so lock me up & sock me up

the haven

location: the cursed quarter owned by: the shadow cult

From the outside, it is nothing but a run-down, abandoned warehouse in the Cursed Quarter. No one remembers who it might have once belonged to, if it ever belonged to anyone in the first place. For years, it was a hazardous playground for the children of Ireyne’s slums, until about ten years ago. Rumors of monsters and evil men within its walls started to float around the neighborhood. All manner of increasingly wild stories passed along until no one bothered to give the building a second glance, even in the daytime. Of these stories, only one was true, though it was far less interesting than tales of demons and blood magic.

Mirza had chosen this building as the primary headquarters for his original crime syndicate, and it was here that he would meet with those under him. From planning heists in the houses of the nobility, to scheduling supply drops for the poorest families in the city, the Shadow and his cohorts did their business here. It was a safe distance from the Temple, from Mirza’s outward life as a justicar, and allowed him to immerse himself in the lives of Ireyne’s most disadvantaged.

Things didn’t change much when the Doom hit, but they did change with the deaths of the Divines. Mirza vanished, and his trusted second tried to keep the syndicate running alone. But years passed. The Shadow was reduced to a rumor. And the criminal empire he’d started faded as well, seemingly superfluous under the new, more compassionate monarchy.

Of course, Mirza didn’t stay gone. And although his new cult has taken over the old Temple in the Medius Quarter as their primary base, this old warehouse holds many fond memories and feelings for the aspiring god. Things have improved in Ireyne, but they could always be better. There are still many who need help, and the Shadow Cult will give it to them.

Thus, the warehouse has been converted into The Haven, a commune of sorts deep in heart of the Cursed Quarter. The permanent population is currently 40 people, including the Umbrae who run it, but it can house up to 60 people at a time. Most of its residents are devotees of the Shadow Lord who either have no other homes, or who gave up their old lives to worship him. There are many extra beds for those who need aid, protection, food, or just a roof over their heads. A fully stocked kitchen runs day and night, offering food to the needy, supplied by a communal garden out back.

A handful of rotating Umbrae—the Shadow Cult’s priesthood—run the Haven, overseeing those who live there full time as they come together to make a communal life.  Those who pass through are not expected to work if they are unable, but are encouraged to help when and where they can. All work is of equal value; from tending the garden and cleaning the facilities; to washing and mending clothes, bedding, and tools for redistribution back into the city. And many find a sense of purpose in this self-contained lifestyle which they may otherwise be lacking.

the temple of night

location: the medius quarter, ireyne owned by: unknown patron (the shadow cult)

Once the largest temple of the Five Divines in all of Arella, this grand structure sits in the heart of the Medius Quarter near Halitus Hall. It was ransacked and mostly abandoned after the deaths of the Divines, only attended by a handful of justicars who remained to protect the temple’s vast libraries and resources. The rest left over time, disillusioned by the betrayal of their gods and finding no solace in those once-hallowed halls.

Upon his return to Ireyne, Mirza’s first stop was the temple, his erstwhile home. Unable to bear seeing it fall to disrepair as the remnant ex-justicars struggled to maintain it in the face of anti-Divine sentiment and vandalism, he chose this to be his home once more. Not just that, but the temple of his new faith. Out with the old, in with the new.

As his cult grew in size and strength, several of the ex-justicars joined his ranks, some desperate for new meaning, some mainly hoping to remain in the familiar sanctuary they called home. But many more left, fearing the dark nature of the cult and their new god. Others still were forced out by Mirza and the cult, who made it clear that any who remained would only do so on their terms.

