JAWS • DECEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JAWS

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Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws

The dream has been coming in waves for those new to Sleep's touch, as a shoreline that never stays still. As a sky that never remembers to include its stars. Beneath it all, there is a voice. Her voice: silk-sweet, coaxing from just beyond the approaching wave that towers like a moving mountain. She tells you to come home. She promises it won't hurt, even if she never tells you what waits beneath. You see the shape just before the dream ends: a massive black tidal wave, yawning wide and black until it looks like a pair of jaws breaking upon you. You don't have time to resist.

You and your veteran Vessels will awaken in water.

There is no surface. No bottom. No sky. No sound but your own heartbeat and the echoes of water being slashed though, dull and endless in the still, frigid dark. You are suspended, weightless— Some may have difficulty to breathe without inhaling water the first few times, while those aligned with the waves will feel it come like second nature. Once you acclimate yourself, you'll notice that around you drift glowing filaments; thin, pulsing threads that coil like jellyfish tendrils, softly luminescent. They curl and twist through the water, and when you look closer, you realize: they show you things. Memories, maybe. Dreams, maybe. Each one unique to your gaze: a hand reaching for yours in the dark, a goodbye that never finished, a face you haven't seen in years. They are what you think love looks like. What you once needed it to be. And when you touch them, they wrap around you, gently, warmly . . . Hungrily— and begin to pull you down.

To ascend into the next level, you must let go. But not everything that binds you wants to be released. The filaments drifting through the water show you what you think love looks like— what you've built it into. They are gentle at first, beautiful even, but the longer you cling, the more they pull.

There are ways to escape them: You may bind your filament with another's and together speak aloud a shared truth: what you believe love really is. If your hearts align or at the very least come to an agreement, the threads dissolve into light and lift you upward. If your beliefs clash or contradict, the threads knot tighter, and something . . . May take interest in you.

Beneath you, something moves. Huge, silent and almost regal. It glides through the deep like a phantom, almost too large to be real. You feel its presence before you see its flash of pearl white and glowing red eyes, three on each side of its face: a shark.

The shark is here to choose its next meal. It smells grief, fear and seeks out trauma most of all. It is drawn to the most unspoken parts of you, the very parts you thought were buried, roused from the tightened ropes of what you crave in your heart. And when it chooses you, it does not bite immediately. It invites, with its jaws opening like a sanctuary and slow towards you.

Inside is I, whispers Sleep. Allow Me to have you whole, and you will be at peace. Show Me love.

Fight against her, or even with your current partner about what love is, and Sleep will open her maw, spilling tendrils from her throat and begin to stalk you. Best be prepared to fight the possessed Megalodon— She will laugh, amused as you do, like a great cat playing with its food. And if you were to be caught, well. You'll wake in the dream's next level with an undeniable prey drive, whether Token or Offering.

She will do anything to keep you here.

NOTES:

