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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Clive Rosfield | Final Fantasy XVI | New Player

[herofhopeless]

Sink Down Like Precious Stones

[The feeling of the water receding from his skin was relieving, but it also left Clive feeling oddly bereft. There had been something oddly comforting about being wrapped in that shroud. Shaking his head, Clive sits up and looks around. Never in his life has he seen a place like this, so still and so quiet. A shiver runs down his spine. There was something distinctly not right about this place.

Clive stands, looking towards the light in the distance. Something calls to him, a quiet whisper, telling him to come closer. So he does. Curiosity pulls him along as he walks confidently across the placid waters. Calling on the Phoenix, Clive summons a ball of multihued fire to light the way. It is dimmer than usual. He frowns. The connection to his Blessing feels weaker somehow, distant.

He decides to dismiss it, letting his eyes readjust to the darkness around him. Surprisingly, it is not difficult to see here despite the distinct lack of light.

If he sees someone falling in, he absolutely will stop to save them.]



You Taste Like New Flesh - Roasted Lamb with Mint Sauce

[Suddenly being adorned with clothes he has never seen before is also a new experience in his manipulated mind spaces. Clive frowns down at what he is wearing, the corset accentuating his already narrow waist and lifting his chest in a way even he isn't used to.

Flipping back the half cape to free his arm for use, he looks around. He feels naked without Invictus strapped to his back, and this place gives him a distinctly unwell feeling. Before exploring the room, Clive palms one of the carving knives from the feast table.

He wanders first, taking time to examine each Guardian on their pedestals. They are strange, unfamiliar, and yet he feels compelled to give them his attention. He stops at the foot of the highest pedestal, staring up at the being presiding over this strange hall. His hands tingle with the desire to touch. The sensation travels up his arms, into his chest, his mind.

No. Clive turns away, looking back to the feast, fists clenching and unclenching in an attempt to reground himself. If the little he was seeing of this place is any indication, the food would likely also be strange, but he can’t ignore the hunger that is rising in him, the voice telling him to eat, to devour.

Clive sits, serving himself a respectful helping of roasted lamb. It is truly delicious. He turns to whoever is next to him.]

Have you tried this? I’ve never had anything like it.

[Should they accept, Clive will serve the stranger their own helping of lamb.]



i am not worthy

[Silence after the cacophony of this place sets an unease in Clive’s soul. He watches as the people who are not people begin to writhe and come apart. A horror Clive isn’t aware he could still feel rises in him. Then the sound returns, a wailing that makes him want to cover his ears. Somehow, he knows it wouldn’t do any good. A voice inside him feels like it is echoing the agonies of the poor creatures around him.

Clive tries to back away from them and their contortions, but somehow manages to continue to get rained on by their viscera and agony. Blood splatters, ruining previously pristine and beautiful clothing meant for the gala, not the battlefield this place is becoming.

And then the creature rises from the mounting death and, for the first time since all of this began, Clive stumbles. Just a bit. He has seen many monsters throughout his life, beastly and human, but this is something else. The knife previously stolen from the feasting hall is in Clive’s hand in an instant. He needs to get out of here, and he needs to get as many people out with him as he can.

Clive bursts into action, hacking through the first latched tentacle he can find and yanking whoever had been its victim away. Rather unceremoniously, he takes hold of whatever may be left of the offending appendage and pulls it from the person’s throat.]

Run. Get out of here as fast as you can. If you find anyone on the way, take them with you. If you can't fight, don't try.

[Clive turns back to face the creature, summoning orbs of flame to circle his person. Again, they feel drained, weaker than he expected. There was something wrong with his connection to the Eikons, but that was something to examine at a later date. Right now, there were people to save.]

Wildcard
((Want to try something different or have ideas on something I may have missed? DM me here and we can hash something out!))

sink or swim...mostly sink;

[regulate]

[ Fall in, he does, hitting the water with a loud splash. Let it never be said that Halovians are particularly strong swimmers, especially given how little time Sunday has spent near actual large bodies of water. He can handle the dreampools since they're barely that deep, but fighting against abyssal waters without being able to see anything is a now a new source of terror he had never anticipated.

