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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Wriothesley | Genshin Impact | New Player

[armwriostle]

I. You Taste Like New Flesh

A. Starve
[Wriothesley had always been a stubborn, stubborn man. He has suffered greatly in ways many have and many haven't. The pain of starving is not a feeling one forgets, especially when it had been a constant in his young years. Still, this feels different from the usual.

Wriothesley glances up and around. There's a piercing gaze that lingers on his person; his actions not going unnoticed, he's sure. It's not quite noticeable at first; the way that Wriothesley loses color. It eventually does, his skin going a pale grey and the steel blue turning a dull grey.

He huffs after a moment.] It seems like our beneficiaries don't seem to value whether or not we might be on a diet or not. [His words are light and joking despite the rather tense air that seems to longer over them all.

The man seems intent to not eat, but perhaps a fellow could urge him to not deny the food completely.]

B. Consume

[Having a healthy dose of skepticism and paranoia is good for one's soul, he thinks. He doubts that the food is meant to kill them, per say, he also doesn't think that there isn't some strings attached. With how they arrived and how things don't feel like they're quite tied to reality, he wonders how that will effect the way they interact with everything around them.

He had been watching others around him with keen interest. At some point though, one had to take their own leap and to get their own tail dirty as they say.

He finally puts some of the food on his plate or fills his glass, still eying it carefully.] Are they usually this generous or is there a special occasion to be had?

[OOC: I'm open to all the food/drink options that are available! Please indicate which food or drink you want to play out or I'll randomize one of them at some point in the thread. This can apply to options A or B! I'm open to all of the options, but I'm particularly interested in Deviled Kidneys, Roasted Lamb, Starpit Fruit.]

II. There's Something in The Way You Lay

A. α
[It's curiosity that had brought him down to such debauchery. Of course, he isn't particularly phased. He had seen plenty on the streets while homeless and even in prison when the rules only existed to oppress, but left them to fend for themselves.

He isn't so prepared for what comes once it seems a role had been given. It's a hunger that seems to settle in his core, hot and vicious and wanting something to claim. His teeth aches like it needs to sink into flesh.

When his gaze lands on someone, something seems to take hold. A sudden burning obsession where he finds himself unable (or unwilling) to shake off. He merely makes his way over, a too friendly hand placed on one's shoulder as he speaks.] It seems you're free at the moment, no? You wouldn't mind keeping me company then? [It's asked sweetly, but something lingers underneath that easy smile and casual words.]

BO. Ω
[He's not a needy person. He doesn't consider himself one. Hell, it'd be hard to say he is one given how lacking much of his life had been. So suddenly, why does he feel desperate to be satisfied? Not even be satisfied, but there's a need to satisfy more than himself. To satisfy others. It feels like it's part of him; deeply settled in his being.

Instinct takes over as he weaves through people. There's a scent that has him ensnared and he doesn't even realize where his feet are taking him until he bumps into someone. It jolts him, as though the mere brush of contact is electrifying.

He's a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck after he gains his footing.] Sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I guess I was a little distracted. [He still is, honestly.]

III. I Am Not Worthy

[The pain was excruciating. He finds himself on all fours before he realizes it. Just a moment ago, he had merely been watching people waltz on by, more than content to be a wallflower and observe.

When everything started to fall apart, it seemed like there's no time to react.

He lets out a low growl, one hand clutching his face as he practically feels like everything seems to want to change right down to under his fingertips, the other hand still braced on the floor digging nails into the surface.] Get back. [It's a warning and a threat as he feels like he's burning from the inside out. The feeling that bubbles in his chest is something he doesn't think he had felt in a very long, long time.]

IV. Wildcard

[If none of these starters don't work, feel free to wildcard something up instead! I'm also happy to write a custom starter for you if you want to DM me or hit me up on plurk! As a note, I'm playing Wriothesley as an Offering and specifically Lycan!]

A

[markingnight]

Perhaps they could be persuaded to provide some lighter fare.