• There is no surface visible at first. Light only comes from the filaments. As characters resist, act, or ascend, a faint stained-glass shimmer begins to pulse upward, hinting at the dream's next layer.
• Sound is muffled— speech emerges as bubbles, but meaning travels regardless. Words feel heavy here. Some phrases may literally change the water (turn to light, birth dream-objects, or ripple with tension). You will do better using The Murmur as a means of communication. Luckily you have your mask on!
• The Shark always circles once it senses trouble within you. Sometimes close, sometimes far, but always felt. If characters listen closely, they can hear the echo of One's voice coming from inside it: pleading with a haunted, at times screaming melody.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• The dream bends subtly around Tokens, especially at the whims of an Aquamancer. Walls of pressure open before them, and filaments shift course as if expecting them. This can make their path easier, unless they start to doubt their purpose.
• Tokens perceive emotional resonance as currents in the water such as subtle flows of energy. These can guide them (or others) toward escape paths, or signal when the shark is near.
• When a Token speaks or acts with strong intent, the dream sometimes translates it into a symbolic structure: A word might become a floating glyph. A gesture might alter the filament's shape. A moment of clarity might reveal a hidden path. Other characters can interact with these dream-objects, but they're fragile, unstable, and prone to distortion by doubt.
• The deeper Tokens go, the more they feel themselves pulling apart and begin to experience dual awareness: one part dreaming, one part watching— some may even see flashes of within the shark's belly, and One's voice much louder. The deeper they go, the more detached they become, and the more they lack the ability to act at all.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The shark is more fascinated by Offerings. It circles them often, sensing kinship— or potential. The more monstrous the Offering, the more the shark "pauses' near them, almost curious.
• Offerings feel "the pull" more clearly, particularly Merrows and other aquatic-based Offerings—they can sense where the surface might be, and where the shark intends to strike next. They may even see pulses in the water that others miss, similar to Spider Man's "spidey senses".
• An Offering may experience rapid body changes submerged. Fins may appear, bones may shift, teeth may lengthen without warning and so on. This makes their movement easier or harder, depending on how much of themselves they're holding back or how apt their monstrous forms are at swimming.
• Some Offerings may feel drawn to the shark— not in fear, but in understanding. They may see themselves in it, and vice versa— One's song in particular is hypnotic, and for split moments you may understand his pain through his words. This might make you more prone to being consumed, though, so hopefully your partner can help you out of it—?.

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Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator

The surface you breach is not water— it's glass.

You strike it with the force of falling sky. It fractures beneath you in a bloom of painted light. For one weightless moment, the dream hesitates, sputters. Then the world shatters, and you fall with the cascade.

Water pours through the crack in the ceiling, carrying you down in ribbons of color and a shattering splash. Stained glass shards drift like petals through the now collapsing roof, and you eventually land not in sand, but upon a cathedral floor, slick with tide. Around you, the water spreads, pooling across the stone and swallowing the walls in a rising hush as it finds escape through the doors.

The cathedral is vast, impossibly so. Its architecture towers, crooked and immaculate, built more from longing than stone. No altar awaits you. No congregation. Only the sensation of having trespassed into something meant to be private. Veteran Vessels may recognize this cathedral as St. Patrick's— before it was drenched in One's blood sacrifice.

High above and surrounding you, the stained-glass mosaics churn with captured light. f you linger beneath one of the window's rays, your appearance may begin to change under the light. You appear as someone else sees you. Be it a hero. A monster. A disappointment. A god. A weakness. A temptation. Even a burden. That version of you clings to your dream-body like a second skin; uncomfortable, intimate, and undeniable. For some, it may be beautiful. For others, unbearable.

If you and another stand beneath the same window, you may each appear as the other secretly imagines. There is no control and no negotiation. Only truth twisted through the lens of want, resentment, fear, or love. And it doesn't go away until you leave the light.

Eventually, the cathedral doors open by dream's will. Beyond them lies a cloister garden: narrow paths, pale trees, and wild flowers that bloom in stillness. At the far end, behind the overgrowth and ruined arches, you see a hollow.

It is a corridor where the dream collapses inward, twisting, warped, half-swallowed in fog and dread. Its stones pulse faintly beneath a shallow film of water. Black tendrils reach from its depths like roots, veins, twitching toward sound, warmth, and movement. You see them dragging matter into the earth, and between them lie bones, contorted and fresh, half-consumed.

And farther still, a body that still breathes. Glimpsed only briefly, A masked man's form is stretched by the hollow's gravity, arms pinned behind the veil. He does not move, or speak. Or perhaps, he cannot. The hollow does not let him go and will not, should you make your attempts. If you step foot in the hollows that have consumed him, you too will be consumed. A three eyed Tod sits at the hollow's edge, a single bushy tail splitting into three, as its body plays with illusion like smoke put to dance over fire. It says, as its head floats up and its maw splits into a grin too cheshire to ignore: Wearing shoes, yet no feet in sight. You'll hear steps pound in the death of night. What is it that you need, to cross this narrow blight?

It disappears and only leaves you the riddle to chew on.

Nothing living can cross the hollow, you'll soon find. Nothing except . . . The Nightmares.