His hands reach out, legs kicking in an effort to stay afloat, momentarily catching the flicker of fire. It's enough to let him know someone else is close by, even if he can't tell if they're friend or foe. Still, he hedges his bets that he won't be attacked or pushed deeper into the water. ]

Your hand...please...

[ As much as it ails him to ask, it'd be worst to drown because he didn't want to inconvenience anyone. He can deal with the shame and embarrassment when he's on dry land again. ]

[herofhopeless]

[At the sound of another person’s voice, Clive stops and looks around, scanning what was supposed to be an ocean but felt like the ground to him. Then he spots them, struggling as the strange black water tries to pull them under. Without so much as a thought, Clive is there, grabbing the stranger’s forearm with his own.]

Hold on. I’ve got you.

[Clive hauls the stranger closer, frowning at the resistance the water seems to provide. Strange. Once he can reach, he grabs the back of the stranger’s shirt and hauls until the other man is practically in Clive’s lap. What’s more important right now is making sure this person isn’t hurt. He does the best once over he can in the lighting they have and the position they are in, but can’t seem to find any wounds.]

Are you alright?

[regulate]

[ Thankfully, he's not particularly heavy in spite of the coat he's wearing nor is he in the mood to protest being hauled into a stranger's lap when he's trying to clear his lungs of water. The wings by his ears jerk and flutter in an effort to dry themselves as he gathers some imaginary energy into the palm of his hand so he can see, though it's just as faint as the man's flames had been. ]

Yes, on account of your aid. You have my sincerest gratitude.

[ His legs still feel like gelatin as he stands, but he doesn't want to embarrass himself further by clinging to someone he has just met and who could potentially harbor more insidious intentions. ]

I am not as strong of a swimmer as I would like to be, though I was once told it is no different than floating in zero gravity. That person was clearly incorrect about the comparison.

[ And his pride is now suffering all the more for it. ]

[herofhopeless]

[Being drilled in politeness as a child stops him from staring at the wings sprouting by the stranger’s ears and years of dealing with people has left him with the skill of not painfully overtly avoiding looking at strange aspects of a person’s body. Instead, he opts for eye contact. It was usually Clive’s default anyway.

He stands alongside his sudden potential companion, arm lifted ever so slightly to be ready to catch him should he stumble or grab him if the water should try to take him again.]

Of course. No gratitude is needed. I was only doing what is right.

[Clive still gives the person a once over. It was impressive, how unshaken the other seemed.]

I can’t say I know what ‘zero gravity’ is, but something I can tell you is that water isn’t normal. It was almost like it was holding on to you. I had to fight to pull you up.

[Clive gestures towards the light in the distance.]

We should get you off the water. I don’t know if it will try to take you again.

[regulate]

I had reached the same conclusion while inside. Even my paddling, as unskillful and frenzied as it was, could not loosen the water's hold on me.

[ He will give himself points for trying, but raw strength is not an area where he shines well in either. Rather than tempt fate further, he also takes the stranger's advice and moves further away from the water's edge, doing what he can to maintain balance on his own. He's nothing if not stubborn about not having to rely on others more than he already has. ]

I do apologize for the lack of a proper greeting. I am Sunday, and I will never cease to be grateful for the aid.

[ He bows his head slightly before feeling around to make sure his halo survived with him, otherwise he will be even more disoriented than he already is. Thankfully, it's there and intact, hovering behind his head even if he currently feels untethered to the Harmony. ]

[herofhopeless]

I’ve never seen anything like it and I certainly don’t want a repeat performance after tonight.

[Clive starts walking, keeping his new companion both within eyesight and reach. Hopefully, the water gets the hint that this man is with him and not up for grabs, but there was no real way of knowing, and with the strength of his magic being as weak as it felt, he didn’t want to risk having to rely on his Eikons’ abilities very much.]

Considering you were up to your neck in a mysterious black liquid masquerading as water, I can’t say I blame you. I’m Clive. Well met, Sunday.

[He looks around as they walk, getting ever closer to the flickering light in the distance.]

