Let's do the Test Drive Again

[wolof]

I. BEARING FRUIT (NEW CHARACTERS ONLY)

It starts out as a pleasant dream. You’re in your favorite place, with your favorite people. It’s a moment of idyllic comfort.

And then, it goes wrong.

The sky turns dark above, and as you look up, you see the black expanse of space spotted with faraway pinprick lights of stars. Yet, they’re not stars. You’re certain. They’re watching you. A billion eyes all looking down, and they spill forth as if sky itself was a dam holding back those dark waters. You reach back to the people you’re with, but they’re frozen in place. Their eyes are black, reflecting only the expanse of dark eyes.

So you run, even though you know you won’t escape it. You glance back and see it not overtaking, but consuming. The landscape around you is being devoured, and you can see it cracking apart. The world itself is breaking, and it cracks under your feet. You fall, and the billion eyes chase after you until the darkness swallows you whole. There’s agony as if you’re being ripped apart, and then—

You cannot see. You cannot feel. You simply are. Yet even so, impossibly, a woman’s voice speaks gently.

I’m sorry it couldn’t be saved. But, come, it’s time to wake.

You wake with a start, cradled by soft, velvety plants, and sticky with a sap that smells faintly of honey and iron. You can see the veins of the leaves that hold you, lit warmly and gently by what looks like a crystal embedded above you. Yet, it’s odd, because that crystal calls to you. When you reach out to touch it, it’s warm. Familiar. Important. You don’t know why, but you know you must hold onto this, because now it feels wrong for it to be suspended in these leaves. So, you pull it out.

The light starts to fade, but only in time to see as the leaves cradling you immediately start to soften and crumble, and with it comes a torrent of dirt. Soft, loamy soil starts to fill the space around you in the dark as you’re buried. Or, rather, you already were. You reach out through the dirt desperately, and your hands finds a root, so you pull while you clutch that precious crystal so close that it almost feels like it sinks into you (in your panic, you don’t notice that it does). You reach out again, and this time, your hand hits open air and plenty of sturdy roots around to grab.

From a seed you’re born, and like a sprout, you make your way out of the ground.

And once you’ve clawed your way out of the soft earth and the roots, nearby, you see the soil shift. Another hand comes up to grasp desperately for something, anything, just as you had been.

II. BOUGH-BREAKER, ROOT-QUAKER

There are new Shard-Bearers at the Tree of Life, and Yima has asked that their elders return to the Tree to greet them, to bring them forth and answer their questions. She warns that it will be unlike the last time, for the Dryad's presence has gone -- the root-caverns of the Tree are damaged, the previous actions of some of the Shard-Bearers have left it injured, blackened by ill intent. Be careful, Commune where you must, but be aware that the Tree has reacted to its injury and will seek out the space within your Communions to make its agonies known.

All will experience the consequences to the actions of the few.

Whether awakening within or descending once more into the cavernous, root layer of the Tree of life is precarious; passages are maze-like, with claustrophobic squeezes and sudden chasms. Worse yet, is the miasma that hovers in the atmosphere. It leaches into your eyes, your skin, the space below your fingernails and drags through your lungs with every inhalation. Images of explosions, of fire and the sensation of shrapnel tearing through you begin to spark like fireworks within your mind. The pain builds, souring as it does.

The ambiance here is revolting. Great chasms have opened in the environment, threatening to pour inattentive Shard-Bearers into the Tree's deeper underbelly. The cloying, dark vapors around everyone dull the senses, until those you may have entered with are gone, or perhaps new bodies have joined you in the rancid space. The miasma urges you towards your baser desires, your desperate violence, and even as the Tree's pain evokes a sense of desperate self-defense, your Shard warms upon your body.

Somehow, the Tree still seeks to Commune with all -- pressing its need upon you: a single flame. A roaring pyre. A chilled ember.

THE GAME IS AFOOT

The Tree of Life cannot communicate but in abstract images and sounds, but the general gist of its need is eventually grasped by all Shard-Bearers: the miasma present is the result of an attack upon the Dryad that once lived among the roots of the Tree. Actions taken by other Shard-Bearers have left the Tree in dire straits, deeply wounded and unable to prevent itself from naturally lashing out in its own defense as it dies. It cannot let go of those it has imprisoned, until they have revealed their nature to it - until it knows it can finally, finally let go.

