JERICHO ● SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JERICHO

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Prologue: New Characters

You've been plagued with a reoccuring dream, as of late. Every time you sleep, the dream returns to you.

It always begins the same way: As a breath held for too long. As a pressure at the base of your spine. A silence that presses against the skin like confession, like prophecy. A ripple moves through your bones. A tide builds and pulls at your feet, familiar by now. You dream of a black, soundless wave, thick like oil and starlight, swelling across the horizon line. You've seen the wave before, countless times, always rising. With every night, it never reaches you. You always seem to wake before it does . . . That is, until tonight.

The wave moves slow, deliberate— like something ancient and alive. And when it finally crashes, there is no harsh impact. Only warmth. Only submersion. Rather than drowning, you are being claimed with saltwater that's sweet with myrrh. The darkness embracing you pulses with desire. Then, a voice envelops you.

"Come home."
It dribbles with honey-like promise, like a truth you've always known, whispered now from within your marrow more like temptation than a request.

"You are mine. You always were."
The voice offers purpose. Worship. Belonging. And when you wake . . . You wake changed, with a mask on your face you did not choose. Elegant. Sacred. Too important to remove. You have been given a gift. A new beginning.

Welcome home, new Vessels.

Watch on YouTube

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Sink Down Like Precious Stones

( content warnings: drowning, body horror )

Vessels awaken within the dreamscape as the black wave recedes from their skin like velvet falling off the bone, their masks in place over their eyes and left afloat in the watery expanse. All around them, the ocean stretches infinite and lightless— so still it mirrors the sky above, indistinguishable from the void. Far in the distance, massive obsidian walls curve inward, enclosing this vast seascape like a forgotten temple basin. And there, at the far horizon, one glow pierces the dark: a low-burning fire flickering within a half-sunken structure of impossible architecture— arched, ribbed, as though built from marble and cathedral glass.

This is a test, and it begins with belief.

Those with unwavering faith— whether in Sleep, another god, or even themselves— will find the surface beneath their feet holds firm. The sea becomes glass, and they may rise, and walk. But those adrift in doubt begin to sink. Precious stone creeps over their skin. Joints stiffen. Flesh cracks. Breath slows. It is not death, but it is close and might as well be hell. Your only salvation lies in your own conviction . . . Or the mercy of another Vessel who happens to walk.

Those who drown will not die. They will loop this moment— sinking, blackness, return, sink again— until belief takes root in some way. Alternatively, they may awaken in a later dreamspace . . . Changed.

NOTES:

• Pale white fish as well as glowing jellyfish may be encounted. The fish stare at vessels as they drown, and jellyfish may leave behind a shock that could temporarily stop the process of crystalization. But only temporarily— and their stings are excrutiating.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Magic becomes volatile— spells flicker, overcharge, or fizzle unpredictably when cast on or near the ocean.
• When you cast, your veins glow from beneath the skin, but not with light. It's writhing. Like something trapped under glass.
• When channeling magic, your mouth may fill with brine and blood.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The water responds emotionally— thrashing with fury or calming with yearning depending on the Offering's state of mind.
• The sea amplifies desire and instinct, making base emotions harder to suppress— rage, hunger, longing all churn just beneath the surface.
• The black water feels too warm, too alive, clinging to the body like memory; any stillness invites visions of Sleep's embrace, both reverent and consuming.

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You Taste Like New Flesh

( content warnings: body horror, psychological horror, compulsion, unreliable reality )

The ocean path ends at a palace carved of pearl and spun silk, impossibly perched where water meets nothingness. Whether you have traversed the black sea on trembling feet or simply awaken seated at an impossibly long table, it makes no difference. You are here now, and welcomed, suddenly in attire fit for a gala. Around this table sit countless Dream-Vessels, many silent and still, faces unreadable in the flickering candlelight wearing generic, six-eyed masks. The table stretches beyond sight, arching beneath creeping vines that twist like ancient veins overhead, blooming with strange blossoms that beat with energy. Flames dance atop dozens of candles— some burn on brass holders, others hover, like fireflies caught mid-flight, their shadows flickering and shifting with an otherworldly rhythm. Around you, phantasmal forms shimmer on pedestals: Sleep's ancient Guardians are eternalized through memorial, monstrous and magnificent, lost to time yet enshrined in reverence. On the highest pedestal stands a still living One, silent and watching the feast with somber eyes. Sleep's voice whispers in your ear, encouraging a glance to, perhaps, see what you may become.