I don’t suppose you know where we are?

[regulate]

[ He shakes his head gently. ]

I am afraid not. If this is meant to be the inside of Amphoreus, I cannot tell. The planet has never been traversed by outsiders, and the only ones who would know more are not presently with us.

[ What few descriptions he's received from Herta don't match up with what he's seeing at the moment however. The landscape, architecture...even if it had fallen completely to ruin, they still would have likely received a different kind of reception for breaching Amphoreus' borders at all.

Not to mention he's still concerned at the lack of memoria in this world. Something else serves as its foundation if it is indeed a dreamscape and not a physical dimension like he's already been hypothesizing. ]

Are you familiar with metaphysics?

[herofhopeless]

[Clive listens intently. He would have preferred to stop, give Sunday his undivided attention, but there was no safety in that. That was the top priority: getting Sunday to safety.]

It's certainly not like anything I have seen in Valisthea.

[He taps a finger against his thigh in thought.]

Though I have dreamt of that wave before, the beach. Never this vividly or for this long.

[Clive glances over his shoulder, seeing all of the unnerving fish that had watched them as they passed, slowly trailing in their direction. They looked hungry.]

Unfortunately, no.

[regulate]

[ He does have to walk quickly to keep up with the other man's strides, but that doesn't bother him as it puts further distance between him and all those strange-looking eyes peeking out from the water's edge. ]

Valisthea...I am afraid I am not very familiar with that name.

[ But there are a lot of places he has never explored, and the universe is vast. Not to mention, they could be somewhere beyond the boundaries of either of their worlds. ]

The reason I asked is that we cannot assume that we are in our physical bodies at the moment, especially if we are having trouble drawing power from our respective paths –if you are capable of it at all.

[ Not everyone has the same connection to the Aeons, but the interference and distance he's feeling from the Harmony at the moment is also unusual. Penacony's Dreamscape never operated in this fashion for its inhabitants. ]

new flesh

[commitments]

[ It took some time for Adolphe to come to, having been sluggish earlier during his traverse through the dark sea with his struggle to stay afloat. It took a couple of repetitions, but he's finally here... When did this become a banquet, he isn't sure. When did he start wearing these fancy clothes? He also isn't sure. The mask was with him since he arrived to this dream, but its purpose he doesn't know.

He's not sure of many things and found being below these marionettes of idols to be... Unsettling. That there is a figure above the rest, clearly alive, watching them down below having a hearty meal disconcerting. Adolphe keeps his eyes low, avoiding looking up at the towering seats as if seeing them meant they see him.

This is a dream and yet it feels strange, or is that the hollowed hole that grows in his stomach. Maybe his eyes aren't low and his fists aren't clenched on the table because of the rising paranoia, but the hunger that he's resisting. Why should he listen to that voice?

Devour. Feast. He can feel his mind being consumed by carnal desire and it's maddening, until Clive's voice breaks the melody. Despite that his eyes are on the full platters that don't seem to lessen with each serving taken, then they travel a natural course to Clive's hands that start serving the lamb. ]

... No, I don't think so. [ Had the wafting aroma always been this enticing? It's suddenly so strong. ] I heard a voice earlier—I don't like it.

[ Any of this, but he ogles Clive's plate like a famished dog. His eyes take an iridescent sheen for only a second. ]

[herofhopeless]

[Despite taking this long to acknowledge the person next to him, Clive had a compulsive habit to track anyone near him, particularly those he did not know. This person, though, had been quiet, sitting with an empty plate and staring down at the table. Occasionally, Clive had taken a peek out of the corner of his eye, but the person looked dutifully bound to resist whatever temptation called to him.

Somehow, he knew that the other man needed help. Maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to take the first step, maybe he thought it would be rude to take. A soothing presence urged Clive to help, to feed. When Clive added the lamb to the stranger's plate, he took the time to examine him. Properly this time.

If he hadn’t, he may have missed the shift in the stranger’s eyes. Hmm. Odd.]

I heard it, too. Largely, I’m not fond of hearing voices in my head, either. What did it say to you?

