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Description
*

It wasn't easy to get people to talk to him, especially about sensitive information.  They'd take one look at his robes and come to all sorts of assumptions that they were apt to yell about.  If it were just over the ale he evidently wasn't allowed to drink, or the conversions he didn't know he'd been planning, he would grudgingly accept it and let it go.

With more important things, information always had a price on it.  Money, services, it didn't matter.  If he could come up with it, people seemed to completely forget what they thought of his politics or religion.

It had taken him some time, but he'd eventually gathered enough of it to be confident enough to make a side trip.  One which, likely, would have been far more successful were he alone.

Neither of his companions were interested in giving him privacy, though.  Despite his warnings of boredom and cultural difference, they'd both purposefully dragged themselves out of bed at a reasonable hour to tag behind him.

Were he with normal, courteous people, Oliver would have assumed that the extra effort at least would come with a bit of respect for what Oliver was doing.  Instead, it only made Joel's feet drag and Jean's comments to be crankier than usual.

"It won't be there," Jean said irritably.  He kicked at stones as he walked, as if his disinterest wasn't already clear.  "Probably was destroyed a long time ago, if it ever existed."

"It definitely existed, for one," Oliver snapped.  "For another, the words of the Prophet Aloïse are far too valuable to just destroy."  Jean opened his mouth for another comment, and Oliver quickly said, "It was targeted, so the thief knew what it was."

"Maybe it was just all he could grab before he was chased off," Joel said, as helpfully as he could.  He blinked, confused, as Oliver glared and Jean snickered.

Oliver readjusted his pack, and looked upon the ruins that he'd paid so much to find.  "The both of you just stay outside. "

"What? Why?" Jean asked, not letting the priest move forward without him.  "It's a burnt out husk."

"It's also holy ground," Oliver said as he looked about.  "The Prophets would meditate here, and you need to remove your shoes out of respect."  He slipped from his own boots, and lined them neatly at the door.  "Since I know you don't have any sort of appreciation for that, and you'll break something…" He shot a look back to Joel.  "Just guard the entrance, I shouldn't be long."

Joel took to guarding the door, as he was used to, and Jean tsk'd irritably but stayed behind.

Oliver headed in, quietly and slowly so he could see every part of it.

Nearly all the Prophets had died before he'd been born, and even more before he was old enough to pay them their due.  The Prophet Aloïse, in particular, had been 3 generations prior to him.

Still, Oliver had grown up hearing of their works.  He could repeat their lessons by heart, and there was an energy that buzzed within this old monastery which sent electricity down his spine.  Just knowing that they'd stood at the alter where he was then, that this was where they'd delivered the sermons which would be repeated in awe for centuries…

Whoever'd bought the scrolls off the thief, or however the hand-offs upon hand-offs had gone, couldn't have picked a better resting place.

He didn't know if he were holy or pure enough to move them, to bring them back to the active monasteries where they could do real good, but he couldn't not try after so long of gathering the information.  When he finally found them in the prayer room, laid out as if they'd just been read that morning, the time had come.

Oliver's hands twitched, and his breath came out in shaky anticipation, as he delicately rolled and picked them up.

They weren't the weight he'd expected. He'd felt sheep-skin scrolls before and they were a pain to lug about.  Oliver had little time to truly appreciate that before he found they had begun to dissolve in his hands.  He watched in horror as these words, sought for so long, fell into a fine powder back onto the table.

Oliver stared at his hands, with white sand that clung to the sweat of his palms.  He should have sought out someone, holier than him, who wouldn't have destroyed all they were about.

He held back a sob and turned to find that Jean had followed him as was habit.  Oliver didn't pause long enough for him to say anything, even though there had to be at least 5 or 6 biting comments running through his mind.

"What happened?" Joel asked, as Oliver emerged and fitted his boots back on.

"You two were right." He laced his boots and stood up.  "Let's get moving, it'll be dark soon."

Oliver concerned himself with removing his pendant, the symbol of the Order he'd worn since infancy, far too much to notice that Jean's shoes had been lined next to his.

**

Oliver hadn't asked for privacy because he knew that he'd never get it.

He was amazed, and more than a bit grateful, that they'd decided to hang back a few yards.  He'd have to thank them, somehow, after he managed to make his feet stop dragging in the dirt.