[ Ironeye, a bit later in arriving to the table, couldn't help but notice that this man's complexion was looking a little alarming. Yet the subtle edge of his sarcasm was unchanged. This place was unsettling, and in his experience, meals didn't come free. ]

I've heard stories about this kind of tableau. None of them good.

[armwriostle]

Hmm~

[His gaze wanders for a little. The feeling like he was being scrutinized hasn't gone away in the least and it isn't the other person speaking to him that's making him feel uneasy.] Something tells me that it would be rude of me to ask though.

[He sighs, though it's more playful, even if he seems to be examining his hand with interest. His physical state is not lost to him apparently.] I would like to imagine that this is just their kind hospitality at work, but I can't say that the feeling I'm getting is welcoming to say the least.

[markingnight]

Kind hospitality, eh?

[ The longer Ironeye was here, the more concerning everything seemed. He eyed the food on offer. To be honest, the roast lamb was something he'd probably enjoy under normal circumstances. Perhaps the brandy as well. In fact, he had a bit of a hard time looking away from them.

Yet glancing back at Wriothesley briefly took his mind off things. ]

...Are you feeling all right?

[ Sir, your hand......... ]

[armwriostle]

If we're giving our beneficiaries the benefit of the doubt, of course. Though, I would have liked a warning first. [Before, you know, being tossed into the endless abyss.

Wriothesley studies his hand a little longer before looking at the other with a smile.] Hmm, I think I feel alright. I have a question though. Do you smell something is burning? [Or that someone is staring at you so intensely that it's making the hair on the back of your neck raise?

You know. Just little things. Totally nothing to be concerned about.] Well, I feel alright, but I'm aware I don't look alright.

iii; how about some body horror?

[fromfire]

'Fraid I can't quite do that.

[ As helpless as he feels about everything happening, he knows he has to try to do something for the person in front of him. Kneeling down, he hesitates before reaching his hand to rest it on the man's shoulder.

His head tilts to the side as he realizes he can't use the magic he's acquired. Not without some price paid. He dips his head down before grabbing onto one of his fingers, ripping the nail off; it doesn't hurt as much as it should. But he won't dwell on the reasons why.

Blood paid; his hand rests once more on his shoulder to try to heal the person. ]

Ah, sorry 'bout the mess, but you'll be right as rain soon, I think.

I do love me some body horror. Why not a little more? As a treat.

[armwriostle]

[The smell is sharp in his senses. He's no stranger to blood and the such, but it has never hit his senses as strongly as it has this time. It burns in his nostrils and the taste lingers in his throat and it does nothing to calm his frenzied state. It claws at his senses like they want to burst and he grinds his teeth instinctively to try and ground himself.

He turns to look at the man crouching beside him. His pupils were blown wide; the usual steel blue now almost drowned out by gold now and his face almost seems more elongated from an average person's. Like it was becoming more a snout than anything. He grits his teeth as he looks up at the other.

He doesn't know who this is, but their smell is strangely alluring isn't it?] I wish I could say, but I don't know what's happening to me even right now.

III.

[judications]

[ The voice catches him before Neuvillette even sees the Duke, following the sounds of it towards the room in question. His eyes widen a fraction as he sees the abomination inside, wishing he still had full access to his hydromancy to deal with it quickly, especially before it binds Wriothesley any further.

In the absence of better alternatives, he moves to tear the tentacles with his bare hands, though his strength is also a fraction of what it is back in their world. Not enough to rip through the tentacles but just enough to start pulling them away as he tries to gauge if there are any wounds on Wriothesley's body.

The smell of putrefaction curls beneath his nose, and he worries it might reach and infect Wriothesley's flesh if he does not act quickly enough. ]

You must flee quickly.

[ No time for greetings and pleasantries. They can both ask questions later. ]

[armwriostle]

[It's not often that the warden is overwhelmed, yet nothing has prepared him for whatever hellscape this place had become. It's not just the sudden gore that fills the halls nor the putrid smell of rot and decay, though the smell seems strong as they burn through his senses and makes his eyes water. No, there's also the seemingly physical pain that seems to course through him. It's like the feeling of his bones shifting and changing. It reminds him of the feeling of breaking bones, but worse.