Just outside the garden's boundary, you'll find horses built from wind and shadow, flickering at the edge of your vision. Their bodies are black— not the color, but the absence, swallowing all light. Some of their craniums cound be seen, others have a jutting horn of bone from their foreheads. Where eyes should be, there are six: three stacked on each side of the skull, glowing dimly red like distant embers beneath ice. Their manes flow like torn fabric, like drifting vapor that trails behind them like the smoke from a snuffed candle. Their maws are too damn wide to be herbivorous, yet they seem to enjoy the act of grazing. They wait, unchained and wild in a herd.

This is the only way forward. Only they can pass through the hollow untouched. But how to ride one—? You may chase them. You may plead, command, kneel. You may offer them all your need and all your love, promises that you will provide if they become your steed. But they were not made to answer it. For every Vessel, there is one single Nightmare that will choose them, and thus you will choose each other. They have their own personalities, some more aggressive or shyer than others. The harder you reach, the faster they vanish or harshed they will attack if unready. Try to mount one through force, and you'll regret ever trying. Try to bind one, and it will break you.

But if you are patient, if you figure out its nature and how to please it— your Nightmare may come closer. One may circle you. It may bow its head. Their snort is warm and real against your palm. If successful, it will lower itself to its knees. If you've got the height, they will simply wait, patiently, for you to get on their backs (Or not; there are plenty of sassy mares out there).

If you accept, you might not be taken somewhere safe, but you will be taken somewhere true, away from here. And if you force your want upon them, if you cannot let go— you will be left with something else.

In the distance, across the flooded cathedral floor, you may see One again. Flashes, glimpses. Always chasing a mare he never reaches, or the opposite— the mare chases after him.

NOTES:

• If a character successfully forms a bond with their Nightmare, it will return with them in the form of a waking world steed, officially introduced in the next event. You're free to give it the personality you wish.
• If a character attempts to force a connection with a Nightmare at any point (tries to catch, mount, command, etc.), the mare will bite or kick, which Vessels will suffer as a persistent dream-mark that will carry into the waking world.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Light clings unnaturally to Tokens in the cathedral, especially near the stained glass. It bends around their bodies like a false halo, casting them in divine or monstrous outlines depending on who watches.
• If a Token casts or channels any magic within the cathedral or near a Nightmare, the spell does not manifest, but instead, a cold mist escapes their mouth, and the Nightmare turns to look. The dream rejects force.
• When a Nightmare looks directly at a Token, their eyes eclipse, pupils vanishing into rings of shadow. In that moment, a fragmented vision floods the Token's mind . . . not from the Nightmare, but from another character nearby. It shows the Token how that character once dreamed of them, what they feared, needed, or hoped they would become.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The stained glass causes a subtle change in scent and physical appearance turning into a more grotesque version of this— Offerings begin to smell or look like what others most want from them.
• Offerings may always know where the Nightmares are, even when hidden. But the more they try to act on this knowledge, the harder the Nightmares are to reach.
• An Offering's body will react before they realize it, flinching from lies, bristling in moments of emotional pressure, pulling away from contact, and so on. They may startle even at gentle contact, as if something inside them is as reactive as they are.

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Where The Delicate Stops

As your Nightmare takes you through the misty hollow, you may begin to notice the empty city of Manhattan as veterans remember. There is no warning but the eerie silence that surrounds you like impossible weights. The cathedral once behind you folds inward— wrong, deep and full of pressure. It bursts through the hollow's path, through the city's street, and then— The dream ruptures.

Stone peels backward like paper. Glass liquefies mid-air. The sky above the city pulls itself inside out. Time bends sideways. And from the edges of the dream, something, someone, begins to hunt. Sleep's presence moves like the very shark she chose as a vision of her physical manifestation. She does not speak or rage. But you feel Her, rising like fever beneath the skin of Her world as the hairs at the back of your neck do. She does not want you this deep, and neither does One.

