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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adolphe, virche evermore (new player)

[commitments]

Sink down like precious stones

[ The dark tide brought Adolphe in, even though he wasn't and isn't the most inclined. In spite of that, he did nothing as it consumed him and brought him here to dark waters. The sensation is familiar, recurring with every dream, but with it came with the intrinsic fear when watching the waves stir on the horizon... He can practically feel how they wet his soles. The apparition in the distance taking structure doesn't even disconcert him. The unfamiliar mask on his face barely receives a second thought.

It all feels like a dream.

Having awoken only recently, he's lethargic, but one would think peaceful sleep would unwind every tense muscle in the body. Instead, Adolphe is the opposite. His shoulders square and his knees almost wobble despite how stiff his posture is, like it's been a while since he had stood on his own two feet. ]

Another awful dream.

[ Stone takes hold of him slowly, starting with his left wrist. It spreads as he looks onward, sinking. His rational mind says he should struggle, he should try to survive, but his heart is tired. The waters rise and fall before they start mimicking a storm, but it's warm. It's almost comforting despite the lack of color in this world, so he will descend with curious marine life within view.

Of course he wouldn't allow that for anyone near him who is flailing or flapping about. Even with his slowly petrifying person, he will pull them up. ]

You Taste Like New Flesh

[ Wow. Adolphe thought he was going to sink into the ocean and metaphorically die in this dream, but he finds himself seated in new garb. A style too formal for him, but he has no complaints. Hard to voice any when goosebumps run along his skin upon facing Sleep's guardians that decorate the hall. So many new sights beyond the dark sea, which has his eyes shining with curiosity and suspicion.

Slowly, slowly. ]

... What is going on?

[ His mind catches up that this may not be all a dream, or is it? Quickly, he turns to whoever is seating next to him because he does sense a presence there. His voice is stern and leveled, even though he's far from that. He doesn't realize, but claws start to form, tearing through his gloves, and fangs peek when he speaks again. ]

Hey. [ An attempt to get attention. ] You're just going to eat?

[ That was a disembodied voice whispering to them, wasn't it? Even if it is familiar, as he has heard it in those recurring dreams, he is paranoid.

Feel free to choose a dish! To narrow down, I'm interested in: Eton Mess, Deviled Kidneys, and Starpit Fruit. I'm also cool with sharing first. ]

I am not worthy

[ Adolphe looks like he's about to book it because he doesn't have a sword, no weapon to bear except for this knife he took from the banquet (is it for steak or is it for butter), and this doesn't look like something he can handle... Unfortunately, there is a pull and rage he had nested deep in his soul is given water to bloom. He had been angry at the whole world for so long and it had given him nothing but despair.

In a split second, he morphs into an oversized wolf and dives into the closest figure, fangs and canines bared for a little nibble. A big nibble. ]

WILDCARD

[ You can throw me absolutely anything! Feel free to contact me for any discussion. ]

taste

[trashblaze]

[ Chomp. Yeah, Caelus is already eating— there's a Starpit Fruit on his plate, already halfway gone. His raccoon cheeks are inflated, the food in them. He looks at the handsome stranger quietly with large, curious, golden eyes. He can't talk while his mouth is full, okay? Give him a second.

Chomp. To reassure the young man if he's feeling uneasy, Caelus smiles at him, rather vibrantly and a bit innocently compared the rest of the people here. But it's his own way of encouraging those around him, including himself. Soon enough, he finally swallows down the food and speaks— ]

I'm just trying not to stand out!

[commitments]

[ Adolphe is definitely asking himself if this guy has any survival instinct? at least doubt a little? Maybe in dreams one should suspend belief, but isn't this going far? He isn't sure if he should feel silly for being as paranoid as he is or wonder if Caelus is just simple-minded.

His expression spells his aghast, or at least how his mouth is agape with its ends downward. Masked, still. It's too late to stop the racoon from scavenging. ]

I... Guess. [ Over time, he is feeling a pressure from somewhere. He monitors Caelus for a moment, waiting him to hack a lung or something. ] You're feeling all right?