"Feast, My Dear Vessels. Until you taste like New Flesh."

The foods before you don not come unmeddled with. Each bite pulls memories from your bones to the surface— moments buried or erased, but these are not just yours. The banquet feeds on shared history, stirring secrets tangled between you and the others here. To eat is to open a door: to risk awakening something dormant, to invite others inside your buried truths, to forge bonds or betrayals that can never be unseen.

Eton Mess: Crushed meringue, tangled cream, and berries that bleed like bruises when bitten. Sweetness melts quickly, leaving your tongue cold. As you eat, a memory rises— but you don't experience it alone. The person nearest you sees what you see, hears what you hear, feels what you felt. Together, you can alter one key detail, and that change ripples outward, shifting how you both remember the event.

Deviled Kidneys: Spiced and seared, the metallic richness clings to your mouth, as if tasting old blood. Eating summons the echo of a painful or violent memory, but your partner experiences it with you.

Roasted Lamb in Mint Sauce: The sweetness of the meat is cut by mint sharp enough to sting the throat. Your act of consumption awakens a craving, but not in you— in the Vessel sharing this dish. They feel an inexorable pull toward your memory, even without knowing what they seek. The bond persists until the craving is confronted.

Honey Scouse: A thick, golden stew heavy with warmth, but beneath the sweetness, something cloying curls around the edges. Every shared spoonful spreads a slow, creeping influence between you and your partner: intrusive visions, subtle compulsions, small lapses in agency. Neither of you can tell whose thoughts belong to whom.

Starpit Fruit: Plum-sized and faintly glowing, the juice leaves your fingertips dusted in silver, like handling starlight. When bitten, the fruit releases the memory of a forgotten wish, not to you but to the person beside you. They see it clearly— and know exactly what you once wanted most, even if you had buried it.

Marigold Brandy: A golden spirit served warm, glowing faintly as though sunlight has been trapped inside the glass. When lifted, it releases a soft, floral scent. The first sip draws you and your partner into a shared burst of joy— a memory that makes you swell with happiness. The sensation is so immediate, so electric, that when the memory breaks, your bodies ache to move, to speak, to draw more positivity to light. You may feel an irresistible pull to get up and dance on the wide palace floors, even if no music is playing . . . And if others nearby drink as well, the effect multiplies.

Saints Breath Chalice: A dark, wine-thick cordial served in tarnished silver cups etched with symbols that shift when stared at too long. The liquid smells faintly of frankincense and something sweeter— blood-warm and alive. Drinking it floods you and your partner with the overwhelming sensation of being inside someone else's celebration, a memory that belongs to neither of you: a vast mass of black, with branching antlers and six, glowing red eyes. It reaches to sink its claws into your chest as she sings: One. Beloved. We were meant to be. It is impossible to tell whether you're witnessing joy or manic worship. There is chanting you cannot understand but somehow already know, drums that sync with your heartbeat until you can feel nothing else. Your limbs begin to twitch, then sway, then move without conscious thought, drawn into a dance you do not remember learning. If more than two people drink, your movements synchronize perfectly, your breath matching theirs, until the room seems stop to watch.

The table awaits.

NOTES:

• Feasting becomes addictive. The more a character eats, the harder it is to stop. Gluttony may cause physical consequences: nosebleeds, twitching fingers, warping speech, uncontrollable confessions, or dripping nectar from their mouths.
• Those who refuse to eat at all begin to starve in a dream-sense: they lose color, smell burning, and feel the weight of Sleep's gaze. Her wrath isn't immediate— but it grows the longer you reject the feast. She takes offense.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Each spell cast after eating releases parasitic energy— manifesting as flowers, thorns, parasitic insects or rot— either from their own body or from someone they recently touched.
• Casting warps your limbs temporarily: too many joints, fingers curl the wrong way, nerves burn like wires.
• Touching others leaves sigils burned into their skin. These will briefly carry over into the waking world during next month's event. Runecasters will get the innate feeling that this symbol has a meaning summed up as "The Night Does Not Belong To God". How they interpret that is up to them.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The act of devouring awakens an overwhelming desire, often physical, but sometimes emotional or spiritual. This desire clings to another Vessel at the table, creating obsessive attachment or aggression.
• The more they eat, the more their monstrous traits subtly emerge.
• Consuming another Vessel's memory (if shared or touched) grants a brief glimpse of their deepest fear or weakness.

