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JERICHO ● SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM
TDM & EVENT: JERICHO
ᛗ
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.
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.
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.
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.
ᛗ
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:
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.OFFERING EFFECTS:
• 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.
• 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.
ᛗ
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.
The table awaits.
NOTES:
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.TOKEN EFFECTS:
• 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.
• 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.OFFERING EFFECTS:
• 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.
• 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.
ᛗ
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
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.TOKEN EFFECTS
• 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.
• Spells cast during acts of intimacy may provoke a heightened sensation of euphoria for both caster and whoever is affected by the spell.OFFERING EFFECTS
• 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.
• 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.
ᛗ
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:
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.TOKEN EFFECTS
• 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.
• Magic recoils violently when used on The Abomination, backfiring with psychic screams or ripping into your flesh.OFFERING EFFECTS
• 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).
• 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.
ᛗOOC 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!
➤ 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!
1.
In Penacony, he could at least masterfully stabilize himself in the Dreamscape, but here, he's more akin to a baby bird on its first flight, learning the hard way how to use his wings. Only his earwings are obviously too small and definitely not going to save him now.
Frustration mounts as he struggles with what should be second nature by now. The Dreamscape had been his home for so many years. He shouldn't be this much of neophyte, and yet– ]
Caelus, look up!
[ It's all he has time to shout. Will he flatten the trailblazer? Be caught in his arms like a lovely princess? Or end up pancaking himself on the ground? ]
no subject
He gets ready to jump! He angles his feet appropriately, bracing himself, and then leaps without hesitation towards the falling bird. He extends his arms forward, perfectly catching Sunday, and then his feet slam the ground after landing. He gives him a familiar bright smile. ]
Hm, my baseball skills remain top-notch!
[ Like catching the ball right on time. ]
no subject
My apologies. I did not expect I would be pulled into another world's dreamscape without warning. Try as I did to regain my footing, this dreamscape operates far differently than Penacony's.
[ He's not used to feeling this helplessly unmoored in his own body, but he can tell nothing here is constructed out of memoria from his innate ability to sense it. Even worse, his connection to the Harmony has never felt weaker. ]
Do you know where we are at all? What is the last thing you remember?
no subject
Pff— [ Okay, he almost did. But he didn't!! He stops himself and maintains his usual smile instead. Anyway, he looks around again, but nah. Nothing's still clicking. ] Sorry, no. I thought this was still Amphoreus, but something is really off. This doesn't look like anything I've seen or encountered there.
[ As for the other question, Caelus pauses to think about it. There are too many things to mention. It's probably not the right time to tell Sunday those complicated things here. Besides, they have other things to worry about now. ]
It's… a very long story. I'll fill you in on Amphoreus soon. What do you say we find our footing first?
[ Maybe that weird structure in the distance will give them some answers. ]
no subject
I would say I am firmly on the ground now if you mean that literally.
[ Though he still can't shake that feeling of being unmoored from his own body. ]
That does look like a castle in the distance and probably the only way we will find any answers. Let us investigate.
[ Even if the whole scenery is not particularly inviting. The darkness, the dreariness...he would hazard to guess whoever created this Dreamscape loves their gothic romances. At least Penacony's Dreamscape had the merits of being bright and inviting to outsiders. ]
no subject
No way. Look at this ground, it's water!
[ Maybe they're safely on it for now, but who knows how long that will last. Caelus doesn't know what's causing them to stay afloat; rather than stay and think over it though, it feels like it's smarter to leave right away to avoid risking the chance the effect could wear off. ]
Right, let's run!
[ Without hesitation, Caelus reaches for Sunday's gloved hand and warmly grips it protectively. He then tugs on him to encourage him to move together and then begins running toward the direction of the palace-like ruins, maybe squeezing that hand a little as they flee the dark seascape. The earlier adrenaline rush is starting to settle, and now he's left with the realization that he's truly speaking with Sunday again. It's been… too long. ]
Hey, Sunday… I really, really missed you.
no subject
His gait as he walks behind Caelus does slightly stutter as he hears his words, and his wings hug the sides of his own cheeks. ]
Miss Herta did give me the impression that time on Amphoreus moved at a different pace than outside of it, but I had not expected that time to be significant enough for you to miss m– anyone of us.
