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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nicola francesca | piofiore | new player

[panzana]

i. sink down like precious stones
[Yang's blade struck true, and Nicola's body folded beneath it without dignity spared. He had expected nothing afterward but silence.

Instead, his eyes open to an ocean black and endless, a mask pressed hard against his face. The air he draws tastes of salt and incense. At first, he thinks himself standing, but it's only the illusion of it. Already the water grips his ankles, pulling.

It is not just weight that drags him under, but memory. He sees Dante's trusting smile, and feels the ache of having failed him. He sees Liliana's defiance, sharp enough to wound, and knows she will never forgive him. He sees himself, every compromise and lie told to keep a crumbling family afloat, and wonders whether it had ever mattered in the end.

Stone creeps beneath his skin, cold and unyielding. His legs stiffen; his chest grows heavy. He spots an unfamiliar figure approaching him on steady feet. His hand rises to greet the stranger as if this is a completely normal situation, a sheepish smile spreading across his face as he continues to slowly sink in the water.]

Hello there. Would you mind giving me a hand?

ii. you taste like new flesh
[The banquet stretches endlessly, a vision spun in pearl and silk, its splendor sharp enough to wound. His clothes are immaculate, pressed and perfect, fitting him as though custom-tailored to his body, though he has never worn them before.

He does not eat or drink. His fingers rest lightly against the stem of a crystal glass filled with Marigold Brandy, his gaze lingering upward at the phantasmal guardians enshrined above. Their forms are monstrous and magnificent, and for too long he lets his attention linger there, as though measuring himself against what is already immortal.

At last, his eyes drift lower, toward the feast spread before him. Fruit bleeds when pierced, meat glistens wet in the light, spirits shimmer as if alive. His thumb brushes the rim of the glass. As Nicola continues to contemplate whether or not to partake in the feast, the color in the scenery around him starts to fade away. He's filled with the sense that something terrible will happen if he resists for much longer.

Calmly, he turns to a fellow Vessel sitting next to him.]

Everything here looks so delicious that I'm having a hard time deciding where to start. What do you recommend?

iii. there's something in the way you lay (open to 20+ characters only!)
[The staircase winds down into heat and velvet-dark, the air thick with incense, sweat, and breath. Nicola does not hesitate at the bottom. He follows the sound of it—gasps caught like prayers, laughter breaking on the walls—until he finds a door and pushes it open.

Inside, the chamber glistens. Vines curl down the walls, blooming faintly, the light catching on slick skin and parted lips. The bodies within move as though guided by ritual, devotion written in every arch of spine, every tremor.

Donned in his same banquet attire, Nicola steps inside one of the "private" rooms. The room does not ask whether he enters as an alpha or an omega. It decides for him.]

α (alpha)
[His presence fills the room differently—sharp, focused, the air shifting with it. He does not rush. He only crosses to where a lone omega waits, their body caught between offering and hesitation.

His hand lifts, deliberate, brushing the line of their mask as if to test whether it is real. His smile follows, voice low and certain.]

So this is how faith is measured here. Not by prayer, not by blood... but by the way you yield.

[His fingers trail lower, stopping just shy of contact, leaving space for refusal, or invitation.]

Show me, then. How do you worship?

Ω (omega)
[The change is subtle, but he feels it in the marrow: skin humming, breath quickening, his body drawn open like a page waiting to be read. When an alpha approaches, Nicola tilts his mask toward them, smile faint but steady, as if to prove he has not lost himself in the haze.

His hand lifts, palm open. The vines above shiver, their blossoms beginning to glow.]

Care to join me for a while?

iv. wildcard
[feel free to write your own starter! pm me if you'd like to discuss first ♥]

i

[trashblaze]

[ That makes two of them. Caelus lifts his mask for a few seconds, revealing his own natural smile. Normally, he doesn't care about wearing masks and is always very open, but for some reason… well, something — he doesn't know what, is making him feel strange about not having his face covered here. Once the seconds pass, he lowers his mask back down. But none of this stops his vibrant energy. It's there, making itself known like a flashlight across this dark space. He raises his own hand and makes a cheerful gesture.