[commitments]

[ Adolphe is accustomed to suffering in silence and self-restraint.

Those words should be reassuring yet it doesn't put him completely at ease. Still incredulous and wary now, but the longer he holds out the more the pressure frays his sanity. Is color disappearing? Or is that just him? A burning smell...

The lamb looks delicious, glistening at different angles by floating flame and candlelight, and it holds his attention even if he thinks to give Clive a scan. ]

It said to feast... Something about tasting like new flesh whatever that means. [ Freaky. ] What have you heard?

[ He's hungry, curious over their circumstances, hungry, questioning their state, and hungry. Maddening. ]

[herofhopeless]

[A thing that the two men would have in common, had they known.

Something strange is happening to the person next to him. It's obvious in how he holds himself, seems a bit unmoored. Clive thinks about the people he hauled out of the strange water before arriving here, how this place had whispered things to him on the way here, how it told him something similar upon entry to the feast hall.]

Likewise. Usually, I'm not keen to follow the directions of a disembodied voice from nowhere, but...

[Something was definitely off about his dining companion. Clive leans closer, concern writ on his features. He places a hand lightly on the other man's shoulder.]

Are you alright?

[commitments]

[ The hand that finds his shoulder will notice that it's tense and stiff, drawing up to the touch like raising hackles. It takes a moment before he relaxes with a deep inhale through his nostrils, then out. Finally, he tears his attention away from his plate and looks to Clive, though his eyes flit down and back. Pensive.

What is it... ]

I'm hungry, I think. [ He didn't mean to say that, but it's out. Vocalized. ] Thanks, by the way.

[ For getting him a serving. ]

[herofhopeless]

[Clive almost removes his hand when he feels the tension there, but the remembers the first time he was touched with affection upon receiving nothing but pain for so long and opts to leave it there for the moment. He decides he made the right call when he feels his companion relax under his hand.]

If it helps, nothing strange has happened to me since I started eating.

[Aside from maybe the slight urge to keep eating, but he could very easily attribute that to a life spent on less filling fare.]

Of course.

[He gives the stranger's shoulder a light squeeze before removing his hand.]

My name is Clive. And you?

[commitments]

[ Adolphe looks up at Clive, then casts his gaze on other vessels dotted along the windy dining table that seems to snake for however far. It does line up to what Clive said, or at least no one is outright acting strange. Maybe just displeased.

This is a dream... But a dream is made up of structures and people one has seen, isn't it? He doesn't remember a Clive and the man is rather memorable. Maybe domineering in appearance, but the touch to his shoulder and the calmness in his voice speaks for more. All Adolphe offers is silence to the kindness, though he thinks to himself how long it's been since he had a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Even the pressure is welcome.

... ]

Adolphe. [ With the encouragement, he adds a bit more to his plate. With the lamb, he scoops some kidneys. ] Have you made anything out of this? Usually, I'd wake up by now.

[ While he didn't watch Clive skulk around, he heard those footsteps and the trail that led him back to his seat beside him. ]

[herofhopeless]

It's a pleasure to meet you, Adolphe.

[Clive wonders where his mind could have conjured this man from. He'd never met anyone like him. Even the name was an unfamiliar sound. Dream or no, the man next to him was clearly having some struggles with adjusting to whatever was happening around them and if Clive was anything, it was adaptable so he would share that with his newfound companion.]

Likewise. Normally, I don't even make it past the beach.

[Clive glances back around the room.]

I do think it's a bit strange that the things on the pedestals surrounding us don't seem to be alive, but that one- [He nods towards the front of the room] -is. It hasn't moved. Not a twitch, other than the rise and fall of its breathing.

it's fucking lamb time!

[laidtocrest]

[He'd tried the kidneys. To the flames with the kidneys. The less said about the kidneys, the better. If you're going to be forced to eat, to devour, the least you could do was eat and devour as strategically as you can.

So. Sylvain eyes the lamb. It looks...normal, and it wasn't as if the other man had immediately waterboarded him with trauma upon taking a bite.]

Nah, I haven't yet. [Scoots a bit closer.] What's it taste like? Besides lamb.