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There's Something In The Way You Lay

( content warnings: sexual content, voyeurism, body modification, omegaverse traits, loss of agency )

Beneath its pearlescent halls, beyond the banquet of flickering candles and dream-Vessels who eat in hollow silence, a spiral staircase winds downward. Its steps are damp and velvet-slick. The further you descend, the warmer the air becomes— humid, cloying, thick with the scent of sweat, salt, and incense. The sounds reach you first: Slaps, gasps, the wet chorus of bodies and perverse intimacy. Laughter, muffled sobs, the echo of whispered names long forgotten. At the base lies a corridor of "private" rooms. Their doors swing open with dreamlike invitation. Inside, the scenes unfold: past dream-Vessels lost in tableau— arched backs, bitten lips, mouths open in prayer or obedience. Some are alone, coiled in worship. Others tangle in groups, indistinguishable where one body ends and another begins. Vines bloom across the ceilings, watching. The walls glisten with breath. You see their faces, but you can't quite distinguish what or who they are. You may not remember choosing a role, but the dream has chosen for you. α or Ω— and with the naming, your body changes. There is no shame here, only devotion made manifest. This is how Sleep is worshipped now: through cruelty and surrender, through the giving and the taking of flesh.

NOTES

• Masks may optionally offer a sort of glamour for Vessels who wander into these chambers— they will not be able to recognize each other. How much of that, whether it be appearance, voice, and so on, is up to you.
• Past dream-Vessels perform for no one, eyes vacant, movements perfect, as if only a ghost of a memory. Player characters may interact with them and even partake in intimacy with them, but be warned: they are emotionally absent and may cause symptoms of succumbence that could be remedied with a proper, player-character tether.
• Tools hang on the walls: Rods of all sizes, slick with heat. Collars that hum with low, seductive voltage. Blindfolds that intensify physical contact, There's no need for cuffs or chains when there are vines that seem to respond to the α party's mood— tightening, flowering, or reaching for skin. You are free to come up with your own items.
• α perks:: Instinctive claiming (done through biting, rubbing, branding, etc), an almost predatory focus and obsession for those who interest them, pack gravity (the ability to attract one or more vessels at once), emitting a scent that ignites heat/rut in others, darker urges surge and a commanding voice.
Ω perks: High pain tolerance, instinctive yielding, emotional synchrony with those being watched, self-lubricating, hypersensitive, scent tracking, intense need to please or be filled emotionally, physically, and spiritually. When touched, glowing runes bloom across the skin.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Spells cast during acts of intimacy may provoke a heightened sensation of euphoria for both caster and whoever is affected by the spell.
• Magic may manifest as misty appendages— extra hands, tongues, eyes, etc.
• Divine energy becomes volatile when passed through the body— ecstasy may border on agony, or vice versa, and Tethering becomes impossibly euphoric.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Flesh becomes malleable mid-act— bones bending, jaws unhinging, skin blooming open, etc.
• Animalistic traits emerge: tails, claws, growls, tentacles, scent glands— all begging to be used.
• Feeding and Tethering are indistinguishable— hunger becomes worship, and worship becomes need.

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I am not worthy

( content warnings: body horror, violence, gore, parasitic/invasive feeding, death )

Wherever you are, the palace begins to rot. First slowly, then all at once: vines swell with black fluid, splitting at the seams. They burst from beneath marble tiles, coil up pillars, slither across frames and vacant thrones like arteries choking a heart. The candlelight flickers. One by one, the flames throughout the palace float upward . . . And die. No smoke. No warning. Just wet silence. Then the Dream-Vessels begin to fall. They do not scream as they do. They collapse like marionettes, limbs askew. Their flesh splits open along wounds that should not exist— a rip at the neck, teeth marks prying open the ribcage, a bite that swallows half a torso. Bones jut like sculpted ivory. Entrails slither across the floor like garlands. Some burst mid-air, as if the dream demands spectacle. Others fold in on themselves until all that's left of them is a mound of flesh.

"I am not worthy."

One voice. Ten. A thousand—layered, glitching, sweaty. It echoes from the walls, the bodies, the seams in the floor. The corpses twitch in time with the chant, jerking violently. Some snap backwards, eyes wide, jaws unhinged. Others explode— blossoming in gore, raining viscera. From the heaving pile of ruined Dream-Vessels, something forms.

