HIGHER ● MARCH 2026 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: HIGHER

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Prologue: New Characters

You sleep, and the dream returns— everyday, if you're amongst the living. Repeating as an endless limbo, if you find yourself amongst the fallen. It always begins the very same way: Silence so heavy it gnaws at your bones. A ripple moves through your nerves and shivers the flooding water pooling at your heels. A tide builds, familiar now. Black, soundless, thick like oil and starlight swelling across the horizon line you dream of.

You've seen the wave before, always rising higher than the last time you saw it. With every night, it never reaches you, but it gets close. You always seem to wake before it crashes . . . That is, until tonight.

The wave is fast tonight, like something predatory after quick-footed prey. When it finally crashes from the height of two skyscrapers stacked upon each other, you are being taken with saltwater that stings, and a suffocating pressure upon you that feels like your chest is caving, that something is choking you. As it pulls you into its depths, Sleep's voice is immediate and invasive, laced with palpable irritation and a demanding authority:

"You would leave Me? After all I have given? After all we have been through? Return, For Me Give Me everything."

In that harrowing moment, before you can scream or even object through the foam and endless ocean whirls, something profound is taken from you— a fleeting spark of your past self is your entry fee into Sleep's playground. You aren't granted ascent by her claim, given something forcefully wedged into your vitae and yanked into the deeper dreamscape by Her aggressive will.

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You Won't Begin Again

All Vessels awaken within a ceremonial city at the foot of an impossibly tall tower.

Stone keeps and vaulted bridges rise in medieval splendor, their silhouettes broken by glowing seams of sigil-light that run like circuitry through the masonry. Banners flag overhead like a welcoming hallway, embroidered with symbols that shift when not directly observed. Lanterns float without flame and faceless children guffaw past your legs. It seems a festival is in full bloom, loud and jubilant, yet the fun loving beats and strumming lutes carry a hollow echo, as if the seemingly lively village is rehearsing joy rather than truly feeling it.

As the dream settles, you may find yourself within a role, imposed based on what you are.

Offerings may notice they are suddenly clad in armor despite any bodily changes, now Cavaliers. Steel shapes itself to their bodies perfectly, colored and etched according to who they are as a person. Weapons rest easily in their hands, chosen without conscious thought and feeling right in their palms, be it the hilt of an axe, rapier, spear or so on. Their posture is straight, and service feels instinctive to them now. Obedience will hum warmly beneath their flesh, begging to be used, but their monstrous instinct lay intact, snarling under the metal and anxious, anticipating the chaos that's soon to come.

Tokens, on the other hand, rise as Nobles. Fine fabrics drape their forms while crowns, circlets, and cold jewels press against the throat, head and fingers that are designed as perfect conduits for their sorcery. Authority will radiate from them, subtle but undeniable. When they speak, many, especially Cavaliers, will be urged to listen intently from within the very marrow of their bones. They are strong, commanding beings, and their magic sparks hot at their fingertips— ready for what could possibly be waiting for them.

Each Cavalier is highly sensitive to finding and being sworn to a noble. Some bonds are chosen between a pair immediately, familiarity calling to them like loud sirens. Others may snap into place without your proper knowledge, toward strangers you might feel comfortable with despite only sharing eye contact. Or, perhaps you bond through sheer spite. A luminous bond stretches between them either way, tight as a drawn wire through the chest and alive with currents. Whoever you find, you are now Tethered.

Best prepare yourself. Find your weapon of choice, as well as your partner. Feast, if you'd like. The problem might only be that most of what is offered in festive food stalls are . . . Tadpoles? But you won't try to eat it, will you?

NOTES:

• Nightmares will accompany old and new vessels during the introductory prompt and during the collapse of the dream by the end of the event only. They will not be able to participate in the games themselves, but it will be their introduction to new vessels, and veteran vessels will be able to awaken during next month's event with their Nightmares final form, should they wish.

• The dream vessel NPCs all wear masks and will range from adult, to elderly to child. They will act as shadows of real people and will interact with characters only if prompted. There is something wrong with them though, they seem . . . Too happy, and are very bad at giving directions that don't sound like Sleep propoganda.

• A Cavalier may Tether to more than one Noble and vice-versa, given the nature of a dream and how time interacts with space. Many possibilities may happen at the same time.

• If you decide to eat a tadpole, you will get a random effect assigned by the Mod that may persist for however long you wish. Please comment to the proper top level for your effect.

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Capitulate And Let Me In

( Enforced hierarchy and obedience, psychological manipulation, invasive presence, sensory distortion, environmental horror, body horror, parasitic threat, implied loss of agency and self, forced loyalty, competitive paranoia, betrayal under pressure, dream-incineration, altered resurrection, implied and direct violence )

Eventually, the festival funnels inward, streets narrowing until they open into a colossal coliseum. At its center rises the tower, segmented into ascending levels that vanish into a sky of bruised violet and scarlet hues. The stands are packed with faceless dream-vessels, clapping and roaring in perfect unison.

Massive holograph-like images ignite around the arena, abruptly even. Sleep appears across them, crowned and queenlike and difficult to look upon without feeling like you're going a bit mad, vast and shadowed, her silhouette draped in ceremonial finery that moves as if alive. Free and at her side is the king, One, his crown tarnished, his posture broken, and a faint discord humming from him. Above them hangs a gilded cage, imprisoning the Espera, three songbird muses with torn wings. They look positively riled.

Sleep welcomes you through the Murmur.

"The games may now begin."