Characters can decide amongst themselves how to deal with the threat of miasma. It's easy to figure out, as your shards will naturally want to absorb what's similar to discord within your shards, but just like with discord, holding hands, or joining together in some way will allow the pain to be shared amongst everyone in the group. There's no such thing as failure, but if a character decides for the group, there may be the opportunity for intervention…

• Characters may choose to take on the role of a martyr, accepting the Tree's miasma ( its pain ) upon themselves as the sole sufferant. They will experience excruciating pain and lasting effects, but will spare others from this trauma.
• Characters may also choose to share the pain among themselves, though doing so will require Communion to be shared between all parties -- this will result in the temporary collapse of boundaries and barricades, and emotions and memories may flow against their will into others.
• Characters may also decide to do nothing at all, whereupon their decision to take no action will result in the miasma growing stronger, denser and more cloying until they are rendered unconscious and ejected from the roots of the tree.
• Have you a choice unique to your character that wasn't mentioned? Might you try to heal the tree's pain, or perhaps harm it further? If you're making the attempt, make sure your group is aware and submit your record of action to the link included below!

This can be done in groups of 2 to 4 players, and three is a recommendation - if you can swing it! It’s more fun when you get into philosophical debates, right? Regardless, when your group comes to a decision, please record it here. These don’t have to be fully threaded out to be recorded, so the conclusion can be discussed OOC if you prefer. Actions can be submitted until JANUARY 9TH, after which a tally will be taken of decision and filed away for later, devious uses.

III. TWO CITIES, ALIKE IN DIGNITY BUT WE ALL KNOW YIMOMMY'S WHERE IT'S AT

Having just celebrated the dual-natured festivities known as the Year's End Festival and Qiasu, Springstar and Highstorm ( respectively ) are wrapping up the period of time where Kenos a celebrates unity and togetherness, coming together with friends and family, to be kind to others and share in one’s wealth - whether that comes in the form of knowledge, monetary gains, or the exchange of gifts and one’s time. While the core festivities are over, many of the residents of Kenos are still caught up in the celebratory mood; those who are not, have begun to fret and whisper about a rumor that has spread throughout both cities.

( Many more residents are attempting to get rid of their excess stock, and may attempt to pawn off kitschy goods and, strangely, unclaimed gifts for people they claim they have no memory of, or simply do not exist. )

With the new Shard-Bearers present or en route, it is Kathova and Cetina that approach the established ones, requesting that they form mentorships with the new souls to assist them with the integration process. To this end, they have both provided a centralized zone in both Highstorm and Springstar for a small, casual meet-and-greet to be held before the new Shard-Bearers are unleashed upon Kenos as a whole.

Additionally, as Springstar and Highstorm are holding their events on different days, it is possible for the knowledge-hungry to participate in both informational sessions -- the tones and opinions held by both cities are doubtless to differ, and some Shard-Bearers who have chosen to harmonize with either faction may even find their way to the opposing faction's session as well. After all, the year's end is still lingering in the air, and cooperation is the current name of the game.

SPRINGSTAR, αιώνιος ήλιος

In Springstar, the seat of the Tribune becomes available for such a forum. While a section of the building itself has been reserved for the meeting between fresh faces and experienced Shard-Bearers alike, the hustle and bustle of Heliopolis continues around them -- acolytes still gather their robes and tomes, hurrying from their quarters to lessons. A score of young militants march in step across the yard to the training grounds.

Tables draped in white-and-gold-trimmed fabrics fare filled with fare common to Springstar's warmer climate -- fruits and wines, savory smoked meats and roasted vegetables, a series of meze platters and souvlaki skewers have been lain out to encourage forum participants to snack as they speak. The atmosphere is light, ambient with informality and friendliness, though topics will inevitably stray towards philosophic, Springstar's meeting grounds are decorated with handsome chaise lounges and slouching klismos chairs in small, intimate groupings.

HIGHSTORM, луны-близнецы

Eternally in opposition, Highstorm provides the Manor's courtyard as the setting for their informational meeting. Here, formality is of utmost importance, with attending Zenith loyalists and residents dressed in beautiful, albeit austere attire -- they are, after all, standing before Lady Yima's home. A buffet-style luncheon is spread alongside one of the largest reflecting pools, wherein you may gaze and find your memories revealed in retrospect upon the water's surface.