Somewhere within the collapse, you may see them— entwined, shifting, trembling. One's face is turned toward you, screaming something that doesn't reach your ears. Sleep's hands are tangled in his body. She pulls him back with a gentleness that breaks the sky, and he screams, reaching for you with his last breath before consumption. The dream convulses.

The Nightmares bolt with you still on them.

The city rises to meet you from the shadows, but it's not the city you know. Skyscrapers twist at unnatural angles. Streets flood, then dry, then flood again. Tendrils burst from subway grates and gutters, slashing upward like tongues. Streetlights spin like compass needles. Cars levitate, crash, freeze midair. You move through it all at breakneck speed, but the exit keeps shifting— a hole in the world that flickers just beyond reach where you see your body, fast asleep.

Somewhere in the chaos, a few Nightmares are caught. Sleep strikes like lightning— she coils like a viper and tightens like a vice. One touch from Her, and your Nightmare collapses mid-gallop, its body unraveling into smoke and light. No sound. No scream. Just absence. And you fall right off it like a ragdoll.

Others fall beneath impact, too— a wrong turn, a shattered wall, a burst of heat from One's grief. A broken leg. A crash. A wound too deep to ride through. If your steed is lost, you fall. And if no one reaches for you, you stay fallen. Others are near, and their Nightmares still run. All of you have a terrible dread in your bones— if you are caught or left behind, the consequences will be dire. You might not even wake up. So, call out. Cling. Climb. Share. Two Vessels on one mount. Anything to survive and flee as the dreamscape tightens its wrathful grip around you.

Sleep calls inside your spine. You can't make out what She says. One answers, the same blur of garbled words in your marrow. And then, just before the dream can take you, just before you reach an exit— you rise.

Your body lifts from the Nightmare as it paddles the air with desperation, it too rising. You're pulled upward, weightless, as if a thread inside your heart has been yanked by a furious god. You float, twist in the air. Your vision glows white.

We've got you.

And then you wake up— mid-air in the waking world.

Your body slams into your bed, floor, street, soil, wherever it was that you had slept. Reality greets you with terrible impact.

NOTES

• If a character does not find a mount in time, they may be caught in the dream collapse. They still wake— but they wake broken. These characters may wake up bruised, disoriented, or emotionally fragmented, and this can be explored in the next waking world event.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Any Tether they feel becomes unstable—splintered. For brief moments, they feel it breaking and re-forming again and again, with slight differences each time.
• The more emotionally charged they are, the more the dream pulls toward them; tendrils snap faster, debris veers unnaturally close.
• Their body flickers with signs of their own magic—sigils, symbols, runes— burning just beneath the surface of their skin like constellations. These glow brighter as the dream collapses, as if trying to tear free.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Where Offerings are grazed or injured, they bleed light, not red. It floats up like mist.
• They hear One's heartbeat, not theirs, and it speeds in panic. It affects their own pulse, the mare under them . . .
• The Nightmare no longer follows the Offering's will—it will respond to their fear instead.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's third TDM, which doubles as the month's gamewide event!
➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible when they wake up.
➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options, Token or Offering 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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Ironeye | Elden Ring: Nightreign

[markingnight]

[ Contact: Tetradecimal d: tetradraws.

Plotting post link here!
Wildcard is always an option, current player, LMK if you'd like something specific. ]

Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws (A, Romantic Love)

[markingnight]

[ ooc: This is an assumed CR dream! Ironeye will act like he knows your character, up to you whether your character knows him by weird dream logic or not. Age 20+ or the equivalent for this one o7, if you would like things to lean more casual or more serious, or if you've got other ideas, lmk! Basically for a lot of these prompts I'm experimenting a bit since canon is sparse lol. ]

[ There is a warmly-lit room here. Hardwood floors, a center table with chairs, shelves with tools and books and all the usual accoutrements of living. There is a sense of familiarity, even though this place is wholly unfamiliar. And one unexpected element catches the eye:

There is something on the table.