For all intents and purposes, the Temple is now a public building under the proprietorship of a private benefactor, who wishes to keep the libraries and resources within available to all citizens of Arella. Even official documents do not list the owner’s name, which some take as evidence that a hefty sum was paid for such anonymity, and thus an indicator that perhaps one of Arella’s former nobles is behind it. Anyone may access the Temple from sun-up to sundown, and there are scholars on hand to assist visitors as needed. The Temple’s kitchens are still utilized regularly to provide free meals to those in need. In fact, but for the more secular veneer that has settled over the place, it almost functions just as it did before the Doom. The most notable difference is the removal of all iconography featuring the Five Divines, which have either been replaced with more general art or simply removed without fanfare, and the lack of any religious services during the daytime.

But it is a well-known secret that all is not as it seems. For one thing, there are still many areas of the Temple that are closed off to the public—the usual reasoning being that they are still under renovation and thus not safe as yet. The most prominent of these areas is the former chapel where most services and rites were held. This is heavily guarded, with curious visitors redirected immediately to the libraries, vaults, or gardens instead. The catacombs and crypts are also off-limits, too, and rumors abound as to what might be lurking down there now that the Doom is passed and the Divines are dead.

“Yes it certainly is. Keeping the temple up to such high standards must be quite the task.” Reila said as she also gazed up at the structure.

“A noble cause that should stay in place. The archives should be preserved… as a reminder of sorts.” She mentioned with a nod before she gazed at him.

A hint of a small but proud smile came across her face as her gaze turned into that of admiration. “A God you are indeed.” Reila said softly before taking a breath of fresh air.

.

There’s no doubt that he wouldn’t be able to move so freely without Reila with him. She keeps his secrets so well and so close. She lets him be without the garb of his godhood, while still making him feel every bit as divine. “Reminders of a past that no longer serves the people,” he says, looking over at her. “But also full of treasures waiting to be uncovered.”

He mirrors her smile, dark eyes warming up slightly. What a pair they make. “An honor and a gift,” he replies quietly. “No god could hope to change the world without faithful hearts, though. Without at least one devout soul believing in him.”

          “well, we appreciate the extra opinion, helps break a tie.” luc watches his daughter scurry off with a crooked smile, knowing she would be  heading into the house to search for the fish with the overindulging cat. “understandable, don’t need to be caught with your pants down during an attack  -  you looking for a longsword? or shortsword? or even a rapier?”

.

He nods, a little confused as to how this day turned into him helping decide a cat’s dinner. But frankly? Weirder things have happened to him. “No, I really don’t. Not again, anyway,” he says with a wry laugh. Of all the ways to get caught during an attack, pants down was his least favorite. But that wasn’t important just now. “Longsword. Or... well, I guess that depends on what you lot call them. The long-ish ones that you can use with one or two hands.” In Viridiula, they called them longswords, but that fancy fuck Llyr had mentioned they were sometimes called ‘bastard swords’ in Ezia. “Whatever gives me options when fighting.”

“INSUFFERABLE PRICKS ARE MY BUSINESS, DEAR GWYN. BESIDES, I COULD ADD HIM TO THE LIST OF MY MANY, MANY LOVERS.” she says this as a non-humble humble brag, smirking to herself and placing her hands on her hips as she gazes up at him.

poor gwyn, though. always smelling of horse. still, she liked the smell to an extent. it was familiar, at least. not always plesant, but gwyn was never a bad person to see. he had that little dragon trick that willow liked. and willow. well, willow rarely took her glamour off. for…good reason.

“A FAVOR? I CAN DO A FAVOR. JUST NOTHING TOO EMBARRASSING, ALL RIGHT? AND AS LONG AS IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOUR INSUFFERABLE FATHER.” she’d not gotten on well with the man when she’d met him, but that was equally their fault. he’d assumed she was trying to bag his son, and she assumed he was a nosy shit. willow was right, but no need to tell her that.

.

Oh fuck her, she knew what she was doing with that look. All hands on hips, smirking at him, talking about how many people she’s shagged knowing full well he’s one of them. And is liable to be one of them again. And again. “Weird business you got there. But there’s no accounting for taste." Yes, that was... sort of a self-burn, but it was worth it.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be anything you’d find excruciating,” Gwyn says with a tiny shake of the head. “So no do-gooding, nothing that requires modesty, et cetera. I might just call you up for a little help down the line.” He can’t help but smirk at the mention of his father. It was more funny than annoying how much Willow and Grigor butted heads, like two magnets with the same poles trying to get past each other.