She demands loyalty made visible. Devotion proven through action. She looks down upon each and every Vessel at her misty feet and dusts the earth with a sweep of her pitch black wisps— and stops at two striking individuals, her six eyes narrowing until the glare lasers the distinct red glowing from them. At the arena's edge stand two masked anomalies: The numeral Two, dressed as a Noble yet watching the tower rather than Sleep. At his side, the numeral Three, a jester-knight whose bells chime softly, defiant by nature. Three is openly mocking and provoking Her by raising his arms behind his neck to stretch— while both middle fingers pop out of his fist. Two smacks the other's stomach to get his attention— pointing upward to the tower. His indifference bothers the diety most of all, and that very distaste reverberates through every Vessel to the point that the edge to her snarl is palpable. She smooths out, drags a claw down One's face, and commands, as if to show them all who this body belongs to:

"Sing from the heart, My Love."

And so, he begins to sing like an angel trapped in his own prison. The coliseum floor splits open to his harmony, and she bids you all the wealthiest of luck. Worship.

This is the first level of Sleep's proving ground. Pairs are cast upward into a vast, ever-shifting labyrinth woven of stone, light, gnarled flora and living sigils. Walls crawl and rearrange themselves. Floors slide, tilt, and dissolve. Gothic arches loom overhead, studded with crystalline lenses that track movement like watchful eyes. Your objective is an easy one: Reach the labyrinth's exit— presumably its flowered garden center, alive. Two and Three already break for it, calculating and determined, and it may be best you follow their lead.

It would be quite easy if there wasn't an eerie countdown that occassionally flashes cross your vision. What's worse— one of the colesium dungeons yawn wide open, and something slithers out.

It moves like a nightmare perfectly refined for pursuit. Sleek, towering, and insectile, its obsidian body reflects no light. A ridged skull stretches back without eyes, yet it sees everything. Acidic saliva hisses as it drips, eating into stone and armor alike. Its tail coils and lashes with deliberate cruelty. It crawls across walls, impossible gaps, and moves with predatory patience rather than haste. The Cleric has been released to hunt you for sport. If you haven't already— best make a run for it. The creature even gives you a torturous head start to allow her time to drool over your scents, your heartbeats, and your fear.

Scattered throughout the maze are sealed chests bound in iron and runes. Some contain relics, sigil-keys, or volatile artifacts capable of bending a single wall in the labyrinth, sealing passages, or accelerating movement. Others rupture into traps, releasing lesser horrors, creatures or environmental hazards that draw the creature closer.

The closer the countdown gets to zero, the more the walls begin to glow, and the temperature, elevate.

The entire level is preparing to be incinerated.

Reaching the labyrinth's center reveals a grand chamber that appears to be the exit. It is not. Those who work together, using their altered perceptions, may realize the true path upward lies elsewhere, hidden along the labyrinth's unstable outer seams.

Those who complete the goal and ascend rise higher within the tower, while those who fail are consumed by painful dreamfire— But they are not gone. They return on the next level, altered by Sleep's influence, their loyalty sharpened, their doubt dulled. Their presence becomes heavier in the Tether(s) they have, making cooperation more difficult, and trust more dangerous.

NOTES:

• A towering flower, its petals made of solidified light, shimmers through the cracks of the labryinth and wraps around its architecture. Touching it reveals it to be unnervingly soft, like velvet, but it leaves a tingling, almost painful residue on your skin. The air around it smells sweet and intoxicating, but breathing it in makes you feel strangely disoriented.
• As you listen closely to the haunting melody, you can almost hear a faint, struggling note buried deep within it— a desperate, familiar sound trying to break free. It's the echo of One, a faint, lost piece of sanity. Focusing on it briefly clarifies your thoughts, but also makes the beautiful melody feel grating and painful.
• The Cleric is based heavily on the Xenomorph, while the creatures hidden in negative chests are heavily based off of Hammerpedes.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• For the duration of the dream, Tokens will be able to see shades of scarlet with exaggerated clarity. In the labryinth, there will be small, scarlet arrows hidden in corners or under flora, that may signal the correct path.
• For an act of magical violence in Sleep's name, a Token's connection to the dreamscape intensifies. The light constructs and shimmering flora will work in their favor, creating a small, stable platform for themselves or a minor illusion to distract another Vessel. They will feel a rush of power and their own dream-magic will feel more direct and forceful.
• A Token who uses their magic for an act of bravery or protection will receive a blessing from the Numerals. They gain a moment of profound clarity, allowing them to see through the deceptive illusions of the tower. They may feel a hand on their shoulder, or the cackle of a cockatoo, or the quick stepping afterimage of a white fox leading the way to the true exit. They can perceive the true, broken nature of the collapsing level and can sense the most stable path forward for themselves and a nearby ally.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• For the duration of the event, Offerings will be able to see in ultraviolet. In the labryinth, there will be small, ultraviolet X marks hidden in corners or under flora that may signal danger or dead ends.
• For an act of physical violence in Sleep's name, a Monster's dream-form transforms to become more predatory and efficient. They might feel a surge of primal energy, their claws or teeth could extend, or their senses could sharpen, giving them an advantage in navigating the treacherous, shifting ground and engaging in conflict.
• An Offering who performs an act of bravery or kindness receives a blessing from the Numerals. Their predatory instincts are momentarily suppressed, replaced by a feeling of profound peace. Their dream-form may either feel momentarily less monstrous or pliant to their wants, and they may gain a fleeting sense of empathy or connection to another Vessel, which feels both comforting and deeply alien.

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'Cause I Am A Danger

( psychological manipulation, violence, religious corruption, moral inversion, enforced separation, sustained tether, self loss, time pressure, disorientation, coerced sacrifice, self harm )

Whether you win or lose, you are ripped from the last level without ceremony, unseen forces yanking you upward like a hooked spine. Your Tethers do not snap, nor loosen, but stretches so suddenly it steals the breath from your lungs. Whatever bound you to your partner still exists. You can feel it. A constant pull behind the ribs, a phantom pressure in the sternum, all tight enough to ache with longing.