[ Or to actually miss Sunday at all, given their past friction. ]
I suppose the Astral Express has been quieter without all of you inside of it as well.
[ Which his own way of saying he missed them all too. ]
Though I would have preferred our reunion to have taken place there instead of on such unknown grounds.
no subject
It's been way too long for me. Hearing your voice makes me feel a lot better.
[ He truly means it. As he leads the way, he looks back at Sunday and smiles once more. He picked up that hint about missing him too, and it makes his heart warm. ]
You're right though, I wish we were all home instead of whatever this place is. But we'll find our way, I hope you're ready to officially trailblaze with me!
no subject
[ Given that he has no recollection of voluntarily traveling to whatever this place is. Nothing at all appears familiar to him, though he may have imagined a similar setting from some of the gothic horror novels he had read. A vampire is likely awaiting them around one of these corners if that is the case... ]
Does it seem as though it may be linked to Amphoreus? The Astral Express was not too far from it last I recall, and I could have been pulled in when I returned from visiting the Herta Space Station. That would also mean Mr. Welt Yang might be somewhere nearby.
[ If he's with them at all. There's a chance only Sunday could have been drawn in, especially if he proved to be too much of a threat with his connection to the Harmony, which is not terribly outlandish. Stop a threat before they become a threat. ]
no subject
[ Glancing around the darkness to get another feel of the area, Caelus's feelings haven't changed from earlier. He still thinks this is not Amphoreus. He's not sure why he knows that, but the feeling is very strong. ]
But you're right, Mr. Yang is here. I talked to him earlier. And someone I met in Amphoreus is also here. Maybe there's more of us around than we thought.
[ Caelus will make sure to keep a look out for everyone familiar. ]
Even if we're captured, we still have to trailblaze. We'll just have to find our own path forward and fight whoever, or whatever, is forcing us to walk where we don't wish to.
no subject
[ And he's still not sure who brought them here and why. If it is a dreamscape, there has to have been some method of entering inside like Penacony's dreampools unless someone managed to simply enchant them all into a deep sleep and pull them in forcibly.
There is only so much he can analyze and figure out from sluggishly walking around dreary landscapes so he moves a bit quicker, presses himself to Caelus heels as the palace comes into view. ]
We should knock first in case there are inhabitants inside already.
[ He thinks he can see some flickering lights on in the window, so someone has to be inside. The question is whether or not they're other lost souls like themselves or anyone related to this whole peculiar set up. ]
no subject
I'll gather everyone I can. Once I find a good meeting point, I'll inform you all.
[ The closer they get to the palace, the feeling of something… unsettling gets stronger. But Caelus has no idea where that feeling is coming from. He looks at Sunday after they pause in front of the gigantic door. His face turns serious quickly, squeezing the other man's hand, not wanting to get caught off-guard by anything if they decide to open the door. ]
Do you feel anything? I don't like this place…
no subject
I am afraid not. We are walking into a veritable mystery while unarmed, which does not bode well for either of us.
[ At best, they will be kicked out for being strangers, assuming anyone even answers. His knocks do not seem to summon anyone, so he gives the tall doors a nudge and tenses up slightly when they open the rest of the way seemingly on their own. ]
Be careful. If it is this easy to intrude, then there is no telling who is inside already.
[ He can already hear the distant shuffling of feet and soft whispers carried by the wind as he steps into the foyer. ]
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[ While Caelus can't access his weapons, he can still feel bits of his Path abilities active here in the dream. They're not as strong as they normally are, but he can still manage a decent shield and other minor abilities. Though he hopes they wouldn't need to fight, especially not other people. That's likely just wishful thinking however, considering how many fights always break out on every planet they've visited so far.