It lurches into being: stitched from tongues, teeth, torsos. Weeping. Wailing. Worshipping. A monstrosity of raw flesh and faith: all failures made meat. Its eyes (are they eyes?) blink out. Arms claw outwards, too many to count. Its scent is of copper, sweat, and sorrow.

When The Abomination chooses to feed, it seeks not flesh, but the softest rot inside you. An appendage uncoils from its writhing mass and unhinged jaw— veined, slick, and trembling like a violated root. It drives itself into your mouth, splitting your lips with obscene tenderness, and sinks deep into your throat, locking you still.

What it draws out is not blood. It siphons your doubts, your fears, your most secret self-hatred. Your inadequacy. Every buried shame. Your hate. Your negativity. Every flinch of unworthiness. Every moment you believed yourself unlovable, unseen, too small. It gorges on what you hide from even yourself, and the more you try to resist, the sweeter your sorrow becomes. The last thing it takes is your life force, and then your viscera, leaving you wilted and shrivled like a hollow log.

This death is violating and feels painfully slow. You're drained raw of your vitality until you're but a brittle husk that breaks to dust in the wind. It seems near impossible to destroy, always reforming into bits and pieces left smudged behind. Perhaps your best bet it to run, or attempt to wake yourself up from this nightmare.

One's voice repeats in choked sobs: I am not worthy.

NOTES:

• Wounds from the beast linger. You may wake bleeding or marked.
• If devoured, characters will awaken the following month extremely fatigued during the first 3-5 days of the month. They may also sporadically rigurgitate black sludge. Characters who die and are already in the game may requesta plot clue, that will be a vision your character will dream of before awakening.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Magic recoils violently when used on The Abomination, backfiring with psychic screams or ripping into your flesh.
• Your hands glow uncontrollably, burning what you touch— even those you love.
• Magic becomes hungry; it demands pieces of your body to function. A tooth. A nail. A rib (and so on).

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The rage it stirs in you is monstrous. You begin to shift uncontrollably— flesh blooms, bones crack under strain.
• Your body begins moving before you decide to. Twitching toward The Abomination, and toward the scent of despair.
• During the chaos, you may develop a fixation with another Vessel's flaw. You can smell it on them. It entrances you . . . To the point that you may feel the urge to feed them to The Abomination.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's second TDM, which doubles as our third gamewide event!

➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible.

➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.

➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!

➤ Veteran players, I ask to please refrain from making post-event threads for the time being! We have some important information to take into account in next month's event when characters are slated to "wake up". At the very least, please wait for the information to be offered on the next plotting post. Thank you everyone for your patience!

➤ Please comment on the TDM's INVITE TL if you are a new player interested in joining the game, but don't yet have an invite. Current players or the mod may reach out to extend an invite. Once you've got one, please don't forget to comment on the Invite page so you may properly link it in your reserve and app.

➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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hubert von vestra ⚔ fire emblem: three houses ⚔ new player

[sworntoher]

( ooc note: will be testing this dark mage out as a shadowbinder, though am also curious about suffering him to be a venomous drake. will switch to brackets if preferred by any who respond ♥ )

𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰

Hubert followed the dream further each night with rising curiosity, wary of visions, but trusting it was more than just a dream. He felt drawn to the voice, a siren's call stirring something deep within him. It was hubris, really, to entertain the idea that he had any choice in the matter.

Startled into consciousness by the pull of violent, freezing waves crashing down on him was both a shock and great offense. Instinctively, he tried to pull himself up, and was surprised when the waters held as firm as glass. Hubert found himself standing tall, soaked, irritated by his unkempt appearance, but proud of whatever he had just effortlessly managed.

Taking in his surroundings, he made his way to the stone cathedral in he distance that beckoned him, ignoring distant cries for help, unconvinced the voices were real, and not some sort of distraction or trap. This was his plan, to keep his eyes firm on his destination, until he tripped over a limb rising from below him, grasping blindly at his feet and robes. "Foul creature, unhand me, at once!"

He prepared a spell to cast it off if it persisted, hands beginning to glow an unnatural green, but was delayed by the sudden nauseating wave of brine that salted his mouth and choked from his throat. "Urgh...disgusting."

𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔫𝔢𝔴 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥

Hubert is always dressed to the nines, sporting regency goth, complete with his new mask, which is a silver half-skull that shows the bottom half of his face, and hair, his eyes the abyss of a fresh Token newly becoming a shadowbinder. His focus is entirely on observing every detail around them, wary of others as well as the food before them. Despite his rigid posture, he seems to be experiencing a quiet reverence as well.