There are few places to be seated in the Manor's courtyard, resulting in a milling of bodies as they flow and ebb between smaller gatherings, clustering in small-to-large groups with small platters and shimmering flutes of drink held in their hands.

RUMOR MILL

In both locations information passes between all in a forum, spread and disseminated among the masses - it's a good opportunity for city residents, faction loyalists and interested new parties to share and share alike. Once the meet-and-greet has concluded, twin missives from both of the faction leads are read out -- invitations for all present to explore the cities to their heart's content, and warnings about stumbling ill-prepared ( or at all ) into the Below, or worse yet, the Beyond.

No matter how conversations between player characters go, everyone will walk away with the following knowledge to ensure new players do not feel "behind" in terms of what has previously happened on Kenos TV.

• Cyrus, the head of the Meridian faction is a native aristocrat of Springstar, who provides characters with an iliachtida, or sunbeam. This item tethers a character to their world, ensuring it does not fully disappear. His stance involves the idea that, using Meridian's light, worlds can be restored and you may return home.
• In contrast, the head of the Zenith faction is Yima, who has been the head of Highstorm since - arguably - its inception. She provides characters with a Shard of that they love most, to protect and hold. Yima believes former worlds to be lost, and looks to the future instead.
• While Harmonization occurs as the characters' Shard ( literally the manifestation of a character's soul! ) accrues the natural energies generated by Meridian or Zenith, Discord is also as natural an occurrence -- a symptom, in fact, of that process. Discord is best reduced by someone from the opposite faction, and is also influenced by the Aspect of one's character.
• Cyrus likes enchiladas.
• Many individuals recommend the following locations to new arrivals, as a means of enjoyment, involvement or further information-seeking: Highstorm's Court at Yima's Manor remains a great area for reflection and self-discovery, while the Tomes - a series of libraries - possess a magnitude of amassed knowledge, both foreign and relative to yourself. Heliopolis, the capital of Springstar, is the core of government and administration, and houses many avenues towards involvement in the goings-on of the city. Likewise, the Psychagogía District is the beating heart of entertainment within an island known for its passions.
• Rumors of past exploits linger on the lips of many. Did you know that one of Meridian's Harmonized slew one of Zenith's before the eyes of countless bystanders? That there was an expedition of Meri and Zenite Shard-Bearers dispatched to Alenroux, and some came back brutalized! Did you hear that the Shard of a Zenite is being held hostage by the Meridians?
• The new marking that has appeared upon your character's body is known as their sign of Aspect, and supposedly correlates to the fundamental truths of their soul. A Shard also exists, and is known as the characters' soul itself.

NOTES

Welcome to Kenos! As a reminder, all new players need an invite to play in the game, which are now open.

This log is Game Canon. Any characters who are not apped to the game will disappear. If Cyrus or Yima are asked, they’ll explain that this happens sometimes, since not every soul has a strong tether to Kenos and sometimes return to the Timestream. They’re fine and may even return to Kenos one day, but for now weren’t able to make the full journey.

As a reminder, your character has a Shard somewhere on their body that encompasses their soul, so keep note of where you're sticking it on their person for reference! Additionally, they have a tattoo of their Aspect somewhere on their body. Please be mindful this Aspect will be assigned to you upon approval and whatever you choose for the TDM may be temporary (for new characters)!

For the Highstorm and Springstar prompts, both cities will be fully open and accessible to all characters once they are saved from their rather harrowing ordeal at the Tree of Life. For prompt ideas and any general information about the cities and what you can find there, please see the Navigation page and check out the locations!

FOR NEW PLAYERS:

When characters emerge from their cocoon/the ground, characters may be wearing their normal clothes, or they might be nude. Up to you!

At some point in the days after leaving the Tree of Life, new Shard-Bearers will have a dream, even if they're usually not capable of sleeping. All new players should read this post, since this details how they'll learn about both factions and their goals and should help them make a decision in which Faction they'd be drawn to.

New characters will not have access to any canon abilities on the TDM.

Your character will be offered temporary housing either at the Heliopolis district or Yima's manor for the first few weeks after their arrival. They will also be given a stipend for basic supplies like clothing and personal effects, and food is served in the cantina (Heliopolis) and at regular meal times in the Dining Room (Yima's manor). Once they Harmonize, they will get personal permanent chambers and a fancy retainer in their Faction's city. Wow! 🌈

CODING

Comments

hi julia it's time ( iv-a im gross )

[redsoil]

[ As ripples will inevitably be cast back upon their origin, Tyki receives the rush in return: the cries of defiance and pain, the clash of weapons and flesh; a child torn from the arms of a screaming mother, a man choking on himself as he is pierced through and through again, there is a distinct sense of comprehension that flows through it. Meaning, purpose. Something entirely inhuman in thought and view of battle, war and death. Bloodlust tangles with divine severity.