“DIVINES FUCKING KNOW I NEED REINVIGORATION. AH, FUCK. WE’RE NOT SAYING DIVINES ANYMORE, ARE WE? BASTARDS.” he does lay his hand on llyr’s as it claps his shoulder. the boy is good, and grigor will treat him like a son, even if grigor is a crotchety old fuck.

“IT HAS CHANGED QUITE A BIT. FOR ONE, HONORIS ISN’T TRAIPSING ABOUT LIKE THE LITTLE SHIT HE WAS,” he grumbles. “MAY HIS MEMORY BE A BLESSING,” he mumbles as an afterthought. not good to speak ill of the dead. “BUT I LIKE IT. THE WOMEN ARE FREER WITH THEIR SKIRTS HERE. IN WALECH, YOU’RE JUST AS LIKELY TO GET PUNCHED IN YOUR NOSE FOR COMPLIMENTING A WOMAN’S DRESS.”

.

Llyr smiles a little ruefully and inclines his head. “Not really. But that doesn’t stop many people from still saying it. Old habits die hard.” He’s been trying to re-train himself to saying ‘gods’ instead, but it’s been hard, not to mention controversial in some circles. Apparently, there’s far too many gods running around these days, and some people are very particular about knowing which one or ones he’s invoking.

Though some would consider it poor taste, Llyr doesn’t think much of replying, “Nope, no he is not. He did try to make a comeback, but that wasn’t so much ‘traipsing’ as shambling on a dead horse and trying to kill us all. I didn’t know him that well, of course, but if that’s anything close to what he was like in life, I can see why you didn’t like him.” His thick brows rise, amusement covering his face with a grin. “Forgive me for saying it then, but Walech sounds dreadful. The skirts are much freer, as are most other clothes. The tailors all know to make things easy to take on and off in a hurry, too.”

if there’s one thing grigor had taught his son, it was the ability to do things himself. they’d had servants in walech, mostly ornamental and only when gwyn was quite young. still, grigor had always taught gwyn to do things himself. plus, grigor had never liked the luxury of servants and wild noble parties. perhaps that made him cruel, but he couldn't help but think gwyn was better for it.

“TALKING TO YOUR HORSE AGAIN, BOY?” grigor says fondly, walking up to gwyn and placing a ginger hand on his shoulder. there was a kindness in grigor when it came to gwyn. he supposed it had to do with the fact that he was still wrestling with his ability to create something good. gwyn was good. grigor had somehow made sure of that.

.

He knows his father’s footsteps well, his voice even better. “Yeah, again,” he says, smiling and giving the horse another pat on the neck. “I dunno if he really has that much to talk about with the other horses in here, so I figure a little familiar conversation can’t hurt.” The weight on his shoulder is comforting, and Gwyn meets Grigor’s hand with one of his own. There’s almost a sense-memory tickling his brain—a similar situation, the two of them in a stable, father with his hand on his son’s shoulder, son reaching up in kind. It’s pleasant.

“He’s going to get fat in here, the way they’re treating him. I’m going to have to take him out for rides just to keep him fit.” He raises an eyebrow at his father. “Want me to take you horse out with us?”

even though kyran had been as gentle as he could be when getting eir propped up in what must be every single pillow llyr owns, her side still burns with every breath.  and even though the fever is finally gone, every fibre of her being is worn out.  she glances over at the other man as he hunches in a chair next to her bedside, giving him a thin, but teasing smile.  “as long as you keep looking as handsome as you do,” she teases, stirring the soup a little before taking a little sip.  

it’s slow going, each movement making her wince, but soon enough she finishes the bowl and sets it beside her on the bed.  “you can stop staring,” she hums, resting her head back against the pillows.  “now, will you eat something?  i’m not going to keel over while you eat- you have me propped up too well for that.”  almost instinctively, she reaches for his hand like she had on the boat, remembering just how terrified she’d been as he and llyr worked to help with her wounds.  “have you slept?”

