A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Finally, it was Jorah's turn to give the go-ahead. He sighed once more. "Oliver Patrick, please do not make me regret this," he said, emotion in his voice.

"I will not. I will stick to the terms of our agreement," Oliver promised. "You will see glory under me, Jorah."

"So be it then, I am fine swearing the oaths here as well," Jorah said.

"Excellent," Verdant said, rising.

"Should I go first then, Verdant? I've got my own oath to swear in this, don't I? How does it work?" Oliver asked.

Verdant looked hesitant, but he replied anyway. "…You had merely need beseech a God of your choosing, and swear a promise in their name. That becomes a binding to your word, for if you violate the terms of your oath, you violate your relationship with that God, and they will often withdraw favour from you."

Oliver nodded, standing up to join them. "Then, Claudia will be who I swear to, then."

The room muted itself as Oliver once more bulled ahead. He was particularly energetic that evening, with the coming expedition, and his want to get the retainerships settled quickly shone through. He pushed ahead at a remarkable pace, and there was no other option for the rest of them but to follow with him.

"What do I say?" Oliver asked, as he settled in front of the fire.

"First speak the name of your God," Verdant counselled. "And then speak an oath of your choosing. As long as it is binding, the wording will not matter. At least in your case. The oath for retainership is a more official affair."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Again, Oliver nodded, his expression sobering slightly, as he grew more serious with the prospect of directly beseeching a God.

For whatever was to be said, Oliver knew the Gods personally. He knew the Gods far more than many others had the opportunity to. His was the knowing not just of a Boundary Breaker, but the knowing of one of the Cursed, giving him the ability to speak to the fragments that resided within him, when the times were right.

At least… He used to be able to. Now there seemed merely to be void. That injury to his soul made this oath-swearing ordeal a more anxious affair for Oliver than he let on. He turned to look into the fire – it seemed appropriate – and left his back to the others.

He searched for that connection with the God… And couldn't find it. All he found was pain, the cries of death, the horrors of the battlefield, a duty undone, strength ungained, a life with prospects unfulfilled. He felt the whole weight of what he wasn't, and what he would never be able to fix. That pain assailed him as he fixated on it, but with a deep breath, he contained it all, just for a second.

He closed his eyes, and said her name.

"Claudia," Oliver said. The room quietened. None watched more intently than Verdant. A priest in more than just name. A true servant of his God.

A cold breeze passed through the room the instant that name left Oliver's lips. Verdant glanced towards the door, half-expecting it to be open. But there was nothing. Nothing that could explain that chill.

"Heed my call," Oliver continued, a deepness to his voice that he hadn't had just moments before. A powerful seriousness. A glimpse into who Oliver Patrick truly was beneath the surface. A bottomless pit.

The candles flickered, and the wood in the fire popped. Verdant saw those boys fidget restlessly. Even they that knew not the presence of the divine, even they could feel the heaviness of the atmosphere, the letting in of something otherworldly, and stifling.

Experience tales at empire

"I swear an oath to you," Oliver said. "That I will not breach the terms of my contracts with my retainers. That I will not press them beyond their duty. That I will lead with a fair hand, and not overstep my bounds, or cause unnecessary cruelty."

The fire didn't flicker, it surged. The flames doubled in size just for an instant, as though Oliver's words were a fuel that had been poured on them. They greedily drank it in.

Oliver felt – along with the heat on his face – just the slightest tug in his heart. The cry of something not quite dead. Not yet. He opened his eyes.

"Done?" Oliver asked. He directed his gaze more to Jorah than Verdant, for despite it being the priest's domain of expertise, it was Jorah that he intended to appease.

"A fine oath, my Lord," Verdant said, dipping his head.

Jorah nodded as well. "That will do for me, then," he said, moving to rise. "I suppose I will swear it next. I've been a pain to deal with throughout this process, after all. It seems I should start making up for that."

"That only increased your value in my eyes," Oliver said.

Jorah nodded again, taking the words for what they were. He too went to stand before the fire. After seeing Oliver baptise the flames as such, and make them dance, the fire seemed more like an altar than a simple fireplace.

"What words do I say, priest?" He asked.

"Do you pray to Claudia?" Verdant asked.

"I do."

"Then swear the oath of retainership in Claudia's name. I, Verdant, give mind, body and spirit in the service of my Master, Oliver Patrick," Verdant said. A simple, but absolutely binding oath. The highest level of authority one person could give to another.

Jorah sighed, recognizing that. Recognizing that with those words, he would be in the same dangerous position that he'd sworn to avoid since being the youngest of children. He'd seen what a bad oath could do to a retainer. He'd seen it through his mother, and what that man did to her… His blood still boiled to think about it. He clenched his fist to contain the anger.

"Claudia. Hear my words," he began. He did not know if that was how one was meant to call out to a God, but Oliver Patrick had made it seem appropriate.

He closed his eyes, in the same way that Oliver had. He did not know what he was looking for, he did not feel much of anything, really… just nervousness. And the warmth of the fire by his hands.