[ Is it safe? Despite resistance, he is salivating. ]

[trashblaze]

[ It's a mystery how Caelus is still intact after all the random things he's done in his life so far. This boy licked a frozen fence once and got his tongue stuck to it. Don't worry, handsome stranger. The weird one is Caelus. It's for the spirit of trailblazing! is his excuse for every stupid shit he ever does. Eating these questionable food is apparently part of the portfolio now.

Caelus is still smiling at him, especially when the young man displays concern. ]

I'm perfectly fine!

[ Uh, but the sides of Caelus's lips are suddenly dripping something… kind of golden. Nectar? Is it honey? Maybe the food he's eating is juicy! Except his mouth is clearly empty now, yet the golden nectar keeps slowly trailing down. At the same time, the Starpit Fruit's effects are slowly kicking in. ]

What the— oh, I should find a napkin.

[commitments]

[ Vermin survive against all odds. Adolphe knows that well enough, but he's just thinking this guy is a weirdo. Not too weird... Because the food is tantalizing. The wafting aroma is filling his senses, stronger than before. He isn't sure if that's him or if that's everyone here (it's him, sense of smell heightening).

He blinks a couple of times when a golden trail drips down his lips. ]

This doesn't look fine. Here. [ A bit annoyed, but quickly he gives him a napkin. ] Thinking clearly? Stay with me.

[ Are these the effects? Is this poison? Just wait, Adolphe, when the trailblazer memory hits. ]

you taste like new flesh

[depressured]

I'd rather not.

[ This voice is soft, polite. Her gaze has lowered to his hands--more specifically what his nails (claws?) are doing to his gloves.

Well. That could be concerning. ]

But it feels as though we might need to.

[commitments]

[ They have ruined his stupid half gloves... Not that he cares about that right now, but he might once he follows her gaze. His claws are jutted out, having ruined the tips of his gloves. His mind races and his hands clench into fists to obscure them, whatever they are. He doesn't understand.

It's a dream. Can he understand those? He adds another layer to hide them by crossing his arms, tucking his hands away into the crooks of his elbows. ]

The air's getting heavier, right?

[ And heavier. ]

[depressured]

So it feels...

[ It's interesting, in a way, to perceive the way it feels both externally and internally. She doesn't have a firm grasp on her emotions just yet, but even Mafuyu can tell that they're trying to respond to some other factor. ]

... I can't say I like any of this.

[commitments]

[ Usually, Adolphe would start investigating, but there's something about the guardians boring down on them from pedestals above... And the force that is pressuring them to eat. It locks him into his seat, keeping him a guest.

The hunger is insistent and the dream seems to drain in color. ]

Do you... Know what this all is? It feels like a dream.

I am not worthy

[consumingly]

[ Here Endo is, feeling like things are starting to look a little bleak, when all of a sudden, he has a big ol' dog to worry about. Kind of anticlimactic, considering there's an actual monster out to get them, but if he's on the ground and a wolf is bearing down on him, the monster's likely to grab the wolf first, right? In which case, fine, he'll play with the beast for a while.

He doesn't have enough time to accomplish what he wants before he's tackled, but he manages to at least shuck his jacket off of one of his arms before he's flat on his back. ]

Wow. Big teeth for a big boy.

[ There's no panic in his tone, no fear in his eyes, though his heart is beating fast enough to betray the adrenaline coursing through him. No matter! He's going to stare into that big, threatening mouth and slowly move his arm — and therefore his jacket — a little closer to his chest. ]

I bet you're just a scared little puppy in there. Aren't you?

[ Yes, that's the voice he uses when addressing actual harmless puppies. ]

[commitments]

[ They could have escaped... Why must a dream be full of influences? Adolphe cannot question that since his mind is in a haze. It feels like he's sinking in a sea of anger with no escape and attempts to free himself manifests in a rampage. How tragic an attempt to reclaim agency spills to losing it instead. Man and beast are melding.

