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.

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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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Comments

[heavyliesthecrown]

[Oh-! That interests him. At the very least, it makes him curious. Dancing in pairs was not customary? He thought that was quite common, actually. But, considering the strange spread of individuals here from various other places, perhaps he oughtn't be so shocked.]

I... suppose that one could simply choose like that. Most men, I think, likely only ever trained in how to lead, while women would have been taught to follow their lead in dance. In ballroom dance, at least. It may throw both gentlemen off if they switch things up when accustomed to one particular role.

[That does not mean that they could not adjust and learn. For a moment, he is thoughtful and tips his head to the side. Then after some thought, he lifts a hand to his chest.]

Would you like me to teach you? Perhaps there is someone you wish to ask to dance here tonight? Fufu... ♪

[Surely... it would not be frowned on for him to teach someone else. Glancing around the floor, it does seem that people are a little more... relaxed, he thinks, than they might be at home. He can already imagine Narukami sighing that he's being too uptight about it all.]

Um... of course, I am more accustomed to leading. But I think I could show you whichever role you would prefer? It would be instructional, of course. I suppose, since you are taller than I, the leading role would likely be yours. Typically, since the lead is male and they tend to be taller, it works more easily that way, since you must guide your partner.

[snaggletooth]

[ There is someone he'd like to dance with, though he looks at the young man making the insinuation a little impassively. For a fact, it's one-hundred percent of the reason he considers the offer that comes attached. While he knows he can improv a dance, a very specific, age-old dance that holds meaning to their species is not something he can just recreate on the spot.

A moment later, he stands from his seat — ...and also takes a moment to push it back in to the table, manners! ]

Then please, show me.

[ He notes, upon slanting his eyes downward and seeing the whorl of his scalp, that Tsukasa is shorter than Till. But that's fine—he can adjust. ]

It sounds complicated, like I would benefit from guidance. And I take it you have quite the background to be bringing up what is customary and what is not, ha. Don't worry about explaining that so much — just the proper movements, and I would be indebted to you.

[heavyliesthecrown]

[The observation earns a faint laugh.]

Mm, indeed! My upbringing was a little strict, and so this was a necessary component of it.

[Not that he is complaining. He is glad that he was taught. Whatever difficulties he may have had growing up, he is sure he is all the better for them, and is aware that his parents genuinely have done the best they could. Polite as well, Tsukasa pushes in his own chair, before leading the way to the floor where they will have plenty of room to dance. Others are as well, despite the lack of music. Perhaps... it is possible to supply it? Someone told him these veils serve as a sort of magical connection to others.]

Allow me to lead for a moment, so that I may demonstrate a little, first-

[Carefully taking the stranger's hands, he places them in the opposite position of what he ultimately intends to teach.]

Where mine go right now is where your own will lie, ultimately. If I lead you, it may give you an idea of how to lead yourself, though.

[Tsukasa's own hands move into the lead's 'proper' position.]

The waltz works in a three-fourths time signature. Like this-

One-Two-Three, One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three~

[snaggletooth]

[ One-Two-Three...

Quite specific, repetitive, but for a reason, no? This isn't at all like working a stage. The other dancer is really meant to be one's partner, not an opponent that one must attempt to outshine. Steps done like this should flow, not clash. Ivan solemnly recalls the silence that fell over the crowd when his classmates chose to sing at the same time on stage.

The segyein were speechless, maybe because it was beautiful, but more likely because they were confused by the contestants not doing as they were taught. ]

It's not so bad now, hm? Breaking tradition.

[ Ivan, for his part, picks up the pattern quickly enough not to make the age-old, amateur mistake of stepping on his partner's feet. He's no instantaneous master of the waltz, but it's clear he has some baseline experience with the art of moving one's body to music. ]

You seem fine.

[heavyliesthecrown]

[Pleased with the progress, Tsukasa picks up their pace a little. There isn't any need to teach anything overly complicated right now, so he simply shows him simple, but elegant steps and movements. He's clearly a quick learner and moves freely.

The comment earns a bit of a laugh.]

Tradition is a very beautiful thing. But, not if it stifles positive progress. There must always be a balance in there somewhere.

[He lowers his voice conspiratorily.]

Between you and me, though, I have been advocating for some positive changes and growth within the family- both through business and more personally.

. . . . I do think they would frown a bit right now if they saw, but if they did... I suppose I should take that as their own close-mindedness. I am having fun at the very least, and that is what is most important.

[One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.

Snatches of a song, along with himself and four others performing it flit through his mind as he moves them to the sound of the music. The composition during this occasion had been slightly rearranged to suit the waltz as part of the program they were performing for, at the time. It wasn't so long ago, so he stands out in his mind, now.]

Shall we switch positions now?

[snaggletooth]

Ahaha, scheming... are we? I'm glad it's helped you gain some perspective.

[ Ivan comes to a stop to carefully switch up their hands, meeting Tsukasa's eyes after he's made his adjustments as if to say "like this?" He'll proceed without comment into the first of many one-two-threes if there's nothing in need of correcting. ]

Though in all honestly, I find that baffling. Tradition... beautiful? I can't quite agree or disagree.

[ Alien Stage is a tradition built on fifty-one generations of corpses. Yet, the little pieces of humanity's past that swept across the Garden in whispers whenever some student had managed to dig up something, technically, were traditions too, long lost. Kissing on the mouth is tradition. Something buried in time that was once theirs.

Something he desires to do a silly amount. ]

My situation is more unique than the other guests here, however. [ More laughter, vapid. ] You see, I come from a place in the universe where people aren't free. There are rules, expectations, we simply must live by from birth until death... or the latter may come prematurely. Knowing that, surely you understand my bias?

