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JAWS • DECEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM
TDM & EVENT: JAWS
ᛗ
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:
OFFERING EFFECTS
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.TOKEN EFFECTS
• 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.
• 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—?.
ᛗ
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:
TOKEN EFFECTS
OFFERING EFFECTS
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.
ᛗ
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
TOKEN EFFECTS
OFFERING EFFECTS
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.
ᛗOOC 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!
➤ 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!
Noctis Lucis Caelum | Final Fantasy XV | Daemon | New Player/Character
It's the third time he's found himself in this strange dream world, and although there have been differences, some things have always occurred, almost like clockwork.
So when he hears Her voice, he knows the massive wave is soon to follow. Noctis tries to brace for the oncoming tsunami but he's just not fast enough. After all, who can fight against the might of an unseen goddess?
'Awakening' in an endless ocean with no sense of direction, he's pretty sure it's some kind of prison and he huffs a cynical laugh. It would be his luck to end up a plaything of yet another diety, trapped and subject to the whims of the divine.
That's when he realizes he can't breathe, panic rising from the pit of his stomach, his hands clamping around his mouth to keep from inhaling water. Only when he notices the tiny threads, the golden wisps mesmerizing, their draw distracting enough that he completely forgets the need for air, does he accidentally acclimate to the watery environment.
However, the panic is soon replaced by something arguably worse; the heartache, grief, and guilt he hasn't even begun to unravel. The whole scenario is almost like deja vu, as he gazes into the filaments, reliving those final moments where she bestowed upon him the ring that is his birthright while sighing one last heartfelt farewell as she sank beneath the waves.
Luna... I'm so sorry... I... I couldn't save you...
But this time, she reaches for him, hand extended, not to leave behind a single Sylleblossom of parting, but to take his hand in invitation. Instinct has him hesitating, but his heart has him reaching for her in turn.
The young king barely notices as the tendrils start to pulse and coil around him, ensnaring him and pulling him deeper. Nor does he perceive the beast lurking in the depths.
Not yet at least...
ᛗ Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator
As he finally breaches the surface, shards of shattered glass exploding downward as he emerges, his body falling to the hard stone with a thud. For a long while, Noctis just lays there, still as death on the cold, wet, floor of the cathedral, staring up at the stained glass ceiling. He has no idea that the light is skewing his appearence to that of the glorious King of Kings he's meant to be. He certainly doesn't feel that way, as, eventually he gets to his feet, swaying slightly from the residual mental toll he's just endured, and slowly makes his way to the giant double doors marking the exit.
He traverses the garden in an almost daze-like state, unsure of where he's heading or what his destination should be. That hollow looks as good a place as any. However, upon seeing the restrained figure, he snaps into action, the desire to not have another death on his hands driving him forward.
But again, the crushing weight of failure sinks in as the strange creature grins at him, stopping him from going any further, and leaving him with nothing but a confusing jumble of words.
Whatever. Its intent is clear. There's no going that way.
"Dammit!" Noctis curses as he drags his feet back the way he came, through the garden and absently towards its edge. "What the hell am I supposed to do? What do you want from me?" He all but shouts at no one in particular, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He hates this feeling of solitude, of having no guidance, no protection, and no one to keep his spirits up.
The mysterious wraith-like creatures that seem to phase in and out of the darkness don't escape his notice, but he doesn't dare approach them. After all, everything here either tries to kill him or mocks him. Not a good track record. At length he flops down on a crumbling pedestal, sighing and resting his chin in his hand as he struggles to think of what to do next. Oddly, Noctis finds his gaze drawn to the weird herd of shadow beasts. He notices one in particular with an odd white mark on its back, flanked by three others, they snort and butt their heads against it, one even rising up on its back legs and making a high pitched sound as if trying to communicate something. None of the actions are malicious, in fact, they seem to be more of a guidance. And yet the marked creature stubbornly turns its head away, an obvious sign of indignation.
"Hey buddy, maybe you should listen to them. There might be a day when you don't have them around to help you out." Noctis mutters, unsure why he's talking to what is likely some kind of man-eating killer beast.
Curiously, the creature focuses six brimstone red eyes on him and cocks its head to the side. Noctis stays still and continues to speak, whether out of boredom or insanity, he's unsure.
"Look, I get it. They can be annoying at times, but take it from me, you really don't really know what you have until it's gone."
The creature shakes its head, the tattered mane drifting like smoke around it, as the creature suddenly starts to trot directly for the young king. Noctis feels his heartbeat quicken, swallowing as he forces the fear back and wills himself to calm. The beast circles him, once, twice, three times, snorting hotly as if trying to get a rise out of him.
Noctis keeps his cool, silently maintaining eye contact as the beast stops in front of him, seemingly sizing him up.