But a big dog is still a dog. His ears twitch to Endo's tone and there's a short pause in his movements. His jaws stay open and daring, but suspended and hovering. He isn't frozen by doggy talk, though. His paw pins Endo's shoulder down, placing all of the weight to keep him subdued like prey to claim. It's crushing, painful despite no claws digging in. ]

Puppy...?

[ Said groggily, confused, and this is where he snaps at Endo's jacket on instinct. Rather than taking it whole, it's a whiff that tears through fabric. A clumsy graze as he fights for clarity.

Beyond them, the amalgamation takes a step forward and with one footstep comes a cacophony of voices, "I am not worthy." As those words echo in the hall, Adolphe's ears pin back and shakes his head from the piercing pain. ]

[consumingly]

[ Does this guy not realize he just morphed into a wolf? Not the craziest thing Endo's experienced today, but it's not great, considering his current position. His plan is to keep the wolf at bay long enough to distract the monster, so he can slip away and gain more time. At this rate, he might end up being puppy chow before he gets that chance.

Still calm and collected, Endo doesn't flinch when the wolf lunges downward to bite at his jacket — but he only manages to stay still through sheer force of will. His throat goes dry, and his stomach flip-flops like he's on a roller coaster.

He was going to use his jacket to create a makeshift bite guard, pulling it into a taut line and shoving it as far back into the wolf's mouth as possible. Now that it's torn — the extent to which Endo isn't sure, since his focus is entirely on that maw — and his shoulder is throbbing with pain from the force of its paw, he probably won't accomplish much with it. He'd be lucky if he managed to raise his arm high enough to try.

The idea might still come in handy in a pinch, but Endo's going to call it Plan B. As for Plan A...it'd be a hell of a lot easier to figure out if he didn't have to keep listening to a litany of voices trying to get into his head. Although he is, for whatever reason, currently unaffected, it's enough to give any guy a headache.

But: dangerous wolf. He refocuses and watches those ears pin back, which doesn't bode well. Truthfully, Endo isn't much of a dog person. People are a lot easier to order around than animals, in his opinion. People tend to be predictable, whereas a big beast like this is obviously too willful for its own good. But in the name of his continued survival, Endo reaches out and gives a careful but confident little pat on the side of the wolf's face — as far as he can reach around those jaws. ]

There, there. Just look at me, puppy.

[ Yeah, puppy is gonna stick.

He attempts to glance behind the wolf to determine how much time they have until the monster's on them, but he immediately looks back. And as long as he doesn't become a quick dinner, he'll keep petting, trying to soothe. ]

Focus on my voice. Screw the rest of 'em.

[commitments]

[ Do people normally know when they start morphing uncontrollably because of powers beyond them? In Adolphe's shaking, he displaces his paw off of Endo, preferring the steady ground to anchor him. The urge to bite comes with a growl and breaks his trounce, but it's hard to know the source of it when the voices are coming from everywhere. Any abrupt movement can trigger him into attacking.

The monster is slow and eerily graceful in its movements, arms coming together in prayer first like it must be reverent above all else before it begins. With another step, the voices reverb and meld into a chorus. This time its bones crack after each word and the cracking clicks continue like a metronome. It's forming a weapon out of itself and an extension made of elbows can be seen when Endo takes a quick glance.

There's a lot of stimuli and Adolphe's sense of hearing is heightened, but his ears swivel when Endo's words are paired with touch. It feels like a hand... And it's patting him. In his delirium, his rational mind interrupts with a thought: this is ridiculous. Incredibly stupid. What is wrong with this guy? ]

Stop petting me. [ He moves his head away and pads off, now focused on the monster. ] You should have ran off.