It doesn't belong to you, and yet you know that it cannot possibly be meant for anyone else. A pocketwatch like the one your grandfather had, perhaps, or a book about the secret techniques of the old painters you most love, long out-of-print. Maybe a greatsword shimmering in pale green, its blade drinking in the ambient starlight, perfect for your hand. Whatever it is, it's something you've desired quietly, something you wouldn't think to get for yourself -- an indulgence. Only someone who knows and cherishes you could have thought to tuck it away for later. And yet... ]

You weren't meant to see that.

[ There is fondness and faint exasperation in that normally cool baritone. A tall, dark-haired man has rounded the corner, and now leans against the wall, arms crossed. What he doesn't add: yet. You weren't meant to see it yet. ]

But now the cat's out of the bag, maybe you can tell me if I've got it right.

[ Of his appearance, there is nothing to suggest his identity except for one thing: his eyes are so blue they don't seem to belong on a human. No hiding that behind a mask. ]

Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws (B, Motherly Love)

[markingnight]

[ A sense of unreality permeates the dream. For one, the room's floor is covered with a mountain of letters. Some bear a crimson seal on them, pressed wax with a whorled, spidery insignia. From others, blood seeps slowly, soaking into their neighbors. Attempts to read them result in the symbols simply slipping off the page. They speak of duty, of the slain, of traitors and allies.

And there is this: a woman, her face concealed beneath her mantle. She is so tall she can hardly fit into the room, and must kneel to mind the ceiling. She is a giant. Her arms are held out to encircle, but not touch, the man dressed in pale green scale before her.

When she speaks, it is without sound. Yet from the movement of her lips, words can still be understood: 'Ironeye, beloved child of the Fellowship.' The voice of a woman who had seen much in her years, yet was not wholly resigned to fate.

'I had a dream.' ]

[ There is a softer edge to the Ironeye's baritone. The coolness of steel etched in by rain. One gloved hand he lays upon the woman's oversized wrist. ]

...I know.

[beaffrayed]

[ Fray perches on a pile of letters, his edges trailing shadow, and watches at first without speaking. Here in a dream, he is near weightless, a ghost once more.

It's a strangely familiar feeling, for all the distance between them. His mentor had been kind, but steadfast. Stoic. He and Sidurgu had been taught the virtues of a dark knight in the mire and fog of the older man's guilt and grief, always with the separation between them.

It's not his place to witness such a moment as this, so he speaks up. There's the rustle and slither of paper on paper as he hops up, disrupting the equilibrium of the small mound of letters he was sitting on. ]

We're in a dream now, looks like.

Is this something I ought to be seeing? [ He might be able to leave...probably?? Actually, he's not sure what the situation is outside of this -- he remembers the water, being tangled and chained down... ]

[markingnight]

It is fine.

[ He knew that voice, without turning around. The Ironeye ought to have never heeded the silent beckon of that hand. He turned away from the woman with a bow in his hand, which Fray might recognize as the one he'd had in their last shared dream.

Elegant and lustrous, a beautiful implement of war. As black as Night. ]

Only a dream. A pity it didn't follow me to Manhattan.

[ And for what reason? He carried it always on his person, so he could only conclude he'd been separated from it. ]

Why are you here, Fray? Did curiosity get the better of you, too?

[beaffrayed]

[ He gives the weapon an appraising glance. It's a sleek, elegant thing, clearly of expert construction - he's not too familiar with bows, but Ironeye knows his way around them. If it wasn't a good one, he'd not be using it. ]

It's a good weapon. Been by your side for some time, I'd wager.

[ He carries a much plainer claymore on his back, the one he had used to kill the dragon before. If it's a dream, he can have it, can't he? ]

Seems so. It's a habit I've yet to break. [ Maybe a bad one - he knows well the harm that can result in even idle curiosity - but he'd rather scar himself than not understand. With danger on all sides, he chooses to plunge in deeper. ] Thought I'd see what the fuss was about.

[hexrot]

[ Jayce, engulfed in pitch black sea, only had the glowing filaments as guidance. He touched one, and it brought him . . . Here, with an encirling presence he knows all too well, despite being so very new to what he's seeing. The sheer size of the woman hadn't startled him more than the overwhelming hole he's feeling in the absence of such affections. One that would not compare to any other. One he grew up with.