Perfectly grounded on this seascape, Caelus kneels and offers his hand out, taking hold of the drowning young man's with a firm grip. It's undoubtedly incredibly dark here, maybe it's just a hallucination, but there's a sort of shimmer underneath this one's feet. Perhaps that's a manifestation of his unwavering resolve, like a glass surface that gleamed. ]

There, a hand! Maybe you want two?

[ He throws a joke to lighten the mood, then follows it up by holding onto the young man with both of his hands, doing his best to pull him up. ]

[panzana]

[Their dark surroundings make this boy's energy that much more dazzling to Nicola. The insincere smile plastered on his own face becomes just a little brighter in the wake of the boy's radiant unmasked expression, though he can't help but think that he doesn't deserve this kind of reception. Especially not after what he's just done.

Two strong, warm hands pull Nicola's cold one upwards. Despite his feet rising up to the surface where his rescuer stands perfectly fine, it continues to deny Nicola solid ground. At least he has some time until he starts to sink dangerously low again. Hopefully. Maybe.

He chuckles quietly, trying to make it sound casual, but his breathing is uneven.]

Ah, but if I take two, you'll be left with none. That hardly seems fair, does it?

[He holds on tighter to Caelus's hands, taking in the warmth even as his body keeps trying to drag him back down. The smile on his face doesn't fade, but his voice drops a little softer.]

Still... I'd be a fool to turn away help when it's offered so freely.

[trashblaze]

It was never fair in the first place, so this is fine.

[ Considering Caelus isn't sinking at all, while Nicola is helpless against the dark waters, there was never an even playing field in the first place. It doesn't look like either of them knows how to combat it properly, either. The scent of the air is nothing familiar to him. The darkness seems to keep stretching on. The only visible view is those distant ruins, but even that is unfamiliar. Too many unknown variables, not enough hints. He could make blind guesses, but all he could think of was that perhaps they're in a really weird dream.

However, this makes no sense to him personally, because he's already left Penacony long ago… Unless this is another world possibility that he's yet to witness in Amphoreus. This doesn't seem likely, as nothing here is clicking at all, and this beautiful stranger is also wearing clothes that imply he's not an Amphoreus local. Caelus reaches a dead end in his thoughts, yet he doesn't mind. He needs to focus on getting this person to safer grounds for now. That's the very first step. And he smiles more when the young man acknowledges his assistance.

The lonely aura coming from this person doesn't escape Caelus, but he doesn't comment out of mindfulness, wanting to search for a way to make it better rather than to call such a thing out. He continues to make light jokes instead, encouraged after hearing the pretty man's elegant chuckle. ]

Hey! If you wanted to be carried, you only had to ask!

[ Squeezing those hands as extended comfort and reassurance, Caelus turns around and pulls those arms to settle against his shoulders. Better climb on now, can't take those words back after they've been said. Only a fool would turn away help. ]

ii.

[regulate]

[ The confections call to him like a siren singing him to shipwreck, but he knows he can overcome temptation. He's practiced at it, and he knows only ruin lies beyond everything meant to entice.

Prayers scroll through his mind, affirmations, all the recitations that used to bring him some semblance of peace. To Xipe, to Ena, does it matter? Whatever keeps him from trying the starpit fruit or the honey scouse. ]

I am not hungry.

[ He is not one for dishonesty –only half truths and omissions. This lie feels acrid on his tongue, but he would like to put more distance between himself and the food before his judgment lapses further. ]

I am sure there are other, more palatable rooms to explore. I am Sunday, by the way, the– [ Head of the Oak Family. He swallows the words down, forcing it past the lump in his throat. A small smile replaces the gesture. ] –a mere hitchhiker.

[panzana]

["A mere hitchhiker?" Now that's a suspicious title if Nicola ever heard one. The name he gives is also rather curious—Sunday? Sounds like an alias. Fortunately, he doesn't feel the need to probe into the matter. He can already tell by the wings on the other man's head that this person doesn't hail from Nicola's world.