The voice is familiar though and it cuts through the fog, bringing some amount of clarity. At least for the moment.

He lets the other assist him while he tries to catch his bearings as best he can. Bruising lingers where things had clung to him too tightly, but those seem less important than Wriothesley's somewhat changed state. A hand reaches out to cling to the other man, nails more claw-like than the usual trimmed nails the boxer keeps and the ring of yellow that always lingered in his eyes seemed to have bled and buried the usual steel blue until only a ring remains amongst molten gold.

His voice is a bit rough when he speaks.] I- [He realizes that there's some hesitance from within himself. Like he doesn't want to flee. Logically, he knows what they're facing is a threat and that leaving was what he should do. Should want. Yet, part of him almost is compelled. Like some siren's call.]

My body isn't cooperating.

[judications]

[ With his powers whittled down, his hydromancy emerges as a soft deluge of water rather than a powerful geyser –not enough to fell the abomination. Only enough to inconvenience it and chase some of the tentacles away. Still, he is not without physical strength, even if that too is compromised. ]

Then please forgive my rudeness for this. We should speak more elsewhere when we have found a safer venue.

[ He immediately grabs a hold of Wriothesley and pushes him over his shoulder, carrying as he would a sac of potatoes. It is inelegant and intrusive, but he is not sure what else to do with Wriothesley feeling immobilized as he is. Should Wriothesley strike out at him, he can endure.

Now all that remains is finding a way out, a feat that would be considerably easier were he access to his dragon authority. The best he can do is launch himself away from the tentacles at the first opening he can find, searching quickly for a window, door, or otherwise. He's so distracted by finding a way out that he doesn't realize there are scales starting to emerge from his skin. ]

[armwriostle]

[He'd laugh a little if his body didn't feel like it wanted to contort itself into a pretzel right now. At least Neuvillette seems ever so polite even if he's being hauled over the dragon's shoulder so unceremoniously. He doesn't even get to be princess carried??? Damn.

Wriothesley, for what it's worth, doesn't do anything but be completely pliant. Maybe a bit too pliant since he's nothing more than deadweight. He'd jokingly voice that Neuvillette should leave him, but the man certainly would never and he'd likely be reprimanded. Instead, he is more distracted by whatever voice seems to have took hold of his senses. Being taken away from the abomination seems to have him almost yearning. The scent that threatens to choke him was also alluring in a way he doesn't understand.

He tries really hard not to put up a fuss and desperately tries to find himself again. It feels like he doesn't fit right in his skin nor does his thoughts feel like they're all his and maybe that realization does a lot to reground him. Not having control of his mind at least spooks him to want to get a grasp on it again.

He finally shifts to turn and look back at the other and away from the grotesque being.] Behind the pillars on the right should be an entrance. I entered that way earlier. [His voice has a growl to it now, sounding a little rougher than he usually does.]

It leads to a hallway and should help put space between it and us. [Wriothesley obviously had been mapping the place out incase.]

IB - Randomize!

[heavyliesthecrown]

[The thing about dreams is you can do whatever you like in them. When you manage to convince yourself that none of this could possibly be real, the food and drink suddenly seem a little safer to consume.

Not that he has yet. Tsukasa's entire plate is full to the brim, excited to try all manner of different foods. When addressed, he glances up from beneath his veil, his smile peeking out from below. The questions earns a low chuckle.]

Fufu... I couldn't say. This is all quite new, isn't it? As invited guests, the least they can do is serve a little food, though.

[armwriostle]

[Unfortunately, Wriothesley has an (un)healthy dose of paranoia that has him continuously scrutinize things.

Still, the repercussions of not eating, or at least he assumes that is the cause, has him finally relenting. He can't really snoop around if he's stuck here at the feast and he also can't snoop around if his every movement is being so thoroughly scrutinized.

