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

[aeviternitas]

[ Something is different about his power, here. He shouldn't even be able to create illusions like this outside of his domain. But something had happened when the land turned. He still feels raw and unsettled, like something had shifted inside him and hadn't settled back in quite the right place.

But if his power works, he will use it. He watches over his shoulder, both arms around the young man in his arms. His long hair drapes around both of them like a curtain, pooling with his robe against the fetid soil. The creature - monster - lumbers towards them... and then past. It is a long, tense moment that stretches. The song is persistent in his head, around them as if rising from the very air, thick and stale.

The creature disappears around some aspect of the broken landscape, and the Forsaken's attention returns to the boy. His lips curve into a smile. ]

It is gone now. [ But there are others. None close enough right now to threaten them, so he straightens upright, still on one knee. One hand lingers on the boy's arm, as if to comfort. Sunny has not noticed his fists balled in the god's robes, but the Forsaken has. Gently: ] Are you unhurt?

[sadpoem]

[It is gone now. Sunny repeats the words silently in his head. It is gone now. He tries to breathe, but he's afraid to breathe too loud. If he can't breathe, then he can't calm down. He feels pain in his hand, too much tension; releases. He looks at The Forsaken, then down at himself, inspecting his arms, touching his own chest. He looks back up at The Forsaken and nods. He wishes he knew how to say thank you...]

[aeviternitas]

[ He is patient as the other untangles his hands and examines himself. Only once Sunny nods does the Forsaken lower his own hand. ] There then.

[ The smile widens just a bit, the tone of his voice, kind but strangely absent of warmth one might normally expect. ] You're alright then.

[ The god straightens, paying little mind to the soil on the knees of his robe or, now, in his hair. He extends a hand in offer. ] Let us perhaps find a quieter place, yes? [ More of the creatures are certainly nearby, and while the voices seem everywhere, he'd certainly like to try to outpace them. ]

[sadpoem]

[Sunny won't argue. His eyes are wide on the strange, ethereal, kind by cold-toned man. He takes the hand that's offered, convinced this must be some sort of angel, or, at the very least, a key NPC. Sunny squeezes the man's hand and nods. He'll follow wherever The Forsaken takes him.]

[aeviternitas]

[ A smile lingers, reassuring. He guides them over rubble and around stagnant pools. He thinks for a moment a copse of trees might provide cover enough, but the whisper is louder there, coming from the trees themselves, impossible as it might be.

When another monstrosity lumbers too near, the god turns his back to it as shield, free hand on the boy's shoulder to guide him in close. Again, a ripple shimmers across the ground. The beast staggers past, mercifully unaware of their presence. The god's skin seems to flicker, as if he is not entirely corporeal. He smiles again despite a weary weight to his expression. ]

A treacherous place indeed. Listen not to the voices. Just over there- let us hurry.

[ There is a rock formation, jutting from the earth like jagged teeth. It is tall enough to hide behind at least, and it does not sing, persistent and grating like the trees. ]

[sadpoem]

[This dream may be a nightmare now, but it was pleasant when it began. Watching The Forsaken's flickering skin, the shimmer of the cloak he creates, Sunny can't tell if he feels comforted or more unsettled. He's ushered under a rock outcropping where he can squeeze himself all the way back into the darkest little corner. The shadow bathes him in black. His eyes blend in with the darkness.

[A pale hand rests over his heart, lightly gripping. He has no idea how to say thank you.

[After a few seconds, he reaches out, uncertain, and lays a hand on The Forsaken's shoulder. It's an appreciative gesture. Thank you. If only he could actually spit it out.]

[aeviternitas]

[ The boy settled in the shadows, the god watches the area around them with wary eyes. They seem out of the way here, at least for now, framed by a higher range of the rocky outcroppings, more wall than mountain. The landscape is as twisted as elsewhere, but they are out of view of the monstrosities that chase and grasp.

When a small hand rests on his shoulder, the man's shoulders tense momentarily not in discomfort, but surprise. Lips parted, his attention snaps back to the other. No matter how often the gratitude of the Lost translates to physical touch, it is so far between it is always a surprise. His posture relaxes, and he touches the hand in reciprocation. You're welcome. He smiles again. ]

It looks like we are safe here for the moment. I am the Forsaken- might I know your name?

[sadpoem]

[The Forsaken sounds like a name straight out of Sunny's nightmares, but, for all that Sunny fears, he doesn't fear the man beside him. Even so, if it's difficult to speak normally, it's a thousand times more difficult after being chased down like that. He knows he'd stammer too severely to force out words; he's learned a new trick, however...

[Sunny holds up a trembling finger, then reaches to pull the blindfold wrapped around his head fully down over his eyes. It's easier this way, he finds, to communicate through whatever strange murmur runs between he and...hopefully, the Forsaken too.

[Sunlight warms their silent connection. He wonders if it will be enough. He tries to make the letters clear, the sound of s̸̨̜̞̞̩͖̼̑̇͘o̷̡̡̠̱̤̲̟͎̲̓͌̽̄̋͊͘͝͠m̶̡̘̝̳̪̠̼̗͑͜ȩ̸̨̡̫̉͐ͅone calling him in from outside. Sunny! Sunny!]

