There ran a young man, robbed like a monk, with a rope holding his brown uniform to his waist. He carried Oliver's jacket with him, and his sword. Seeing them, Oliver felt a spike of panic. He was even more disoriented than he had realized.
"Thank you," he said simply, as the man handed him what was his. Oliver noted the man's bald head – shaved, he was sure, for the man seed to radiate youthfulness, despite his serious air. Serious, yet smiling, he was a contradiction.
"Verdant, Monk of Behomothia," the man introduced himself, extending a hand. A monk, and yet, the ways of nobility stread off him like a bad sll.
Oliver looked at the hand for a mont, noting the ring, before taking it.
"Isn't Behomothia a sea Goddess?" Oliver asked. "I thought we were quite a distance from the sea."
"Ah, you're wondering why, then. Shipwreck – thirty dead, I found myself washed up on the Eastern shores. Was quite a journey back, but with Behomothia's blessing, I made it," the priest said.
"Well, you're rather blunt," Oliver noted.
The priest shrugged. "She is lesser of the Gods to those that live so central. It is a question I am often asked. I disliked it at first, for it brought back poor mories, but now I find myself grateful for the questions, as they allowed such emotions to be addressed."
Oliver found himself caught off guard by the man's honesty. He revealed things that should have been close to his heart, and he did so easily, without flinching, to a complete stranger, within their first few monts of knowing each other.
"Right… Well, I am Oliver Patrick… Thank you for bringing these," Oliver said with a nod, as he turned to go.
But the priest rely turned with him, walking alongside him.
"Where is it you intend to go?" The man asked.
A flash of understanding hit Oliver. "Ah, is that why you're here? I suppose they wouldn't just let soone wander around campus after striking a professor."
"No," Verdant said firmly, with the sa firm and honest tone that he spoke of his past. "I did not co for those reasons. I ca, because you seed as though you were more in need of tending than Heathclaw – he had plenty to tend to him already."
Oliver raised an eyebrow at that. Had the man seen through him? Was it that obvious to everyone else, just what a tightrope he walked along? He knew that striking the professor had been… questionable… but he at least hoped that it hadn't left him quite so unhinged.
Verdant quickly corrected those assumptions. "I an your back," he said, pointing.
"Ah," Oliver had trouble looking at the wound over his shoulder. Now that his adrenaline was beginning to fade, he certainly felt it. He would have been surprised to see it completely torn open again. "I imagine it will slow soon enough."
"You've been taking courses in the dica, have you not?" Verdant asked.
"Well, I've attended one class. I'm not so sure you can call that a course, yet," Oliver replied, plainly, as they continued their walk along the path. It soon gave way to more trees, as they left the castle behind them.
They spotted several students as they passed. Most of them spared them an odd glance. Even from the front, the blood on Oliver's shirt was strikingly obvious. Verdant gave them friendly yet stern nods of greeting in reply, as though warning them to mind their own business.
"You should know, then, that the amount of blood you're losing is far from healthy. I'm surprised you can walk with such a nonchalant look on your face, Young Wolf," Verdant said, plainly. "I will stitch you, if you can walk that far."
"That's the second ti you've called that," Oliver noted. "And you also know what classes I've attended. Forgive if I'm not so trusting of that, Verdant."
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"Not everyone here is your enemy," Verdant assured him. He looked him in the eye as he said that, his honesty shining through. "Though, from the look in your eyes, you do not seem to mind having so many enemies. It is remarkable that you were able to calm yourself so quickly, after striking a professor as you did."
Oliver said nothing at that. He certainly didn't feel particularly calm. He was calr than he was in those instances of battle, but he was far from as level as he needed to be.
"Here," Verdant said finally, leading him off the path, along several stepping stones, and towards a pleasant-looking cabin shrouded by trees.
"You own this?" Oliver asked in surprise. It was a beautiful spot. With the thickness of the trees around it, you'd never guess that it was in the middle of the Academy grounds. The grounds themselves were vast regardless, but this was like getting lost inside a forest.
Verdant chuckled and shook his head. "You truly know so little of our ways, Young Wolf. You're an enigma that is difficult to crack. Students are able to build their own buildings, providing that they have the coin for it – but only for business purposes.
One cannot simply build a house for himself, whether professor, or priest, it all has to serve so sort of purpose in the education of the students. I had a student buy this place on my behalf."
He opened the wooden door, and he ushered Oliver inside. The cabin itself was large, larger than Oliver would have expected. It was larger than a typcial house back in Solgrim, enough for a family to stay inside. And the floors were wooden, not just simply left open. Everything was polished to a gleam. Even the side-projects of nobility had the flair of richness to them.
"And what exactly do you tell the professors, when they ask what business it is that you provide here?" Oliver asked, looking around. It seed more like a living room than any sort of business.
There were no counters, or any obvious open supplies – but those could perhaps have been kept in the back room – there was rely a low table, and cushions to go around it, and a fireplace set into the wall, already stocked up and ready to be lit.
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