( Starpit Fruit )
Hubert was absently admiring the silver dusting the fruit had left on his hands when he noticed he was being observed. He glanced at his viewer suspiciously, having recently seen a terrible memory of someone nearby after they had eaten first (which resulted in him picking something he hadn't seen someone eat yet). He quirked his brow, his voice sounding accusatory. "Whatever you think you saw, I am quite sure it has no bearing in reality. Release it from your thoughts."

What was seen was his youthful wish to be more than his future Empress's retainer and trusted companion, but her husband and lover as well. While he may have repressed the fantasy of marriage to her, he has not forgotten, nor has his love for her faded, nor dream of it being requited stopped being his greatest personal wish.

( Wildcard )
Perhaps a shared experience with someone nearby from what they have consumed? Open to dancing, he is skilled at it - assuming you enjoy waltzes and regency dancing. It would be interesting to see something cause his guard and self control to falter.

𝔦 𝔞𝔪 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔶

His initial attempts to attack the abomination backfired gloriously, his skin felt as if it was on fire, and a searing pain in his rib coupled with how completely ineffective his attack had been prompted him to make a tactical retreat. To where? He had yet to figure this out, Hubert simply knew he needed to run, and be out of view until an escape revealed itself.

He winced at the scorching glow of his hands, losing his temper at the voices all around repeating their pathetic, self-depreciating death rattles. He scowled aloud, as if any would hear or obey, "Be SILENT."

To one advantage, he noticed a passive effect of his body taking on, in parts, somewhat of a shadowed incorporeal fade, but he was wary of casting anything that might quickly transport him out of the way or momentarily disappear from view.

Loathe as he was to admit, seeking help finding a way out seemed the most likely means of survival. But who could be trusted? He hardly looked the part of a stranger you would trust with your life himself. Hubert risked exposing himself to take in his immediate surroundings, looking for someone who did not, at the moment, seem beyond saving. "You! We need a plan, quickly."

not worthy

[inverseye]

Wah!

[ Hubert's gaze lands upon a weaselly looking man who was helpfully cowering and trying to sneak away while Hubert worked hard at drawing the monsters attention.

...He might look even less trustworthy then Hubert.]

We? Who's we? You're losing, not me!

[ Couldn't he have been more considerate and kept ineffectively attacking it until Saheon found the exit? ]

[sworntoher]

I am not losing, my attacks are merely...ineffective. At the moment. ( Have a glowering side glance before Hubert resumes scanning the area hopefully. Perhaps a more willingly capable and less immediately irritating ally, or better yet, a door. He grumbles something under his breath before adding, more audibly: )

Better to have tried and failed than to have died cowering in a corner. ( Hubert's own position of hiding doesn't count, in his mind, because he is ""strategizing"". Fruitlessly. )

Will you help? Or does having one eye omit you from seeing a way out? That...thing is going to find us eventually.

[inverseye]

[ Saheon can only stare in shock for a moment. Better to try and fail then die? Why are both options bad? He picks live! Live live live!

But instead of letting his temper get the best of him, Saheon flashes an insincre smile and nods his head rapidly. ]

Ahhh. Sir.... I wasn't aware! [ He leans out from behind his shelter to point at the monster. ] Please, forgive me. If you lead the last charge, I'll be right behind you!

[ Not. There's a crash as some appendage slams into a wall nearby and Saheon has to dive back behind cover with a yelp, putting him closer to Hubert. ]

I am helping. I'm staying out of your way while you show me how much you value your life.

[sworntoher]

( A useless coward. Outstanding. Just what I need. His thoughts were sarcastic, until they weren't. An idea came to mind. This Thing was feeding off feelings of worthlessness, at least, that is what the incessant voices seemed to suggest. Did it go deeper? Did it include cowardly opportunism and deceit for its delectable snacking? Hubert shuddered internally and turned to Saheon, his face more grave and suspecting than he intended. ) I do not believe you. You can join me and sincerely help or I will draw it this way and hope it enjoys feasting on you while I escape.

...Or, we could work together and you could do something besides simper and lie. ( He could also have completely miscalculated, but his trust issues ran deep, and Hubert sincerely believed what he said. If he was wrong, and Saheon was sincerely someone incapacitated by fear, he would remind himself that he was not here to make friends, but to survive, and if he made enemies along the way, assuming they both survived for this social faux paux to matter, so be it. )

[inverseye]

...Yes sir.