After Sunday opens the doors, Caelus braces himself for whatever they'll see soon, especially after hearing his fellow trailblazer's warning and seeing the doors move on their own. They're definitely being watched; likely something here is expecting them. Could it be those voices in the distance or something else entirely? There's only one way to find out. Caelus leads the way in, stepping in first to make sure there are no dangerous traps. ]
Huh?
[ They walk further in together, but what soon greets them is an unexpected sight of a… what is this, a dinner party? There's an extremely long table with strange-looking food. People are either eating or dancing, but they have unreadable expressions. Pretty dull expressions for a dinner party, and a lot of them are whispering. Caelus stares at the eerie scene, then looks at Sunday again in confusion. What to do, oh great former Oak Family head? ]
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Like yapping someone to death.Fortunately, neither of them are instantly attacked as they progress further inside, greeted with a lavish banquet that does not seem harmless no matter how good the food looks. Sunday is already studying the dishes with unease, trying to figure out if it is a trap or not. The dull-eyed phantoms surrounding them do not give him much confidence in that regard.
His voice lowers as he responds– ]
We should see if any of them are willing to talk to us and explain what is going on in this dreamscape, though I am uncertain how to approach them cautiously. I do not want to alarm anyone or interrupt the entire party.
[ Assuming they will even respond and not just simply continue what they are doing. Sunday isn't even certain they are at all alive and in the same proverbial plane as the rest of them. ]
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Leave it to me.
[ Though hesitant to leave Sunday's side, they might have better chances of getting through to these people if they don't stun them with their sudden appearance here. Well, at least, that's what Caelus thinks. Who knew that they were actually expected guests? Before Caelus can even attempt his move, some of the masked people approach the two Express members and start pulling them somewhere. Naturally, this startles him, and he starts protesting. ]
Hey, I'm not the best in manners myself, but this is kind of rude— Ah! Sunday! [ Caelus is trying to reach out to Sunday when the people start trying to separate them. ] Let go!
[ Then, the two are tossed into small changing rooms, the dim light overhead and formal clothes within, ready for them to wear… Caelus ignores it for now though, banging on the non-mirror wall to communicate with the person next door. ]
Are you okay!?
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He slowly climbs to his feet to examine the outfits more closely. ]
I am fine, but I doubt they will take us seriously if we are so underdressed. Let us change quickly and observe their customs for the time being.
[ He doesn't want to antagonize them further when the two of them currently have limited options for self-defense. His hands push through the garments before selecting a white suit for himself with only a conservative amount of gold embellishments on it, though it does look like something someone would get married in the more he studies it.
...No, he's overthinking things. He's just going to turn away from Caelus and start undressing. ]
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[ Sunday is unharmed, so that's good enough for Caelus to ease up. He stops banging on the wall and turns around to face the array of expensive clothing. These aren't his style at all, either. But if they're going to walk around here without catching further attention, he supposes they have no choice but to blend in. ]
Man, these look so stuffy.
[ Doesn't stop Caelus from complaining a bit! But he tries to find something less restrictive, settling on this set with a simple vest. He takes his time in the changing room he's in, mostly trying to figure out how to wear everything. He rarely has to wear something formal. Once everything looks decent, he steps out and looks around for Sunday. ]
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With formal-wear, clean lines and a well-tailored fit are absolutely necessary. You do not want to give the hosts the impression that you regard them and their gathering with carelessness.
[ He's just going to smooth out the top for Caelus one last time before stepping back. ]
I believe we are both now matching the dress code. Perhaps they will be more inclined to talk this time.
[ He steps out of the changing room and tries to approach a nice couple as politely as he can manage. They both glance at the two of them before gasping– "Oh, the two of you look positively famished!" "Why have you not touched the buffet yet!? You are practically skeletons!"
...And once again Sunday is eyeing the food with distinct unease, but he does not want to be rude. ]
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[ As Sunday explains everything and does refined adjustments on Caelus's clothes, the younger trailblazer eagerly pays attention to both the Halovian's words and his graceful movements. Sunday is always so lovingly elegant, completely the opposite of the local chaotic raccoon. The gentle moment warms his heart. But those are really very good points, Caelus makes sure to remember them for future trailblazing references. ]
You're right. Thanks for fixing it, Sunny!