Then something unexpected happens, the creature bows its head and lowers to its knees, as a chocobo back home might. Noctis blinks incredulously, standing slowly and cautiously approaches the beast. He holds out his hand as he might for a chocobo, letting the creature get his scent and to show he means no harm. Whether the beast intends to do the same is still up for debate, but something has Noctis continuing despite his better judgement. Once he's within range, the creature snuffles his hand, it's breath hot on his still chilled skin. Noctis chances petting along its muzzle, running his hand along its neck and giving a few firm pats. The beast nuzzles his chest in return, almost knocking him over. Noctis huffs a laugh.
"I bet Prompto would love you." He remarks, feeling that pang of longing again. He continues to pet the strange beast as it seems to be helping somewhat.
The creature makes a sound akin to almost gutteral laugh, snorting and bobing its head up and down.
"What? How can I even begin to describe you to him?"
It repeats the motion, turning its head as if to gesture to its back.
"You're kidding, right? It's not like you can take me to him."
Again, the beast gestures with its head a few times while making the sound, as if to emphasize the offer.
"Alright, if you insist." Noctis relents with a shrug. "But don't give me any crap if I do it wrong, I've only ridden chocobos!"
The beast just snorts, and as Noctis moves to mount it, he would swear he saw it roll its eyes. All six of them!
ᛗ Where The Delicate Stops
"I'm trusting you." Noctis says as he rubs the creature's neck and sits up straight in proper rider fashion. "Show me what you wanted."
With that, the beast takes off, galloping at a speed Noctis has never experienced; and he's driven sports cars! They enter a city not unlike certain parts of Insomnia, causing that pang to stab him in the heart. As is sensing his grief, the beast offers a soft gutteral sound of comfort and Noctis gives it another pat. "Thanks buddy."
Their moment of bonding is soon interrupted by a deluge of chaos; melting glass, peeling stone, reality all but twisting in on itself. This seems to spook the beast and it bolts, trying to weave it's way through the carnage in search of a way out. Noctis' riding experience proves invaluable here as he has no trouble staying mounted. The challenge comes when he spots someone, also riding one of the shadow beasts get struck out of nowhere, the rider thrown to the ground as the beast literally disintegrates.
"Hey! We can't just leave them!" Noctis shouts, trying to reason with his mount. It snorts its understanding and Noctis steers it towards the fallen rider. As they get close enough, Noctis uses his legs to grip the beasts body, one hand holding the long mane as he reaches for the downed person.
"Grab my hand!"
[[OOC: Have anything else you'd like to do with Noctis? Drop a Wildcard! Or feel free to PM me to plot something out!]]
Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator (cw: mention of eye injury, body horror)
He was distracted by Noctis's shouting. He understood that helplessness and that pain was sharper without his friends by his side. His soul ached with longing and his glowing eye softly burned brighter as he followed the voice.
He caught up to him in the garden but he was hesitant to interrupt. Animals had always been frightened by his magic and he looked even more monstrous now. He pulled the hood of his shroud further down to try to hide his face. Little did he know how monstrous he looked depended on how Noctis saw him.
Noctis looked a bit familiar but it was his words that stood out to Sirius more. Didn't Ignis mention the name Prompto? Drawn by his curiosity he stepped closer.
"What's a chocobo?"
((OOC note: Sirius's magic can be influenced by how people view magic. I thought it would be fun to tie in this concept with the eye of the predator prompt, so how the nightmares react to Sirius's magic will depend on how Noctis sees him.))
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Noctis turns his head in the direction of the voice. It's the first human speaking person other than the strange, creepy whispers he's heard since he 'awkoke' in this place. Blinking wide, cobalt blue eyes, he's relieved to see an actual person, a hooded, well covered person, but a human being, and as far as he can see, the figure has a regal bearing. They seemed trustworthy, though they also appear to walk with a limp as they approach, reminding him a little of how his dad walked before he came to rely on his cane. The young king is a little caught off guard, which is why he completely forgot he had been asked a question. He rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand and the beast at his side paws at the ground with its hoof, but doesn't seem offended at the moment.
"What?"
the snail escapes the holiday hibernation!
"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
Yay!
It's alright. Honestly? I'm glad to see another person. Do you know the way out of here? [Noctis pats the nightmare on the neck.] I think this guy's trying to warn me of something?
[The beast nuzzles Noctis in the chest with a sense of urgency, almost knocking him from his feet.]
<3
His glowing eyes flickered with a startled flash when another nightmare slowly approached him. Animals were usually afraid of his magic and he hesitantly reached out to it.]
Well, the riddle "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?" probably refers to these creatures. So maybe they know the way?