[ As if he's in position to reprimand when he was the one cornering him earlier. Well, he did focus on his voice. It worked. ]

sink down

[appeale]

[ in contrast to Adolphe's heavy resignation weighing him down, the young lady he's taken hold of is not so calm. Rudbeckia's eyes are huge and round with a hopeless, helpless terror. it doesn't matter whether this is a dream or not. she doesn't want to go through this again, she doesn't want to go into that dark place. as the water rises around them both, as that strange warmth climbs past her waist like a wet, hot mouth devouring her, she gives a panicked sob, her voice high and gasping: ]

Ah— I don't want to die, I—

[ even though this stranger is at least kind enough to pull her up—he's sinking too. there isn't even any point in fearing that he might let go of her hand and leave her to drown. for once, someone might actually try to save her, and it won't mean a thing. isn't that just typical for her? thinking that, the next sob turns into a hiccup of laughter. ]

There's nothing we can do, is there?

[commitments]

[ He's tired and just wants to have dreamless sleep, so if it means he should be taken by these dark waters then so be it. Is that so much to ask? It's annoying that it has to be this way since he doesn't like how his heart shrinks at the familiar feeling of water filling in his boots and soaking his clothes.

At least it's warm or at least to him it is, though turbulent. The tide almost dances around, lively unlike the two of them pitifully sinking into the sea. It doesn't whip high enough where he can't see her, though. Gold hair, blue eyes.

Something in his head clicks, as if his dark desires quell—or maybe they shift. He doesn't realize and instead heaves a sigh. ]

Don't give up so easily. You should keep wanting to live.

[ Again, he yanks her up so that her soles meet the water's surface, even if she's going to start sinking immediately. It buys some time. ]

Use the time you have to run. [ Raising his right hand free of stone, he points to the rising structure in the distance. ] It looks like there's a building over there.

[appeale]

[ bitter anger fills her mouth, and she swallows it. don't give up so easily? what a stupid, cruel thing to say. she's still reeling from it when he pulls her up, and she makes no move to run, staring at him with bleak dismay. ]

Of course I want to live, [ she croaks in a small voice, and her breath hitches on another half-laugh. ] It's the rest of the world that wants me dead.

[ for just a moment, her feet find solid ground. her belief holds: a belief in a cursed, miserable existence she'll never escape. but then her footing slips again, sinks a little, and she grasps at his hands to pull him, desperate and insistent. ]

You have to come with me. I can't— I'm useless.

[commitments]

Good. [ There's gravel in his voice, low but clear. So incredibly sure as it's resentful. ] Curse the world by living.

[ Just what he wanted to hear and it settles his soul more than he'd ever want to admit, even if it may mean nothing in a dream. Everyone should desire living a good life, a normal and warm one. Out of spite, live how you want to live. Out of spite, die how you want to die.

Somehow, despite conviction, he's devoid of unadulterated faith. There will always be doubt... Second guesses. Gaps.

He's progressively sinking while his joints lock, crystallizing bit by bit, but his descent stalls as she tries to haul him up and forward. His golden eyes turn owlish when he feels a hand in his. Forced to take clumsy steps, he clambers over the waters that want to take them. ]

What—[ Quickly his expression paints to a scowl, eyebrows knit fiercely behind his mask. ] What are you doing? I told you to run!

[ If anyone was useless, it's him. Were he useful, then he wouldn't be sinking... That's how he interprets this sequence. Now he has become a burden. ]

𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐲.

[sorte]

[ he doesn't even notice the other in the unfolding chaos until he's slammed into; and that's saying a lot, considering the size of this wolf. aventurine is beginning to see a pattern here with sleep and the way she choreographs her entertainment even as he hits the floor hard with the sudden extra weight toppling him over like a bowling ball striking a pin.

although he's got a wolf on him that he never even saw have a human form initially, the stoneheart is well enough aware after dealing with Sleep's surprises for a few months that, as a token subtype, the sensation of being around an offering subtype (it's just different than around other tokens. that, and the hosts that were once wolves in the walking world? they look nothing like this one.)

he'll raise his hands to try and shove at the creature (or at least make it not so easy for big chomp day activities to happen quite so easily,) but any actual fear is clamped down behind his survival instincts and knowing it's a vessel rather than simply a monster (also, he happened to be hugging and snuggling some kind of wolf dog shikigami earlier and all that, so it also maybe helps in some way.) ]

Whoa, easy there! Quite jumpy, huh? This is pretty wild, though, so I get it; but I promise you we're on the same side here.

