This conceptual LARP takes place during a party of sorts, in present day, in which the members of a special Society gather to immerse themselves and their lives in purple prose (prose that is excessively elaborate or ornate, often with runaway metaphors and runaway imagery and runaway adjectives). Prewritten characters are cast in advance with past diary entries, forming a background from which players will extrapolate in freeform workshopping and roleplay. The remainder of the description and all LARP materials (including mechanics) are written in purple prose for immersive purposes, as this style is the main point of the LARP and is how every character will speak. Materials to read before game should not exceed 20 pages, and this number will be updated closer to Intercon.

~Ꙩ~

At long, long last, it is yet again time to behold and wield the power and the elegance of the beautiful and sacred Diary-Thesaurus, a voluptuous volume of our experiences in the ever-expanding moonbeam of emotional affectation, sitting motionless like an uncountably-petaled flower frozen in time. We touch its vibrant existence with our very souls, like we would a sparkling comet that flutters past our cosmic eyes in the tumultuous seas of space if we only could reach out with arms like waterfalls into the soft abyss. Alas, we have the poetic limitation of our physical forms and only find freedom in the peculiarly-shaped darknesses set upon the light that is the written word.

We all, separately, keep our own necessary journals of our innermost secrets, swirling in the depths of our own minds and finding the underwater crevasses that match the folds in our own striated identities. That common trait is precisely how we all, ultimately, found ourselves with each other, kindred souls bound to bindings of old glue assembling the pages of our collective of shared introspection. And it is through this collective of shared introspection, this magical link between the relationships of our inner beings that shines with the countless glints of light one may expect from each and every silver strand of the most complex and wondrous spider’s web, that we compose, together, the aforementioned Diary-Thesaurus.

The Diary-Thesaurus has two uses, just as the overwhelming day has the mysterious night, and just as the assured land has the open-ended sky. The first is the obvious, the overwhelming, the assured, the reality of our lives and souls, the noblest venture: The Diary-Thesaurus, at its core of cores, is a diary that is not written by one singular hand but by all those who partake in its glory. It is not to be seen by the idiot public eye, no, it is meant to be seen only by those who have written upon its pages, and then stored away in its secret place as a tragic and beautiful prisoner is stored away in a cell, sighing and reclining, knowing that they can never show their true self to the world, for they would not be seen as they know they wish to be seen in the moonlight or the sunlight of their own heart, for it was their own heart that locked them in the dungeon of the palace of the fragile, soft, quivering, starry-eyed collective self, lifted by the sweet aroma of the promise of the balance between pristine privacy and coherent camaraderie.

The second use of The Diary-Thesaurus is, like the first, in the well-divined name. We, as poets of our own souls, must opulently and profusely decorate our words with golden boughs of language that lend necessary gravity to our momentous thoughts and elegantly-oscillating emotions. And truly, in this case of cases, our numerous heads, our handsome hydra of form and function, are better than the singular, just as a rainstorm is more successful than a single drop of water to create a flood. We expand our society’s vivacious vocabulary with each passing page written in a thunderstrike of inspiration by one of our members who calls us to the singular experience of a new page being added to our much-revered Diary-Thesaurus.

And it has come to be, in a happening that makes our hearts collectively swell with a tide of fulfillment ready to overtake our soulful shores, that multiple of our number were moved to bring their words to live in The Diary-Thesaurus this very day and hour. Indeed, this has happened from time to time in the many countless months this group has existed. But each time is different, much like each flake of snow must be considered its own being by the discerning eye looking to the wintry world for singular beauty in the multitudes of life. We must consider this moment, this glistening, fragile moment, incredible and magnificent, and so it requires a period of reflection with all present. How shall we proceed? Who shall go first? What ideas cycle through these minds that refract every color of the visible spectrum of light in their prisms of mind and body? There is only one thing that is certain: whatever may happen can be assured to be beautiful, for we share in the deepest appreciation of the richest prose that could possibly stain the glass of the cathedral of the soul, shattering it gracefully and assembling the pieces into a sprawling mosaic of the mind, and as such, in any disagreement and in any melodramatic moment, we shall all blush a purplish hue.