Nevermind that he's sure they're all being intensely watched right now. A lose-lose situation really is quite annoying.] Well, I find that most of my dreams (or nightmares), aren't as intense as this one. Usually I just dream about being back in the ring or paperwork or getting to enjoy bottomless tea.

[He finally picks up a Starpit Fruit and examines it.] I don't think they have to. But that depends if you consider ourselves guests or captives.

[heavyliesthecrown]

[That does leave him contemplative. Guests or captives.]

Do you think the one behind the castle is responsible for our adventures upon the water?

[He supposes... nothing really makes sense when this castle was the only place available to them to move to. Leaning in a little closer, his smile does not disappear, but his voice does lower.]

I do think our host might be a little irritable if people do not partake. They seem to be watching rather intently.

III what can go wrong with two lycans!

[omertosa]

[And there it is.

Texas has been spending this entire dream sequence waiting for the other shoe to drop—the unceremonious swim in the dark ocean she knew would only be a prelude. The feast had been nothing more than a distraction, and that thing is more along the lines of what she had expected to be lurking on the horizon. Less expected, though, is the familiar painful fire that spreads throughout her body in an instant. The feel of bones shifting and reseting, the burn of muscles reshaping around them, slowly but surely. She’s tired of it all already, perhaps most of all the incessant rage that always follows on its heels.

She manages to keep herself upright by leaning heavily on the nearest of the banquet tables, platters crashing to the ground as she tears at the tablecloth beneath with the continued effort. But she knows she needs to get the hell out of there while she still has the clarity of mind to do so. She pushes away from the table, stumbling on unsteady feet—and catches sight of another poor bastard seemingly going through the same thing amidst all the rest of the chaos.

Something spurs her to close the distance between them, and for better or worse she obeys the compulsion, inelegantly crashing to one knee at his side as the pain of the change intensifies. She grits her teeth, one now-clawed hand scrabbling to grab at his arm.]

Need to move.

[Her own voice is strained and rough, underpinned with a growl.]

The doggies are just having walkies together. Surely nothing wrong will happen.

[armwriostle]

[Perhaps they can later appreciate their how likeminded they were with Wriothesley sure that something was not what it seemed. Then again, he would find someone particularly naive if they didn't feel that things truly were off because the whole atmosphere of this place was truly off-putting. It's too bad the only thing he could do was note the layout as well as he can and to try and stick his nose into things without being too obvious.

Partaking a little wasn't off the table, but it was still good to keep one's wits about them. And sometimes you had to get your tail a little dirty to know more.

And still one could not be prepared for what was currently happening. Like feeling like his entire body wanted to burst out of his skin. He grinds his teeth, breathing hard through his nose and mouth alike as his body is forced to try and accommodate whatever what was happening. His head shoots up when he hears the sound Texas slamming her knee to the floor, bringing a moment of clarity to his pain and rage addled mind. Somehow seeing someone else, someone who seemed to suffering similarly, helped ground him more than anything.

It's just easier to force oneself onto their feet when there's someone else involved.

Wriothesley's eyes have seemed to flip entirely to the ring of yellow surrounded by steel grey to the limbal ring of steel grey around bright gold. His hair even twitches a little and on closer inspection, hair was no longer hair, but ears that seem to be growing in.

He moves though. It's an arduous affair to force himself back to his feet, especially with how strange his legs now look upright, but he manages. When he finds his voice again, it comes out gruff.] Together then.

it's enrichment for them

[omertosa]

[Texas has spent most of her early life trying to suss out what truly lies beneath the veneer of civility often offered when surrounded by would-be enemies, and anything under Sleep’s influence here gets that same critical eye.

And because of that wealth of experience, she knows all too well that she hates seeing others get caught up in a game they wanted no part of. She doesn’t fancy herself as one who’s much for heroics, but the desire to see those people not get dragged into harms way is always a real one. Someone here going through the same shit she’s been forced to endure for a while now? Easy enough to want to offer a hand even in the midst of all the chaos descending upon the banquet hall, because she knows full well that this shit sucks.