[ That nickname is back. Once Sunday is finished, Caelus trails after his newest big brother figure closely. And when the couple tells them that they look like they haven't been fed for ages, the raccoon gives them a confused gaze. Huh? He's not that hungry! Oh, but maybe Sunday is? Caelus peeks at him to check, but that doesn't seem to be the case, considering how hesitant the Halovian looks.
The couple keeps looking at them with eerie smiles, further attempting to convince them, "Well, no need to hold back. Go on." Since it doesn't look like they'd relent, Caelus decides to take one for the team. It's for the sake of trailblazing! He tells himself in his mind, picking up a plate and spoon, and deciding to chomp on a Honey Scouse. ]
1/2
2/2
Still, Caelus does not combust, so he finally samples a bit for himself out of solidarity, hoping he has not co-signed their death sentences. At the very least, the nosy couple finally leave them alone after giving them both an encouraging smile and urging them to keep eating.
The dish itself is sweet and sticky, rolling down the tongue pleasantly while Sunday remains completely oblivious to his thoughts starting to breach the border between his and Caelus' minds. Most of them are merely focused on worry, confusion, irritation, and a little bit of bliss because he enjoys the sweetness of the dish. ]
Do you feel any physical effects at all? I have never been poisoned, but I would like to think there would be some gastrointestinal distress as it takes effect unless it is a slow-acting poison.
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[ VERY UNSURE ANSWER. Well, Caelus doesn't feel anything different, but his mind is another matter. He's feeling random lapses of Sunday's emotion, but he doesn't realize it, so it makes him unsettled. What are these sudden feelings of irritation with a weird mix of bliss? It adds to Caelus's current confusion, though he tries to calm down and ignore it. Maybe he's just tired. A lot of things have been a rollercoaster ever since he landed in Amphoreus, after all.
Trying to think of something else, Caelus pictures Tatalov in his head. Tatalov is in Penacony, relaxing in the Radiant Feldspar poolside, a fancy cocktail in hand. Tatalov has no face, but it feels as if he winked charmingly just now. Damn. All right, Caelus feels a bit better now! ]
This tastes pretty good, actually! What do you think?
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A frown pulls at his lips as he tries to brush it off. While it is not usual for his mind to drift mid-conversation like that, he is currently under the stress of encountering the new and unfamiliar in this world, and it likely is starting to throw him a little off balance. What is more important is that, physically, he is fine. He's not turning inside out or bleeding from his mouth or feeling faint. (Yet??) ]
I am not sure. I imagine honey at the very least and some sort of stock and thickening agents outside of honey. I have never tasted anything like it before personally.
[ But he has tasted some equally nice things –like the Stargazer layer cake. All that collected sweetness and sugar is not for the faint of heart, yet it suits Sunday just fine. If only they were eating that instead of stew...His mind is rapidly starting to be overtaken by hunger again and pleasant thoughts of confections that only exist in the Dreamscape because they would likely kill someone quickly with diabetes in real life. ]
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[ As Sunday thinks of the Stargazer cake, Caelus's hunger increases as well— really missing the flavors of Penacony, especially as it's been way longer for the trailblazer. But what's weird, why does he feel hungrier even though he's eating right now!? Maybe he needs more servings! He decides to go for a second portion, eating more of the same stew… Not realizing this is only worsening the strange effects on the two of them.
It no longer affects their mere thoughts. Now they both have the compulsion to… uh, hug? The urge is random as hell in a moment like this, but Caelus was never against such things. After all, this is the same raccoon that was more than willing to do CPR on Dan Heng back at the Amphoreus crash site. He finishes his plate first before setting it down somewhere, then quickly wraps his arms around Sunday. ]
Sunny, I feel a bit cold. Let me hug you for a while!
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