He misses his mother, and there is not a moment in the waking day when he does not consider how she fairs, if she's well, if . . . He should've said something more, before stepping out of her home and his childhood bedroom one last time. Jayce blinks rapidly and snaps his slightly gaping lips shut once he realizes he's idling, clearing his throat and adding: ]

Sorry for interrupting.

[markingnight]

[ The archer took an item from the woman's hands -- a bow, gleaming and lovely in the way all implements meant to steal lives somehow were. This held his attention more than the sense that someone else was in the room with them, at least until Jayce spoke. ]

It's fine. [ It was fine.

He turned to face the speaker, lest this new stranger feel neglected. ]

...It's been a while since we've met face-to-face, that's all. [ And now, unless by some miracle the Ironeye did not believe in, he never would again. ]

We haven't met before, have we?

Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws (C, Comradely Love)

[markingnight]

[ A large table inside the remains of a crumbling sea-castle hold, its roof and far wall open to the misty skies above. Yet the interior of the room was bright and cheery, made moreso by the little fire, and its inhabitants. Eight Nightfarers, plus a little jar merchant and an automaton of war, repurposed for domestic service.

A great big bear of a man held his stein up in the air, laughing as he boasted and joked.
A kindly witch of quiet smile and motherly manner.
A moody young warrior with a greatsword as long as he was tall on his back, dressed in armor that obscured even his eyes from view.

All these and more, in celebration of their latest expedition. Two were a little apart from the rest: a swordsman in bronze armor, engrossed in mute sketching, and the Ironeye himself. He had a seat by Raider, the man with the overflowing beer stein, but seemed content to enjoy the merriment of the others in quiet. There was a small smile on his lips as he lifted his own mug to drink.

A sense of belonging, of gladness... and yet melancholy, too. Soon, their time would be at an end.

The Raider slapped the young knight in blue on the back with a guffaw. "Ahh, you should have seen it! The instant he peeked around the corner, there was a blast like you'd never heard! That troll was waiting for our boy here! Pot nearly took his head off!" ]

[roedeer]

[ when was the last time he's seen a group of people at peace together? through his deer-like mask, he's able to see it all with ease, and he watches quietly as voices filter into his ears. it feels so long ago to kim soleum, but he's right at home, seeing it from a distance and not taking part in the merriment. it's right up his alley as someone who would rather keep his distance, an individual that looks at others like characters within a movie. this is perfect for him.

he wishes that all he had to do is watch and do nothing else, if he could simply watch it play out and be freed from the filaments that keep him in place... then he'd gladly do that!

to him, it's like friends, a family, and he doesn't know if he'd use the word home, but it's something important to the other person, isn't it? a feeling that can't be replaced by anything else which makes it easier to comment on what he's seeing without making a mistake. the things shown on the tendrils before him aren't his, but that doesn't mean because soleum would ignore his own memories, that he should do it to someone else. ]

Who... [ adjusting his voice, measured and leveled to ensure he's adding interest into his words. ] Who are they to you?

[ he turns his head in direction of the person he's with, he can match him to the scene he's viewing. while he can try and make out what this group could be, doesn't it mean more coming from someone else? ]

[markingnight]

[ Faint amusement on the face of the man similarly entangled -- an unjust reward for what was, after all, only a little harmless curiosity. ]

You don't drink with your enemies like this, I assume.