.

Kyran grits his teeth hard, trying to stamp down the anger inside him at how weak and tired she still looks. A substantial part of him wants to rant about how much better she’d already be if they were back in Viridiula. How their healers would have had her on her feet by last weekend. How he could have taken her to his favorite spa for a little relaxation and pampering, just to make sure her muscles weren’t atrophying. How backwards and uncouth this ‘Ezia’ is, how not home it is, how nothing is moving fast enough for his liking, especially Eir’s recovery.

But... he manages to silence that voice. For now. Llyr would probably get an earful of it later.

“I’m always this handsome,” he says with a grin. “Though I can be even more handsome if it’ll help you get better faster.” True to his word, he does watch to make sure every last drop is drained from the bowl, and then he smiles again. “I’ll eat in a while. I wanna take advantage of you being awake.” Her hand stretches out, and Kyran takes it gingerly. Fuck, why is he so mushy with this girl? “I catch a few winks here and there,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t sleep a whole lot anyways. Can’t afford to. I’m a master at taking a twenty minute nap and turning it into five hours of work.”

          the blacksmith stands upright and steps to the side, showcasing his daughter hana holding a very large, very bored looking cat, “the cat’s name is bubbles.” he ushers hana away and turns his attention to the stranger, arms crossing over his chest, “it has been said that my weapons are of great quality, what do you need?”

.

".... Oh.” He blinks at the cat, who blinks back, completely unimpressed by everything happening around it. “Fish, then. In case you need an extra opinion.” He then clears his throat and waits until the child has scurried away, before continuing, “I’m in need of a new sword. My old one met a rough end, and I’m not keen on runnin’ ‘round without one while there’s a war on.”

“BAH. MINK COATS? SEEMS FRILLY.” still, he smiles at the man, winking at him. “GOOD THING I’VE ACQUIRED A TASTE FOR THE FRILLY IN MY OLD, DYING, AND DECREPIT AGE.” a laugh bubbles out, and he nods.

“ORDER CLOAKS. MAKE SURE THEY’RE DARK. OR BLACK. BRIGHT CLOTHING… IT DOESN’T WORK ON ME ANYMORE.”

.

"There’s nothing wrong with frilly,” he says with a chuckle. “You may just find the Arellan definition of ‘frilly’ helps reinvigorate you. Bring a little life back to those bones. I’ll make sure my friend finds you the deepest black wools to compliment your complexion.” Llyr claps a hand on Grigor’s shoulder. “How else are you finding Ireyne? Has it changed much since you were last here?”

“MAYBE. OR MAYBE I’M TALKING ABOUT YOUR EVIL TWIN.” she steps towards him and pinches his cheek affectionately. or condescendingly. you decide, gwyn.

“IT LOOKS A BIT GREASY. MAYBE YOU NEED A BATH OR TWO.” she grins, patting his chest. “NO, BUT REALLY. I’M ON A BOUNTY HUNT. CRIMINAL. MURDERER. PRETTY HIGH PRICE ON HIS HEAD. I’LL SPLIT IT WITH YOU IF YOU HELP.” 

she’d find a way to swindle his half out of him, though. puppy dog eyes and all. 

.

"Hah. Funny.” He takes both meanings from the act, scowling grumpily as his cheek squishes under her fingers. What is she, a grandma? “You’d actually get along with my evil twin, he’d be an insufferable prick, right up your alley.”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair and mumbling, “I just had one...” That was the first thing that had happened when he arrived at Llyr’s place—his cousin had made been polite but pointed about making sure a very nice bath was drawn for him. “Ah, your usual bag. Got it.” He thinks for a moment. “Haven’t heard about anyone matching that description, but I only just got here.”