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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Ain (Bluhen Route) | Elsword | TDM/New Player

[eidxiety]

i. Sink Down Like Precious Stones

[To Ain, it feels like he's only barely managed to take a breath before he's plunged into the murky depths of what he can only assume is an ocean — churning black waters, the sense of sinking down muddying his thoughts, a brief flash of panic because where are his friends hello — and he's swift to swim to the surface, to take his next breath and churn water for a spell as he looks around. No immediate recognition flashes through his mind, not at the area or the people around him seemingly in a much worse state.

The one thing Ain has always had is belief, belief in the Goddess who created him originally and belief in all his friends and their successes, a holy worship that a now-former angel should not have for humans especially. Unknowing of many things — that his faith is allowing him to push to the surface and walk on the water, and that the friends he was looking for are not here with him — he starts striding forward, intent on getting out of here as quickly as possible. But something makes him turn on his heel, a frown on his lips.

The people struggling underneath the surface — you — need help. And it would be, he thinks to himself, probably not a very nice thing to let someone die here. Ain assumes you'll die, anyway. You are covered in rocks, aren't you? And rocks, as far as he knows, don't make for good flotation devices.

He pivots, thrusting his hand beneath the surface of the water to try to grab for you. Can he reach?]

Come on, [he says, with his cheek pressed flat against the mirrorlike surface,] come on, just... swim... better. You can do that much, can't you?

ii. You Taste Like New Flesh

[Ain can say with certainty he doesn't like the statement made before the feast, but the creep factor gradually gets lost on him. There's food, after all. Food reminds him of good things, of good people, of when he was an Angel pretending to be Human and not what he is now — "disfigured" as he'd call it, with leathery Daemon wings upon his back and horns and cloven hooves that don't fit in his shoes. He feels uncomfortable. Disgusting. But Ain is nothing if not a pretender, and so he plans to make this dinner go as well as it can before he slinks off to be on his own and try ripping these hideous wings off his back.

After all, everyone else seems to be relatively okay with what's happening. They're partying, even! Having a great time! So why does he feel so out of sorts? Why can't he be like them? Is this all an illusion meant to mess with his head, or is he truly just in the company of strangers who don't seem to care?

He should eat. Eat, and not think for a while. Just turn his brain off and not lament the situation. That's what a human would do, isn't it? The humans he wants to be like would just tolerate it... wouldn't they?

Doubt clouds his mind as he reaches out for something sweet at the table, the starpit fruit, but a sudden burst of emotion deep in his chest causes a pop of fire to form at his palm so abruptly that it scares him. Ain jumps back a half-foot with a yelp, luckily not deep-frying the food, but the result is that he crashes into you instead.]

S-sorry! I— sorry.

["Sorry". Is that truly all he can manage? He berates himself mentally; when did he get so pathetic? So antsy?]

iii. There's Something In The Way You Lay
— M/M, Omega
[[kinklist/prefs; please keep in mind that Ain has zero experience with any form of intimacy, and can be curious/driven enough to try but somewhat shy at first. your character is going to need to lead for a bit with him! also i will be playing him with daemon bits (hemipenes and a vent) because it's fun.]]

smut below the cut :)

[Ain should not have wandered down this hallway, he thinks... for maybe ten or fifteen minutes until whatever spell — he assumes it's a spell, he doesn't have another explanation — has its hooks fully in him. There's still this feeling of awkwardness, this strange and foreign sensation that he's doing something wrong somehow, all compounding off of earlier insecurities, but...

God, he wants. He doesn't think he's wanted before, not like this. Men were always a quiet, unspoken interest of his, but he never had time to explore much between trying to save the world and trying to learn how his own emotions work. Now they're an unidentifiable vortex, swirling and untamed and desperate to be free, and yet he suppresses them. He doesn't know what to do. How to get your attention or talk to you, whether you're busy with another or on your own. How to ask what he should do, if he can do anything, if maybe you and him could share a kiss and if you hate it you can leave if you want, and—

Wheeze.