[There was something strange about the energy the nightmare sensed from Sirius and they slowed to a halt with a wary shake of their head. Noctis's influence softened the unnatural energy and the creature hesitantly lowered their head a little. Is it safe?]
ᛗ Where The Delicate Stops
Ignis isn't sure if this is Sleep tricking him once again with an image of a Noctis who won't be there when he wakes up, but he's not going to take the risk in such a high danger situation as this one is. Besides, Noctis is doing what Ignis himself wishes he could. Were he not having to fight tooth and nail--even with his steed's help--to stay seated, he would be helping the fallen as well.
While he might not be able to see the danger around them, every so often an image pops into his mind of what is happening. From its point of view, he can't help but think it's the steed who is showing him the images. Not that there is time to ponder the meaning of that. They need to get out of here now.
"Hurry, Noct! There is no time!"
FINALLY FREE FROM UNI HELL! (Util Jan 10th lol) Ty for patience!
But wait.
The figure hasn't made any attempts to attack. In fact, it appears that they're shielding him.
Upon hearing the familiar voice, relief washes over him, despite the urgent message.
"Iggy!" Noctis calls out, the relief audible. "It's good to see you!"
He's about to head for what he hopes is the exit, the unconscious rescuee slung over his steed, when the need for that weapon rises again in full force as he catches out of the corner of his eye, tendrils of black, who-knows-what lunging straight for his retainer.
The young king is there in a beat, skillfully directing his mount and deflecting the onslaught; one hand holding his charge, the other now armed with a shimmering glaive, and of course, a cocky retort on his tongue.
"I don't think so!"
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Still, when Noctis starts to move in the direction Ignis' steed was moving before they stopped to shield the young king, the advisor allows his steed to follow. He's not going to abandon his king, not even if said king may abandon him once again when he wakes up. It's not like that is Noctis' fault. It's Sleep playing with his feelings just like she always does.
A moment before Noctis appears to deflect the tentacles, a warning Ignis can't quite describe flashes into his mind. Oddly enough, he's not sure if it's his powers warning him or the steed beneath him doing it, but it makes it clear he needs to hold on tight and be ready for a jolt to the right. Sure enough, it happens just scant seconds later as the Nightmare attempts to get them out of the reach of the tentacles. With so much rubble to weave through, the steed can't go as far as it would have liked, so it is fortunate Noctis' reflexes are so fast.
"Many thanks, Noct! No doubt there will be more of those. Keep your eyes open."
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As sharp as it is, Noctis is glad for that strictness he's come to expect from his advisor, the familiarity bolstering his resolve.
With a hearty 'hyah,' he spurs the nightmare into motion, doing exactly as directed and 'keeping an eye out.'
That's when the young king is the one targeted, skidding to the side to avoid a warping street and a slew of tentacles emerging from the sewers.
"Iggy!"
He calls out to Ignis to make sure his retainer is okay as well, head whipping around wildly until he gets the other man in his sights.
no subject
The pointing gesture that comes with the forceful word is completely unnecessary, but Ignis can't help but remember the last time tentacles had gotten a hold of someone he cared about in one of these dreams. Rain had died and Ignis had not been able to stop it no matter how hard he tried. This time will be different.
The word itself takes longer to fade than it should, an echo of it being repeated backward lingers in the air even as the tentacles freeze and then slide backward into the sewers they had come from.
Ignis feels the spell start to come to its end and turns his attention back toward Noctis, "Ride! They will return soon enough. I will be right behind you."
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There's no time to dwell on it as the warning of the tendrils imminent return comes shortly after the amazing feat. He nods, jaw setting and posture determined. Again, Noctis skillfully urges his mount into a gallop, rushing towards the gaping hole. He doesn't like the idea of going ahead when there's the possibility of Ignis getting caught up in the warping landscape or attacked, but he knows better than to argue.
no subject
For a good couple of minutes, Ignis is able to keep his promise of being right behind Noctis, but then the ground warps and twists opening a gap all but underneath his Nightmare's feet. The creature lets out a shrieking neigh as it rears back. Ignis hands fist around his mount's mane, white-knuckled as he is nearly thrown from its back.
One step back, two and then the Nightmare comes back down on all four feet, steady once more if only for a moment. Ignis brings his head to rest against the steed's neck, breathing heavily. That was beyond close. Now, how does he get across that? He is too rattled at the moment to try rewinding time and the crack is likely too big for him to affect anyway.
While his mind races for a solution, Ignis raises his head again and calls out, "Noct, keep going! If we get separated, make sure you have your mask on and call out for me in your mind. I will hear you!"
As he finishes speaking, his Nightmare tosses its head and a flash of them jumping the crack pops briefly into his mind. Tilting his head down, Ignis gives the steed a shaky, but confident smile, "If you think you can do it, I believe in you. Do it!"