Whether it’s because her body’s growing a little more used to this song and dance after enduring it previously or because she has the (un?)lucky distinction of Lupo biology gifting her a headstart on the whole thing with her natural wolf-like ears and tail, she seems to be able to get to her own feet with slightly less concerted effort than her new companion in transformation. It allows her to take a moment to scan for somewhere less crowded with gold-tinted amber eyes while he gets to his own feet. At least it’s something to focus on other than the pain, and the way dark fur is slowly sprouting along her limbs.

Not that there’s a lot of options for them, with that monstrosity quickly growing on one end of the hall and the smarter among the unwilling banquet attendees getting the hell away from it. But…]

This way. [Spoken with clipped effort, she forces herself to step in another direction on awkward feet. One quieter corner of the expansive hall lies mostly forgotten—a little open, but better than the alternative.] Away from the others.

[She knows from experience that the beastly shape forcing itself on them doesn’t like to always play nice with others. Which is maybe inviting trouble with two of them now in the mix, but they can only cross one bridge at a time.]

consume; eto mess

[salaryman]

[ His mouth splits open into a wide smile. Honestly, he doesn't know the answer to the question. Is this normal? Is this to celebrate something? His eyes dart toward the silent guardian that is watching them eat. It doesn't seem like One is going to answer their questions -- which is a shame! ]

Who's to say? But since we don't know, shall we pretend it is a celebration to us?

[ Pulling the sweet dishes to them, he shoves one toward his companion. It's better to suffer together than suffer alone. He isn't sure if suffering is even something that is on the menu (haha), but he's a lot more skeptical than he looks or acts. ]

Since I don't get the feeling anyone is going to tell us, we can just decide it on our own, no?

[armwriostle]

[THe man's wild smile and the almost lackadaisy way they're going about things immediately gives him the feeling that they're not someone to be trifled with so easily. He knows better than to take someone at face value and the way he goes about things feels a little too chill for him to think there isn't more to this man.

But he also knows how to play along.

He's still skeptical about the food though. Wriothesley picks up a fork, but only to prod a bit at the fruit that gushes out juices when he prods at them.] Hmm~ Hmm~ I can't think of any recent happenings and it isn't close to my birthday. [Wriothesley is stalling a little, even as more color drains from his being.]

Has good tidings come to you recently, monsieur?

[salaryman]

Well, if our lovely hosts don't mind, why not consider this part of a early celebration to you?

[ It's a beat of silence before he lets out a soft little chuckle. An obvious joke. ]

As for me, I can't complain. [ He lightly scratches the side of his face as he laments. ] Well, there are things that make me want to cry, but I have to be an adult about it for right now. [ Yet again he lets out the same laugh as he did seconds before.

It's nice to meet someone who will joke around with him, especially when it seems like they're just as sharp as he is. ]

ii.α

[sorte]

[ some might call it just a bit awkwardly pathetic to be surrounded by an orgy and not already be a part of it, but Aventurine is indeed free. rather than having joined in on anything thus far, he's chosen(?) to simply watch. although he can't say voyeurism is normally a big pastime, there's something both hypnotic and unsettling about the dream-vessels in their intimate dedication that keeps him glued in place despite the internal clash between logic and instinct brawling hotly. the sensualism, visually and audibly, is intense; enough that, while he's only aware of himself here, he simply chalks up any neediness as a result of it.

(— and then, a scent catches into his nostrils before he even sees the owner and he realizes this isn't simply from watching, afterall. something's changed, but more importantly someone smells divine. )

before the gambler can turn around, he feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder and the sound of a voice that makes his skin prickle in excitement underneath his clothing. he turns to look up at the stranger, his smile casual and practiced despite... well, honestly? despite the sudden overwhelming desire to throw himself at this man. ]

Mm, I'm very free for you.

[ he hums. the dream vessels weren't worth throwing caution to the wind—but this individual?