Intimacy in any form is terrifying! He wishes he could go back the way he came, but there's too much here that draws him in. With his Daemon wings folded up around himself, protective as much as they are hiding him, he creeps into the room, all stiff-shoulders and clumsy, heavy steps. All he has to do is talk to you and tell you that you're hot, right? Well, when he finally gets the confidence up, he only... somewhat manages that.]

You're— pretty. [Okay, close!] I— can I kiss you?

[6/10 effort, he thinks, as his brain also tells him he should run the other direction because what was thaaaaat.]

iv. wildcard

[anything goes! you can reach out to wolfchan to plot if you want :) ]

ii

[opheliac]

[jinx isn't used to wearing dresses, not that she particularly minded it. because underneath all of her tomboy and rough-around-the-edges demeanor, jinx honestly enjoys the feminine style—the nails, the makeup, dolling herself up, and drenching herself in sweet and girly aromas.

it was just hard to fulfill that way of life when she spent all her years in the grime and mold. but despite it, she feels she is getting the hang of strutting in heels, but the gown is far too long for her liking, and having to clutch onto the hems is starting to become a chore. there are far too many people at this party too—too many opportunities for things to go astray, and she is half expecting for a Host to manifest from the shadows and go on a homicidal rage.

at least she has a knife strapped to her thigh in case of an emergency, and her abilities are behaving correctly as far as she's aware. all this preparation, and the bluenette somehow didn't foresee a collision in her future with a stranger, who is tall compared to her yet apologetic. she hardly bats an eye at his appearance, but a hint of annoyance hardens over her face before it melts.]

... It's whatever. Learn to watch yourself, Horns. You never know if that next bump will lead to your guts spilling out. And then your intestine will be on tomorrow's menu.

[eidxiety]

[Horns, she says, and Ain's lip briefly curls before he schools his expression down to something neutral again. It isn't as though this stranger cares about how much he hates them, he tells himself, and this time he more carefully steps back and makes sure no one is in the way this time. Until he can figure out why that burst of flame came from him, he shouldn't touch anything. It wouldn't do to crisp up all the food.

Luckily for the both of them, Ain is quite used to the edgy sort of way this strange woman talks. A lot of people he's known have said similar things.]

Is that so? Do you speak from experience?

[opheliac]

[she smirks at his question, playing the illusion that she does, indeed, speak from experience. except—!!]

Nope. [what a nasty little trick, but the leer on her doesn't waver in the slightest—her fingers lacing together as they rest behind her head.] — Cannibalism is where I draw the line. But! Pig intestine could be scrumptious if you're an egghead with cooking.

[a beat.]

Get it? Egg? 'Cause it's also a thing that you eat, and a head is another body part.

[eidxiety]

[Pig intestine... Ain thinks to himself that he's eaten worse things — Demon Realm food in particular had a bite to it, and the lemons had eyeballs that cried when the fruit was squeezed — but it still doesn't sound appetizing. If he had to choose between Demon Realm fare and pig intestine, he thinks he'd rather go hungry.

(Not that eating had ever been a requirement for him. Still, he can't say he doesn't like it — it's one of the most human things someone can do, and he likes the thought of himself as one of them.)

His face remains flat at the joke, though. Whether he does or doesn't get it is difficult to tell, since he gives no indication one way or another and instead hits her with:]

What if I was vegan?

[opheliac]

A leaf eater, huh? [the raven sucks on her teeth, making a wincing expression with her lips tug to one side.] Eeeesh, looks like your days are numbered already. Once we wake up, there won't be any grass for you to munch on.

[besides all the poisonous plants and vines flourishing in manhattan, she doesn't remember spotting not one seed that was good for the human body to consume.]

You better up your tolerance, Pal.

[eidxiety]

[He isn't vegan, but that's good to know... he thinks? That begs the question of what people eat here, though. As his friend Ciel once told him, fruits and vegetables were important for a balanced diet in people, which is why it was such a task getting any into their mutual friend Lu (who would opt to eat her weight in cake if she could). He said something about scurvy...?

Huh.]