This conceptual LARP takes place during a party of sorts, in present day, in which the members of a special Society gather to immerse themselves and their lives in purple prose (prose that is excessively elaborate or ornate, often with runaway metaphors and runaway imagery and runaway adjectives). This version of the LARP requires original character creation within a workshop with optional preparation beforehand, instead of prewritten characters. The remainder of the description and all LARP materials (including mechanics) are written in purple prose for immersive purposes, as this style is the main point of the LARP and is how every character will speak. Materials to read before game should not exceed 20 pages, and this number will be updated closer to Intercon.

COVID SAFETY: This LARP will be requiring masks regardless of what the con at large decides, as it is in a small, closed room and may involve getting somewhat close to other players, and I want you to feel safe in the Society.

~Ꙩ~

At long, long last, it is yet again time to behold and wield the power and the elegance of the beautiful and sacred Diary-Thesaurus, a voluptuous volume of our experiences in the ever-expanding moonbeam of emotional affectation, sitting motionless like an uncountably-petaled flower frozen in time. We touch its vibrant existence with our very souls, like we would a sparkling comet that flutters past our cosmic eyes in the tumultuous seas of space if we only could reach out with arms like waterfalls into the soft abyss. Alas, we have the poetic limitation of our physical forms and only find freedom in the peculiarly-shaped darknesses set upon the light that is the written word.

We all, separately, keep our own necessary journals of our innermost secrets, swirling in the depths of our own minds and finding the underwater crevasses that match the folds in our own striated identities. That common trait is precisely how we all, ultimately, found ourselves with each other, kindred souls bound to bindings of old glue assembling the pages of our collective of shared introspection. And it is through this collective of shared introspection, this magical link between the relationships of our inner beings that shines with the countless glints of light one may expect from each and every silver strand of the most complex and wondrous spider’s web, that we compose, together, the aforementioned Diary-Thesaurus.

The Diary-Thesaurus has two uses, just as the overwhelming day has the mysterious night, and just as the assured land has the open-ended sky. The first is the obvious, the overwhelming, the assured, the reality of our lives and souls, the noblest venture: The Diary-Thesaurus, at its core of cores, is a diary that is not written by one singular hand but by all those who partake in its glory. It is not to be seen by the idiot public eye, no, it is meant to be seen only by those who have written upon its pages, and then stored away in its secret place as a tragic and beautiful prisoner is stored away in a cell, sighing and reclining, knowing that they can never show their true self to the world, for they would not be seen as they know they wish to be seen in the moonlight or the sunlight of their own heart, for it was their own heart that locked them in the dungeon of the palace of the fragile, soft, quivering, starry-eyed collective self, lifted by the sweet aroma of the promise of the balance between pristine privacy and coherent camaraderie.

The second use of The Diary-Thesaurus is, like the first, in the well-divined name. We, as poets of our own souls, must opulently and profusely decorate our words with golden boughs of language that lend necessary gravity to our momentous thoughts and elegantly-oscillating emotions. And truly, in this case of cases, our numerous heads, our handsome hydra of form and function, are better than the singular, just as a rainstorm is more successful than a single drop of water to create a flood. We expand our society’s vivacious vocabulary with each passing page written in a thunderstrike of inspiration by one of our members who calls us to the singular experience of a new page being added to our much-revered Diary-Thesaurus.

And it has come to be, in a happening that makes our hearts collectively swell with a tide of fulfillment ready to overtake our soulful shores, that multiple of our number were moved to bring their words to live in The Diary-Thesaurus this very day and hour. Indeed, this has happened from time to time in the many countless months this group has existed. But each time is different, much like each flake of snow must be considered its own being by the discerning eye looking to the wintry world for singular beauty in the multitudes of life. We must consider this moment, this glistening, fragile moment, incredible and magnificent, and so it requires a period of reflection with all present. How shall we proceed? Who shall go first? What ideas cycle through these minds that refract every color of the visible spectrum of light in their prisms of mind and body? There is only one thing that is certain: whatever may happen can be assured to be beautiful, for we share in the deepest appreciation of the richest prose that could possibly stain the glass of the cathedral of the soul, shattering it gracefully and assembling the pieces into a sprawling mosaic of the mind, and as such, in any disagreement and in any melodramatic moment, we shall all blush a purplish hue.

``` This conceptual LARP takes place during a party of sorts, in present day, in which the members of a special Society gather to sincerely and unironically immerse themselves and their lives in purple prose (prose that is excessively elaborate or ornate, often with runaway metaphors and runaway imagery and runaway adjectives). This version of the LARP requires original character creation within a workshop with optional preparation beforehand, instead of prewritten characters. The remainder of the description and all LARP materials (including mechanics) are written in purple prose for immersive purposes, as this style is the main point of the LARP and is how every character will speak. Materials to read before game should not exceed 20 pages, and this number will be updated closer to Intercon.```

