TDM 001 ● JUNE 2025

[uruz]

TDM: ONE

Watch on YouTube

ᛗ

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.

ᛗ

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.

Watch on YouTube

ᛗ

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.

Watch on YouTube

ᛗ

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.

ᛗ

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.

ᛗ

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!

network ᛗ logs ᛗ ooc ᛗ memes ᛗ navigation

code

Comments

[deathstealer]

Nor I, in truth.
'twas a terrible crime,
that led to a terrible curse.

[ And yet, she doesn't sound regretful in the slightest, merely matter of fact, though she knows this man has no idea what she speaks of. From his expression, she can tell that he has his own blood-soaked memories playing at the forefront of his mind -- he wears the hard look of a man who has killed and found it necessary to do so.

Ranni idly turns the citrus fruit in her fingers, examining it. It is unlike anything she has seen, but that is no surprise. This entire place is on the edge of reality, fantastical. ]

They say that pride goeth before the fall,
but thou hast already fallen, I gather.

[ One lambent blue eyes watches him from behind the eyeholes of her mask, her spectral conjoined face betraying no real emotion. ]

[hexrot]

[ in jayce's case, the curse came first. this particular crime of forced judgement came after. he needed not remove his mask of bronze and sun adornments to downcast his gaze with guilt, burden. disillusionment and a particularly bruised sense of responsibility. ]

More than once. [ his jaw goes tight; he doesn't even know why he's speaking about this, any of this, with a stranger; he feels compelled to continue rather than to stop, either, and that brings his hand to his wrist; scarred, of webs and a strange color embued in his veins. the stone that used to be there is no more, but his muscle memory still yearns to rub at it for comfort. ] It wasn't pride that brought me there.

[deathstealer]

[ Ranni's gaze, both glass and spectral, dips very obviously to the wrist that the man fusses with, lingering on the strange web of scarring. For a moment, Ranni is almost tempted to think that the man is infested with Scarlet Rot, but there's too much color there, strange pale greens and blues mixed with earthy bronzes and reds. ]

Nor was it pride that bringeth any soul here,
but a voice that whispered of purpose and place.
And nevertheless, many souls fell.

[ From here, Ranni can see a few others, confused and wandering. She gently sets aside the fruit, and almost immediately, the rush of blood-soaked satisfaction seems to start fading. Ranni almost misses it. It has been a long time since she felt with any... certainty.

She brings her hands together, one pair steepled thoughtfully, one pair folded on her lap. Now it seems she must solve this new mystery. ]

Didst thou hear the same voice?

[hexrot]

[ jayce's brows fissure together with a sudden, rapid blink and narrowed eyes. her words have made him realize something: he doesn't know how he got here, to this particular moment. he simply . . . was. and before that—

there was a voice, even if he'd been too disoriented to pay it much attention. for a split moment, jayce's gaze goes stern at her, suspicious; but . . . no, it wasn't the same one. ]

"Stay", [ he recalls, ] that one?

[deathstealer]

[ Catching that look of suspicion, Ranni smiles.

How amusing, to be suspected so. No, she is not the voice that whispered in people's ears to bring them here. But she supposes she can see the appeal. She has no desire to play with people's lives like puppets put to a test, but creation on this grand scale was never her forte. Maybe that kind of power is corrupting. ]

Yes. A beckoning to stay,
and a promise to satiate hunger.
A panacea for all ills, it seemeth.

[ Bringing in people from many worlds, from many walks of life. What is this man's story? What led him to that leg injury, that strange rainbow scar, that hard look in his eye? Ranni is not a scholar of people, so she cannot say, but she begins to wonder if the entity that brought them here was... picking and choosing.

Everyone here is so frightfully interesting, after all. ]

I know not who the voice belongs to,
but I wish to learn.
Identification of the unknown is the first rule,
after all, of a good scholarly study.

[hexrot]

[ the way he's being studied from top to bottom, his impairment on clear display within the confines of a clicking, creaking metal brace made for short term usability rather than long term comfort has jayce feeling, only mildly, on edge. hard to say that it has anything to do with the woman, per se, and more with his general state of ongoing alertness. it just doesn't make him feel like he could relax under the scrutiny, whatever be the thoughts.

jayce's nose scrunches, one side of his lip lifts in a twitch, and his haggard appearance flinches at scholarly. reflexes ease on study. ]

What do you study?

[ asking her if she was a scholar was redundant. a waste of breath and energy. obvious— but she could be anything. even a part of his own subconsious trying to comfort him. ]

[deathstealer]

[ Ranni raises one hand to press a finger against her lips, a sly hush motion, as she gestures with another hand to the sky above them.

She cannot see a moon in the sky above; she cannot see much of anything in the sky, actually. But she cannot shake the sense that something is listening, some vast presence that wants to know their thoughts, their deepest desires. The same presence that tries to whisper to them even now. She doesn't want to give too much away, not to it, not to anybody else.

Still, she answers, in a hushed tone: ]

That which shines down upon thee from a starry night,
and that which beats and squirms in thine heart.
Magic, and its many forms contained.
I have mine specialties, but my knowledge is broad.

[ She glances up at the sky from beyond the brim of her broad hat, pensive. ]

There is much here to observe, and study thoroughly,
but how many answers shall we receive?

[hexrot]

[ just like that, jayce's shoulders sag from a tension he'd been holding. his lips hang, just enough for the small slit of his gap to show, a brief gaze casting above them to check, but. there is nothing. no sun. no stars, no moon. but a night has him filtering down to two possibilities.

his interest is highly piqued. ]

As many as we can discover. [ science was made to be debunked. refuted. researched and decoded and progressed. ] You're a selenomancer.

[ he tests the theory; no questions. ]