How, exactly, he was going to explain to the Order that he'd not only found, but destroyed, the scrolls he wasn't sure.  He'd certainly have to go up to the high priests, on his knees to beg for forgiveness, and likely end up exiled more than he already had done to himself.

He felt naked, without his pendant around his neck.  But it wasn't as if someone that destructive should really be using something like that.

"You're unclean."

He'd become so used to his own thoughts that he jumped at that.  He looked up to find a girl perched, delicately, on a low branch.

He forced a soft smile up at her.  "That's why humans pray, isn't it?"

The girl shrugged.  "The ones I've seen don't let it eat at them as much, though."

Oliver nodded once.  "I suppose that's true."

The girl tilted her head in the direction of his companions, who slowly caught up to where they were.  She'd turned back before it became apparent that Jean had spotted her and, worriedly, perked up.

"Would you like some help, then?" she asked.  "We have a cleansing ceremony that should make you much lighter."  She looked back at the group.  "You all seem quite tired, it might be nice to take a break for the night."

Oliver paused, more to look at the sky than to think over the ceremony.  The clouds were rolling in as the sun sank below the tree line, and they were far enough from the next town that they'd never manage a hotel before the storm began.

"Alright."

Jean scowled, as he always did when a decision had been made without him, and kept it screwed on his face as he followed the group.  When their leader had found far more interest in sharing nervous chat with Joel than him, Oliver dipped back to walk beside him.

"Quite the bedfellow you're sticking us with," he grumbled.  Jean gave him a hard stare. "Don't get too comfortable with these people."

"It'll keep us out of the storm," Oliver said, in soft reassurance.  "And it's just one night."

"Always is just one night, isn't it?"

Oliver nodded.

Jean dodged branches, and allowed the pairs to pull apart a bit more as they wound their way up the mountain.  "Just make sure you remember that, then."

Oliver had spotted a bit of the chain from the pendant which hung, accidentally or otherwise, from Jean's satchel.  Oliver had never taken him as one for souvenirs, or to be eager to push for things that wouldn't end well.  Nice to see, he supposed, that after years they still had things to figure out.

***

The cleansing ceremony had consisted of the sorts of fever dreams which orphans become accustomed to.  Oliver muddled through it to allow the weight to be taken from his shoulders.  He was left exhausted and weak in the knee, and needed help to leave the circle when Jean had been talked into it.

How they'd thought it would work, after speaking to Jean for any length of time, Oliver wasn't sure.  He'd managed to fight his way back, and laughed triumphantly at their frustration, before Oliver'd fallen asleep.

He woke up hours later to the sound of rain against the hut.  The spell which had kept the storm at bay must have worn off in the night, and now the village was pelted.  Oliver wrapped himself more tightly in his blanket to keep out the wind leaking through gaps in the windows.

He looked over at a sniffle, and squinted across the dark room.  "Are you actually awake?"

"Think they spiked that nectar they gave me," he said, irritably.  "Can't sleep at all."

"Maybe it's because you laughed at them?"

"Nah, that couldn't be it."  He chuckled and stretched out.  "So, are you really giving it up?"

"If I can destroy priceless relics just by touching them, I'm obviously not priest material," Oliver told him with a shrug.  "I'll be kicked out as soon as I tell them, anyway, may as well be proactive about it."

"What if they were decoys?" Jean asked.  "If it's really as valuable as you were going on about, it's not out of possibility, right?"

"I suppose…"

"If I were going to hide stolen scripture, last place I would put it was a historic monastery where priests are going to start looking pretty quickly…"

Oliver chewed over this for a bit.  It was a point, one he probably should have come up with before even when his sources seemed so confident.  But, despite that he had to worry about wasted years, money, and work, something else ate at him more.

"Why are you so interested in this?  I thought you'd be thrilled when I gave up the cloth."

Jean scoffed.  "Don't get me wrong, you're annoying as hell."  He sighed, and thought over how he wanted to phrase it.  "I don't like seeing men that I could come to respect just giving up, though."

Oliver could hear blushing in the hitch of his breath, and knew they were both glad that the hut was pitch black.  He wanted to ask for him to go on, if nothing else to confirm it, but that neither of them could manage it.

"You still have the pendant?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He stared at the roof.  "Give it back in the morning, ok?"

