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[wolf.b]

"Every story has a beginning, except when you're dead. Time fractures space into endless shards of memories, each piece frozen on top of another, intersections forming a labyrinthine patchwork timescape. What it leaves behind we call 'Purgatory', a city of memories and dreams more dangerous and bizarre than any acid trip you've ever endured. All things considered, there are worst places a ghost could call home, believe you me. In Purgatory you start at the end, and where you go from there.. well that's up for debate.

Those of us who know what we are, have a few schools of thought on the subject. Oh you picked up on that? Sure, some of us don't realize we're dead. We call them Echos, they live out broken pieces of their lives in an endless loop. More often than not it's the moment of their death - not a fate I'd wish on any one. Some folks try to wake them up, snap them out of their loops. I hear it's been done, but I've never seen it and when it comes to Purgatory seeing is believing.

What do we do in the Afterlife? I guess that's a fair question. More often than not, we use the talents and passions we had in life. For some that means doing the same job they did back then: maybe a hairdresser or a politician. For others it means trying new things, pushing ourselves in ways we never could before and we can do some wild things.

You'd think Purgatory was a pretty busy place and it can be, but that really depends on where you go; it can feel real empty in some parts. But that's a conversation for another time. What's that, you want to know about me? Well I guess I never shook off the old workhorse, once a cop always a cop. A detective to be specific. But you'll find out about that soon enough.

The name's..."

Name:
Gender:
Death Period: ie. 1980s

[Powder Miner]

Name: Jean-Philippe Gauthier
Gender: Male
Death Period: 1850s

france moment

[King Zultan]

Name: Jean-Philippe Gauthier
Gender: Male
Death Period: 1850s

france moment

+1

[wolf.b]

"The name's Jean-Philippe Gauthier, but most folks call me John these days. One of the benefits of being dead, in some ways you get a new beginning - and let's just say I needed one. I get how confusing this must all be, it's not easy finding out what's behind the curtain. If it helps, you're doing better than most. There's really only one rule you need to remember here. Whatever you do, don't get lost. It happens more than you'd think, Purgatory is endless as far as we can tell. But those that wander too deep - they don't get seen again. I'd tell you some of the stories I've heard about them but like I said, seeing is believing here.

How did I find you? It's complicated. Let's just say I owe you one, and I always pay my debts. That's what you'd call our currency around here, favours. The right person to owe you a favour can open a lot of doors, literally. What do I mean? Well, you remember how I described Purgatory - memories on top of memories? When it happens they create intersections, doorways that cross between them. It's how you get anywhere around here. Some of those doors are well known, others haven't been found yet. And some, well some are kept locked by those who hold the right key. Those doors might lead to secrets, they might even lead back to the living world where we can manifest. But sometimes they are just considered private property.

Say, are you hungry? Oh yeah... you're hungry all right. It doesn't make much sense, I know. I'll explain on the way, what are you in the mood for?"

A) Italian
B) Indian
C) Chinese
D) Milk

[TricMagic]

D: MILK.

[King Zultan]

A

[Superdorf]

As a former MMM player, I deem it my sworn duty to choose: D

[wolf.b]

"Milk, huh? I've got to admit, that's a strange one. Hmm, I might have an idea where to go - follow me."

John begins to walk. A ruggedly dressed gentleman of creole complexion, with short hair and a short-boxed beard - he strides forward confidently, the dark grey wool of his frock coat lashing at his knees. A plain white cotton shirt open at the chest and off-white breeches accompany long, dark supple boots clearly well-worn. All in all, he paints a picture of roguish authority thanks to the combination of his dominant mannerisms and less than aristocratic dress-code.

You find yourselves walking across the cobbled stones of George Square in Glasgow, weaving through the crowds. You've never been here before, yet somehow you inherently know where and when you are. It's January 31st, 1919 and today is Black Friday. Seventy-thousand workers are chanting in the streets, screaming threats at a line of policemen armed with batons  The violence is infectious and you can feel the emotions echoing through you, edging you towards embrace.

Just when you feel yourself giving in to the moment, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

"It's not real," John's words hit you like a bucket of cold water, purging the emotions from your mind.

"They're just memories of the past. What you're seeing, what you're feeling - it's just an illusion; the more collective the memory the greater the emotional compulsion. You need to push it out of your mind. Come on, let's eat."

Following John once more, you duck inside a low-beamed doorway to the side of the square and walk upstairs, the chants of violence outside practically shaking the building with a distant roar. Pushing the illusion from your mind you find something else beneath the noise - a rhythmic hum growing in force as you climb up. When you reach the landing you find two doors closed. Somehow you know that each of them goes 'elsewhere', yet you can't explain how - you just know. Where they go isn't clear to you but each one feels different. The door to your left emits a gentle, soothing hum, like the lapping of water on the shore. To your right the door hums almost erratically, it is hard to quantify but it puts you in mind of music.

A) Left Door
B) Right Door
C) Let John Choose

[Rockeater]

B

[Powder Miner]

B

[wolf.b]

You reach for the door on the right instinctively, before John has a chance to object. As you turn the handle and push, a gasp of air rushes past like the opening of a pressure tank. The sounds of a 60s rock and roll record flooding the landing.

"I'll be damned..." John mutters.

"You're a beacon!" He looks at you warily for a moment before walking through.