He offers a friendly smile as he introduces himself.]

I'm Nicola. [Underboss of the Falzone Family. Well, formerly. He really is just Nicola now.] It's a pleasure to meet you.

[Regarding what he said about everything looking delicious... Yeah, that was a lie. Even ignoring the fact that this whole setup is obviously suspect, none of the refreshments lining the tables cater to Nicola's selective palate. The only thing compelling him to try something is this faceless god's divine influence, but Sunday's words clear some of the fog from his mind. What if he simply walks away?]

You're right, there must be better rooms to explore than this one. [He draws his hand away from the untouched glass of brandy, smile curving a little wry as he leans back in his chair.] What do you say we go see what else this palace is hiding?

[regulate]

[ His eyes linger on the brandy for a moment, the same curiosity niggling at him in spite of not really having much of a taste for alcohol. He's not sure if there is something external power eliciting his hunger and thirst at the moment, but it's all the more reason to leave this room quickly. ]

I do not expect we will get a warmer reception than this. The ones who laid out this food have yet to reveal themselves, but at the very least, we may be able to find some tomes or letters strewn about that could tell us more about the palace's usual inhabitants.

[ He guides them out towards the halls, trying to find his way. The more he attempts to call upon his imaginary powers, the less they find reason to answer. Only a flicker of light sparks free from his fingers, which is better than nothing as he tries to find his way through the gloomy archways and perspiring walls. ]

I assume you are also a foreigner to this world? I have yet to come across a single native or anyone who has been here for longer than a few minutes or hours.

[ Granted, time is starting to feel more and more obsolete the longer he remains in this dreamscape. ]

i

[roil]

[ alba was about to move but then she notes the strange colour of his skin, the odd way his body shifts like it's too heavy, and not because he was fatigued from the ocean. when he asks her for help, she is immediately suspicious, and guarded; her hands are firmly on the sides of her skirt, also damp from the water. that his demeanour is rather calm also unsettles her. surely, everyone - and not just her, otherwise that's just embarrassing! - everyone ought to be frightened by their current circumstances?

she can't help it. her voice is only slightly accusatory when she asks, ]

... you don't seem to be in pain. What's the matter?

[panzana]

[That one simple question unleashes a torrent of negative thoughts in his mind. What isn't the matter? He died. He lost everything. The Falzone Family has little to no chance of recovering with both him and his boss dead. Except he's somehow conscious again in a completely unfamiliar location, body gradually turning to stone as the water drags him under inch by inch, threatening to have him experience a completely different death.

And yet, the smile on his face does not falter.]

I'm having trouble moving my legs. Perhaps I need to do more strength training, haha...

[The soft, airy laugh that escapes his lips is thin, not quite steady, but he hopes it's enough to make light of things. He doesn't want to admit how heavy his chest feels, or how quickly the water is pulling him down. His hand shifts slightly in the air between them, still reaching out as if her suspicion doesn't sting. The stone creeping under his skin makes the motion stiff, but he holds it there all the same.]

Would you mind lending me yours, signorina?

[roil]

- your jokes need work! Comedy is not one of your talents.

[ he seems nice. (she was called a lady, that's nice enough for her.) alba reaches forward, hesitant about the water considering she was just there, however, it's also silly to be afraid of the water. so she moves closer and takes his hand. ]

I don't have that much strength - you'll have to do your part as well -

[ and while she is trying her best, alba is clearly a woman who hasn't been exposed to any sort of hardship in her life, if her smooth hands were any indication of it at all. but she pulls him towards the shore with all the strength she can muster. ]

iii-α

[sorte]

[ Whether Aventurine intended to join in, stay and simply watch down here, or leave altogether was not particularly decided, he realizes, until he catches the individual coming straight for him. He wants that one and suddenly no one else will do.

So isn't it perfect that he's approached? His eyes can't be seen under his mask, but he leans a bit forward when the man traces the mask's outline, and the smile that strengthens with the alpha's words reaching Aventurine's ears shows he's still well above the influences around them currently— most of them, anyway.