There was a pause, and another blush he'd never admit to.  "Sure."

By morning, Jean had managed to return to his love of sleeping in.

****

The girl came to their hut, as Oliver packed up and Jean turned over and continued to sleep stubbornly.  The rain had stopped over an hour ago, but her hair still dripped considerably.

"Thank you for the food," he said, with a nod.  "We'll have more than enough to get to the next town."  He continued to fit the thin loaves of bread, clumsily made for visitors since dryads had no use for it, into a spare pouch.

She smiled quickly and nodded.  "It's our pleasure.  But I was wondering…"  The girl looked over at Jean, as his breath wheezed out.  "He can cause snow, can't he?"

Oliver nodded.  "When the mood strikes him.  He prefers ice, though."

"Is it pretty?" she asked, her voice soft and reverent.  "We monitor the weather so much here, I've never actually seen it…"

"It can be," he told her.  He bypassed mention of how Jean's powers rarely came out for good reasons, and it didn't matter what he was creating because he could hurt people either way.

"Do you think… do you think I could come with you?" Her smile was hopeful.  "I've never seen it before, and if I stay I probably never will."

Oliver faltered, not even sure what dangers that would face a naïve young woman he could start with.  Particularly in their lifestyle, where clients and accommodations were generally seedy and food was generally short.  That wasn't even taking into account the day labor they took on, which would at the least be suggested to be altered for a girl like this…

Her eyes pleaded with him, desperately.  "I don't eat anything, and I can swear that I can help."  She stared at Jean while she spoke, and probably thought far more about Joel (wherever he'd been placed for the night).

He realized then, if not before, that this would be Joel all over again.  No matter how many times they denied her, she'd follow behind.

It was far better to bring her into the safety of the group, than to take responsibility for what would inevitably happen with her following along on the outskirts.

He sighed, and went back to fitting as much bread in as he was allowed.  "You'll need to get your things… um…"

"Marie," she said happily, throwing her arms around him for a tight hug before she scrambled off.

Jean would be furious at him, whenever Oliver managed to drag him out of bed.  It'd probably be best to tell him after he'd already returned the pendant.

Description
*

It wasn't easy to get people to talk to him, especially about sensitive information.  They'd take one look at his robes and come to all sorts of assumptions that they were apt to yell about.  If it were just over the ale he evidently wasn't allowed to drink, or the conversions he didn't know he'd been planning, he would grudgingly accept it and let it go.

With more important things, information always had a price on it.  Money, services, it didn't matter.  If he could come up with it, people seemed to completely forget what they thought of his politics or religion.

It had taken him some time, but he'd eventually gathered enough of it to be confident enough to make a side trip.  One which, likely, would have been far more successful were he alone.

Neither of his companions were interested in giving him privacy, though.  Despite his warnings of boredom and cultural difference, they'd both purposefully dragged themselves out of bed at a reasonable hour to tag behind him.

Were he with normal, courteous people, Oliver would have assumed that the extra effort at least would come with a bit of respect for what Oliver was doing.  Instead, it only made Joel's feet drag and Jean's comments to be crankier than usual.

"It won't be there," Jean said irritably.  He kicked at stones as he walked, as if his disinterest wasn't already clear.  "Probably was destroyed a long time ago, if it ever existed."

"It definitely existed, for one," Oliver snapped.  "For another, the words of the Prophet Aloïse are far too valuable to just destroy."  Jean opened his mouth for another comment, and Oliver quickly said, "It was targeted, so the thief knew what it was."

"Maybe it was just all he could grab before he was chased off," Joel said, as helpfully as he could.  He blinked, confused, as Oliver glared and Jean snickered.

Oliver readjusted his pack, and looked upon the ruins that he'd paid so much to find.  "The both of you just stay outside. "

"What? Why?" Jean asked, not letting the priest move forward without him.  "It's a burnt out husk."

"It's also holy ground," Oliver said as he looked about.  "The Prophets would meditate here, and you need to remove your shoes out of respect."  He slipped from his own boots, and lined them neatly at the door.  "Since I know you don't have any sort of appreciation for that, and you'll break something…" He shot a look back to Joel.  "Just guard the entrance, I shouldn't be long."

Joel took to guarding the door, as he was used to, and Jean tsk'd irritably but stayed behind.