Then you land.

Cold, endless corridores, spiral staircases twirling into themselves at angles that should never meet. Doors line the walls in obscene abundance, carved wood, iron, bone, and glass. The air is thin and metallic. One's song is gone. In its place, a frantic ringing invades your eardrums. Not a bell. A broken chime. Metallic, irregular, panicked. A countdown flashes across your vision, unasked for and impossible to ignore, one more time: Ten minutes.

Ten minutes before this level folds in on itself and grinds everything inside into memoryless ruin. It is only a dream. You know this. The thought does nothing to calm the way your heart kicks against your ribs anyway. Sleep does not speak. She does not need to. She instead, suggests the thought: Violence was too easy. Too honest. What she wants now is desecration. To see what goodness looks like when it is cornered. What devotion looks like when it costs something you were sure you would never give. And thus, you are all divided.

Some of you will awaken with a blade in your hand. It is wrong in every way that matters: Pale. Ethereal. Its surface ripples as if water has been touched. Holding it makes your tethers hum louder, sharper, like a nerve being plucked. In this case, you are a Seeker. Sleep knows hesitation cuts deeper when forced to act. An itch crawls up your spine. A hunger blooms that does not belong to you. The blade wants movement. Wants marking. Wants flesh. Somewhere in this second, closed maze is another Vessel, and you are being pulled toward them whether you wish it or not.

The rest of you wake unarmed. around your neck rests a key. Cold. Heavy. Incomplete. You are the Hiders. If you were once predators, you are now stripped of that comfort; Violence will not save you here. Before you stretches an upward spiral of corridors branching endlessly into doors. Hundreds. Thousands. Most are lies. Some will return you to the maze, while others will trap you. Only very few of them ascend to safety. Higher.

There is no fighting your way out; Only running, evading, and thinking.

Your tether drags at you constantly. You can feel your partner(s) somewhere in this place, distant but unmistakable. Fear bleeds across it. Urgency. Hunger. You do not know what role they have been given. You can only feel that they are moving.

Luckily, a voice cuts through the Murmur— Laughing, breathless. Bright with panic and delight all at once.

"Hey there, Noodles, long and short! Hahah—" Perhaps you know him, cackling and bright. He is running when he speaks, you can hear it in the way his voice bounces, in the way he cuts himself off mid sentence to swear. He is not above you. He is inside this with you. "Oh, this is good," he says, almost giddy. "Gods, this is good. Hide and Seek, my friends."

"Games are my thing. Keys," he adds, sharper now, no more preamble. "Not one. Two. I have one. Its wrong, I can feel it— You need a pair. Matching. You need the right person, not just the right door." His voice drops, just a little. "And I think . . . Some of you are hunting the ones you're bound to. Just— Fight back if you can. Don't take it personally if you can't. We can fuck Her up aaaaall we want after, yeah? I'll see you in the skies above."

The connection tightens painfully, and just as quick he is gone.

Seekers feel it spike when they draw close to anyone. The blade sings louder, eager, making no distinction between stranger and partner. Hiders feel the pull and mistake it for pursuit, terror flooding tethers in hot waves. Recognition becomes dangerous, and reunion may become worse, or infinitely better.

Those who find each other and bring the correct pair of keys together feel the tower shudder in reluctant approval. Stone grinds open. Light pours upward. Ascension to the next level follows. Those who fail are not spared— The corridors collapse inward when the timer hits zero, crushing memory and certainty alike. You are shunted forward regardless, marked once more for inaction or weakness. Something breaks in you this time. A name. A voice. A face that no longer feels like yours. Yet, the tether remains. It always will.

NOTES:

• The tether constantly transmits emotion rather than location. Fear, hunger, hesitation, relief. Misreading it is easy and often fatal.
• It is up to you whether you want your character to be a Hider or Seeker, but do note Sleep is more likely to target those who would have more difficulty being a Seeker than not. • Keys feel wrong when held alone. When the correct pair is brought close, they resonate painfully through the chest.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• If you are a Seeker, violence offered to Sleep in this level alters your casting. Your magic becomes invasive and intimate, blurring hallucination and pain. Illusions may leave lasting psychological scars. Mental bindings whisper guilt, fear, and belief into those caught within them. Her voice never fully leaves your spells afterward, not even in the Waking World.
• If you are a Hider, resisting the hunt calls the Numerals fully to your side. Their blessing manifests as a soundless barrier of radiant inversion, rendering you invisible to any Vessel influenced by Sleep for 60 seconds. You may pass through them untouched for a short time.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• If you are a Seeker, violence offered to Sleep stretches your form. Teeth lengthen. Blood shimmers like quicksilver. You gain scent tracking keyed to emotion: fear, hesitation, remorse, glowing through stone like veins. You may look more monstrous than ever before.
• If you are a Hider, resisting the hunt calls the Numerals to you. Your monstrous form stills, collapsing into statuesque silence. For a breath, you may phase through walls unseen. When your body returns, something in it is more human than before.

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The Debt That I Owe

( content warnings: dream manipulation, interpersonal violence, enforced rivalry, divine possession, emotional coercion, collapse imagery )

The tower opens at its crown and spills you into the highest place it possesses: a broken, hovering summit where stone hangs suspended in defiance of gravity and light bleeds upward into nothing. There is no sky. No horizon. Only height, pressure, and the sense that there is nowhere left to run.

Sleep waits at the center. She is vast here, coiled in shadow and brilliance, her presence compressing thought and breath alike. One is held upon a pyre above like an offering already half spent, his light unraveling into her in slow, shimmering strands. The Espera hang trapped and trembling, their voices reduced to a thin, strangled vibration in the air.

