"Morgan?" Isuelt's voice, while somber in its tone, rang out clean against the late afternoon air. She had been along the side of the structure called The Sanctuary, returning from overseeing the day's progress on the Temple next door. "Morgan, is that you?" Her long, leather-clad legs took hardly any time at all to close the distance between them. She squinted lightly, as the sun was setting and a glint was pinpointing its way toward her face. It was Morgan, and he looked like hell.

"Great Hera..." under her breath as she set her jaw and furled her brow. He looked like he'd not slept in ages, and even longer since he'd had a real meal in his belly. Of course, she had no way of really knowing what he'd been up to since he had come to her that night in the Inn. She only knew that he looked as if he needed help. In actually, nearly all the citizens and travelers that came to the gated doors of the Sanctuary needed some sort of help. That was what the Scathachians were here for, that is what they trained for. To aid, in whatever way possible, any and all who would call upon them in their most desperate hour.

"Morgan," the tall warrior reached him and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome, we bid you sanctuary." She nodded slowly, her voice taking on the soft edges of cashmere. "It's okay. We are here to give you what you seek." She guessed it would be somewhere along the lines of peace or sleep. But she was prepared for just about anything. After so many years of being in this city, aiding its denizens, she had heard almost everything.

Her stature paralleled her presence before him; the tall Scathachian took a moment to regard Morgan, until she finally came to dip her head in a small nod. Her voice, still employing a gentle register, came as somber and as comforting as she been with hundreds of other citizens and travelers over the years, "Is ea. You shall find what you seek here. Your soul shall be quenched and your body rested." These were the carefully chosen words of the goddess Scathach herself, repeated by every Scathachian of whom was sought shelter. Her voice softened a touch then as she gently placed a corded hand on Morgan's shoulder and guided him toward the front double doors of the Sanctuary, "Okay, come on Morgan. First things first: a meal. Then to bed with you."

She had felt a measure of gratitude for this young man who had so selflessly acted in the Rhydin Orphanage fire; he had aided the Scathachian priestess and had put himself in peril without a second thought. She owed him a safe place to figure out whatever was ailing him, that much was certain.

As Isuelt ushered Morgan through the doors and into the foyer, the subtle pattern on the marble floor seemed to immediately elicit calm, as did the cool breeze wafting in from the inner courtyard. The courtyard still filled with winter flowering shrubbery and thriving herbs. As the passed down the columned hallways, Isuelt spoke quietly as the occasional priestess caught sight of their leader with a new acquisition. "Any preferences for a meal? I'm thinking a hearty stew with fresh bread will send you quickly on your way to a restful sleep."

As they reached the kitchen hall, there were others present who clearly were not Scathachian: some children, others men, most seemed weakened or ill. Since the building was still continuing (though they were more than halfway through) on the Temple next door which housed the infirmary, all of those who sought solace from the Scathachian priestesses were here in the confines of the Sanctuary. Isuelt looked down to Morgan with a benevolent expression, a gentleness that belied her true evident strength.