What's the state of the world like outside of this? [Ain asks, mentally logging the fact that he's apparently dreaming, too.] It sounds almost like there's a famine...

ii

[heavyliesthecrown]

[For all his unease regarding the feast, he reminds himself none of this can be much more than a dream. It feels too queer- an experience he is unfamiliar with, and thus unrealistic. But he will play along. He may as well indulge, eventually, in the food and perhaps dance with those who are feeling a touch more festive than some of the gloominess others possess.

Whether he thinks he must be dreaming or not, though, Tsukasa is not impolite. He was raised much better than that, thank you. So when someone bumps into him and they apologize, he merely reaches out to steady them.]

Please, think nothing of it.

[Shooting him a warm smile to put him at ease, he ensures he has his footing before he releases him.]

Are you alright? That burst of light certainly surprised me.

[eidxiety]

[Ain feels unbalanced up until the stranger lets go of him; the shape of his new legs hardly allow for balance in his ever so humble opinion. ...At least, that's what he'll claim until he gets used to them. The stability offered is appreciated, though, and Ain offers a similar smile in return, polite and measured.]

I'm actually not too sure where it came from... [Ain answers, looking down at his hands from behind the mask as if they'll have answers for him. If the burst came from him, they should, right?] ...I guess it's from me, right? But I've never lost control like that before.

[heavyliesthecrown]

I heard that the changes in appearance and powers in this place are a product of our being here. Those are the rumors being whispered about, at the very least.

[For the time being, Tsukasa feels no magic inside of him and looks his typical self. Clearly, it does not seem to be the same for everyone else, though. He tilts his head.]

You regularly have the ability to control... was it light? I only saw a flash.

[eidxiety]

Mm, [he acknowledges with pursed lips, and nothing more to that first statement. Of course he'd find himself in a place that has fundamentally changed him in ways he doesn't like. He wonders if whatever controls this space is deep in his head, pulling at his deepest insecurities... but doesn't voice any of that.] I have the ability to control a lot of things. I'm mostly a healer, though. I guess "light" could be considered part of my skillset, but it's never that violent unless I want it to be.

[As if to show an example, Ain holds up his hand, and... nothing sparks to life. Embarrassed, he puts his hand back down and clears his throat.]

Well, either way — wind, light, and life. That's what you could think of my powerset as, in short.

[heavyliesthecrown]

[Ah... Tsukasa remains politely quiet after the failed attempt to demonstrate some skill he possesses. Unaccustomed to magic or strange phenomena in general, it is all out of his wheelhouse to begin with, though he can imagine it must be rather disconcerting. He politely averts his eyes so as not to embarrass him further.]

Does that make you a magicion of some kind, then? Or 'mage'? What exactly is the power of 'life'?

[eidxiety]

I guess you'd call me a mage, [especially since "magician" is a word he'd normally prefer to use on his friend Aisha, who makes being a magician her entire personality most of the time.] Um, my abilities are very robust, so "life" is an easier way to describe the sorts of healing I can do. I can heal injuries ranging from minor to life-threatening, reattach limbs as long as I have both the limb and the person who it belongs to, and cure poisons or magical diseases with my abilities. Maybe it's more accurate to say a lot of my magic deals with preventing death entirely...?

[There's a pause, and then he blurts out in rapid succession:]

I can also shield people, use minor elemental magic, conjure weapons, create vortexes, enhance abilities of my peers— oh, and I like to make flowers out of ice sometimes, but I think my powers must not work very well here... I swear I'd show you if I could, haha.

i. I will be coming for u twice, this is a threat

[lupusxylem]

[Wolfwood is fucking drowning. He is DROWNING and you're telling him to just swim better-??

Okay well, actually. That's probably the better way to stir him back into semi-lucidity: just piss him off, intentional or no. If someone was just calling out to him, telling him that he could do it and that they believed in him or whatever, he probably would have sunk like a stone. But here...

Wolfwood can't swim, mainly because his world doesn't really have an ocean or even any lakes for him to learn how to swim in, so it just doesn't make sense he ever would have learned. Turns out, he can only barely keep his head above water in an emergency situation, and he's not sure he'd actually call what he's drowning in water. It's angry, frothing up around his head and shoulders as he struggles to stay afloat, yet as the person above reaches a hand down for him...he's not so stubborn as to reject it just to make a point.