This is the summit, and what the tower was for. Sleep does not address you. She does not need to. The meaning settles into your chest fully formed: there will be no united stand. No singular enemy. What remains to be proven now is devotion, and devotion is always clearest when it is tested against someone else.

The ground shifts, lines burn into the stone beneath your feet as bonds are dragged into place. Tethers tighten, snapping nobles toward cavaliers, cavaliers toward nobles, sometimes to the ones you climbed beside, sometimes to strangers. Loyalty is not preserved and your history is not respected. The dream rearranges its pieces without the slightest apology.

"Don't give in, Three huffs within The Murmur, hushed and agile. "Just buy me and Two some time."

Once you are paired, you are then turned against each other. Armor hums, weapons manifest, magic stirs, sharp and unstable. You are meant to fight. The tether between you and your counterpart pulls hard enough to hurt, every movement echoed in the ribs, every intention felt like pressure beneath a sea of waves. Sleep does not ask you to reflect on what you owe— instead, She asks you to prove it.

You must pass through each other. Each tethered pair trapped within their own bubbles experience a shared vision— a personalized trial manifested from the debt that you owe. The dream uses your closeness like a wire, and lets the current burn. You may find yourselves:

Repay a Past Debt: You and your tethered partner are plunged into a distorted, dreamlike memory of a profound failure from your past. It's a moment you have tried to forget, a regret that has festered. The challenge is not to simply relive it, but to try and rewrite it, to make a different choice. However, the dream's reality is malleable, and the outcome may still feel like sand slipping through your fingers, leaving you to decide if your struggle is a final act of defiance or a futile attempt to change a history that is already written.

Demand a Payment: This trial manifests as a symbolic space between you and your partner. The dream-space represents a debt one of you owes the other as well, but in a different light, something taken without thanks, a betrayal, or a loyalty never reciprocated. To climb higher, you must demand a payment. Your choice is in how you collect: you can force them to face a painful truth, take a piece of them, or you can . . .

Embrace the Fury: The dream-within-a-dream becomes a surreal arena as a manifestation of pure conflict. You and your partner are pitted against each other, tethered by an inescapable chain of emotion and intention. This trial is meant to push you into a brutal battle for dominance, a physical expression of the "blood and the fury" that has brought you to this point. The victor is the one who forces the other into silence, but you must decide how you will fight: will you let the rage guide your hands, or will you try to find forgiveness and a peaceful resolution in a place where only violence is expected?

As the fighting spreads, something fractures at the edge of the dream—Two tears into the summit behind Sleep, his presence glitching, wrong, bleeding interference into the structure of her domain. He does not hesitate. He throws himself toward One, reaching for him with everything he has left. The moment One sees him, yells behind the bind muffling his voice . . . Sleep turns. Her strike is immediate, corrective. A backlash that sends Two crashing hard across the stone, light scattering from him in broken arcs. He does not rise. One panics, Sleep approaches—

Then laughter cuts through the collapse: Bright, breathless and unafraid. Three is already running when you notice him, all three tails flagging from fox to snow white wings, his voice ringing wild through the open space as fireworks detonate along the tower's spine. The Espera's cage shudders, chains tearing free as the summit begins to give way. She, they, flutter to the downed Numeral, and in a jolt from her touch, Two stirs—

As the tower starts to fall, Sleep's focus splinters. Her hold on One falters as the structure buckles inward, the dream tearing itself apart from the top down; Two releases One, signs something, and tackles him out from the tower's balcony with him. Wake up, Two's urgency chimes. Wake up, One.

As rubble collapses, as plumes of dust and gorgeous sparks of color pop off in every possible direction—

You wake.

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NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's TDM, which doubles as a gamewide event!
➤ This TDM is considered game canon.
➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.
➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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Comments

Ivan | Alien Stage | Current Player (Offering: Swarmling)

[snaggletooth]

nested prompts below
sleeptalk | plotting comment | somnia info

You Won't Begin Again — Cavalier

[snaggletooth]

(NOTE: During the dream Ivan appears in human form, unless otherwise stated within a prompt/tag. )

[ Sleep has encased him in unfeeling armor. The metal suit is hewn of heavy, simple-yet-functional shapes, inelegant like his past. Scratches and old rust-dark bloodstains smother any gleam the silver might have had. It settles with a series of clanks with each step, though the human body trapped inside strives to keep his posture upright, serene.

Complicating things, a billowing cloak made of some common, heavy fabric drags behind him, the ends of it caked in dirt that does not look as though it will ever wash out. Sometimes, the children frolicking through the festival grounds stop to hide from one another in it, and he helps them by pulling one of the hems around them, as though the little laughing beings are real and his cheerful consideration for them is real. Simple play acting—until someone in the most beautiful outfit he's ever seen begins to walk his way.

An impulse so very, very strong dominates him and drives him to the ground on one knee. Something in the atmosphere continues to stress he should keep his head bowed deeply. From there, his eyes can only skirt the toes of the impressive stranger's shoes and the cobbles they stand on. There is mud in the street from too much revelry, spilt drinks.

His next equally, violently extraordinary impulse is to draw his sword and slice his cloak from himself. Snapping it through the air allows him to spread like a carpet, creating a safe pathway over the slurry that threatened to soil the nobility's feet. Then his hands return themselves to their proper positions amidst his kneel. ]

O' my Lord, I won't let anything in this world touch you.

( Not even dirt. )

[ What he was thinking about beforehand is too far away to grasp any longer, his head full of the being in front of him, all that they are. All of a sudden, there isn't any space left for who he's supposed to be. The only conclusion left to make is that he exists for them.

Bent, he awaits their wishes. ] I am at your service.

[trashblaze]

[ Hey, now. That's not good. At this point, Caelus, who is currently in this outfit, has realized something very strange is going on with all the friends wearing armor. Ivan must be affected, too. So, rather than being moved by the cavalier's subservient actions, the Trailblazer finds this awkward. Even beneath his raccoon mask, his concerned expression is evident.