Above it all, the redhead'd god of war arches a brow. Larger than life, in Communion, with blood sleek upon his bare feet and the desert flowing free from the ends of his hair. Does he believe in god? He is such a thing, precisely woven into the shape of Tyki's memories? insensate thoughts? ]

[joyd]

[It brings with it shock, delight, deep discomfort — as he has never known divinity like this. The Noah within him roils, turning over in its black sleep like a great animal disturbed from oblivion, interest running electric paths straight through to the core of his soul. For a moment, Tyki loses control where he's passing through Highstorm's courtyard post-lunch; his hand lifts to his face to conceal a wide, monstrous grin.

Then it calms, simmering after like hot oil on sand.

Who are you? Tyki eventually manages to ask, now tucked into some dark alcove of the manor where he won't be overseen, the question quietened to more humane communication.]

[redsoil]

[ There is a monster, at the other end of this ill-formed connection. Set feels the curl of that horrible smile as though it were his own, and must twitch his head away from the way it seizes at the space behind his teeth and presses at the corners of his own mouth. Tyki had gone fishing, and pinching the hook between pale fingers was something darkly divine. Diminished, without a doubt, but inevitable in presence.

The question asked of him is met with the brute collision of Set's presence; he is brilliant and red, as ruthlessly devoted to taking up the space within Communion as he is in battle. In the mind, he is both the endless desert and the pale figure, and treads through Tyki's space barefoot. The ends of his hair spilling across the floor like pouring blood. His hands are there, where they weren't before, cupping the question as it's asked.

In some way, he stands in that small alcove with the Noah, brow heavy and expression drawn. Severe is the god of war, his hands marked black with curse and Aspect tattoo and his mouth a grim line that does not part as he answers. ]

God of war. ( God of the desert, god of disorder. ) You weren't seeking me. I found your question compelling enough.

[joyd]

[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.

[redsoil]

[ What reason has he to fear the creature that writhes and teems within this man? The two seem kindred, albeit of two differing minds, and Set collides with the Noah, Joyd, without flinching from the ravenous thing that reaches for him. If his stomach roils at the thought of ( hands, far too many; of vines, constricting ), it is gone in an instant, and he pours the red of his soul across the Noah as though to sate its hunger with his own nature. Drown it in what it seeks, hoping that it settles and he may speak with Tyki -- while stroking his Noah as though it were a great beast.

It's all very companionable. Intensely inhuman.

There is a sense of pleasure in him, too. Low and curling like a crooked finger, indolent and rusty. He is a pleasure-seeking god, given to it not yet as the highest good, but messy in the pursuit of it. ]

There is no god quite like me, [ his pride sparks like flint and tinder, sparks in the night. ] Not in all of Egypt, from the throne of the Sun to the barren reaches of the desert. If your nature is to be a secret, I will keep it for you.

[ Simple as that. He will not make Tyki jump through hoops, oddly enough. ]

My name is Set. ( Seth. Sutekh. Σήθ. Ba'al. Typhon. ) Give me your name, as well. I want to know what to call someone alike in quality.

[joyd]

[The god in Set has made an insufferable mess of Joyd, who like that petted beast curls with gratification in the company and attention, physical pressure all through his body that for a moment threatens to push him out — reined down, eventually, by Set's gracious offering. All of that redness floods through him, an ocean of blood in the desert, the sun on the dunes. It fills him like a meal.

And causes Tyki, for the first time since he clawed himself out of the dirt, to realize his own loneliness. He has not been apart from his family since before his awakening; they know him for who he is, they are one with him, and like this... To be seen by someone not his enemy, not someone who must die, is a surreal experience.]

Set. I believe it. [He sighs, leaning in the alcove as he gathers his composure again.] Thank you. Sorry, you've caught me off my guard here, I'm not my usual self. Tyki Mikk — that other part of me is Joyd. I'm more of a disciple, an apostle of the God who created the world. My world. There are others like me, the Noah you felt.

Strange to be having this conversation with someone I've never actually met. You want to go for a drink?