Even so, I'm curious to know what my ancestors did when they could make their own choices. Your dancing is interesting to me.

[heavyliesthecrown]

[The admission so casually said leaves Tsukasa stunned for a moment. His feet continue to follow after the taller man's out of skill, but his eyes widen in alarm. They aren't 'free', he says...?]

. . . I am exceedingly sorry to hear that. I realize that even now, there are places where people will traffic other humans. I find it absolutely abhorrent. Only a true demon would abuse another in such a way. It is vile and has no place anywhere ever. I am so sorry that you have been a victim of such a crime.

[Truly, he is. He frowns unhappily.]

Everyone keeps saying that this strange landscape is a dream. I hope that when you awake, that is not what you shall return to. If there is something that I can do, then I will offer the resources my family possesses to aid you. I cannot stand by and leave someone to a difficult fate if it can be prevented.

[snaggletooth]

[ The idea that anyone could help them in that place feels like a faraway dream. Ivan at least tries to show his appreciation of the idea with a smile, as per usual, but it doesn't reach his eyes. It almost never reaches his eyes. ]

That's all they told you?

Maybe they didn't wish to upset you, but you deserve to know. This party's host might not be done playing with you by the time you yourself wake up. You may find yourself somewhere very far from home.

[heavyliesthecrown]

That would be quite inconvenient. I have a very busy schedule and no time to be toyed with.

[Between school and work and heading the family and- well, so many other things. The way the other warns him, though, does not sound as though he is playing. His head tips to the side, slightly, a little bit of uncertainty crossing his face.]

. . . You do not mean to suggest that we have all been kidnapped, do you?

[snaggletooth]

[ The other's dismay says it all: he came from a world worth holding onto, a way of living that was lavish for him rather than lacking. That's unfortunate. That's—certainly going to put a damper on what was a nice dance while it lasted. ]

Well, I'm very sorry to be the bearer of bad news. That would be a more straightforward way to describe what's happening here.

[heavyliesthecrown]

. . . You do not mean this to be a joke.

[It isn't really a question. He can tell the other is being serious despite how crazy it all sounds. Then again, so does a dream like this and walking on water.

Of course, there is fear. Emotions cycle across his face. This must be a mistake. They'll wake up normally, and nothing bad will have happened. He swallows, before his hands tighten. A look of stubborn determination rises, and he takes a breath.]

Very well, then-! I have full faith in the branch family to put a stop to any sinister business. But in the event that it is as dire as you believe, we will find our way home again.

. . . More accurately, I will ensure that we find our way out of whatever place these criminals have carried us away to, and that you are safe to go where you like after.

[Since it sounds as though his own 'home' is not so great either.]

Hmph! They will find that I am not the sort to bend a knee, nor shall I cooperate. They have made a mistake. Unfortunate for them.

[snaggletooth]

[This young man truly believes that this branch family of his can change things.

He doesn't know whether to feel badly for someone who is unaware of the odds that are against him, or to consider it fortunate that there's something out there he can have such faith in. Ivan gives no hint that any of this crosses his mind, listening with a pretend placeholder of a smile. Following the declaration, he tilts a his head a bit as though readying to ask him something.

He's found a small flaw he supposes he really should point out, out of respect to Tsukasa's great conviction: ]

When is it you'd like to start rebelling?

[ One-Two-Three, One-Two-Three. No topic of discussion is heavy enough to stop Ivan's feet. One-Two-Three. ]

I only ask because we've been entertaining ourselves with what this place has to offer, which is being a bit complacent, isn't it? One might even count this dance as cooperation.

[heavyliesthecrown]

[Urk...

He falters a little, appearing a little chagrined. Well...! He has a little bit of a point. Flustered, he opens his mouth to speak again after a moment.]

W-Well, I did not realize that after waking, we might end up in some sort of unpleasant landscape.

I figured a dream should simply be enjoyed for being a dream.

[snaggletooth]

[ He just thought he should raise awareness. He wouldn't want anyone hating themselves later on for carelessly complying. Pride means something to some people, he's aware, though it's not how he prefers to play his own cards. ]

I should mention that there won't be very much to eat where we're headed next...

[ Besides mind control, there's at least one other reason that some of the people at the banquet table are so gung-ho about eating... ]

[heavyliesthecrown]

... If-! You mean if that is where we are going!

[Because surely he will not actually be sent to such a dystopian setting, right? If he is to be isekai'd, it would be into something more incredible and gallant.]

Just how poor is the situation for everyone back in the place you just came from?

[snaggletooth]

If!

[ He corrects. ]

"Poor" is relative.

For me, it's an improvement. For you... hm, since you seemed caught off guard before, maybe poor is the correct choice of words for someone with your perspective. Picture the ruins of a fairly large city, abandoned for so long it's been overrun by wild animals.

[heavyliesthecrown]

It certainly sounds apocalyptic.

[snaggletooth]

[ A fair summary. ]

Something of that caliber!

[heavyliesthecrown]

. . . I prefer to reject that possibility.

Perhaps if this is a dream, that was simply a previous one.

[snaggletooth]

Not a wrong theory. There were things happening there that I wouldn't believe had I not seen them for myself. Magical powers, bodies transforming.

[ Though, the latter's still a problem here, apparently. Look at Wolfwood. he has wings! ]

[heavyliesthecrown]

[His eyes drift from Ivan to take in the whole of the hall. He had noticed the unusual appearance of many here earlier, of course. How could he not? But this entire affair is rather fanciful- for some reason or other, he treated it like regular reality.

He does note a man with wings.]

Is that because of the strange fellow overseeing all of this?

[He indicates their host for the evening with a tilt of his head.]