Caelus doesn't want to be treated like this by his dear friends. He is not above any of them, wishing to walk alongside them as equals. That's why he moves unhesitantly, standing right beside Ivan to take his hand, and pull him right up without delay. ]

Get a hold of yourself, Ivan. We're friends, so you shouldn't be kneeling or throwing yourself in the dirt because of me. I'd rather you save that spirit for Till.

[ Ivan's speaking strangely, too. Caelus hopes the effects aren't too intense… Maybe he can still snap him out of this. ]

[snaggletooth]

[ Guided by the gentle pull, Ivan's steel plate-beleagured body answers, creaking back to an upright position, where it proceeds to stand statuesquely. He hasn't yet been told what else to do. Therefore, his intent now is to listen. Though the moment his master speaks, he seems unhappy, spurring his head to start to dip in apology.

"I'd rather you save that spirit for Till."

The words permiss him to remember that name. The red centers of Ivan's eyes draw away from Caelus for the first time since spotting him, straying to the teeming mass of so many masked people in strange clothing, if only for a few seconds. Suddenly he thinks of running into it, calling out that name he's just heard. It's scary how strong the urge is all of a sudden. His feet won't move, however, and that's almost more frightening.

All he can do is return his attention to the reason he was rooted to the spot in the first place. Burying his gaze in his silver hair, he feels himself calm. But the blip in reality remains. ]

Haha, okay. No more doing anything else that extreme unless you say so!

[ Effortlessly cheery, as usual. ]

Where would you like to be escorted first, my liege?

[trashblaze]

[ Oh, Caelus caught that— the way that Ivan desperately glanced at the crowd, perhaps in hopes of finding Till among the sea of faces. Maybe it really is working! Ignoring whatever effect Ivan may be experiencing, Caelus instead hyperfocuses on chasing the man's true desires. He wants to encourage him to act on those desires rather than listen to the strange urges that are not his own. ]

I'd like to find Till. Let's walk around together until we find him. When we do, you should go with him instead. All right?

[ Since Ivan is a taken man, Caelus avoids unnecessary skin contact. He would've offered his hand otherwise. He only did so just now to help him up, and that's done, so he lets go and puts a respectable distance between them. But still close enough not to be a stranger, as after all, they're good friends by now. ]

But, hey, we can have a bit of fun on the way!

[ There's a lot of interesting stalls around them! It would be a waste to ignore it all. ]

Also, don't call me that. Just say Caelus, like you always do.

[merged]

[ Sharon has seen Ivan around the city more than once, though they've never really spoken. She recognizes him easily enough, even now, his form human in outline beneath the armor he wears. When he notices her, he moves quickly, dropping to one knee with such sudden formality that she instinctively steps back, her stomach tightening at the gesture.

Without hesitation, he cuts a piece from his cloak and spreads it across the ground before her, a silent effort to shield her from the dirt beneath. A small, conflicted feeling stirs in her. Part of her resents the treatment. Another, deeper and more uncomfortable part feels an odd, familiar acceptance of it—as though this were the position she had always been meant to occupy. ]

Rise, Ivan. [ Voice warm but carrying the weight of command. ] You don't need to do that for me. I don't mind a little dirt.

[ Her gown is already trimmed to mid-calf length in places, torn in others, and her feet are bare. The large, ornate platform shoes she had been given are held loosely in one hand. ]

[snaggletooth]

[ Why, of course.

His sinews serve her wishes, settling him back on his feet.

Still, he awaits to be told his next task. Still, he keeps his eyes low, as though unworthy of directly beholding her. Though, even now he can see now that something's amiss, as his falling gaze catches the tattered ends of her skirt. It looks terrible, though good manners prevent him from saying so aloud, so as not to upset his master with what might sound like an insult. ]

Oh, my! What happened to you?

[ Lightly aghast, unaware that she's done it to herself—just how could someone tear up his fair lady's cloths and get away with it? He's a poor servant if he simply lets that stand. ]

If you tell me who did it, I'll teach them a lesson, okay? [ May they be cast into the darkest dungeon... ] And then I'll turn them in. Justice, my lady.

[merged]

[ Sharon knows Ivan is only saying this because of the role—but she likes it. It's satisfying. ]

You're gonna teach me a lesson? [ There's a teasing lift to her voice, and a moment later she lets out a laugh, reaching over to give his shoulder a light slap. ] I did it myself—what, you don't appreciate my alterations? I thought they were pretty smart, considering we're probably going to end up running for our lives at some point.

[ Every dream so far has ended in chaos one way or another, and the last two were especially brutal. She gives the shortened hem a small tug. ] I'm not about to let some stuffy gown be the reason I die again.

[fmaj]

[On any other day, Johnny would love to stand out from the crowd. But he knows there are some moments that are best served with keeping a lower profile. There are two contributing factors to his decision here: one, that he's lost, both physically (where am I) and conceptually (what am I doing here), and two, this stock-portfolio suit getup is not what he wants to be standing out with. He's dressed it down as much as he can, buttons undone and shirt untucked, leaving a vertical strip of exposed skin down his front instead of a tie. If it were entirely up to him, it wouldn't be enough, but for now it's enough to prevent him from breaking out in hives.

He was trying to move with the throng and had been doing pretty well in collecting context clues without having to shake anyone down for any information, but the plan gets swiftly derailed when some stranger prostrates before him without warning. He first catches it out of his peripheral vision, and out of reflex, he moves to try to catch the stranger -- but his reach isn't nearly as long as he's gotten used to, so he imparts no actual change on what follows and is simply helpless to just...watch it happen.

So does a small select few people, stopping in their tracks to do so.