He reaches up to wrap his fingers about the other's wrist, guiding his hand to come touch at Aventurine's throat and to trail down slowly. ]

Sit with me? I'll make sure you feel as much as see every part of the experience.

[panzana]

[Nicola doesn't pull away when his wrist is caught. The omega's fingers guide his hand down the line of a warm throat, and he lets it linger. His smile curves faint, sharp, as though amused at being led in what was meant to be his game.

He tilts his head slightly, studying the man across from him. The boldness in the invitation stirs something in him—something that feels like a challenge, but not quite. This isn't the kind of thing he normally does with another man, but the dream doesn't seem to care what's normal, and neither, it seems, does his company.]

So sure of yourself. [His voice is soft, carrying the hint of a laugh.] You must have had plenty of practice.

[Still, he does as asked, lowering himself with unhurried ease to sit across from the waiting omega. His hand stays where it is, thumb brushing a slow arc across warm skin. The grin that follows is lazy, practiced, but with a sharper edge behind it.]

Then let's see if your devotion tastes as good as you make it sound.

[sorte]

[ nothing about this is all that abnormal to Aventurine, unfortunately, even without the influence and the presence of a dream. If it is to the alpha he's decided he would very much like to be his, well ... there's nothing to complain about if it isn't affecting Aventurine getting what he wants. His eyelashes lower as his smile remains while watching the other man take a seat. Aventurine is stuck in the role of an omega ultimately, but that does nothing to deter his need for control on some level. Even if he ultimately has it taken, he'll push with it until he's told to surrender it.

Without hesitation, he moves to get up, his intent clear to close the distance between them. Not a word escapes him as he slides himself into the alpha's lap, one hand moving to slip around the back of his neck while the other trails down along his chest. Aventurine's lips brush dangerously close against the other's own, the tip of his tongue running out along the part between them briefly before whispering: ]

...I do have plenty of practice.

[ His words are simple, sealing them off as he presses their mouths together. In truth, he wanted to first ask for a name, but he's not in as much control of this dynamic as he wishes. The alpha doesn't give him a name, and he's already been told twice now to demonstrate: so demonstrate he shall. ]

ii

[commitments]

[ Idols perched on pedestals, vines running along fixtures, and a banquet with an urging call to feast... What is there not to question? Adolphe is full of them when he finally comes to, donned in garments much fancier than he'd wear as a common man. He's feeling quite normal and everyday when facing these sights, wondering if this is all a dream.

He hasn't reached for anything, not cutlery or a glass. His hands stay on the edge of the table, rested with not much to do until they start curling into fists. ]

I don't know.

[ It would be an outright rejection if his hunger wasn't growing by the second. He's torn between his suspicion of the voice, as familiar as it has become, and the desire to sate his approaching monstrous appetite. ]

I can't recommend anything I haven't had.

[ Yet his eyes lay upon what's directly in front of them, a platter of Eton Mess. Beside it is the favorite Deviled Kidneys, based on how many have drawn from this plate already. ]

[panzana]

[Another abstainer, is he? At least Nicola isn't the only one who's been hesitant to partake in this suspicious feast. Unfortunately, that sense of reassurance doesn't last long. The way the other man's fists curl against the table doesn't escape him. Hunger makes itself known eventually, and Nicola has the sinking feeling this place isn't going to let them leave it behind.]

Then I suppose we're both at a loss.

[He leans back slightly, glass still untouched in his hand, the smile on his face more habit than conviction. His gaze flicks to the Eton Mess platter in front of them.]

Though if you're tempted, I'd say the mess of fruit and cream looks the least likely to bite back.

[Spoiler: if Nicola is the one to partake in this dish, it will bite very hard.]

[commitments]

[ It's a strange type of hunger that exists, but it feels like an echo of what hunger should be. It's maddening and he can barely make sense of it. ]

You think so?

[ He doesn't quite get the logic behind it... How much can logic help them here? While not inclined to sweets, he isn't against them, either. There's a beat of hesitation, still thinking to resist a little longer, but his hands start moving.