[ He was dressed in the same armor as the green-clad archer at the table. In this case, however, rather than hood, there was a transparent veil over his face. It was shot through with hues of deepest blue. ]

Comrades. Friends. [ He could admit that much, as alien as the concept might seem. Hindsight was so much clearer than what one could see in the present. Yet neither term truly described his feelings toward them. ]

And with whom am I speaking? [ Or was it this stranger's intention to ogle at his secrets while maintaining his own anonymity? There were some here that would be happy to do so, he was sure. ]

[dedicate]

[ it's the kind of scene that makes it difficult not to get caught up in the atmosphere, don't you think?

lively and warm, with each individual's personality shining in their own way—perhaps the characters are different, but the feeling itself is so familiar it's almost enough for his chest to ache. but, well, there is one face that catches his eye amidst the cheerful room... that of the man with the gentle smile, just a few steps away.

sidling his way up to him, agent choi wears a broad grin, a fully human body, and a mask that seems to be smiling just as brightly as himself. ]

You all seem to get along well~

[markingnight]

Don't blow my cover, Agent Choi.

[ Where had Ironeye picked up that turn of phrase? Either way, the dream rippled slightly, only to reveal a man in the same armor, in the same place -- but this time with veil instead of his usual hood. Murmur masks were somewhat inconvenient for a man who already wore a mask in his everyday.

Not that the people in this memory seemed to notice either of them. Their voices died down, yet they carried on quietly merrymaking. There seemed to be tendrils wrapped around the Ironeye's body, almost wholly translucent. But they did not overly constrict, for now. ]

What are you doing here? Has your curiosity gotten the better of you?

[hongtian]

[ A scene as familiar as it is unknown; as comforting as it is unsettling. Ruhong has seen it before, for all the scenery and the inhabitants might be unique to this memory she has never had. She has drunk and journeyed with companions of her own, shared many a night just like this one, and perhaps that is why she feels no need to draw any closer as she stares into the half-empty mug cupped between her hands. ]

This will not last, you know.

[ She doesn't raise her voice to be heard over the laughter and the chatter, but she doesn't need to: seated against the wall just behind Ironeye, she's close enough for her voice to reach his ears—probably.

Ruhong takes a sip of her drink and makes a face. She's never much preferred beer, given other options. ]

But I'll hear how that story ended.

[markingnight]

[ He took a sip of his illusory drink, not much caring that it wasn't real. There was a glint in his strangely blue eyes. ]

The explosive pot blew Wylder clean off the ledge. Not to worry -- the bricks broke his fall. Though naturally, at least seven Starcaller scavengers were there with pickaxes in hand to finish the job.

[ But who hadn't been threatened by seven angry magical miners at one point in their lives? lol, as the children said. lmao. ]

He's really a very graceful fighter. Fast, too. But everyone has an off day.

[commitments]

[ Well, Adolphe fell asleep into this dream... It started with water, visions that he can barely make sense offered to him by others until they become clearer, and eventually he lands here. The signs of Sleephattan on him are the mask he adorns and the onyx rosary that stays in his hand, even if it's a dream and can't quell the waiting torrent.

An unfamiliar scene, but not an unfamiliar feeling. He remembers Ironeye touching on allies and comrades before... Journeys taken together and also ending. It's heartwarming. ]

Your friends?

[markingnight]

Friends, [ agreed Ironeye, who seemed to have replaced his customary hood with a sheer veil. Unchanged were the blue of his eyes and his voice, however, from which he might be recognized. ]

The knight in blue and silver is Wylder, a swordsman and wanderer of great skill. The bear giving him a hard time is Black Claw, feared marauder of the coastal waters. We call him Raider.

[ Strange names. More like titles, as the Ironeye's own. ]

There were eight of us Condemned in all.

Where The Delicate Stops

[markingnight]

[ When the dream began to collapse: a midnight blur of horseflesh and light armor, swift as a nightmare. Yet if this was some knight errant, he was a dark one. Hues of blue-violet clung to Ironeye's cloak like the last vestiges of lingering night. A black bow, not a gleaming silver sword, was at his back.

Should he spot someone lost or without mounted steed, he'd simply reach out with gauntleted hand and haul them up into the saddle in front of him. Or worse, catch a falling Vessel in both arms as he and his mare sped along. ]

Hold fast.