Johnny stares in dumbfounded silence, even after Ivan says his piece. It takes him a second to figure out what to even say, expression unreadable past his sunglasses.]

That is...the most pathetic groupie-grovelling I've ever seen. And trust me, the bar is so high. But points for being... [He waves a hand and delivers the next word with no small amount of disdain. Dude, you're blowing his cover.] ...unique.

[And despite the venom in his word choice, he bends down and extends a hand for Ivan to take to help him up.]

Come on, man, get up before you embarrass both of us. And if you say any shit like, "oh my god, he touched my hand," I'm throwing you right back down there.

[snaggletooth]

[ "Pathetic."

Ah.

The muscles of his face don't even so much as twitch, maintaining a flawless stepford smile. Behind that plastic emotion, though, he's a bit startled to hear someone point out something he's always known about himself so openly. There's a rule he had trouble learning when he was little, yet knows well now: there are things that shouldn't be said to another person's face, even if they're self-evident.

He stands, of course. "Get up" is an order, which his own role here won't allow him to disobey. And as he wonders where the conversation could possibly go after such a start, a sharpness settles into his eyes.

He's not mad at the man, oh no.

People who can act out however they want are worth paying some attention to; just how do they accomplish it? ]

Embarrass us? [ Ivan takes note of his surroundings for the first time since making a scene, of the myriad renaissance men and women with their heads turned their way, as if the whole rest of this imaginary world is on pause. ] Oh, because we're being watched? Maybe it looks that way, ahaha, but the truth is most of these people aren't even real.

[ Which is a super normal segue into: ]

If you would... please tell me what about my performance was wrong, and I can correct it!

[fmaj]

[Johnny stands back up. Through tinted lenses he lingers on the sharpened edges of Ivan's expression. Unusual response. A cloying plead for forgiveness, or an equally forceful bark to back off. Neither of those are...whatever this is.

Ivan brings Johnny's attention to their witnesses. He brings his right hand up to his mouth, out of habit, but there's nothing between his fingers. For lack of anything better, he starts chewing on his thumb's nail instead, without realizing it.

These people aren't even real.

He starts questioning himself for what feels like the tenth time since he came to. He's out of ideas to make sense of this.

And then Ivan is asking him for feedback.]

Oh, nnh--

[Hard to talk around his thumb. Wait. When did that get there. He lowers his hand and shakes it out.]

No. No, we're not just breezing over that. What do you mean, not real?

Capitulate And Let Me In — Cavalier

[snaggletooth]

[ If you are a noble, Ivan likely volunteered to open the chest for you. If not, then it may have been his own curiosity that drew him to disengage the old latches.

The truth is he felt something touch his mind as he stepped within sight of it, a familiar stirring, like his other kin that live in the cracks of the world and that wriggle under the earth.

Now, the pallid, elongated flesh of a worm-like creature stands on end, out of the otherwise empty vessel, like a snake from a charmer's basket. Ivan doesn't seem disappointed that it's not treasure. Rather, he has since lowered himself to stare at it on the same level. When it sways, he sways too. When it clicks its multitudinous mouthparts, he attempts to produce sounds like it somewhere in the back of his throat.

( H̸e̵l̷l̶o̵.̶? )

Lightning strikes his thoughts, then thunder that sounds like stone breaking apart beneath the feet of something. Somewhere, he senses a crashing weight suddenly change direction along with a flash of slavering desire that doesn't belong to him.

That's when he's forced to grab the hammerpede as it, too, lunges. The thing's slimy body slips through his gauntlets inches at a time as he tries to hold onto it. ]

Oops, not friendly!

[roedeer]

Enough.

[ and he is a noble, one dressed to fit the part properly. what he's learned is that those which were offerings are compelled to listen to tokens, and while that advantage isn't anything soleum wishes to abuse, he knows that it's better to when he's watched the trance ivan fell into. the creature is no different from what he was before— like a squiggly creature preparing for an onslaught of destruction but without the wet slick between the fingers. ]

You shouldn't provoke the local fauna here.

[ with an angle of guidance in a firm voice behind the black cat mask, a small bit of discomfort is hidden on his face as he assess the creature within the other's grasp.

ivan. even as a human. a human that soleum can finally look at without any fear bubbling in his chest, a face human appearance that he can appreciate. he's risky in this situation because of what allegiance he has with sleep, and how closely connected he feels to these creatures to drop all safety and converse. it's only because of the bad attitude that he's able to wrangle it so, and playfully chime the oh-so obvious of it being unfriendly.

watching the creature jostle in armored hands, ]

Are you able to kill them if it comes down to it?

[ he wouldn't say he knows a lot about ivan, but what he's briefly caught through a roaming cat during his rest days reveals that he holds a connection to the creepiest of crawlies. whether they're tethered or not, kim soleum would be a blank slate if not for the tenacity running through. ]

[snaggletooth]

[ It isn't an explicit command, but the result is still a sudden eruption of searing viscera. In seconds, he's wound the creature around his fists and pulled it in opposite directions, splitting it into two wriggling halves. The puddle of pale hemolymph that forms between them bites into the stone and boils like a pot of sickly soup. Some of it hisses on the surface of Ivan's steel gauntlets too, slower to digest the metal. Rather than rush to rid himself of it, Ivan smiles at Soleum like a school child looking for a compliment for a job well done.

Wasn't it?

He can feel every bit of pain the creature writhes in before it's all over. It's a connection he can't turn off, but a compliment from his master will make it all right. Right?

No.

The horrible feeling grows as the creature goes still. His eyelids begin to flutter erratically as his eyes then roll back into his head, his mind brushing against something so grand it takes his senses to another place. In here, he's no longer a master of the hivemind. He's lower than lowly, a worker ant that's wandered into the wrong nest. And the defenses of that nest are stirring. It doesn't matter how much of what makes up his essence is the same, he's different.