That said, that doesn't mean Ain won't still feel the bite of his new, hooked claws gripping him as he reaches up to grab onto Ain's hand, clapping his much larger one in the other's as he struggles to pull himself up. He is...a heavy man, sorry in advance.]

:O i'm so scared...

[eidxiety]

[Ain isn't sure he likes the bite of claws against his skin like this, but in the name of rescuing someone that the El Search Party would save (which is. every person, to be clear), he'll do it. He'll tug this stranger as hard as he can in an effort to save him from drowning.

That all being said, Ain is a wiry, stick-thin little thing that boasts mostly impressive prowess in magic and not in physical strength, so it's going to take quite a lot of effort for him. At one point he can feel Wolfwood slipping and the claws gouging at his skin, and Ain only huffs as though he's annoyed before he lays flat against the surface and plunges his second arm down. It would be stupid to dive into the water again, and he doesn't even know if he can at this point. There's a resistance, a drag that's trying to keep him aloft even as he resists it to pull one man out.]

You weigh too much...! Kick your legs harder!

[And maybe grab onto his other arm while you're at it, Wolfwood.]

[lupusxylem]

[For his part, Wolfwood feels like he's done nothing but fight to keep his head above water this whole time, so he's not sure how much harder he can kick. What he doesn't realize is the fact that he has talons right now instead of shoed feet is making it significantly harder to paddle, so it's like he's expending all this energy for nothing. Still, as Ain grips and pulls as hard as he can, Wolfwood will swing his other arm up to grab on with both hands, leaving them both holding on to each others' arms now.

Now, they just have to get him up and over the lip of the glass-like floor, assuming it even holds.]

I'm fucking trying-!!

[eidxiety]

[He hates the way Wolfwood's claws tear through his skin, but Ain thinks to himself that he can just heal it, and it'll be worth it in the end just to save someone. What he doesn't realise is that this dream has his magic on the fritz, so he likely won't be able to call his own abilities to his fingertips — but that's a battle for later.

He pulls, and pulls, and pulls until Wolfwood's upper body is above water, having to stand up and falling back on his ass as soon as they get that far, but it's taxing work.]

Try harder! [Helpful! Thank you Ain!] You— really aren't all that light—! The least you could do, [he grunts with exertion,] is be less pathetic at swimming...!

[lupusxylem]

Fuck you!!

[You would be well within your rights to drop him Ain, just let him drown nobody will miss him. Though, in all honesty, Wolfwood is just too proud to admit he doesn't know how to swim. Him being pathetic at swimming is, unfortunately, both a necessity and an inevitability here.

That said, as Ain falls over in his attempt to pull Wolfwood up, Wolfwood will use the leverage Ain simply being there grants him to hoist himself up further until he can feel his chest be thrust out of the water and up onto the edge of the glassy ground like a seal breaching the water to land on an ice floe. It's not graceful, it's not pretty, but it's less "literally dying" than what he was doing two seconds ago.

From here, he can only kick his feet while Ain pulls, using his forearms to pull himself forward the more Ain pulls back until finally- finally- he falls fully onto the solid ground and collapses onto his side, coughing up the black, watery sludge.]

[eidxiety]

[No, Elsword would never drop someone even if they were cussing at him, so Ain has to follow his example. Ain has to be a Good Human (he is Not One and Never Will Be). He needs his obsessive headcanon thoughts of Elsword in the back of his brain to tell him "good job".

Ain is 100% normal, why do you ask?

Wolfwood flops out of the water like a fish, and Ain — bleeding from the scratches Wolfwood gave him while they were both desperate to save him — immediately races to prop the stranger onto his side so that the water doen't get trapped. He pats Wolfwood's back in hard, even thumps. The good news is that the man is breathing, that he doesn't need any immediate healing to Ain's eyes, and that he'll likely be fine despite this experience.

With that taken care of, Ain hovers a hand over the gouges to attempt healing them, but finds that his magic simply won't come to him. A brief flash of panic flits over his features before he simply rolls his sleeves back down.