[Casual things to ask the god of war.]

[redsoil]

It is to be expected, Tyki Mikk.

[ Everyone handles the supposed end of their world differently.

Some despair. Some rave. Some are determined, and some revel. Everyone is a different creature, from a different realm, and the only thing that briefly unifies them is the loss of such. Then, they fall to one side of the line or the other -- revival or progression. Set despairs, in violent act and hedonistic pursuit, and seeks the revival of his world; the golden bead of the Meridian faction shines like Ra's light in the depths of his hair. Red and gold, brilliance and blood.

In the alcove, his presence swells to seek Tyki beyond his Noah, to rake over him like seeking, curious fingers and palms. ] I would not mind accompanying you. It is refreshing to meet men of gods, they do not stumble over the concept of divinity as reality as strongly as some of the others.

[ The image of a comfortable, aged location fills the darkness. Set points to it in his mind's eye; there, that is where they will meet. A favored haunt of his, dusky and dim, with deep shadows and smoky scents, with rough honesty and eyes that won't stare or haunt those who wish to be left alone with their drink and drive. ]

Come here, to me.

[joyd]

[That exploratory touch is enough to take his breath, and Tyki is at odds with it, at once disliking his own discomposure while remaining in a state of wondrous appreciation for Set's existence. Then again, he's used to the dichotomy of his interior self. Even if these days it seems to slip, more and more, from his grasp.

But it will be Tyki who goes to meet Set, not Joyd, traveling as he's directed with confident ease. It really isn't much different than how he once traversed by guidance of the Ark; Kenos isn't so large, and the image in his mind is solid. He finds that dim, shadowy establishment with the ease of one who chooses such similar locations for his own entertainment.

Well, he used to.

The god in the flesh is no less stunning, and Tyki is grateful to have changed since crawling out of the ground — dressed in sleek, European fashionwear meant for an aristocrat, black hair pulled back in a loose tie at the nape of his neck. It is not so long as it once was, but still enough to require maintenance, raked back to display a dark, smiling face. Unlike with everyone else he's encountered, Tyki does not conceal the scarred crown of crosses across his forehead.]

So here you are. [There's a narrow doorway into the room draped with sheer silks, which Tyki brushes gently aside to enter. And Set will sense, or see in phantom quality, the black shadow he brings with him — Joyd always that ominous burden, like an extra smile on Tyki's face, but warped and fanged and stretched too wide. Tyki closes his eyes; the moment passes, Joyd fades.] Somehow, this does suit you.

[redsoil]

[ The place he has chosen is one Set is relatively fond of, for its discretion. It is not Madam Dee's warm brothel, nor a sports bar consistently mobbed by the souls of the Coliseum-goers who seek him out for autograph, for queries about his combat or sometimes, to spit in his direction drunkenly and blame him for their favored fighter's loss. Here, the lull of conversation is intimate, kept contained within circles who've come to the establishment for so long, they are practically furniture.

The face of it reads The Last Dance, and within it, Tyki finds Set.

He is sprawled along one of the walls, indolent and elegant even in this place of inebriation. Freshly bruised from the day's fight along the underside one eye, he is no less diminished in natural arrogance; his hair is obscenely long, gathered into a loose braid that tumbles down his bare back. An oddly underdressed creature, that lifts his hands to the Noah that joins him and brassily declares: ] There is no place in all of existence that would not suit me, Tyki Mikk!

[ He welcomes him, that way, open-armed and red-mouthed. ]

Be it subtle pleasures or grand vices, welcome to Kenos! I will treat you well today, newcomer, for you bring with you a reverence that puts me in a fine mood.

[joyd]

[It feels like the right place to find the god of war, no matter Set's words. The Last Dance, in its intimacy and decadence, reminds Tyki of establishments whose dark corners he'd frequently occupied between duties to the Earl; at home, at once, in a place that feels familiar and painstakingly nostalgic. He had less time these days to entertain idleness, and admittedly he knew this would continue while the war against the Black Order and the greater world waged, so it isn't strange to feel the seed of guilt in him now for indulging.

Priorities have changed, and no one is there to give him orders. This doesn't stop Tyki from wondering when the Earl will appear.]

You do know how to make someone like me feel welcome, even as a stranger to Kenos and to your own cultural ways. [Tyki slips closer, gloved hand unbuttoning the front of his coat to sit neatly, a lounge of limbs beside Set that is careful not to pin that waterfall of red hair beneath their weight.] How does one of your world pay respects to the god of war? I'd like to do the same if I can.