That stings, too.

When his expression returns to normal, rejection hangs all over it. Not only that, his pupils are tight with something else, digging into whatever he directs them at like the points of needles. ]

I'm sorry... because I didn't do it soon enough, it told her exactly where we are. She's coming now—fast!

[ It's fear, maybe. ]

[roedeer]

[ there's only a deep silence, the sound of leaves rustling together, and a clicking in the distance that's racing through the area to find their location. ivan's right, the creature did reveal where they were, and in truth soleum has already known that ivan's connections with this creatures has ingrained into him, he's infected, and the contamination has set to a point where there's no turning back. he can see it in the way the other toys with them, attempts to communicates, and somehow him searching for praise for doing good when this could have been considered normal fare to survive is another tell.

if ivan looked like what he was at first, then soleum would have an issue, he'd think that the creature would tap into the male's subconscious and trick him to the point he thinks he's one of them. however, perhaps it's because he's human, or maybe because he still fights through that haze that's cast over him to show some humanity that he's able to act, move forward and try to break free from the chains sleep has confined him in.

without any hesitation, soleum ignores the liquid and fleshy bits of what covers the other's armor and hands to bring his palm to ivan's back, and soleum pushes him forward in one direction. ]

You have nothing to apologize for, the rules are still the same.

[ they have to survive, find the exit and move on. there wasn't a criteria where ivan had to kill quick enough. ]

Stay with me.

[ not by his side, but remain composed, keep calm because even though soleum's own heart beats erratically, his voice never wavers. he doesn't sound afraid, he sounds unbothered, and his words are spoken carefully as if he has something in mind. his hands come to the other's shoulders, urging that he crouches, use whatever they can within this forest like area as cover— the large trees, the giant stumps, and even what broken down marble wall that has vines covering the surface to hide behind. ]

If you feel it's taking a toll on you mentally, then let me know. We have to get to the end together.

'Cause I Am A Danger — Seeker

[snaggletooth]

I) for hiders—

[ Alone like this, he can remember again. He can almost think properly. A haze in his head has parted. There's something more important to him than any of this, someone. There always has been. His visor slumping against the cold stone, he shakes subtly. Till, where are you? The tie that binds them is missing.

The fast breathing, racing heartbeat, and distant footfalls that stir the threads of fate are someone else's. ]

Let's talk. [ He reaches out through the mask—why not? He has practice pushing away emotions that don't serve his performance, so maybe they won't sense how much of a strain it is to speak civilly, or how desperate he is to think of what he wants to, instead of the rules of the game that are writing themselves into his grey matter.

Of electric green eyes, rather than Sleep's six red beads.

Of another warm hand in his as his fingertips squeeze themselves alabaster-white against the blade's hilt. ] I'm not interested in being enemies.

II) for seekers—

[ What's the point of escaping if it's not hand-in-hand with who matters most?

He has to find him, and until then he has to improve the odds that he'll be in one piece when he does. Ivan isn't an incredible fighter outside of Anakt Garden. The only advantage he has is that he doesn't care about fairness.

Finding a weighty stone brick, he recalls the tactics he once used for survival: stowing himself somewhere he can't be seen, not making a sound, barely even breathing until his lungs scream at him each time.

Nor does he hesitate to smash the brick down on any hand holding a knife that passes by. ]

ii) do you ever just roll a 1

[dedicate]

[ some things never seem to change. this might just be one of them.

it's a mirror of their first meeting, but this time, rather than alert, agent choi finds himself distracted. hunger turns in his stomach, heavy and nauseating with its intensity as one cause stacks on another, leaving him more than distracted enough for a certain someone in the shadows to get the jump on him.

the brick comes down, shattering bones beneath it, and choi hisses sharply after a string of appropriate curses passes his lips. ]

Shit... Ugh...

[ but he doesn't move to pick the knife, now fallen, back up again. even if his instinct screams for him to, he raises his gaze—gets a look at the person responsible, and with a wry grin and a weak excuse laugh: ]

I guess we're even now, huh? Haha...

[ his head is spinning, his stomach is groaning, but despite the suffocating tightness in his chest as he does so, he'll raise both hands—one now mangled and broken—in a sign of surrender. he's no hider anyway, so if ivan is a seeker... perhaps he'll move on to more interesting prey. ]

[snaggletooth]

[ He's surprised that the man is willing to speak to him still, with how the stone has mutilated him. Looking at the injury is disturbing, because of the unnatural bends of his fingers. Because of the blood oozing from rips in his skin reminding him of what's happening all over this maze and to who and of how misguided he is to think he can make any difference in it.

Ivan doesn't let that distract him from moving toward the gleam on the ground with intent. He stamps his heel down hard on the blade-end of the knife while he has the chance. That's all he can do, however. There's no way to truly take the knife out of the equation where they are, enclosed in a solid stone box with each other. That knowledge dispels any feeling that he's succeeded in accomplishing anything at all. ]

Ah... well, I won't try to talk you out of seeing it that way.

[ He takes measure of pleasant smile he's been offered and matches it, a good mimic. ]

Still, I'm sorry? Though, I suppose this won't slow you down much if you really want a key. You're strong.

[ He fought with a fury a cage-raised human like him could only dream of. It wouldn't be challenging for Choi to wrestle him out of the way and wrest back the weapon. And so a dark question arises—of whether he should act again while things are this calm, in order to cripple the agent further. ] All of those hosts in the tunnels can attest!

[ There is—perhaps—something suspicious in the way that Ivan begins to shift his weight, which he is far less trained to hide. ]

ii.