A small serving sits on his plate now and he stares at it. It looks like more of a mess since he wasn't delicate and it stays that way when he takes a bite. His hunger is quelled immediately. ]

... It's all right.

[ For now. May this bite them both hard and they have regrets. ]

ii

[fisalia]

[ cantarella, too, isn't eating or drinking, simply watching and observing everyone around her as they partake in the feast. it's clear that there's something in the food, the reactions of those who have taken a bite or ten nothing at all normal, almost as if they've fallen into a trance or a nightmare, a tell-tale sign that they've been poisoned. oh, but hardly a dream, when nothing in their circumstances is dream-like.

instead, she taps a manicured fingernail against the glass of brandy offered to her, the tinkle grounding her to sanity before the food draws her in. her lips remain amicably curved to a smile, even as the person next to her turns and asks her.

what do you recommend? ]

It depends on the kind of poison you'd like to experience. There are those who desire a sweet dream and those who prefer more bitter nightmares.

[ she tilts her head, her smile still sweet. ] As a learning affair, of course.

[panzana]

[Poison, is it? Nicola's smile only broadens at the woman's answer, amused in spite of the grim suggestion. He lifts his own glass a fraction, turning it between his fingers as though considering it more seriously now that she's given the contents such a name. The shimmer of the liquid draws his eye despite himself, though he feels no true hunger for it. The pressure to drink is there all the same—an invisible weight at the back of his mind that makes him wonder how long he can keep refusing. It's enough to sour the amusement he shows, but not enough to erase it.]

I suppose that makes this less a banquet and more a pharmacy. [The words are spoken smoothly, a quiet chuckle following after.] Sweet dreams or bitter nightmares... I've sampled both before, though never from a plate.

[His gaze lingers on her, sharp even behind the mask.]

And you? Which would you take, if you had to choose?

[fisalia]

[ if she were to be asked, each of the dishes, even without their intended aftereffect, is a poison to at least one individual. intolerances exist, as do aversions and disinclination for certain ingredients, certain food items. cantarella has learned to be less particular about food, a precept in etiquette she could never forget.

she, too, picks up her glass, swirling the golden liquid around as if it's another component of a potion she's currently brewing. the whispers grow in intensity, inspiring her to take a sip, a small draft. ]

Anyone would choose a pleasant dream, wouldn't they? Beckoning them to the sweetest and restful of slumbers. Still, even apples soaked in poison for so long cannot mask the scent of decay beneath their glossy shells.

[ none of these dishes is safe, each one laced with a poison that even she's not immune to, each one imbued with a nightmare none of them can wake from. but even, so their host, it seems, won't allow them to escape without a tendril of control around their ankles. ]

The wine seems to be the least offensive among the rest, but only if you're inclined to ... enthusiastic compulsions.

[ her eyes flicker towards their new companions, immersed in their own dreams. ]

ii

[jiangjun]

[ The food, while not familiar, is not any more unusual compared to the fare of certain planets that The Luofu have passed. In fact, some of this stuff could be considered luxurious compared to what was available in the wartorn and desolate lands that have been ravaged by the abundance. However tasty they appear to be, Jing Yuan hasn't tried a taste either. ]

I have not taken a bite yet, but the starpit fruit looks rather enticing.

[ The size and faint glow make it rather whimsical.

and maybe radioactive. ]

[panzana]

[Glowing fruit, of course. As if this spread weren't unsettling enough already. Nicola's eyes drift to the platter, where the Starpit Fruit gives off its faint light. Whimsical, yes, but too much like bait to look harmless in his eyes. His smile remains intact, though it feels thinner than usual.]

Enticing... [Part of him wants to voice his unease towards the fruit, but the growing weight of the invisible gaze on him successfully pressures him to do the opposite.] Yes, you're right. I've never seen anything quite like it before. Who knows when we'll get another opportunity to try such a unique delicacy?

