TDM 001 ● JUNE 2025

[uruz]

TDM: ONE

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PRELUDE

(content warnings: dream horror, loss of autonomy, mild body horror, cult undertones )


You’ve had this dream before.

A moon cracked wide, spilling tendrils from its craters like bleeding silk. A sky starless and slow. And on the horizon: a wave. Massive. Black. Still. It creeps forward every time like sunrise. It hushes before collapse, but every time before this, you wake up just in time.

But not tonight. You can't outrun it even if you tried— it comes crashing down on you at last, swallowing you like a gaping black hole. Saltless, soundless, the water devours. But instead of drowning, you drift, suspended in velvet dark. And in that dark, her voice breathes.

“You don’t have to fall with it.
Let me in.
I can give you everything you’ve ever hungered for.
A place.
A purpose.
Stay.”

She offers. And you— your mouth, your mind— give an answer before you even know you’re speaking. Yes.

The tide recedes. The dark peels away like silk. You awaken beneath a canopy of gold, in a garden that hums with warmth and longing. Soft grass. Strange trees. Fragrant fruits in every color, dripping with light. And a mask upon your face, no straps, no weight, yet it clings to your skin like it was always part of you. You don't want to remove it. You could, maybe . . . But it would feel like tearing your skin away.

She no longer speaks to you, but her orchard breaths a sigh upon your arrival. A force tugs at the edges of your thoughts, beckoning you to contact the web you're now a part of. Welcome, Vessel.

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YOU CAN THREAD THE NEEDLE

(content warnings: sensory manipulation )

An orchard stretches around you in impossible directions, the horizon blurred like wet paint. Trees curl and arch with an elegance that feels practiced— like they’re posing for someone watching. Their trunks shimmer faintly. Leaves flutter even when there is no wind.

You are not alone. Others stir nearby, familiar or unfamiliar, though that distinction begins to blur. You may not know them, or perhaps you have the feeling you do even if you've never met them in your life. Either way, you might wish to know them.

From the strange branches within the orchard hang fruits shaped like stars, teardrops, or glass bells. Each one pulses faintly, waiting to be plucked. Their effects are subtle but powerful, crafted to cater to your desire and wonder:

🍎A pearlescent orb, cool and slick to the touch, whose taste floods you with a future that might be: a fleeting vision of joy, belonging, or beauty you didn’t know you craved. Whoever is nearby sees a glimpse of it too.
🍎A silver-veined citrus, fizzing like champagne. When shared between two, it evokes the feeling of a first time— first love, first rebellion, first triumph — even if you’ve never lived it. The emotional residue lingers between you.
🍎A blood-orange fruit with velvet skin, which when bitten into, causes your voice to harmonize with another’s— even if you weren’t speaking. You’ll find yourselves finishing each other’s thoughts, or speaking a secret you both forgot you held.
🍎A waxen, translucent fig, which grants you a small miracle: something you longed for appears beside you, conjured from dream. It might be a lost keepsake. A voice. A scent. A face.
🍎A smooth, silver fruit with a mirrored skin. When bitten, it briefly reflects the dreamer’s true self — not as they are, but as they wish to be. For a moment, others may see it too. The illusion clings for a time, making the character appear more like their ideal self in body, presence, or aura.
🍎A dark plum that glows faintly pink, almost heart-shaped, and warm to the touch. Its juice runs red and sticky, clinging to the lips. To taste it is to be filled with longing— for intimacy, for sensation, for touch. The desire may be gentle or overwhelming, but it lingers, tuned to the presence of someone nearby. It is not mindless. It is focused.

At the center of the orchard is a fountain, still and inviting. Its water tastes like clarity— and for a moment after drinking, your thoughts shape your surroundings. What you create might intertwine with what another dreams beside you.

Sleep does not speak in words. She breathes through the trees, hums through the soil, stares through your mask. Her voice, barely a whisper:

“Thread the needle, My Vessel.
Want.
Want, and see what answers you.”

You feel it,— if you resonate with another, something will change. Maybe the orchard will shift again. Maybe it already has.

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THE DAYLIGHT RECEDES

(content warnings: grief, loss, emotional vulnerability)

The orchard is gone. In its place stretches a landscape of ashen grass, supple and fragrant underfoot, warmed by a pale light that doesn’t seem to come from the sun. All around, a soft breeze stirs the fields— endless, loamy, and quiet. The air smells like soil after rain. It is peaceful here. But not happy.