Fun fact, too, for the record? I just happen to be really not all that tasty.

[commitments]

[ A dream is something one often does not have control over, so it's apt that some people struggle. Something about the amalgamation of bones, flesh, and bodies and the chorus of words displace him from his sense of self... Into this dark brown wolf with glowing eyes with a golden trail streaked down. Along his fur are gnashes left open, though instead of blood and flesh it's the visage of dark waves but in gold.

Important part is that he's distributing his weight onto Aventurine with a large paw pressed against his shoulder. The other man's warding hands stop his muzzle from coming closer, earning a low growl that rumbles deep. His jaws open and lips peel back, teeth bared and sharp. Deep down, he's struggling to take back control, so for a split moment there's recognition in the wolf's pupils rounding from their slit form. ]

... Same side...?

[ The monster is still present and with all the cracks coming from it, it's forming some more limbs? Or maybe another extension of themself before echoing the same words. "I'm not worthy," rings in thousands and it has Adolphe yelp with ears pinned back, shaking his head wildly to fend off the noise. ]

[sorte]

[ He doesn't want to hurt the other if he can help it. While he isn't an Offering, he gets that the Offerings and the Tokens suffer differently from the same things so even if he's not feeling the effects, that doesn't mean they don't exist. At the same time, Aventurine's also not willing to let himself get maimed if push comes to shove to avoid hurting someone else, whether they're in their right mind or not.

The most immediate pressing issue here for Aventurine is actually that this is such a large and heavy wolf, especially for someone underneath it that has his strength and build.

(He's had to stare down the barrel of a gun more times than he can count. The gun is just a tool: it doesn't make a decision on how it's wielded or which life it takes versus spares when pointed at one, and it doesn't have any power or agency to resist doing what is supposed to do. So, despite survival instincts flaring and his heart in his throat echoing in his ears, he doesn't make any sudden moves or cower even at the open jaw baring so many teeth. It's scary, but he's been now frightened before several times in his life. It's intimidating, but it's still more likely that this bad situation turning worse can be avoided than he's ever had when a gun's been involved. ) ]

Yeah, I can help—

[ Whether he actually can help or not doesn't even matter, because before he can see if his words will be effective in calming the beast that the man is trying to rein back in, that noise bellows. The sound hurts Aventurine's ears, him closing his eyes, cringing and going to cover his own ears reflexively— but that yelp gets to the destinations before his hands do. His eyes open. Without thinking, without even processing anything, Aventurine reaches out to wrap his arms tightly around the wolf's head over the ears. He presses them down against its skull even more, using his sleeves to try and add addition buffer to dull the noise as much as possible while pulling the beast's head towards his chest like he's trying to protect it.

(It's nothing really, in the end. It really probably can't do much at all, but he doesn't think about it.

The sound needs to stop. ) ]

[commitments]

[ He thinks he caught what Aventurine said, but it's washed away by the chorus from the newly formed entity that manifests at the end of the table. It takes multiple ligaments and limbs, giving them new purpose with this new body. It can't unsettle him. It can't instill fear just yet. It won't have his attention until the ringing in his ears stop, though its call goads him to come for it.

The starting chime settles and warns of the next refrain, but his ears are flattened against his head so tightly that the sound's muffled. It's like he's sealed off from his surroundings and while that normally would have him resist, it feels different this time. There are warm arms around his head, securely wrapped, and it's strange to wonder if this what feeling safe is like. It's not quite there, but he wonders.

Rather than a large and wild animal, he seems more like a ball of fur with how quickly he sinks. The monster's call is silenced, at least for him. His senses dull with it and it lets him take hold the transformation, or so he hopes. At least he thinks his mind feels clear, at the forefront, rather than sunken in a dark place. ]

What are you doing... [ Said lowly with confusion and a hint of judgment. ] You should have used the opportunity to escape.