``` COVID SAFETY: This LARP will be requiring masks regardless of what the con at large decides, as it is in a small, closed room and may involve getting somewhat close to other players, and I want you to feel safe in the Society.```

~Ꙩ~

At long, long last, it is yet again time to behold and wield the power and the elegance of the beautiful and sacred Diary-Thesaurus, a voluptuous volume of our experiences in the ever-expanding moonbeam of emotional affectation, sitting motionless like an uncountably-petaled flower frozen in time. We touch its vibrant existence with our very souls, like we would a sparkling comet that flutters past our cosmic eyes in the tumultuous seas of space if we only could reach out with arms like waterfalls into the soft abyss. Alas, we have the poetic limitation of our physical forms and only find freedom in the peculiarly-shaped darknesses set upon the light that is the written word.

We all, separately, keep our own necessary journals of our innermost secrets, swirling in the depths of our own minds and finding the underwater crevasses that match the folds in our own striated identities. That common trait is precisely how we all, ultimately, found ourselves with each other, kindred souls bound to bindings of old glue assembling the pages of our collective of shared introspection. And it is through this collective of shared introspection, this magical link between the relationships of our inner beings that shines with the countless glints of light one may expect from each and every silver strand of the most complex and wondrous spider’s web, that we compose, together, the aforementioned Diary-Thesaurus.

The Diary-Thesaurus has two uses, just as the overwhelming day has the mysterious night, and just as the assured land has the open-ended sky. The first is the obvious, the overwhelming, the assured, the reality of our lives and souls, the noblest venture: The Diary-Thesaurus, at its core of cores, is a diary that is not written by one singular hand but by all those who partake in its glory. It is not to be seen by the idiot public eye, no, it is meant to be seen only by those who have written upon its pages, and then stored away in its secret place as a tragic and beautiful prisoner is stored away in a cell, sighing and reclining, knowing that they can never show their true self to the world, for they would not be seen as they know they wish to be seen in the moonlight or the sunlight of their own heart, for it was their own heart that locked them in the dungeon of the palace of the fragile, soft, quivering, starry-eyed collective self, lifted by the sweet aroma of the promise of the balance between pristine privacy and coherent camaraderie.

The second use of The Diary-Thesaurus is, like the first, in the well-divined name. We, as poets of our own souls, must opulently and profusely decorate our words with golden boughs of language that lend necessary gravity to our momentous thoughts and elegantly-oscillating emotions. And truly, in this case of cases, our numerous heads, our handsome hydra of form and function, are better than the singular, just as a rainstorm is more successful than a single drop of water to create a flood. We expand our society’s vivacious vocabulary with each passing page written in a thunderstrike of inspiration by one of our members who calls us to the singular experience of a new page being added to our much-revered Diary-Thesaurus.

And it has come to be, in a happening that makes our hearts collectively swell with a tide of fulfillment ready to overtake our soulful shores, that multiple of our number were moved to bring their words to live in The Diary-Thesaurus this very day and hour. Indeed, this has happened from time to time in the many countless months this group has existed. But each time is different, much like each flake of snow must be considered its own being by the discerning eye looking to the wintry world for singular beauty in the multitudes of life. We must consider this moment, this glistening, fragile moment, incredible and magnificent, and so it requires a period of reflection with all present. How shall we proceed? Who shall go first? What ideas cycle through these minds that refract every color of the visible spectrum of light in their prisms of mind and body? There is only one thing that is certain: whatever may happen can be assured to be beautiful, for we share in the deepest appreciation of the richest prose that could possibly stain the glass of the cathedral of the soul, shattering it gracefully and assembling the pieces into a sprawling mosaic of the mind, and as such, in any disagreement and in any melodramatic moment, we shall all blush a purplish hue.