You find yourselves in a roadside diner straight out 1960s America, a jukebox playing to your right as you enter through the front door.

"Hey there fellas, grab a seat where ever you want and I'll be right over," a young woman calls out in a southern drawl sporting a pot of coffee whilst wearing a sea green waitress' uniform.

John slides into the nearest booth and you follow suit, sitting opposite. He sizes you up for a few moments before speaking.

"What you just did - that was something special. Everyone in Purgatory has certain 'gifts', abilities that we find as easy as breathing. You can learn other abilities.. but it takes a lot of practice and I mean a lot. It's pretty much impossible to match the capabilities of those who have an innate talent, no matter how hard you try. You're what they call a Beacon, there's no way I'm wrong about that. That door led to a warehouse in New Delhi, instead we're here - in the exact memory I was planning to take you to. That just doesn't happen-"

"Y'all ready to order?" Lilly interrupts, or so the name tag claims pinned to the same pretty young waitress who'd called out before.

"I'll take a coffee, black."

"What about you, hon?"

"He'll have a tall glass of milk."

Lilly raises an eyebrow as she chews her gum.

"You want that hot or cold?"

"Just make it hot," John waves her away. Lilly sulks her way back to the counter, throwing daggers at John's back. It's clear she wanted some attention.

"I told you that memories have doorways between them. Those doorways are set, they always lead to the same places. Except when you're a beacon. I've only heard of one before and I've never even seen it till just now. You changed the destination. Think of it like a train jumping tracks. I've heard beacons can't always jump to the place they want to go, sometimes they have to go through a few doors. But damn, I'm impressed."

A TV hums in the background but you can't make out the words. Looking around you see that the diner is mildly busy - the inky blackness of night outside making it a welcome respite to weary travelers. Now that you are beginning to understand the nature of things you notice that some folk seem different, more drab somehow.

"Our kind come here fairly often. This memory belongs to Lily, she enjoys entertaining folks that pass through. You're noticing the others, right? How they have less colour? We call them Fragments, like the people we saw back in Glasgow. Memories aren't just places, they're people too. Subjective experiences of people that interact with our lives at a single place and time. They aren't exactly real, you can't interact with them - well no one except the memory's owner that is.. I'm throwing a lot at you, I know. I'd hoped to edge you into this slower - but you're proving to be an unusual-."

"One black coffee and one 'hot' glass of milk." Lily places the tray down between you.

"So who's the john, John?" She snorts at her own little joke, popping a bubble.

"Just dealing with some newly-dead cravings."

"Oh, poor thing," she looks at you with genuine pity.

"I remember my first craving, you know - apple pie with whipped cream. Damn near drove me crazy."

You look at them, confused and John chuckles.

"For some reason, anyone who shows up here gets a craving when they first arrive. No one really knows why."

"What was yours, John? Or are you too old to even remember?"

"I remember just fine, thanks. It was chocolate soufflé - my wife had the most incredible recipe." John smiles, painfully it seems.

Another customer enters and Lilly turns to give them her attention. The jukebox changes record, pulling a new vinyl out. You watch fascinated as the needle lowers and begins to play 'Can't Get No Satisfaction' by the Rolling Stones.

"I know you've got questions but let's skip the ones about who you are. The truth is when we arrive, our memories get repressed for some reason. It takes a while but they'll come back - things like your name, even your past - give it enough time and you'll remember again. That aside, what do you want to know first?"


ASK A QUESTION

[Naturegirl1999]

Does every memory turn into a person? Are there any memories that can’t gain a form?

[King Zultan]

How big are the memories could we walk from here to Canada of DC?

[wolf.b]

"Easy, one question at a time." John sips his coffee gently.

"Not every memory becomes a part of Purgatory. It's really just the ones that matter to you, the good and the bad - the important and the mundane. No one knows how they get chosen but it's always dictated by the one arriving. Sometimes the memories already exist here, belonging to someone else. That's when the memory is shared - like we just saw in Glasgow."

You take a long sip of your hot milk. A shudder runs through you and you feel your craving satiate; a scratching headache beginning to slip away.

"The more people who share the memory the more intense it can be for someone visiting it without any control. As to the fragments that act out the memory, it's almost always just the ones that should be there. But that being said, some people are what we call architects. Like a Beacon, an Architect's gift is the ability to rebuild memories, to create fragments etc."

Lily catches your eye and smiles warmly. You take a long sip.

"As to the size of a memory - you're thinking about it too literally, again it's subjective. You're moving through the perceptions of another person, seeing the places they remember. But if a person hasn't been where you're trying to go, the memory starts to deteriorate and break down. When you see that happening you should think of it like the edges of our world. You don't want to go any deeper, because there are things out there just waiting for the chance to take you."

The diner's doorbell rings, another patron entering.

"Anything beyond Purgatory we call the Void. Don't think of memories as locations on a map, instead think of them as rooms inside a house, moving from one room to the next. You don't want to go outside the house unless you traveling back to the world of the living and even then it's dangerous."

"How's the craving? Can I get you boys anything to eat?" Lily wanders back over to your table with her pad and pencil at the ready, a coy smile on her lips as she looks at John.

"It's up to you, kid." They look at you, expectantly.

A) ORDER FOOD & ASK JOHN MORE QUESTIONS
B) TRY YOUR HAND AT MATCHMAKING
C) EXPLORE PURGATORY

[King Zultan]

A