[ An opening may have showed itself when he thrashed about, trying to block out the noise. It could have been the chance Aventurine needed to run. The monster is making its approach and all. ]

i am not worthy

[for_sake]

( booking it is exactly what yoshiki was—trying to do. for as far as he'd (thought he'd) gotten, he's only been drawing closer to The Abomination wherever it roams. at least, until he's immobilised by the wolf's weight.

to this, there is no new terror, only what's been stirred in him since the banquet, the ocean, before the dream altogether. there is that, and the rage, and himself. his softness for animals, even those that can kill humans. he'd said it, meant it, and though he's no longer quite human, eyes black and skin gelatinous, he still means it. and it means something to him that those teeth haven't yet sunken in.

he lifts an unsteady hand, the one that isn't phasing unpredictably between body and water, and pats along the wolf's maw. he regards it fondly, though his eyes are wide with terror. )

There are worse ways to go, ( his conviction is clear though his voice trembles, ) like by that... thing. Being eaten by a wolf's cooler.

[commitments]

[ ... Adolphe had been the most normal person his whole life. It's strange how being normal in an abnormal world makes you an outcast. He isn't sure where he should be or how he should feel now that he's stuck in between. Altered before coming here, then altered again—but what he sees below him through influenced rage is a young man who's barely keeping form. He'd be an adult in Arpéchéle, barely... But there's something about his voice and his acceptance.

Cooler? Ridiculous. When had death ever been cool? The judgment comes sharp through the haze and slowly Adolphe's mind resurfaces, though he can feel the beast's thrall picking at the seams of his sanity. Or is it the abomination's hold? Something about it.

The growling tapers off to the touch, though the fangs stay bared out of instinct, but soon enough Yoshiki gets a small chomp to the head. While his teeth press against his skull, it's harmless, like a grip meant to pick up the fragile. ]

[for_sake]

( as the growling tapers, yoshiki's terror recedes, his uncontrolled shifting ebbing as his held breath stutters out. he talked big but that was all it was. dream or not, death is too… real, lately. too everywhere. but living leaves him with wolf's teeth against his skull, impossibly close to that foreign urge tearing at him to destroy himself before…

before what? there's no pain. softly, he wonders, )

Should I get up?

( and gets as far as planting both hands on the ground to push himself up before he dissolves into water completely.

moments later, he scrambles back to himself from the puddle like a soaked cat. he's knelt beside adolphe now, sputtering though there's no water to cough up. )

Sorry, I don't—got no clue what's happening. ( he forcefully steadies his voice with each word. before he can decide what to say next, his hand slides along the floor to nudge a large paw. he means to suggest they run for it, or that the wolf puts space between himself and the abomination while it lurches elsewhere, but what comes out is, ) You okay?

( as if there's time and safety enough to ask and wait for some indication of yes or no as wholeheartedly as he is; as if the chanting isn't pressing in on his skull far more dangerously than those teeth had. and yet, that is reason enough for him. )

[commitments]

[ The jaws fall back and a human voice escapes, one weary. ]

Yeah.

[ Because what would be left if Yoshiki stayed here? Suffering? One of Adolphe's wolf ears turn as he picks up the sticks of the monster approaching, footstep heavy if one can call it a footstep. It sounds like flesh smacking the hard floor, then a crunch of bone.

He half-circles around Yoshiki as he regains his form, almost like shielding him, even though the chorus rings through the hall regardless. His ears pinned flat against his head, trying to stifle its deprecating words. It's echoing in his head, insistent and annoying, but the question has his bright gold eyes blinks with clarity. His tail lashes as he wonders what is with this guy? ]

Is that really important right now...? I'm okay. Not sure what's going on, either. [ He thinks. At least right now, he feels in control, though looking down at his paws has his mind spinning with some doubt. ] But we shouldn't stick around.

[ Adolphe lowers himself for Yoshiki to hop on. It'd be faster and better than watching him run and maybe trip because his leg turning into a puddle. ]