[He reaches forward and picks up a Starpit Fruit in each hand, holding one of them out to the other man. His smile takes on a playful edge.]

How about we take a bite at the same time?

ii

[scarletflower]

[ Normally, Oichi's dreams are filled with screams and bloodshed and pain, just like her waking hours. But this banquet feels nice. Warm. Safe. A disruption, a trap, a violation of sanity. Aaah, what a divine feast for the senses it is. The doorway to the Netherworld is wide open, and everyone is invited to participate. She will not close it at the time; not when everyone is having so much fun, fun, fun, funfunfunfunf̸̢͉͙̾́͘u̵͍͖͇͒̾̕n̵͇̙̻̽̈́͆f̸̻̻̼͋͊͐u̵̫͔̝͑̿̐n̴̙̪̠͌̓̕f̴̝͍͙̽̿u̸͕̙̪̒̿̓n̴͖̟̟͘͝͠f̴̢͉̻͌͊͋u̴̘̼̙̓̈́͆n̸͙͎̟͑́̐f̴̢͉͙͑͐̕u̵̡̝̺̔̒̔n̵̢̼̠̓̓f̴̘̺̘̽̒͋u̵̠̪̘̒̾͘n̵͚͎͍͛̐͌

When the stranger next to her speaks up, Oichi doesn't reply immediately, preoccupied with a song she's humming under her breath. ]

One, two, three... three...

[ She trails off, perhaps because she chooses not to continue, or perhaps because she can't remember the lyrics anymore. Whichever is the case, her expression turns wistful for a brief second, before she turns her gaze to the fellow Vessel, offering him a soft smile. ]

Everything is delicious... this must be what this heaven has to offer.

[ The woman lets out a small chuckle. Instead of actually pointing to the dish she would recommend, however, she simply watches as arms made of shadows crawl up from under her seat, reaching for a plate filled with honey scouse. The clawed hands make a surprisingly good job picking it up, moving and placing it in front of Nicola quickly and efficiently. They do not retreat, though, seemingly waiting for his next move. Watching, it feels like, impossible though it may seem. ]

Why not try this one?

[panzana]

[The humming unsettles him first, that broken little tune tapering off without warning. Then the shadows come, curling up from beneath the woman's seat like obedient pets to fetch his plate for him. It's efficient, almost polite, and entirely unnatural. An instinctive discomfort causes his chest to tighten at the sight, but his smile doesn't waver. It never does.]

How very considerate. [His tone is light, warm even, as he lets his gaze flick briefly from the plate back to her.] Not many would go to such lengths to serve a stranger.

[He looks down at the Honey Scouse set neatly before him, the shadows still waiting. The longer they linger, the more it feels as if he's being watched thrice over—once by her, once by the hands, and once by the invisible god. He forces a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly.]

I'll admit, I've never been offered a meal quite like this. Tell me, do you always keep such helpful company?

iii. α (truly coin flipped this one)

[armwriostle]

[It's truly a battle at the moment. Wriothesley is a stubborn man who held onto control in a vice grip. He didn't like to lose whatever grasp he had on his mind, so the way that this place is needling into him to offer and submit has become a battleground between him not and him wanting to.

Especially when he finds the other reaching out, his gaze momentarily entranced as it follows their fingers.

He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding; a breathless chuckle as he remembers that he should respond.] I think I'm the wrong one to be asking that. I've found that I've never been one to worship anything. [This was true. Wriothesley had grown up struggling and had been betrayed and let down. He didn't have some higher being or power to pray to and only himself to rely on.]

But perhaps I can be convinced otherwise while I'm here...

👀

[panzana]

[The breathless chuckle catches his attention, and Nicola watches him with quiet amusement. His hand lingers only a moment before settling at the line of the other man's throat, the touch light but deliberate.

His smile curves, warm but teasing.]

Never worshipped anything, you say? Then we already have something in common. Faith has never been one of my virtues either.

[His thumb brushes slowly against the other man's skin, coaxing rather than pressing, as if testing how far he'll allow it.]

In that case, perhaps we can teach each other a thing or two.