[aeviternitas]

[ The Forsaken watches, curious as the boy pulls down his blindfold.

There are too many voices in his head already, harmonious only in that they sigh or sing or screech the same words. But distant, he hears something else. He focuses, before his brows raise in surprise. ]

Sunny? [ He echoes, voice lilting in question, to make sure that is what he heard - and that it is the boy's voice, not yet another oddity half-remembered yet not his own. ]

[sadpoem]

[It's a voice from Sunny's memories, but it doesn't call again. The boy nods his head - Yes, his name is Sunny.

[For a moment, he forgets that they're hiding, the beasts the prowl beyond their little cave. He reaches out to shake the Forsaken's hand, the only way he knows how to say, 'It's nice to meet you.']

[aeviternitas]

Sunny, [ he echoes again, and smiles. A good name, one unfitting for this miserable place.

His lips part, the only part of his surprise visible behind the mask. He smiles again, and gives the boy's hand a gentle squeeze. ] It is nice to meet you, too.

[ A brief pause, something gentle in the man's expression. ] But you do not belong here, do you?

[ He turns his attention to the space of one side, towards the jagged rocks farther away. He extends a hand in a fluid motion, gestures as though one might to peer through a curtain —

Nothing happens. Nothing comes to him. He cannot see where this boy is meant to go, whether back whence he came, or whether there is something better for him. Frustrated tension becomes visible in his slight frame, subtle but certainly present. He extends his hand with more force. Still nothing. His fingers close, and settle back into his lap. ]

Forgive me. [ His attention turns back to Sunny with an apologetic smile. ] This place [ —This dream?— ] has... perhaps made me tired.

[sadpoem]

['It is nice to meet you too...

...but you do not belong here, do you?'

[It's unsettling dialogue. The Forsaken reaches out, and Sunny thinks he must be waking up soon, but he doesn't. The Forsaken reaches out again to no avail. The nightmare continues beyond their small safe haven. The man is tired...

[Sunny nods his head. He's tired too. In fact, he thinks...maybe they ought to go to sleep. If they do go to sleep, then all of this will end, and they won't have to worry about anything else at all. Sunny takes the Forsaken's hand again and pats it. He tugs a little, curling his body, small as it is, into an even tinier ball. He lays his head on the cool, jagged rock and closes his eyes.

[His heart has to stop racing sometime. He ignores the cliffside scraping and poking. He'll fall asleep soon. Calm down. Sunny tries to control his breathing.]

[aeviternitas]

You mean to sleep? [ The Forsaken sounds a bit surprised. But— if it is a dream, perhaps if they do sleep they'll wake where they were. If nothing else, being asleep means Sunny cannot look at the sky, at Her, whomever She, that vain, treacherous, demanding god may be.

The Forsaken adjusts his position, shifting to move close against Sunny. ] Come here- that cannot be comfortable.

[ He can see the way his chest rises and falls in stilted motion, an anxiety he has seen plenty of times before. He beckons Sunny to lean against him, his shoulder, his chest or his lap, he does not mind. At least he must be somewhat more comfortable than the rock face. And Sunny might feel the steady, unwavering beat of his heart, or at least the even rhythm of his breathing. Many a child, younger than Sunny, has found peace this way, if only for a while. ]

this is so sweet...

[sadpoem]

[This kindness... It's something he might have expected from one of his brighter, more colorful creations, but this Forsaken man with his cold eyes, his strange, ethereal features, his steady, low voice...

[It should be a nightmare, shouldn't it?

[It doesn't feel that way. Maybe when Sunny rests against him, closes his eyes, invites that black wave to wash over him again, he'll pay for his trust, so easily given. Maybe not...

[He finds himself pressed up against the man's chest, an unfamiliar heartbeat thudding in his ears. Immediately, just that sensation of being near someone else is enough to make gravity feel like it's increasing, pinning him down - sleep. He wants to...

[He will, so long as nothing interrupts them. He'll sleep, and when he wakes up, either all of this will be over or...

[None of it will, only some of it will... He doesn't know.]

Sunny happens to fit neatly into the one (1) bracket he has genuine kindness for..

[aeviternitas]

[ The god smiles, quiet as Sunny settles. The motion an idle one, he strokes Sunny's hair.

It must be a dream, it only makes sense that it is a dream, yet the Forsaken cannot shake the nagging whisper what if it isn't. So he keeps watch, for a time - he isn't sure how long. It feels as though it stretches for only minutes, and yet days, the voices that swirl and fall and rise again in his head omnipresent.

But it seems safe, here. Nothing has found them yet. Perhaps if he did sleep, he would wake again at home, what serves as a home, the endless sand and fog and loneliness. That is better than here, with a false god demanding subservience.

...Isn't it?

His arm finally comes to rest around the boy sleeping against him, head leaning back against the rock. Little by little, his eyes drift closed. ]