He'll have to do laundry later to get the blood out of the fur on his sleeves. For now, instead of asking something normal — "are you okay" or "do you need help walking" — Ain decides to regress back into snark, since he physically cannot handle his own insecurities right now and has to shove his negativity off onto Wolfwood just to feel something.]

And what do we say when someone saves your life~?

iii ope there's nsfw here-

[lupusxylem]

[Wolfwood isn't exactly sure how he ended up here either, but it definitely wasn't exactly his intent. Mainly, he'd wanted to escape the dining hall to just...be someplace else, and unfortunately without anything to smoke to keep his body and mind occupied, the only thing he really could do was start walking.

...then he'd heard the sound of passionate lovemaking in the halls and realized very quickly he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere, but no amount of continued wandering had been enough to find a way out before he- too- ended up succumbing to the strange, unidentifiable allure. "Magic" isn't really a thing where he's from, but the spiritual and supernatural absolutely are...whatever this is, it's not something a mere mortal like him could have resisted anyway.

Fuck.

No longer Wolfwood, but an α. If nothing else, being claimed by this uncontrollable desire really does take the edge off, pulling himself out of his own mind long enough to focus on something else. That something being the animalistic desire to take, to claim. The mottled feathers that have begun growing along the back of his neck that fade into his hair like salt and pepper are fluffed in a way that makes him look bigger than he is, and as he prowls the halls seeking someone who isn't already busy, he ends up finding an empty room to settle in and make his own. That's where Ain will find him, a half-transformed Valkerie with most of the fancy clothing he'd been dressed in already removed and thrown to the floor, leaving him in just an open blazer and slacks that don't properly fit his clawed talons.

As Ain comes stumbling into the room, Wolfwood lifts his head like a caged tiger and kindof...makes a face at first that's partially hidden behind his mask, because oh he remembers you...but the way he's feeling right now trumps all. It doesn't matter if he got rubbed the wrong way by this guy earlier, he couldn't give less of a damn.

He licks his lips and spreads his legs, coaxing Ain to sit in his lap.]

Oh yeah? Y'gotta come closer, if you wanna do that.

watch out for pepis...

[eidxiety]

[Conversely, Ain hasn't undressed much, too shy and dare one say, insecure to want to show that much skin. There are people around largely occupied with one another, but Ain still fears their gazes anyway; what if they find him just as wretched in this form as he finds himself? What if this irritating near-stranger does, too?

But he's feathered, and beautiful, and Ain finds himself seized with jealousy. He wants to touch them, to drag his hands through them and find out just how soft they are against the black-stained skin that makes up his fingers. He wants what Wolfwood has. It's unfair...

The fog in his mind tries to obscure his worst thoughts about himself for now. He should be letting go, and letting go means not being concerned about how all these strangers look at him. It means undressing in this man's lap and kissing him stupid, not that Ain knows how to do either of these in a way that's remotely sexy. He wonders if he'll make an ass of himself, even as he stumbles forward and practically falls into Wolfwood's lap.

It's not a good kiss. It's clumsy and awkward, and Ain doesn't know how to move his lips properly against another person's. Maybe, he thinks to himself, it's bad. But the thought of being pushed away now, when he's finally kissing his first boy — circumstances be damned and less than ideal — makes him feel violent, a churning maelstrom he can't get rid of.

He digs the tips of his claws into Wolfwood's shoulders. If he clings hard enough, things might go his way, right...?]

[lupusxylem]

[As Ain clambers into his lap, it feels right. This spell that's taken hold for the time being is pleased by this turn of events, though there's an underlying part of him that almost wishes he wasn't handed this on such a silver platter. The desire for a challenge, a chase is very much there...but what he doesn't realize is the challenge is coming in a different form, as Ain immediately moves in to kiss him and Wolfwood realizes he has no clue what he's doing.

Wolfwood makes a low sound in the back of his throat, his wings spreading out a bit behind him as he tilts his head a bit, but given the way Ain came at him straight-on, it's not enough to salvage the kiss as it is. Ain's lips are soft, and kissing him is nice, but it's still...

