Fall, Day 16, 514AV
Why am I always stuck doing this shyke...
Surly as ever, the cook grumbled to himself as he toted around a bulky package under one arm. Even with Robern dead and the gang's ever weakening grip on all the glory and power it once possessed, Nov never quite relished the idea of roaming around on Daggerhand turf. Mostly because he knew that, if push came to shove, he wasn't sure he could stop himself from murdering one or ten.
But this task needed to be done. Well, Jillene needed it to be done. He personally could care less.
Noven had tried to question why the Isur required the mystery gift to be delivered so suddenly. Tried, and failed. All he got were more cold, blank stares and re-emphasized orders that he not be caught. A part of him suspected that it had to do with the Nighteyes, but those rumors were never exactly confirmed. So, the only thing he could do in the end was accept his fate and get the stupid thing delivered as fast as possible.
Nov hated delivery jobs. They were boring, menial, and took much too long for his liking. Not to mention that whenever he went out, he had a tendency to get himself and a whole spectrum of other people hurt. In fact, the last time he'd set foot past the orphanage's doorstep, he ended up murdering two mobsters in the making and got trapped into a deal with Blondie.
It didn't help either that the knife wound he had received only a handful of nights ago was still healing. Things came to a close call when he'd whacked those filthy petchers off Caela, but those goons had been too untrained and stupid to cause him much threat.
These Daggerhands, however...
Normally, Nov had little trouble pitting his skills against those of Daggerhand lackeys. Even fewer qualms over doing so, too. But on top of still recovering, there was also the sheer number of goons marching about to consider as well. He could take on one or two in his current condition. Unfortunately for the cook, the Daggerhands had smartened up a bit since their inevitable decline and started to seek out recruits in groups of four or five. They hassled any healthy looking man they came across, and hassled the women even more.
This was arguably the worst possible time for Jillene to need something delivered. Honestly, the shyke that woman puts me through, Nov seethed. But what could he do? It was either obey the five foot nothing Isur's demands, or get fired. He couldn't afford to get fired. Especially not now, with all these strange occurrences afoot inside the Berth.
The cook was just about to turn his last corner before he reached his destination when he made the mistake of letting his gaze linger too long on a group of recruiting goons.
"Oy, you there. Lad with the bundle."
Dammit. Nov entertained the idea of making a run for it. But his package was too heavy and there was no where he'd be willing to lead an entire pack of Daggerhands to. Gritting his teeth, the young man stopped and turned around slowly. "Eh," was his lackluster reply.
The leader of the thugs, an ugly fellow with a shaved pate and scar running over one side of his upperlip, planted his meaty fists onto the sides of his belted hips and grinned haughtily. "You look like a strong lad. What say you take up cause with the Daggerhands, become our brother and get a taste of real power? It's got a good flavor to it, I can promise you that."
Noven stared at the man for a moment before answering through gritted teeth, "No thanks."
As soon as he started walking again, though, he could hear their footsteps following. Cursing his ill fortune under his breath, the cook reluctantly turned back around to face the group of five once more. "Come on boy, you haven't even given us a chance," the bald thug leered, spreading his hands. "What's it gonna be, make this hard or make this easy? You don't wanna be rude to us, that I promise you won't like."