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

[shatteredlenses]

You're most welcome. I may not be able to explore like the others right now due to my vision, but I am well-versed in talking. Perhaps, too much so.

[The chuckle that follows Ignis' joke is small in amongst all the bad tidings he's had to deliver, but it's a bit of brightness nonetheless.]

I suspect there is nothing we can do to cause Sleep to end the dream before she is ready, but that doesn't mean we can't learn as much as possible so that when when the dream ends, we are prepared for what she sends our way. The end of the previous dream was not pleasant.

[In fact, dealing with the blood moon and all the monsters made waking up in a ruined city almost pleasant.]

[whomthebelltolls]

[She huffs something approximating a laugh as well - she appreciates a little self-deprecating humor, even if he is ultimately being helpful. There's not really anything to laugh at, but enough Hunters developed dark humor after a while.]

Hmm... perhaps you're right. And hope she does not deign to keep the dream going forever.

[The Great Ones sure could dream for... ever.]

... The beginning of this dream has been unpleasant enough, as it is. I loathe to see how it may continue, or even end, especially as it may be inevitable. [Sigh.] You'll be alright, yes? You seem capable, even if you're blind. [And blindness doesn't preclude anyone from anything in Maria's world, so...]

[shatteredlenses]

It may be a little early to jump to any conclusions, but there is a part of me that suspects keeping us in a dream she can control completely gets boring after a while. Why let us wake up in a different setting at all otherwise?

[Either that, or this kind of extensive dream setting starts to wear on her powers after a while, but Ignis doesn't think that idea is as likely as the previous one is.]

I do my best. The power I was given when I came here allows me some control over time. Sometimes it lets me see things in time to change them; other times it lets me rewind time to fix things that haven't gone well. It doesn't always cooperate with me, but it has helped keep me alive many times thus far. It is something of a safety net while I relearn how to navigate the world.

[whomthebelltolls]

Mmm... good point. There could be as many theories as there are minds to invent them. Perhaps sooner or later, we'll find out the truth.

[Her experience informs her that maybe it is a power issue or... maybe when the goddess wakes up, they do, too, and she cannot remain asleep indefinitely.

As for the other point, she falls silent to allow him to finish speaking, and then-]

Time...? Curious. [That would be a useful power. She looks down at her hand, and flexes her fingers. Nothing so far - the beastly changes will come a little later, so she doesn't feel any different yet.] It does sound quite useful, even if one were not blind. Did everyone else get something like that?

[shatteredlenses]

It appears that way. Everyone is changed somehow in these dreams, though the changes don't always show up at first. If I recall, it was maybe 2/3rds of the way through the first dream when it happened before. As this is only the second dream, I don't know if that timeline will remain the same.

[His mind drifts back to that time during the first dream, and he remembers one more important thing he should pass along.]

It doesn't seem common, but one may also wake up with different powers than they displayed in the dream. I am aware of one person who had time powers as I did in the dream, but woke up with something completely different after that. We've brainstormed about it, but neither of us can figure out the reason for the change.

[whomthebelltolls]

... I see. [She does feel a little strange, but it's so early on that nothing's really started to hit her just yet, and it could easily be just as chocked up to... well, the whole near-drowning thing and being trapped in another, new and exciting nightmare.]

Then, if I do awaken there, I will take heed of any strange changes. Are they being researched and noted otherwise, though? The changes, I mean.

[shatteredlenses]

I'm not certain if anyone is researching them yet. There's not been a lot of time between dodging mutant animals and trying to secure food and shelter.

[Hopefully, that is something that will change sooner rather than later. They need to find out just how much they have been changed and why it is a such a universal thing.]

There is a gentleman by the name of Arthur who was gathering information on the different powers people ended up with early on. If you want to seek more information on the range of powers we have, I would suggest reaching out to him.

[whomthebelltolls]

I see. Arthur. I will remember that name. I think it may be worth immediately trying to get to the bottom of it, once the bare necessities are taken care of...

[Ugh, she's going to have to scrounge for survival, isn't she? Well, at least she's kind of used to it. Can't be any worse than a particularly rough expedition into the Tomb of the Gods.]

If people wish to leave, that is. One must make progress where they can, even when harried by enemies. Maybe especially so.

[Double eugh.]

[shatteredlenses]

Keeping people too busy to look for a way to escape is a valid tactic.

[As much as Ignis hates to admit it, it's valid and one he can definitely see Sleep using.]

If Arthur can't help you, you may want to "bite the bullet" so to speak and reach out to everyone through the Murmur. It can be useful in such situations, and I'm sure I've not met everyone in the city, especially with my ability to move from place to place slowed.

[He pauses for a moment as to not make his question seem too sudden a change in topic and then speaks again.]

How goes our progress toward shore? Please don't tell me this is some sort of endless sea we are trying to cross.

[whomthebelltolls]

No, it is not endless, but it is vast. [A thoughtful hum.] Were this a normal place, just a few more minutes and we will likely be upon... well, some sort of palace. I still cannot tell if it is simply floating upon the water, or situated on a proper island. By the logic of dreams, I suppose it could be either.

[She takes a deep breath, then sighs.] I will consider the murmur thing, but I would not count upon my presence there.

[Then...]

I see the entrance fully now. The entrance is large enough you should be able to find it without much help, so long as you stay near me.

[shatteredlenses]

You are probably better off spending as much time off the Murmur as you can.

[For all its usefulness, Ignis knows he would be in a much worse place with how much he is connected to it were it not for his ability to filter things out and the strong tethers he has. This is very much a "do as I say, not do as I do" moment.]

I will stay close to you, then. I much appreciate your assistance so far. Do you plan on exploring once we make it to the palace?

[whomthebelltolls]

Very well.

[She is going to be too curious to stay too far away from it, but as soon as she realizes how easy it is to pry into her mind, maybe she'll shy away.

For now, she simply ensures he stays next to her, and that he can clearly hear her move and continue on, without any sudden changes. As they approach the door, she cranes her head back to look at the whole palace.] I think I will look about, to see if there are any kinds of enemies, at least. Better to be prepared than to let down one's guard.

[shatteredlenses]

Yes, please keep that thought in mind. Even things that seem safe, may become unsafe in the blink of an eye.

[While he doubts she needs him to tell her that, Ignis can't help but reinforce the idea.]

In the waking world, there are creatures called Hosts. Normally, they aren't too much of a threat, but last month they went crazy and became very aggressive. Considering how many there are in the city, it made doing anything very difficult.

[whomthebelltolls]

This place becomes less comforting by the moment.

[Not that the bar was particularly high, but it's sinking rapidly.]

Hosts... alright, and they may be aggressive. How difficult are they to kill, do you know? [Yes, she is absolutely the kind to jump into fighting something like that.]

[shatteredlenses]

[Ignis doesn't find himself the least bit surprised that she is willing just to jump to fighting them. It fits what he's leaned about her so far at least.]

At the moment, their greatest threat seems to be their numbers. Individually, they are not a match for a seasoned fighter. Even blind as I am, I was able to dodge them, though it was a very tiring way to deal with them. I did witness a few others destroy them fairly easily, so that is what my opinion is based on.

[Megumi had wiped out a pack that was chasing him with one magic attack. Considering Ignis had been about to drop from exhaustion at that point, he had been most grateful.]