[ Are you a bad enough dude to be princess carried, idk live your best life ]

[lupusxylem]

[Perhaps by this point, Wolfwood has continued to struggle a bit with connecting with the mares. He didn't have this issue with the Tomas back home, but he did have issues with riding them. They had gangly gaits and it felt like they were going to throw you off at any second...maybe the mares are sensing that fear. They can smell it, probably.

So when Ironeye suddenly seems to appear out of nowhere to save him, Wolfwood isn't going to question someone lifting him up by the hand onto the saddle. It's a little awkward sitting like this, but it's better than be carried bridal style-!

He admittedly doesn't recognize him at first...at least, not until he hears his voice. And hold fast he will.]

S-shit! You'd better not let me fall off this thing-

[markingnight]

Relax. I only toss people off my horse if they misbehave. [ So long as Wolfwood didn't yank on the mare's ears or something, he was safe! Probably. ]

...Wolfwood?

[ Did he rescue Wolfwood without even realizing who it was? Yep.

In the dream, Ironeye was still wearing his familiar armor, for someone with enough wits in the midst of the chaos to notice. But without his mask and hood, one might be forgiven for not immediately placing his face. The pavement peeled up in strips behind the hoofbeats of the nightmare. ]

Well. Fancy meeting you here.

[hallowedly]

( A friend in need is a friend about to be summarily cursed out, as the swelling obstacle course of Sakurazuka Seishirou's dark robes fumble him on his way up the horse's back, tripping him down in the way of prospective trampling, before the sheer luck of breaking his foot's fall on a swerving light post propels him back up — indeed.

He's a wonder, a delight, a bubble of boisterous joy, a buoyant gift that keeps giving. And he ends up, in a spell of consistent misfortune and bellicose gravity, caught in a charmless stranger's arms like a dangling trinket. He should top a tree, he supposes, come the Western world's Christmas — so long as it's obligingly on fire.

In the end, he knows his fate. He also knows that voice. And in between the confines of his Noh mask, acidity drips out indiscreetly: )

Am I a hitchhiker or roadkill?

[markingnight]

[ Had the Ironeye's misdeeds truly been so grave as to warrant Seishirou's luck? Would he have still caught the good doctor if he'd known who it was behind that dog-mask? And why was it always dogs? ]

That yet remains to be seen. Are you much for horses, doctor?

[ Oh, that Seishirou would say 'yes, yes, we love the horses and the riding'. If that were the case, Ironeye might simply hop off the dark steed and count his good deed as done for the day. ]

wildcard; ironeye and yuji's horsegirl adventures

[cursedvessel]

[Yuji has spent the last hour having mental chats with a number of nightmares, getting to know them and their general likes and dislikes. He's even helped make a couple of suitable pairings between shadow horse and rider. By the time he finds himself approaching Ironeye, he's feeling fairly confident that he'll be able to help this guy make a new nightmare friend as well.]

Do you see one that catches your eye? I can make an introduction if you want.

((ooc: hope this works! let me know if I should make edits. (:))

works great \o/

[markingnight]

[ An... introduction..... ah. He'd met another individual in Manhattan who seemed inordinately friendly with beasts. Perhaps Yuji, too, possessed a sort of animal magnetism?

Or maybe he just liked horses. ]

Then perhaps you might help me with my new shadow.

[ One of the mares seemed to be skulking about, following the archer around but never approaching close enough to be touched. Attempting to leave only seemed to spur the animal to make greater nuisance of her presence, snorting and stamping. CURSED. ]

It's as if this horse wants to issue some kind of challenge.

[ The horse looked at Yuji. Yes. Yes. ]

[cursedvessel]

[It's easy enough for Yuji to pick out the so called 'shadow', as there's only one mare who is paying them any attention. He offers her a little wave in greeting before his gaze bounces back to Ironeye, his expression becoming a little hesitant.]

Well...you're not wrong.

[He's definitely getting challenger vibes from her.]

Each of them have their own style of, uh, bonding I guess you can call it. We just have to find out what her's is.

[Yuji turns his attention back to the nightmare in question, his expression softening as he focuses on sending her positive vibes through their connection.]

Hey, girl. Can you tell me why you're following my friend here?