(aventurine reaches up to run his index finger along the underside of wriothesley's jaw, lifting onto the balls of his feet so that their lips almost touch as his words roll out like the fog against the other's mouth, tone salacious and beckoning.) ]

I'll be sure that you don't end up disappointed with your choice.

[ oh, absolutely. he's all in. ]

[armwriostle]

[In the damp and humid space filled with bodies pressed together and pleasure a cacophony of sounds in the air, Wriothesley's scent almost cuts through that all. It's a chill that smells like winter and the cold tang of metal that lingers in the back of one's throat. It's the warm, earthy undertones that lures one out of the cold and inside to a hot mug of tea. A seduction in its own right that almost seems natural while Wriothesley gives the other a confident smile with a mischievous gleam in his gaze.]

Oh, like what you see already? I do like when someone knows what they want. [He grabs Aventurine's wrist, firm to keep the other in place, but not meant to overpower. He tilts his head away from the ghost of lips, but it's not a rejection. Not when he brings those fingers close to his mouth to give it a nip and to even curl his tongue around one of the digits.

As if just giving the other a little taste of what he can soon have. A tease.]

I like confidence too. It would be a shame to disappoint me, but somehow I'm not worried. I like to think I have a good eye for people, after all. [He takes a step back, but pulls Aventurine along with him.] Which is to say that I prefer a quieter spot. I don't want to share, after all.

[sorte]

[ oh, Aventurine likes what he sees very much, and he hums softly in response to communicate his approval. in fact he also likes what he hears, feels, smells and can practically taste in regards to the other if the way he reacts to his fingers getting tongued is any indication (obviously and maybe just a little too easily taken by the sight and feel, but he has always had a thing for tall, dark, handsome, and particularly strong men.)

such is an omega around a gorgeous alpha.

that scent, though, in this stuffy atmosphere is like a breath of fresh air, a relief that that he can't help but be drawn towards independent of everything else that is particularly alluring about this man.

there's no hesitation to go along wherever Wriothesley decides they go, Aventurine not even glancing back at the groups they leave behind, far too caught up in his new partner. ]

Oh? You don't like to share? What a coincidence, I feel the same way.

[ that has nothing to do with his designation in these rooms, he's just selfish. besides, Aventurine naturally has a liking towards pretty-colored eyes, and the other has a rather beautiful set. if not for the urges creating such restlessness, he wouldn't find it a bad deal to simply be able to sit and stare into them for a while. ]

the way you lay - A

[longwillows]

[Luckily, it's hard to be too friendly for Kalmiya Longwillow. Particularly under circumstances like these, where her already friendly inclinations are colored with lurid shades and dripping with a need for connection. Runes light on the golden skin of the shoulder exposed by her dress as he sets his hand on it, and one fuchsia fox ear swivels quickly in his direction before the rest of her head follows to look curiously up at him.

That dark undercurrent to his words doesn't escape her notice, but it only serves to pique her attention as her lips pull up into a mischievous smile.] Not at all. I've been told that I'm delightful company.

[She shifts her weight; sidles a little closer to him, tilts her head and relaxes her shoulder with cheeky interest. There's a knowing sort of tease in her voice as she adds,] Though I suppose it depends on the nature of the company you desire.

[armwriostle]

[The playful banter only encourages him. A part of him burns with wanting this unknown lady submit to him, though that part he stamps down. It's foreign to him; a piece of him that doesn't feel like him. He likes some fun and her cheekiness really only encourages at the moment.] Hmm~? You'll give off the wrong impression bringing up others when you should have your attention on me, sweetness.

[As he speaks, he lets his hand slide down her arm until he rests it onto her hip, pressing her closer to him. It's casual enough that she can pull away, but possessive enough that no one else will dare approach her while she's with him.]

I can't say I'm picky. I'm just hoping that my company enjoys having a little fun. Besides, I think we both know what type of company anyone would want while down here. [Though he enjoys coyness. That little game of tug-of-war as they feel each other out is always exhilarating. To want and to want in return. He's not going to play his cards out right away, and he's charmed to see that she's playing a bit of a longer game also.]