With the bridge of his nose wrinkling, Wolfwood suddenly reaches up and grabs Ain's chin between his fingers, a action equal parts rough as it is gentle, mostly because he uses his hand to guide Ain into a better position. He moves his head, tilting his chin back and to the side so it's easier to slot their lips together, the slip of a fang just briefly brushing Ain's lips before their mouths are sealed once more, Wolfwood's wings easing back together again as he uses his other hand to hold the small of Ain's back, pulling him closer into his lap.]

[eidxiety]

Mmp—!

[He's not expecting to have his chin grabbed, and a surprised squeak is all he manages before their lips properly slot together. This is better. Is this how he's supposed to do it? His claws loosen their bite into Wolfwood's shoulders temporarily, if only because now Ain has realised he won't be pushed away so readily. In fact, he's being dragged closer, and what brief shock he manages about this completely melts away into unabashed delight and lust when that fang grazes him.

He did it. He kissed his first boy! ...what does he do now?!

Right, this is just the process. He should take Wolfwood's shirt off, which logically follows kissing, he thinks? Not that this shirt isn't already falling off of Wolfwood. It shouldn't be too hard to slip his hands underneath (he thinks to himself, as they're already moving to grope his chest, instinct fully kicking in whether he knows it or not) and slide the rest of the fabric away...

Ain parts his lips, the Daemon tail behind him beginning to sway just slightly, and gives Wolfwood's pectorals a squeeze. They're nice. He's been around strong men before, but this is the first time he's ever stopped to really appreciate how their muscles feel under his fingertips.]

[lupusxylem]

[Wolfwood has zero qualms being groped like this. Ain's soft, lithe hands against his hairy chest send shocks of pleasure through his system, though what he doesn't realize is there are feathers growing here too, even if they're tiny and downy and barely noticeable. Ain might feel them if he pays extra close attention to what he's touching, but otherwise...

Ain has kissed his first boy, and it's Wolfwood. That's not really an accomplishment, to be clear, but given the spell they're both under currently, there are truly no strings attached. Wolfwood wants this one, and no amount of prior beef is going to be enough to change that as Ain finishes taking off his shirt for him, eliciting a contented hum from the budding-Valkerie as they part only briefly for breath before Wolfwood is licking his way back into Ain's mouth a moment later, gripping the back of his neck as he pulls him down against him again to kiss him, deep and filthy.

His other hand...it's wandering, fingers trailing now over the base of his spine, right where his tail meets his skin.]

[eidxiety]

[He has never seen a man this hairy before, at least not shirtless like this. He's seen guys with big beards — those are a dime a dozen — but not shirtless, not almost entirely naked. Nothing he could ogle or touch. It's exciting. Different. He wonders if Wolfwood's chest is sensitive, if Ain's groping and grabbing does anything for him or if he's doing it wrong or if it's stupid to try.

In the back of his mind, he knows he is certainly feeling turned on just from touching Wolfwood. Being touched in return is only a bonus at this point.

And oh, how he moans when Wolfwood's tongue slips past his lips, past the fangs that have started to grow in his mouth. It feels too divine. That alone is enough to get him aroused for reasons that Ain will ask himself later when this spell wears off, but the fingertips trailing down his spine? Over his tail?

Ain breaks the kiss to gasp, pushing his ass back against Wolfwood's hand, trying to gyrate his hips in such a way that it'll cause the Valkerie's hand to fall lower. Just a bit lower. Maybe to pull his tail — a thought that Ain can't stop repeating in his head, even though part of him thinks it might hurt. Maybe to grab his ass. He doesn't care. He wants hands on him.

He wants his clothes off. His slacks are tight, and the ruffled shirt he's wearing feels too constricting suddenly. More than that, he's finding that he's wet — the natural lubricant is trying to drip between his thighs and getting trapped in his clothing instead.

Ain can't stop for a second to wonder why or what that is. It's different, it doesn't make sense to him, and somehow he doesn't care. That might be owed to the man whose lap he's in.]