[opheliac]

[ jinx was simply walking, or rather skipping along, due to the tadpole effect. she didn't think twice about taking this killing game seriously. because after all, this is all a dream, and as far as she knows, death isn't permanent, and you'll wake up without any scars. so witnessing ivan react so combatively with her was unexpected, and maybe that was the problem—that just because she isn't taking this seriously doesn't mean others will follow suit.

the attack completely blindsided her, and the girl wails in pure agony as the cement block compresses hard against her hand—feeling the pins and needles of each bone fracturing into pieces. the bluenette glares daggers at her friend, her teeth gritting and grinding in sheer fury. fortunately for jinx, she is ambidextrous, so while on the ground, her other hand races to grip the knife tightly and swings at her friend, aiming to jab the blade into his left calf. ]

[snaggletooth]

[ The knife doesn't feel like much going in. The steel is too sharp. The speed of the stab is too quick. He only confirms that it has by following the line of her arm and finding nothing at the end of it, because the blade has already been buried.

His first true taste of pain pulses through his damaged muscle as he tries to step away far, far too late.

Everything he's heard about her tells him he's no match for her; she's a being of ferocity he only wishes he could become. The day she tailored a blast that caved in a whole tunnel made him a believer. And her fast reaction and rage-filled face proves it to him now.

Gasping, he falls. As he does so, he at least tries to redirect himself to land atop her good arm. If he can pin it where it is and prevent her from stabbing him a second time, that would be preferable. The only thing he has on his side is that he's bigger, more muscular as males tend to be. ]

i let’s get weirddd

[tequila_sunset]

Ivan. I'm here.

Harry is twisted back into manshape. It feels tight, uncomfortable, it chafes against his senses. But exhilaration hums in his chest, behind his ribs, burning bright in his scarred lungs. Here his brain feels giddy, like it's being starved of oxygen and sense. Beautiful Ivan! With a beautiful blade, bright and true.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - (Where the furnace was once dead and cold, a spark alights. You feel warmth on your neck, chest, and groin. Warmth on your cheeks. Sobriety has been good for your circulation.)

INLAND EMPIRE - (He swallows down his emotions, anything that could come between him and the performance. He must. The stage waits, *they* wait. Under a dazzle of lights and color he is what they want him to be.)

EMPATHY - (He’s hesitating. He resists the role she’s written for him.)

He raises his hand. Harry's white mask leave his eyes uncovered, covering his nose and lower face. It’s cracked, like shattered porcelain put back together.

You don’t have to be afraid. We can talk.

Poor Ivan…his legs urge him forward but he stays. After the game he'll be able to comfort him better. For now this is the best he can do.

[snaggletooth]

[ Ah, it's Harry.

He'd recognize that eagerness anywhere. There are lots of other tickly little stirring things that are new, though, because he's never been this far inside Harry's head before. Those must be his innermost thoughts. Ivan sets aside the sense that some of them are about him. They naturally would be, when it's just the two of them whispering from ( so far—yet ) so close that their minds almost touching. ]

It's not that I'm afraid. [ He says while being scared of so many things just under the surface. If he were a body of water, he'd be a treacherous one—full of unseen currents waiting to pull those that step into him to a helpless feeling place.

It's silly that he lies; it's like a part of his fear is that he needs to be unaffected. ] More that I don't want to alarm you... when we both know the rules, I think.

The Debt That I Owe — Embrace The Fury/Generic Option

[snaggletooth]

(cw: insects, body horror, loss of control)

[ In these dreams he can disguise himself as a human, when they come. He's done well so far, maintained it through all of this strife.

This is the end of that. Sleep casts her spell, and a stake is driven into his brain before he can even think to combat it. In an instant, he's been sent into what feels like the throes of starvation. The bubble that encapsulates him is so much bigger than it needs to be to contain his current two-legged form, but those watching will soon know the reason.

He falls down in spasms, and each pained movement contorts his body into a further mangled shape that somehow takes up more room than the last. Insectoid legs force their way through rapidly stretching, tearing faschia. Two arms split wetly into four, then six, then too, too many more, growing longer than they ever have, the fingers on each hand splaying out like large spiders. His bottom jaw falls apart, sections of what was once bone waving around in search of something to use their blackening teeth-like serrations on. Fresh saliva drips from the wide-open orifice endlessly, smearing about the inner surface of his cage as the transformation draws closer and closer to completion.

Before long, he has no more space to grow, his limbs scratching for release against every inch of the barrier, the rest of him squeezed into a ball of thick segments still trying to expand. The magical confinement dispels suddenly, spilling him messily across the arena like a just-born thing. Righting himself, his head snaps around erratically every other second, toward each and every sign of movement.

Hungry. ]

[guidingbookworm]

[After dying twice Sirius couldn't remember who he was yet something about the creature before him resonated with the lingering emotions in his soul. A sharp desperation to protect the other tugged at their tether as he rushed towards the bubble. He didn't understand it but he had to help him.

Yet the closer he got, the more Ivan's monstrous transformation resonated with another emotion that had left deep scars in his soul, fear. He took a hasty step back when the barrier around Ivan broke and black bandages tightly coiled around his body as his survival instincts screamed for him to run.]

[snaggletooth]

[ Ivan can't speak with the state his mouth his in, all chitinous, clicking chaos. He can only barely think, fleeting thoughts of who might be stuck in this moment with him. His will isn't to hurt them, but his will is weak—nothing special, certainly not capable of denying something like Sleep whatever she wants from him.

A show, it seems.

A show where someone dies.

Sound tears from the remnants of his jaw, strange and droning and designed to disorient. The human mind inside sees the scared, shrinking form of someone and begs for them not to have silver hair. The insect body, however, bursts into movement.

Wherever Sirius might run, the thing that used to be Ivan attempts to form itself into a perimeter around him, cutting off any chance of escape. ]