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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[hongtian]

[ Ruhong is dressed as though she had come for battle, the clothes on her back when she had woken in the orchard the scaled armor that's now equally spattered in fungal viscera as the rest of her. She hadn't, though—she merely often sleeps in her armor when traveling—and had certainly not expected the idyll of the golden orchard where she had suddenly awoken to become this. ]

You think? [ That's a curious statement to make. They're not exactly safe for casual conversation now just because there's one less creature to grab at them, but then that means they're as safe here as they would be anywhere. ] Were you not alone before? Were others with you? Are you searching for them?

( ooc: totally think i misread what comes with us in the dreamscape late last night so the sword was never here OOP let's call it a very pointy stick )

[dethangel]

[Toki is definitely not dressed for anything even resembling a battle aside from a pair of boots, his t-shirt and pants much too casual for what he's ended up in the middle of. He glances around to make sure nothing else is coming towards them all the same.]

I saw some people around before... not with anybody right now, I guess.

[It's easy to get lost around here, even with the landscape in such bad shape. People come and go, and it's easy to get distracted.]

I, uh... guess I'm looking for people I know! And maybe just people. And... stuff keeps happening?

[((that's basically a sword!))]

[hongtian]

Well. [ Her voice is wry, and there may be the smallest hint of a smile on her lips. ] Things do indeed keep happening.

[ As if on cue, something shudders and roars in the bleeding red sky. The ground beneath them shakes, and Ruhong stumbles and grabs at her head as though it will block out the horrible song that begs them endlessly to look. ]

We have to move. [ If they found a portal into her world through which to bring her, then surely it—or another like it—could be found to go back out. She reaches out as though she intends to pull him along with her, and as she does, her face and voice intensify. ] Did you look up? Did you look at the darkness?

[dethangel]

[Fuck. Turns out having been through a whole almost-apocalypse doesn't necessarily make any of this other stuff less scary. Toki's not feeling particularly speedy right now, his body apparently not wanting to move correctly, so he's perfectly happy to let her pull him along so he can use the momentum to keep going.]

N-no, I was busy looking at... other stuff.

[It's probably a good thing all of these fuckers are distracting enough to keep him from looking too hard at the sky, even if they're trying their damnedest. If he happens to get caught somewhere he can't get away...]

We shouldn't listen to those guys, right?

[hongtian]

[ Considering that this is basically Ruhong's worst-case scenario in life, she thinks she's holding it together rather well. Rather well for Ruhong, however, is tempered by the fact that Ruhong often fails to hold it together really much at all when it comes to her ancestral enemy of the Dreaming Dark.

Two more malformed creatures catch her attention: still hundreds of yards away, and perhaps not yet aware of the two humans running through the twisted landscape, but too close for Ruhong's comfort. They'll have to deal with them, she thinks, one way or another, but she's not sure if her nervous new companion is equipped for another confrontation.

She tugs him around a rocky outcropping with the intent (unless he protests or fights her in it) of pressing his shoulder to it so that she can hold him there. ]

Have you listened? [ She snarls before she remembers herself—remembers that he is soft, alone, and afraid. Ruhong backs up. ] Don't listen. Don't look. It desires darkness, and what it touches darkness destroys. It will make you part of it until you are you no longer. So remember the light. Remember the beauty that lives in your heart.

[ She brushes one hand against her other forearm, where a strange triangular symbol is stitched into the leather of her bracer. ]

Can you fight?

[dethangel]

[It's all he can do to keep from shouting when she holds him in place, but he manages. No need to let any of these guys know there's a target here if they can avoid it. Instead he makes a choked noise, but he relaxes when she backs up.]

Remember the beauty... got it.

[He nods vigorously. Isn't that a familiar situation, sort of. But his happy place has kept him alive before, so if imagination and memory are going to keep him going here, he's all for it.

After all, even when brutality is a necessity, a requirement... well, he's always been known to care a little too much. But as for fighting...]

I... I think so!

[He's not a trained fighter or anything, but he's strong, and when it's time to kick an ass he'll keep on kicking until there's nothing left to kick. Maybe he'd be better off with a gun or a flamethrower or something, but as it is, he can probably punch one of these guys.

But he's also changing, his body protesting in ways it never has before. Does strength matter when it feels like you're basically dying? Maybe he'll have to find out.]

I can try.

[hongtian]

[ She nods at him, determination in the set of her jaw and respect creeping through the urgent chill on her skin as he finds his own steadiness. The stick she'd been holding had snapped nearly in half with the last attack, and she feels far more uneasy than she likes to be. Ruhong likes battle, usually. She likes the thrill of it, likes the power it makes her feel and even (though she will only ever admit it to a very, very few people) likes the warm taste of blood on her skin. But without her shield, her swords, even the divine energy that usually flows through her meridians feels like it's boiling hot with urgency.

Urgency, nerves, or—something else. It doesn't feel... divine, any more. It doesn't feel right. Her blood is pounding in her ears, rushing more loudly than she thought possible. She's never been this aware of it, the flow of blood in her body as she is the flow of qi through her core, but she's suddenly so aware that she almost feels as though she could reach out and— ]

Good. [ She says it hoarsely, interrupting her own train of thought. ] Because I think we're about to find out the answer to that question for both of us.

[ And, with a shriek, something is upon them. ]

[dethangel]

[Toki mostly feels... off, as he tries to adjust to what his body's throwing at him while everything is still going to shit around him. He's pretty sure he'll get it, he'll figure everything out, if he can just get a good amount of time to work on it.

Unfortunately, that's not helping right now. Something's coming after him, and Toki's screaming.]

Oh, fuck!

[It's too close and too messed up to tell exactly what it's supposed to be, but he shoves at it with all his might and it stumbles back. Despite everything, it looks like he's still got that, at least, even if his arms feel stiffer than they should.]

We... we gotta get out of here...

[hongtian]

[ Might will do in a pinch, armed or not, as Toki's shove proves. It gives them room to breathe, at least, and Ruhong sees an escape path between the hideous creature's flailing tentacles. ]

That way, quick!

[ She nudges Toki to make sure he sees it. As Ruhong begins to dash for it herself, something wraps itself around her ankle and yanks as the creature lashes out at the intended escape attempt.

She sees red. Ruhong hates being touched enough as it is, let alone by a horrifying tentacle monster while she's unarmed and struggling to reach her magic. She shouts, her back slamming to the ground as she's pulled off her feet, scrabbling at its limbs, clawing, something hot and sticky trickling down her cheek as she digs in her nails and pulls. The chant in their minds returns: Look at her. ]

[dethangel]

[Okay, cool. There's a way out, sort of, if they can just get there... Toki gets ready to rush towards the space, no matter how much his body protests at the very concept of rushing, but right as he makes a move, he hears Ruhong shouting and turns, eyes wide.

Look at her, look at her, whatever, Toki doesn't care. The voice can be all persuasive it wants later, right now he just sees that he has to help. Sure, he's feeling sluggish from the changes, but he manages to force himself back in the direction he was about to come from, barreling towards the monster with a shout of his own.]

Stop that! [he yells, slamming a shoulder into whatever part of the monster he can manage. Once his body connects, he throws a punch to follow up with that.] Go away!