[It is a blistering collision, one that sears through his mind in colors of red and gold, jeweled eyes and glittering sand. Tyki is arrested by it, torn half between the marvel of himself — as a human in the presence of a god — and the hunger of the Noah, Joyd, which surges to meet Set in that alcove. Joyd is a shadow, oppressive as it covers every corner of Set's space in return like the reach of so many dark hands, ancient and grasping, its soul one of many. Joyd bristles and shows teeth in that many-toothed smile. The sentiment that oozes from it is pleasure, an embalmed memory across eons that feasts on its surroundings with enjoyment, that seeks novelty, excitement, thrills.
That also seeks violence and disorder, drawn like a moth to Set's brilliance. Tyki reins for control over Joyd, but his laughter in the alcove — in Set's mind — is jagged, low and strained. His hands, gloved in white velvet, are shaking; he tucks them into his pockets.]
Well, it's a surprise to say the least. I've never met a god quite like you. [Marveling still in the knowledge that Set could exist, the emotion is shared like a child's, full of wonder and curiosity.] What sort of world is it that suffers your deserts and wars? How lucky they are.
You've seen what I am. The Noah. Best keep it a secret between us for now, if you don't mind.
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That also seeks violence and disorder, drawn like a moth to Set's brilliance. Tyki reins for control over Joyd, but his laughter in the alcove — in Set's mind — is jagged, low and strained. His hands, gloved in white velvet, are shaking; he tucks them into his pockets.]
Well, it's a surprise to say the least. I've never met a god quite like you. [Marveling still in the knowledge that Set could exist, the emotion is shared like a child's, full of wonder and curiosity.] What sort of world is it that suffers your deserts and wars? How lucky they are.
You've seen what I am. The Noah. Best keep it a secret between us for now, if you don't mind.