Sylvain!!!! (the ungodly pterodactyl screech I let out when I saw this tag)

[herofhopeless]

[The corner of Clive's mouth quirks up in a small smile as he serves the man next to him.]

Besides very well-cooked lamb, the sauce complements it well. It curbs a bit of the sweetness that the meat gives and cools the throat. Some might not like the sensation the mint leaves, but I enjoy it.

[He picks a leaf from the plate and garnishes the other man's plate with it.]

It sounds odd, but I don't know how else to describe it.

[Once his new companion is served, Clive takes another helping for himself. Why not? There is plenty. He can indulge a bit.]

I'm Clive, by the way.

YEAH I was shitposting on plurk and one thing led to another and now the hasslement begins

[laidtocrest]

[It does sound odd. But it sounds good-odd, and Sylvain brightens despite the fact that so far everything here seems like it was a bad idea in various ways. But, the last thing he ate back in Fodlan was mystery meat teppanyaki ('tastes like the wilderness' is wyvernshit as far as he's concerned, but at least his friends were happy) so at least it's an interesting tasting mistake...?]

Sylvain. [A grin, he takes a fork of lamb, and- and it actually does taste really good, huh.] I'd ask you what brings a guy like you to a place like this- [He gestures to the fork, just. The eldritch circumstances, the strange things, the weird people all about them.] But I'm pretty sure that's a question we're all asking ourselves.

And a beautiful hasslement it is

[herofhopeless]

It's a pleasure to meet you, Sylvain.

[Clive takes another bite of lamb himself, watching as Sylvain gestures. He looks around the room again, wondering for the umpteenth time how his mind managed to conjure all of this up.]

I'm still trying to figure out if any of this is even real. I don't think I am creative enough to make up all of this.

[He gestures back towards the door they both came in through]

Or whatever that was out there. Do you have any theories?

me approaching like I'm a Jurassic Park raptor, honking a clown nose menacingly

[laidtocrest]

Only ones you shouldn't take seriously.

[Wink! It's a joke, laugh.]

I made someone mad back home and this is how they're punishing me. [He nearly said The Goddess or Seiros or some other saint, but some instinct screamed at him to not drop references to divinities here. Some instinct just grabbed him by the scruff, so, 'someone' it is.] Or I ate a bad potato and I'm actually dealing with food poisoning and hallucinating everything that's going on. You're actually my teacher going...

[Byleth impersonation, and it's not a very good impersonation but he's also not trying.] Sylvain. Sylvain, what the hell are you doing? [Normal voice again.] Or something like that. Or I got gutted and this is my dying dream? [Shrug!] Who knows.

I CACKLED oh my god You're a riot

[herofhopeless]

You don't say...

[You get a quirked eyebrow and the ghost of a smile, Sylvain.

Clive listens attentively with an amused sparkle in his eye. His dinner companion reminds him of someone that he hasn't seen in quite some time. Perhaps that is what his own brain is drawing inspiration from for this man. Assuming this is actually a dream.]

Out of all of these, I think I like the food poisoning theory the best. It certainly sounds like the least threatening.

[Clive takes another bite of his lamb. He doesn't quite understand why he feels more and more drawn towards the man the more they get into their dinner, but he finds he doesn't want to look away.]

This would be one hell of a dying dream. So, do you think I'm real? I've heard theories that we can only conjure things we know in our dreams. I think I would remember meeting someone like you.

honks my clown nose louder

[laidtocrest]

[His smile broadens, widens, like he knows where all the secrets are and knows where Clive should start to look for answers- or maybe because the lamb is pretty good. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just a coincidence. Maybe he's starting to really enjoy himself and is starting to think, hey. Maybe this isn't a bad thing.]

You're real. [And Sylvain says this with dead certainty, with conviction.] I know you're real. And given you haven't nagged me about heirs, honor, or duty, you're not a ghost come to nag me about my mistakes, so the dying dream's out. But if-

[He points at Clive with his fork.] You're real, and- [He points to himself.] -I'm real, then that makes everything going on here a lot more complicated, huh?