[Whatever you find comfort in. To that, Tyki's mouth only curves a dark warp of a smile. Any comfort he might have sought from God or gods is old, ancient, beyond his reach — it cannot be grasped with the two hands he carries in this life, in pieces sealed away from the extent of the Noah Memory. Comfort doesn't exist to any Noah while the war still rages for the creation of their new world. God is not here.
It used to be easier to consider mortal practices as enjoyable, some replacement for that void that sat within him, a tether to what he was. It won't be forever. It isn't, already, because Joyd has settled itself into the scars left by the instrument of his enemy, like a viscous liquid into grooves of rot. He suggests methods of worship, but none of them he's done himself, so he cannot know which best to choose.]
Sounds like a very personally devoted sort of follower. [Difficult to tell, in that unjudgmental tone, whether Set had minded that border challenged by vulgarity.] I don't know what I can offer then, since I've never done anything myself. I wasn't a religious man before the Noah woke in me. So I can't say what I would even enjoy. I'll think about it.
[Or Joyd will simply act, in his stead. He tries to repress the slithering sense of disquiet that lends itself to the idea of that — it's unreasonable. For a moment, he desperately misses Road. Then the moment is over. Tyki holds the glass of alcohol in his hand; it gathers condensation around his fingers, undrunk.]
How do you find it, being in a place outside the land you once held dominion over? I can't imagine that's easy.
no subject
It used to be easier to consider mortal practices as enjoyable, some replacement for that void that sat within him, a tether to what he was. It won't be forever. It isn't, already, because Joyd has settled itself into the scars left by the instrument of his enemy, like a viscous liquid into grooves of rot. He suggests methods of worship, but none of them he's done himself, so he cannot know which best to choose.]
Sounds like a very personally devoted sort of follower. [Difficult to tell, in that unjudgmental tone, whether Set had minded that border challenged by vulgarity.] I don't know what I can offer then, since I've never done anything myself. I wasn't a religious man before the Noah woke in me. So I can't say what I would even enjoy. I'll think about it.
[Or Joyd will simply act, in his stead. He tries to repress the slithering sense of disquiet that lends itself to the idea of that — it's unreasonable. For a moment, he desperately misses Road. Then the moment is over. Tyki holds the glass of alcohol in his hand; it gathers condensation around his fingers, undrunk.]
How do you find it, being in a place outside the land you once held dominion over? I can't imagine that's easy.