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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Comments

[schietto]

[ Dante is very quiet for a moment. It's an honest answer, and he certainly has nothing better in ideas of thoughts of what to do. Still, how does a demon not have much idea where they want to go out what to do in their own realm? ]

...Is this not a part of Hell where demons normally reside?

[ he walked along the void that couldn't be passed, that suggested the horses were needed to cross. but nothing here makes sense to Dante, probably because despite now knowing more than he ever has since becoming aware of being here, he's more lost than ever. none of that shows on his expression, though. It's just passive and listless, not void of emotion but... rather complacent with a standstill. Dante is terribly good at holding back the massive swarm of thoughts and feelings in his head at all times. ]

[dethangel]

Huh?

[Toki looks at his horse with a baffled expression before looking over at Dante again. Sometimes Toki forgets that his whole scary demonic thing isn't, like, normal, but he's never even thought of his presence making somebody think this is Hell.]

This is, uh, it's New York. [And, like, a dream, and all that other stuff, but he's a little startled by the assumption, so that's what he comes up with instead of the full explanation.] I'm... not from here?

[Also probably not the best explanation, but he's doing his best.]

[schietto]

[ sorry, Toki, very normal human from very normal world and no clue how lost in the religious sauce he really is here— also no one's yet bothered to give this guy any explanation about what is actually going on as he's either only talked with daemons and newcomers besides a few tokens, one of which is his "don't worry about it" brother. Therefore, he's not quite sure what else to possibly think what with Toki's explanation despite understanding he's making Toki confused at best, and perhaps feel bad at worst.

On one hand: This sure as shit doesn't look like New York, but also, yeah, he's pretty sure it's correct that demons don't come from New York, either. Okay, so they're not in Hell, they're in New York and the demon here is saying he's not from here has them both definitely on the same page in some far off universe technically, but probably not this one. nevertheless, technically, they're on the same page, so they can just take this as a win.

Not sure how to ask in a polite and non-aggressive way what on earth has happened to America that New York looks like this, and why are there devil horses running around like it's their local popular street cafe without being silent for an admittedly awkwardly long time, Dante just ... responds with the first thing his skills in auto piloting damage control relations give him: ]

Of course. Your accent hails from Norvegia, if I'm not mistaken... This is clearly not there, so I should have not assumed without asking. I apologize.

[ ...yeah, because Norway isn't where he exactly thinks demons live, either but, Toki's not great response prompted a less than great reply, but whatever, it sounds polite and respectful and is definitely what would be the response where he lived before showing up here. Therefore, maybe that'll be good enough so long as he commits to pretending that was indeed the Right Response. ]

[dethangel]

Oh, yeah! Yeah, you're right, I'm from Norway.

[It's actually really cool that this guy figured it out, Toki thinks. Usually he just ends up telling people if there's a reason to. He smiles, reaching out to pet his horse again, just to make sure he's not super nervous about another guy being around. So far so good, at least. He's been a little worried he might run away, but he's doing a good job.]

It's okay. Stuff here's, uh... kind of fucked up! So... I think I can guess why you thought it was Hell? [Like his whole demonic thing and everything.]

I'm Toki.

[schietto]

[ okay, good, this is a relieving reaction from the other and our greatly soothes Dante both in it's not a positive one but also feels like a small rebound in not coming off as total asshole or something.

There is a small smile from Dante in response although he's still reserved. Fucked up is indeed an acceptable description, but more importantly— ]

... Actually, I did manage to get vague information earlier that this is some kind of dream that's not of my own making; but I am having difficulty remembering ever falling asleep. I realized from some others I may very well be dead, instead. I don't know any other place people like me go than Hell. So, along with the state of this place as you mentioned, I began to decide Hell was much more realistic an explanation for all this than a dream that isn't mine.


Toki, my name is Dante.

[dethangel]

Oh, the dream thing's right. Those happen sometimes. Like, sometimes just... everybody's there. And sometimes there's people who haven't been there before.

[Like this guy. He's pretty sure he hasn't seen him in the waking world, although it'd be entirely possible for him to just not cross paths, but if he was there, he'd probably know more about where he was.]

You're probably not dead! Because... I know I'm not dead. Or, I know I wasn't.

[It'd suck if he was, actually.]

But it's nice to meet you!

[schietto]

...The pleasure is mine, of course.