[ No... Hubert was pretty on the mark. Saheon's icy glare when Hubert starts threatening him are good confirmation of that. He stares at the other man with his single eye an expression that says I'll remember this. The second he gets the upper hand on you bastard...you're really gonna get it.

But, its not worth risking life and limb now when they're both in active danger and Hubert is still capable of screwing him over. So when Saheon starts talking, its with a calmer voice then what he was using before. ]

I'm not. [ Deep breaths. ] I'm not lying when I say I can't help you. Fighting is pointless.

[ He pauses, chewing on his thumb while his one eye flicks between the monster behind them and Hubert next to him. ]

If we could find some other people maybe...? We could 'exchange' them to buy time until the entrance appears.

taste of flesh - wildcard...ish?

[dissentive]

She avoided the food and the drink for as long as she could, in truth. How could anything in this place, whether dream or reality, be trusted? Especially when stepping beyond the veil has changed her attire (only slightly: red pauldrons smoothing out to something of softer but still crimson fabric; arms freed from their gauntlets to make space for newly scaled flesh) and given her even less to protect herself.

She tried. She did. And by the end of it, it wasn't hunger that drew her to the table but thirst, and her sharper hand (only the one instead of both, an unbalanced weight) found a glass filled with gold. One sip was all she managed before her thoughts are awash in too much all at once.

A quiet wish hidden by years of struggle. The memory of laughing siblings and a raven-haired boy who smiled at her.

Edelgard nearly dropped the glass in her haste to push away from the table. Something hot and wet stings at the corner of her eyes, threatening to pull her apart if she lingered too long on those thoughts, no matter the initial elation in her heart. She drew her hand back as if stung from the drink, drawing it beneath red fabric in a desperate bid to conceal, and her vision swung around to see—

"Hubert?"

Even through the obfuscation of the mask, she knew him. And there was relief and then a painful jolt of uncertainty. Nothing here could be true. This, too, had to be a trick conjured up by whatever she'd sipped.


[ ooc: bonjour! trying her out as a kimera for...reasons... lemme know if you need me to tweak any of this at all! ]

:v le gasp!

[sworntoher]

Hubert's mouth parted before the spoonful of cream and berries, preparing to give in and eat, but a voice speaking his name stopped him. Not just any voice that knew his name, but hers. Spoon in hand clattered onto the table, hunger momentarily out of mind as he scanned for the source of her voice. It was really her, here as well, wherever this was. Before he could reply, a different perspective of a shared but long buried memory washed over him, the feelings attached momentarily overwhelming him and causing his pale features to flush. Innocent memories, long forgotten, but never truly gone, it would seem.

He stood, moving to the person sitting directly beside her, and attempted to sound polite while commanding them to move. It was not a request, a please was not added, and Hubert would force them aside without further hesitation if they did not move down a spot. Fortunately, they complied, and he took their seat, gazing in both concern and awe at his Emperor. He resisted, as always, the urge to take her hand. "Your Majesty... Are you unwell?"

[ ooc: greetings! likewise, if i need to tweak anything along the way, please let me know. i am replaying to canon review, but this is also my first time actually writing him! ]

I stare judgmentally at my tense switching last tag, oops

[dissentive]

Gaze wide while she watched Hubert close the gap, her heart thundered with rising panic and doubt. What if it wasn't him? What if it was another piece of falsehood this place was so desperate to hand her? Her right hand, unaffected by those changes, struck out at the table and grabbed a knife. Bracing her boots on the tile, she turned his way, ready to confront what she thought to be a phantom wearing the face of her dearest friend.

It was his voice that cut through the uncertainty, answer to her call. Her grip loosened on the knife but did not let it go. "Is it you?" she asked quietly, forcing her voice to remain even. Edelgard's eyes searched those darkened eyes for familiar green with caution, with desperate hope.


[ ooc: I literally just picked her up 2 months ago on a whim and have been psl'ing it, so you are in good company! pls let me know if I flub anywhere ]

I do this often myself v-v

[sworntoher]

A sane person would be concerned by Edelgard von Hresvelg gripping a knife mere feet from their throat, but aside from noting it as a sign of her state of mind, Hubert was un-phased by the blade. Partially because his 'sanity' was debatable in some circles, especially in relation to the lady before him, but also because he had already offered her his neck on the executioner's block, and she had declined. It was unlikely she would ever want him dead, because he would never betray her. He would serve her with upmost devotion until his dying breath.

