The alchemist had managed to get his experiments done faster than Oliver could have anticipated. What he sacrificed in ingredients, he'd made up for in time. Oliver had given him all the Hobgoblin stock that he had, including the fingers and toes.
He expected to receive recompense for the fingers and toes at a later date, once Nebular practised a recipe involving them sufficiently enough, though the alchemist had warned that this one would likely take even more ingredients to learn.
But that was merely part of something grander. Money as money. Until a few days ago, Oliver had thought the money problem was largely sorted for him. Apparently, that wasn't the case, and he had had to address it as such. But that didn't stop the initial problems from being sorted.
He still needed to raise an army to fight in the Games, and he still needed to practise with his Command enough that he'd finally get a General to teach him.
For that reason, he stood by the main entrance to the Central Castle, waiting in the cold, as a particularly heavy stream of snow came down. An evening on the fourth day of the week. He had just another day before the weekend, and he was determined not to leave the problem of porters until the last minute.
There was a particular group of boys that he wanted to offer the job to, and though he didn't know whether they would be interested or not, he still wanted to allow them the opportunity.
From the words of a few other students, he knew that they were in the dining hall right then, eating. If they were anything like normal, then they wouldn't have been long. Oliver had already eaten a while before.
As a noble, he didn't have to subject himself to the same timings as the yellow-shirts, whose lunches came in a rota, where a particular year group could only eat a certain time, since there were so many of them.
Sensing that they wouldn't be much longer, he shifted away from the doors, and towards the path, so that he'd be in front of them when they came out. He received more than a few glances from passing students, as he always did, but he was beginning to grow used to them by now.
He crossed his arms to keep out the cold, as the wind whipped a particularly cold bit of snow towards his neck. Perhaps that coat of Lasha's would be more welcome than he'd thought… Now that he had the coin to pay for it. That was a whole ten golds that he would be collecting soon. A thoroughly outrageous amount of money.
Despite Verdant's assurances that he would need a lot more, he couldn't help but be unnerved by the quantity. After all, it was ten whole golds.
It was an amount that promised to increase itself in the future. It didn't seem all that improbable that he could be earning thirty golds a week from it. Just thinking about that was enough to make his peasant brain tremble. It was far too much, but such was the rarity of a Hobgoblin kill, and thus the value of their ingredients.
He heard loud voices by the entrance, and raised his head, sensing a group. But no, though yellow-shirted, these were not faces that he recognized. He lowered his chin back into the neck of his jacket, in a vain attempt at keeping it warm. The cold always seemed so much worse when he was standing still.
More students were streaming out now, as a whole bunch, all of them yellow-shirts. He scanned the crowd, until finally, he saw those which he was looking for.
Jorah stiffened the moment that he saw Oliver. He'd been slowly enjoying a fist of bread, seemingly quite content. That contentment faded the moment that they locked eyes, and was replaced with something akin to panic. Oliver had to wonder just what the boy expected from him.
As usual, he was with Kaya, and this evening the boy's cousin Karesh was there as well, teasing his smaller cousin by rubbing his fist on his head, until Kaya loudly complained. It took them a good few seconds before they realized that Jorah wasn't following. By then, they followed his gaze, and saw Oliver strolling over.
"We really should—" Jorah tried to tell them, but Oliver was already approaching, and Kaya was wearing a wide smile on his face.
"Oh! It's Ser Patrick! Are you not cold in just that jacket, Ser?" He asked cheerfully.
"When the wind is whipping , it does get pretty chilly," Oliver agreed. "Normally, it's fine though. Were you in a rush, Jorah?"
Jorah looked away, appearing resigned. "No… Not particularly."
"Relax, it isn't anything bad," Oliver assured him.
"Forgive me, Ser, but that doesn't seem likely. What noble would be waiting outside in this weather if it wasn't trouble, Ser?" Jorah said. "Normally one would send a retainer, unless it was something particularly serious."
"I only have one retainer," Oliver said. "And he's also a noble, so that wasn't really an option."
He ignored the look of surprise that passed between the three when he said that. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that he had so few retainers, or if it was the fact that his only retainer was a noble. He didn't stop to ask.
"I'm going on an expedition this weekend, I thought I'd offer you three jobs first, if you were interested. You helped me when I was new here, and I appreciate that," Oliver said.
"Expedition, Ser?" Karesh said excitedly. "The Grand Forest, you mean?"
"Indeed," Oliver said.
"Finaaaaaaaaaaally! Someone asked! It's been ages," Karesh said, looking about thirty seconds away from pounding his chest like a gorilla.
"Yellow-shirts aren't allowed to go with nobility," Jorah explained with a sigh, seeing Oliver's expression. "Regardless, Ser… I do regret that I must decline—"
"I'll do it!" Kaya said. "I haven't been to the Grand Forest before. What job did you want me to do?"