[ Well that is all quite a friendly response and rather nice of him to offer some reassurance. ]

I see. So this is a... dream of New York City? Where is it that everybody that has been there before is when awake, then? Is that also New York City?

[dethangel]

Yeah. It's... not usually like this. It's a little fucked up, or maybe a lot fucked up, but not like... not like being underwater fucked up or anything.

[He probably shouldn't mention how that church was full of his friend's blood last time he saw it.]

The horses are new.

[Speaking of, he glances over to make sure Nathan's okay. He seems a bit nervous, but not enough to run away yet, which is a good sign.]

[schietto]

How strange. [ That would be alarming to hear as a mention for sure.

At the very least for Nathan, and Toki too probably, Dante is very still, there is no fidgeting or body language that gives any suggestion about his thoughts or feelings to all this. When he speaks again, though, he asks rather directly, and his tone supports that he may be looking for a way to still reconcile all these wild disjointed pieces of information in one coherent explanation for himself. ]

... Must we do something here to wake up or are we to simply wait?

[dethangel]

I think... it kind of happens. I've only been in a few of these, but... usually something happens and you wake up. I haven't figured out how to make it happen.

[Maybe someday he'll get a better idea of how things work, but then... maybe it'd all change by then too. He doesn't know.]

Just... be careful if stuff starts getting even more weird? Because if you get hurt you might get hurt when you wake up too?

[schietto]

[ It's unusual for him to see, but even in his confusion and deep rooted that regardless of appearance, of course this is no demon. Or, if it is, it's not one that is an enemy to humanity. Liliana would judge him by his character and not what she sees, and therefore, he will, as well.]

I'm afraid I neither have my guns on me here nor any experience in fighting the supernatural or divine... but, it would be inconvenient if I'm fine back home now as you say to no longer be so because of my own carelessness here. Especially since you have been kind enough to warn me.

My understanding is we have been brought here against our will; and you and some others have been even physically taken to a New York that has seen ruin?

[dethangel]

Yeah... a while back I was in a dream like this, and then when I woke up I was in this bar where a bunch of stuff got smashed instead of like... home, where I was. Everything's really fucked up.

[It's funny how used to things he's managed to get, but you kind of have to in a situation like that.]

So... that's where you might be. Unless you're not. 'Cause sometimes I've met people in a dream and never saw them again, so I dunno if they were part of it or not...

[schietto]

Then, if I find myself no longer in Italy upon waking, I will be sure to look for you.

You have my word that, on my honor as a Falzone, that I will do what I can to assist you and the others to be able to make it back to your homes. If I return to Italy, I will do what I can to see if there may be some way to assist you from there.

[dethangel]

Oh, thanks! That's cool. Uh... you can usually find me at this place called FAO Schwarz, it's a toy store, but I wanna name it something else when I think of one.

[Although is it easier to tell people where it is if he uses the name it already had? Hmm.]

But, oh, we've got these masks, [he says, gesturing towards his face,] we still have them in real life, and we can use them to talk to each other, so you can find me like that too. Then I can tell you where I am. And the other people you meet, you can do that with them too.

[schietto]

... The masks have a function that doubles as a form of communication?

[ weird but also quite fascinating and... convenient? ]

[dethangel]

Yeah, which really helps, because phones and stuff don't work. 'Cause there's no power.

[Which sucks really bad, so the mask option is very helpful.]

I'm always using mine.

[schietto]

We don't know where they came from, or...?

[dethangel]

I... huh. I think they're a Sleep thing? Maybe? But I'm not really sure.

[He didn't really question it as much as he should have.

Oh well.]

They're... useful, though.

[schietto]

Sleep... is that the name of the one responsible for us being here?

[dethangel]

Yeah. She's... she does stuff like that. Brings people places, and just... just fucks stuff up.

[He's clearly not a fan.]

[schietto]

...What is she?

[ sounds bad. ]

[dethangel]

Like some kind of god or big monster or something? I'm not sure.

[schietto]

[ Gross. ]

I'll be careful of her, then.

[dethangel]

Good idea. 'Cause... she can get mad about stupid shit, and fuck everything up. It sucks.

[schietto]

[ women are so dangerous when they want to be about even the smallest things...

Dante nods. Maybe... it's better to go back and explore the cathedral some more. He's not ready to try and make nice with shadow wind horses since he's not used to dealing even with real normal horses. If everything Toki is saying is true, there might be actual clues in this dream they're all missing that could be somehow useful later. ]

Thanks for your time. Take care.