Oliver headed in, quietly and slowly so he could see every part of it.

Nearly all the Prophets had died before he'd been born, and even more before he was old enough to pay them their due.  The Prophet Aloïse, in particular, had been 3 generations prior to him.

Still, Oliver had grown up hearing of their works.  He could repeat their lessons by heart, and there was an energy that buzzed within this old monastery which sent electricity down his spine.  Just knowing that they'd stood at the alter where he was then, that this was where they'd delivered the sermons which would be repeated in awe for centuries…

Whoever'd bought the scrolls off the thief, or however the hand-offs upon hand-offs had gone, couldn't have picked a better resting place.

He didn't know if he were holy or pure enough to move them, to bring them back to the active monasteries where they could do real good, but he couldn't not try after so long of gathering the information.  When he finally found them in the prayer room, laid out as if they'd just been read that morning, the time had come.

Oliver's hands twitched, and his breath came out in shaky anticipation, as he delicately rolled and picked them up.

They weren't the weight he'd expected. He'd felt sheep-skin scrolls before and they were a pain to lug about.  Oliver had little time to truly appreciate that before he found they had begun to dissolve in his hands.  He watched in horror as these words, sought for so long, fell into a fine powder back onto the table.

Oliver stared at his hands, with white sand that clung to the sweat of his palms.  He should have sought out someone, holier than him, who wouldn't have destroyed all they were about.

He held back a sob and turned to find that Jean had followed him as was habit.  Oliver didn't pause long enough for him to say anything, even though there had to be at least 5 or 6 biting comments running through his mind.

"What happened?" Joel asked, as Oliver emerged and fitted his boots back on.

"You two were right." He laced his boots and stood up.  "Let's get moving, it'll be dark soon."

Oliver concerned himself with removing his pendant, the symbol of the Order he'd worn since infancy, far too much to notice that Jean's shoes had been lined next to his.

**

Oliver hadn't asked for privacy because he knew that he'd never get it.

He was amazed, and more than a bit grateful, that they'd decided to hang back a few yards.  He'd have to thank them, somehow, after he managed to make his feet stop dragging in the dirt.

How, exactly, he was going to explain to the Order that he'd not only found, but destroyed, the scrolls he wasn't sure.  He'd certainly have to go up to the high priests, on his knees to beg for forgiveness, and likely end up exiled more than he already had done to himself.

He felt naked, without his pendant around his neck.  But it wasn't as if someone that destructive should really be using something like that.

"You're unclean."

He'd become so used to his own thoughts that he jumped at that.  He looked up to find a girl perched, delicately, on a low branch.

He forced a soft smile up at her.  "That's why humans pray, isn't it?"

The girl shrugged.  "The ones I've seen don't let it eat at them as much, though."

Oliver nodded once.  "I suppose that's true."

The girl tilted her head in the direction of his companions, who slowly caught up to where they were.  She'd turned back before it became apparent that Jean had spotted her and, worriedly, perked up.

"Would you like some help, then?" she asked.  "We have a cleansing ceremony that should make you much lighter."  She looked back at the group.  "You all seem quite tired, it might be nice to take a break for the night."

Oliver paused, more to look at the sky than to think over the ceremony.  The clouds were rolling in as the sun sank below the tree line, and they were far enough from the next town that they'd never manage a hotel before the storm began.

"Alright."

Jean scowled, as he always did when a decision had been made without him, and kept it screwed on his face as he followed the group.  When their leader had found far more interest in sharing nervous chat with Joel than him, Oliver dipped back to walk beside him.

"Quite the bedfellow you're sticking us with," he grumbled.  Jean gave him a hard stare. "Don't get too comfortable with these people."

"It'll keep us out of the storm," Oliver said, in soft reassurance.  "And it's just one night."

"Always is just one night, isn't it?"

Oliver nodded.

Jean dodged branches, and allowed the pairs to pull apart a bit more as they wound their way up the mountain.  "Just make sure you remember that, then."

Oliver had spotted a bit of the chain from the pendant which hung, accidentally or otherwise, from Jean's satchel.  Oliver had never taken him as one for souvenirs, or to be eager to push for things that wouldn't end well.  Nice to see, he supposed, that after years they still had things to figure out.

