partaking of the drinks or dishes. The suit, though fitting, feels odd on his skin.

Even when the voice whispers encouragements in his ear, his mien only grows more discomfited before he looks aside, lips still quirked slightly at the edges.]

Not one for festivities, are you?

[She will join him a moment. Also she has her giant frog with her. He's in a little hat.]

[Their colors match—she and the giant frog. Smiling, he squares his shoulders even more at their approach.]

To be honest, it feels like a distraction.

I agree. I do want to make a few rounds, but I can't help fretting that something may pass undetected beneath our noses. If none of us are vigilant we may find something crucial changed overnight.

In that case, would you be interested in taking up shifts? If you wish to be mobile, I shall remain here and watch the party's goings-on. Once you've finished, we can exchange reports and switch posts.

I could agree. But on one condition?

[She cants her head some, smiling.]

I take the first watch, and you might partake of the festivities for a time. I've yet to see you truly relax, Yuma. We're in a precarious position, but even the most constant vigil grows weary without reprieve.

Please, enjoy some good food and better company. I'll keep a sharp eye for us both, and you may assume my post when you've had your fill. I insist.

. . . As it's important to take mental condition into account for battle readiness, I must agree. While I have doubts about what the festivities can do for me, I will use this time to see what can be done about the stress level of those present.

[He won't eat, because he has yet to require sustenance. He can, however, see how everyone else is doing, even if he intends to keep his distance—and so he nods.]

Well, then, please excuse me.

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