Scattered across the fields are half-buried remnants: old beds, cracked record players, wilted bouquets, melted candles, notes scrawled on napkins— things lost in the moments between love and loneliness. Everything here feels half-remembered, yet painfully familiar. If a character reaches for one of these objects, they may hear a voice whispering a name they have tried to forget, or one they wish they'd remembered sooner.

In the distance, a shrouded figure walks the fields, unhurried, always just out of reach. Their back is turned, but their presence pulls like gravity. Some may choose to follow. Some may wait. And some may realize they’re walking beside someone else— a stranger who seems to carry a memory they, too, once held.

This is a moment of reflection. Interactions blossom from shared worries, slow confessions, or uncanny synchronicities. Characters might recognize something in another, such as a gesture, a phrase, a scent— and feel that thread begin to tug. Best follow its lead . . . You won't be able to leave unless you do.

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EVERYTHING WE LOVE RESETS

(content warnings: body horror, transformation, loss of autonomy, psychological horror, cosmic dread )

You awaken— or perhaps you never truly slept. The orchard is gone. The fields have withered. All is silence now, and the air is soaked in dread.

A still, uncanny plane stretches out before you: rotted soil, stagnant pools, shattered glass trees that hum with an almost-familiar voice. Echoes of what the dream once offered—sweet fruit, blooming things, beauty— remain only as scars on the land. Their pleasures have fermented into menace. The dreamscape is collapsing.

Sleep, ever present, ever watching, does not weep. She has already taken what she wants, and you see her teeth stretched too wide in the shadows. In the reflection that splits back at you. In the soundless breeze with much more bite and possession than the gentle caress of invitation. She whispers, from the shadows between dying stars:

"You said yes. Now let me see what you become."

The mask on your face tightens, no longer decoration. A binding. You are no longer merely dreaming— Your skin may change fluidly, or break down through the bones violently. Your flesh may split, brimming with power, or your blood could burn like lava oozing through your veins. You may even experience it again, and again, and again; a different beast or burst of magic each time. Whether painful or painless, You are now either Token, or Offering. You may not yet know what that means— But your body does.

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EVEN WHEN WE RUN WITH DEATH

(content warnings: body horror, fungal infections, parasitism, loss of agency, cosmic horror, violence, death, cult imagery)

Your surroundings bend and break with growing instability: The sky splits open, revealing a bleeding red moon, weeping tendrils like raw nerves. It feels wrong in a way you have no words for. It sees you. And it beckons for blood.

The dream does not want peace now. It wants performance. It wants pain. And above all, Sleep wants you all to herself. She watches from the broken heavens, humming in delight as you run, as you fight, as you fracture under the weight of your becoming. Perhaps you turn on each other, frightened with what you have become or too frazzled to control yourself, or the newfound power you possess.

There are other things to look out for, though. Creatures stalk this unraveling plane: malformed creatures with mutated faces and fungal blooms bursting from their orifices, or tendrils slithering from what were once mouths and eye sockets. Once Vessels. Hosts. They may speak with familiar voices. They may try to barter, or bite. Those with hands and fingers may try and force your eyelids to part, to tilt your gaze to the sky above you, chanting in tongues that drill into your brain stem. Hushing in song. Whispering Look at her. She is Beautiful.

If you are caught, if you gaze up at Her for too long— you too will suffer the same fate. Fungal bursts and tendrils will spurt from your mouth, invade you from the inside and reach out to her in sacred reverence. It's a horrible way to go. If this is an end you find, you too, despite your pain, may begin to smile. You might have even more reason to attack your fellow Vessels. They too, must see Her beauty like you do.

The song stutters. The dream recoils when you succumb to the worst of Her parasitism, even though you don't lose consciousness. It is not Sleep who speaks next. In your last few seconds of awareness, you hear in your ears, in your mind, in your soul, snarling and thick with fury:


“What have you done?”

The world begins to scream. You begin to fall.

The dream is over.

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NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia’s first TDM! All TDMs will be considered game canon.
➤ You are free (and encouraged!) to experiment with the Tether mechanic as well as Vessel options and the Network to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible.
➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
➤ Mod invited players may currently extend one invite per player. Interested players who do not have mod invites or a friend to get an invite from may comment to the appropriate top level to solicit one, or, solicit one from the mod here. Please keep in mind that soliciting an invite does not guarantee one.
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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Comments

[scowlish]

[It's only because of his extended stay in the Silent World recently that allows him to be brave in this situation, and before that it had only been desperation and a desire to protect his cousin. While he was out there, he'd gotten used to this, to being hunted constantly and the twisted things that hunted.