***

The cleansing ceremony had consisted of the sorts of fever dreams which orphans become accustomed to.  Oliver muddled through it to allow the weight to be taken from his shoulders.  He was left exhausted and weak in the knee, and needed help to leave the circle when Jean had been talked into it.

How they'd thought it would work, after speaking to Jean for any length of time, Oliver wasn't sure.  He'd managed to fight his way back, and laughed triumphantly at their frustration, before Oliver'd fallen asleep.

He woke up hours later to the sound of rain against the hut.  The spell which had kept the storm at bay must have worn off in the night, and now the village was pelted.  Oliver wrapped himself more tightly in his blanket to keep out the wind leaking through gaps in the windows.

He looked over at a sniffle, and squinted across the dark room.  "Are you actually awake?"

"Think they spiked that nectar they gave me," he said, irritably.  "Can't sleep at all."

"Maybe it's because you laughed at them?"

"Nah, that couldn't be it."  He chuckled and stretched out.  "So, are you really giving it up?"

"If I can destroy priceless relics just by touching them, I'm obviously not priest material," Oliver told him with a shrug.  "I'll be kicked out as soon as I tell them, anyway, may as well be proactive about it."

"What if they were decoys?" Jean asked.  "If it's really as valuable as you were going on about, it's not out of possibility, right?"

"I suppose…"

"If I were going to hide stolen scripture, last place I would put it was a historic monastery where priests are going to start looking pretty quickly…"

Oliver chewed over this for a bit.  It was a point, one he probably should have come up with before even when his sources seemed so confident.  But, despite that he had to worry about wasted years, money, and work, something else ate at him more.

"Why are you so interested in this?  I thought you'd be thrilled when I gave up the cloth."

Jean scoffed.  "Don't get me wrong, you're annoying as hell."  He sighed, and thought over how he wanted to phrase it.  "I don't like seeing men that I could come to respect just giving up, though."

Oliver could hear blushing in the hitch of his breath, and knew they were both glad that the hut was pitch black.  He wanted to ask for him to go on, if nothing else to confirm it, but that neither of them could manage it.

"You still have the pendant?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He stared at the roof.  "Give it back in the morning, ok?"

There was a pause, and another blush he'd never admit to.  "Sure."

By morning, Jean had managed to return to his love of sleeping in.

****

The girl came to their hut, as Oliver packed up and Jean turned over and continued to sleep stubbornly.  The rain had stopped over an hour ago, but her hair still dripped considerably.

"Thank you for the food," he said, with a nod.  "We'll have more than enough to get to the next town."  He continued to fit the thin loaves of bread, clumsily made for visitors since dryads had no use for it, into a spare pouch.

She smiled quickly and nodded.  "It's our pleasure.  But I was wondering…"  The girl looked over at Jean, as his breath wheezed out.  "He can cause snow, can't he?"

Oliver nodded.  "When the mood strikes him.  He prefers ice, though."

"Is it pretty?" she asked, her voice soft and reverent.  "We monitor the weather so much here, I've never actually seen it…"

"It can be," he told her.  He bypassed mention of how Jean's powers rarely came out for good reasons, and it didn't matter what he was creating because he could hurt people either way.

"Do you think… do you think I could come with you?" Her smile was hopeful.  "I've never seen it before, and if I stay I probably never will."

Oliver faltered, not even sure what dangers that would face a naïve young woman he could start with.  Particularly in their lifestyle, where clients and accommodations were generally seedy and food was generally short.  That wasn't even taking into account the day labor they took on, which would at the least be suggested to be altered for a girl like this…

Her eyes pleaded with him, desperately.  "I don't eat anything, and I can swear that I can help."  She stared at Jean while she spoke, and probably thought far more about Joel (wherever he'd been placed for the night).

He realized then, if not before, that this would be Joel all over again.  No matter how many times they denied her, she'd follow behind.

It was far better to bring her into the safety of the group, than to take responsibility for what would inevitably happen with her following along on the outskirts.

He sighed, and went back to fitting as much bread in as he was allowed.  "You'll need to get your things… um…"

"Marie," she said happily, throwing her arms around him for a tight hug before she scrambled off.

Jean would be furious at him, whenever Oliver managed to drag him out of bed.  It'd probably be best to tell him after he'd already returned the pendant.