[He offers a close-lipped smile that is, for once, sincere against the glitter of amber eyes and darker skin.]

[redsoil]

[ Tyki has caught him in the most indulgent of moods, willing to welcome new arrivals in a manner most unbecoming to some.

The presence of the beast within him ( that is? him? ) is of utmost curiosity, and the respect that has been shown in the face of Set's divine nature pleases him. The devout, even if they are given to other gods, have been the few who look upon him and nod, agreeable and not at all argumentative of his existence. It sates the deep, unhappy thing within him, that has been simmering in resentment for some time -- that will continue to simmer, should the truth continue to be questioned by unbelievers.

He coils into one of the fat cushions, lined in red-and-gold just like him, and pillows his cheek into the palm of one hand. Drinks will arrive as an opener, and requests be taken afterwards, in this long alleyway filled to bursting with color and scented smoke. The heavy curtain that leads deeper into the Last Dance's network of eclectic venues and artistry keeps the heady scents within the area, and Set gestures to the drink, to the long stem of the smoking pipe that sits upon the tray brought to serve them. ]

They don't.

[ Maybe once, they did, when he was a protector-god and not the divine marshal of combat. ]

They pray to sate me, to beg me not to draw their loved ones into battle in the first place. They call upon the goddess of peace, to soothe me. How would you show your god respect, perhaps that would suffice.

[joyd]

[Even by appearances held within a mortal body, Set carries his divinity in every languid movement and turn of head, in the graceful drape of limbs over pillows and that distinct manner of speech. Tyki has not harbored doubt since that immense presence, gold and red, first brushed his mind — but if he did, then surely the evidence spread before him would sate it.]

That's a shame. [A true one, that such a being as this goes without worship.] It sounds as if their belief in you is driven mostly by fear. Well, I can understand that. Not that I'm looking for followers, I'm no god.

[A drink is provided, and habit has Tyki reaching for the glass, a gloved white hand encasing it like something delicate — the taste when lifted to lips is sharp, astringent, familiar. Dark lashes drift low over yellow eyes. There was once a part of him that craved this first touch of the tongue; now in him, it feels muted, buried somewhere far below in the recesses of his humanity. An indulgence he misses more than the Noah will allow him to say. Tyki remains upright on the cushioned bench, posture relaxing somewhat into a slouch.]

The god we serve isn't around us in any material sense, and I can't say we practice any particular rituals... I guess I'd start by praying to you. [Idly thoughtful, Tyki's finger taps the edge of his glass.] But I've known some methods more involved, with priests or similar figureheads in positions of authority. I could wash your feet, massage your body, comb your hair. [He looks at Set, at an angle.] Or I could give you gifts. Most aligned with the Church [the slightest, barest grimace] want money, but I'm not sure about you. Maybe a sacrifice?

[redsoil]

[ Praying to him.

The only followers that remained were the ones who had spread in the wake of his obscene rule, devotees of cruelty and decay, men of ill repute and ravenous hungers that roamed the land seeking the weak and vulnerable, the beautiful and easily-devoured. The knowledge that they attributed such horrors to their god, to Set, had left him vibrantly ill as he wandered the human land in pursuit of the souls he had condemned. Even he had been ill-treated by them, and had come to bleakly accept that such a thing was his punishment.

Even before that, it seemed to be his fate.

Tyki speaks of devotion, of worship and prayer and acts of service that are familiar to Set entirely -- to be attended, cared for and kept clean. In some part of his mind, he expects such displays, for he is a god over men; in another part, he knows the Ennead has cast him out, torn from him the fullness of his divinity and denied him participation in the rewards of godhood. ] Whatever you find comfort in, I will accept from you.

[ A magnanimous answer, as well as an elusive one. Set has no desire for service, but accepts it freely should it be what Tyki wants. ]

Be it nothing at all but the conversations we hold, or your willing service. Whatever you choose, Tyki of the Noah, take joy in it and practice it freely. I know devotion in all ways that you have said. The adherent I lost to my world's end, he chose involvement - dressing me, bathing me, pouring my drinks. He was very hands-on, sometimes in ways that bordered on vulgar.

[ There's no judgement in his word choice. He simply has an elegant and lofty vocabulary. ]

[joyd]

[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.