Unfortunately, she seemed unconvinced that it was truly him, desperately searching his face, in which once bright-green eyes had changed to deep pools of black. Hubert frowned, realizing this would not inspire confidence. "Though I do not understand how we came to be here, yes, my lady, I remain your loyal servant. Would that I could prove it and dispel some of your uncertainty."

He would not allow himself to doubt that it was her. Hubert would rather risk the trap and disappointment of an illusion than falter in his service to her for a single moment. The first time had not been his fault, but there would never be a second.

[dissentive]

Her grip remained on the knife while she searched Hubert's face, almost holding her breath as she listened to him. They'd known the horror of people being replaced, coming back changed, and for a moment she feared—

It would not be so obvious, she considered. If this was their work, Hubert would not be so changed, as she, too, had been changed already. She knew him. She had to believe it was Hubert.

The knife was set down on the table, her hand releasing its iron grip. Now and only now did she fully regard him, shifting in her seat to be nearly knee-to-knee with Hubert. Her eyes still sought his own as if she might quell all doubt simply by seeing them. At no point did the shadows abate. Edelgard reached out for him with a hand lacking armor. She did not endeavor to touch but her fingers hovered several inches from his face, questioning first without words. And then, quietly, "What did this place do to you?"

𝔦 𝔞𝔪 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔶

[markingnight]

[ Unlike the dying Dream-Vessels, Ironeye remained grimly and distinctly alive -- or at least in one piece. He was backing away from the abomination as Hubert made his command of the voices, eyes trained cautiously on the creature and footfalls quiet against the marble.

When the nobleman (?) addressed him, he couldn't help wishing Hubert hadn't noticed him at all. It was one thing to slip away from a fight alone, quite another to do so when one of your number had already taken steps to draw the beast's attention.

Too late now. He unshouldered his bow, a lustrous black weapon that spoke of careful maintenance. ]

The plan is to leave. Don't turn your back on it, don't let the tongue touch you.

[ Well, 'tongue' was perhaps a generous description, but either way, Ironeye couldn't imagine that an appendage that foul-looking would be up to any good. ]

[sworntoher]

( In Hubert's world, fell beasts were quite possible to defeat, with an aggressive approach and the strategic deployment of each ally's skills. Later, their armies would even control them. Clearly, this was not the case here. Fortunately, it had quickly distracted itself sucking the life force from someone too slow, in a disturbingly invasive manner.

Clearly retreat was the way to go, and this was hardly the time for heroics. Note to self, do not assume what has worked for you before will work here. He nodded to the stranger's note of the Abomination's offensive appendage. )

Agreed, though the first door I tried was locked, and from here, the only open one I see requires going past that...thing.

[markingnight]

Then we should move quickly, while it's distracted.

[ No concern for the poor victim, who as far as Ironeye was concerned was already a lost cause. ]

Your magic seems to pain you. Have you any other armaments?

[ If not, it seemed much would fall to himself. The situation was looking better and better. ]

Sink down

[herofhopeless]

Clive had made it nearly across the expanse of water that was also not water when he heard someone shout. He turned to see a man in clothing so dark he almost blended in with their surroundings, struggling with something that Clive couldn't quite see. Whatever it was didn't matter. The man needed help.

By the time he was close enough to clearly see what was happening, Clive was jogging. Without asking permission, Clive took hold of the other man's arm and tugged him forward enough that he was able to stomp an armored boot down onto the hand that seemed to be trying to pull the man under. He let a small burst of ice channel to the water, frowning at the weakness of it. Regardless, it was enough to freeze the appendage enough for Clive to kick at it and shatter it at the wrist. He gave the now-freed man a gentle shove between the shoulder blades. They could worry about getting the frozen hand off once they were farther away.

"Let's go, before it figures out a better way to try and drown you."

new flesh

[armwriostle]

Oh? So quick to refute it. [Wriothesley does not explain what he saw. He doesn't speak about the boyish yearning for more; the innocent yet immense devotion to someone that transcended just duty. It's a pure kind of love that, though a little selfish, showed a want for their happiness.

Sweet, though he can guess it hasn't come true. It feels like the food here aren't so sweet to offer such a kind reality, so is it a manifestation of yearning? A future that cannot be? There's a lot to try and dissect there.]

I guess you've had some bad experiences with the food here already then.