There's something about the boy behind him, he can feel it in a way he's never felt anything before. Some sense that he'd rather not be the one hiding, and that's something Onni can understand. He's been that person, cowering behind another, cowering behind walls. And even now, he probably shouldn't be being as brave as he is, without his breath mask, but the presence of someone smaller behind him makes him think of Lalli, and Tuuri, especially when they'd been children, and he brandishes the makeshift spear at a creature coming closer.]

Let's try to get around them. Maybe that way we can avoid them without fighting. It looks like there's a way on the left. Understand?

[sadpoem]

[At once, Sunny grips one of Onni's sleeves and nods. The leader knows just where to go, and the path is clear. When Onni moves, Sunny will make a run for it - the only problem being that he can't run very fast...]

[scowlish]

[There's something almost childlike about the boy, at least in the way he grips Onni's sleeve and nods mutely at him. In many ways, he reminds Onni of Lalli when he'd been young, shortly after the loss of their village. Quiet and willing to be ordered around.

As the creatures approach again, no longer surprised by Onni's brandished stick, he starts to move to the side, keeping pale blue eyes locked on the creatures as they approach. Rather than running, he moves cautiously and steps lightly, avoiding making too much noise or risking spraining an ankle on uneven ground.

They're halfway through the gap in the group of several creatures that are approaching them when one of the creatures makes a strangled, miserable sound, and lurches toward the boy following Onni. Without thinking, Onni reaches back, grabs the boy by the collar of his shirt, and drags him out of the way of the thing. Taking two steps to the side, Onni thrusts the branch at the creature, the splintered end puncturing into what looks like soft fungal material erupting from the thing's side.

It lets out a squeal and starts charging them.]

[sadpoem]

[They move slowly, and Sunny hates it. Then again, he can't imagine running either. It feels like his knees are rubber, barely working. The creatures creep in from every corner until Onni and Sunny are surrounded. It happens quick, a charge, and then Sunny, practically lifted off of his feet. His newfound companion stabs and jabs with his makeshift spear, but the creature doesn't go down.

[Sunny is useless. He doesn't even have a shitty steak knife to wave around. Dread makes his body feel cold, start trembling. He backs away slow, slow, eyes on the creature.

[He shouldn't leave Onni behind. He shouldn't, but he wants to. He shouldn't, but he has to.

[I'm sorry. Sunny starts running afterall.]

[scowlish]

[At first, Onni is only focused on the creature that comes galloping toward them, the one he'd stabbed with the makeshift spear he's carrying. It's barely sharp on the end, just a conglomeration of splinters from breaking the branch off, but it's better than nothing. So he bears down, stands his ground, and puts his weight behind it as the creature charges him, and the creature, obviously expecting him to break and run, impales itself on the spear with its own momentum. Onni makes a small grunt of effort in his throat as the two bodies collide with his makeshift spear in between them.

It's only then that he notices the boy has started to run. Shaking the creature off his spear, Onni sighs deeply, more exasperated than anything. Why do people always do this? Splitting up in this kind of situation is stupid, and he starts off after the boy, fully intending to give him a piece of his mind about that when he catches up.

There are other creatures approaching on either side, though, flanking the two humans. Creatures that run on all fours, some of which look like they used to be people, some of which look like they used to be deer, all together like a herd. Onni knows not to underestimate how dangerous they might be just because they used to be deer and people.

Settling into a fast jog, he starts to catch up to the boy, making little stabbing motions at the creatures on either side of them to make them keep their distance to the extent he can.]

Hey. Do you see any safe places up there?

[sadpoem]

[Nothing about this situation lends any feeling of relief, but Sunny is glad that Onni didn't die as soon as he ran off. He won't be any good at calling back the way he calls to Sunny, but he has spotted something to run toward. Without glancing back over his shoulder, Sunny throws his hand up and motions to turn off to the right, then does just that.

[He's slow, and he's clumsy, and he's weak, tripping over tree branches and glass and other things that don't quite belong. Eventually, he makes it anyway, to a tiny cave pressed into a pitch black rock face. He skitters to a stop right in front of it, intimidated by the dark.

[He can hear the beasts still running behind him; into the dark he goes. Funny thing: once he disappears, he really disappears, the entrance to the cave seemingly vanishing, blending in with the rest of the cliffside. From within, Sunny doesn't notice; too distracted by something.]