Ah, yes. A turn of the seasons, and Spring was here once more. The new year had begun without a hitch; no terrifying flash storm returned to wreck havoc, and no pack of monstrous creatures were lurking about, lying in wait and eager to maul or disembowel those unfortunate enough to decide that living was too cumbersome and ventured outside while a storm raged. In fact, there was a distinct absence of any strange or unusual happenings so far. Even the terrorist group Rising Dawn hadn't shown their cowardly faces to once again demonstrate their "message" in the form of fire and wholesale slaughter. Perhaps this lack of chaos was a sign that peace would return to Ravok and its citizens. Maybe—just maybe—everything will go back to normal, to the way things used to be.
Yeah, right.
One day of no noteworthy activity was a
brilliant indicator of the foreseeable future, Oran.
Granted, he didn't seriously think that nothing would happen, that the year 513 would later go down in history as That Year After A Lot Of Shyke Happened. True, the Rising Dawn was quiet. However, it was only a matter of time before they came out from hiding and reared their sinister heads. The knowledge that Rhysol could allow more storms to rip apart or sink buildings and people was still there, and now always would be, for Oran. Monsters were not as likely to be a feature, he thought, but if not those creatures, what would come in their place? Was it tempting fate if he asked himself what else could possibly happen in their fair city of Ravok?
Probably.
Best not dwell on that, for now.
One good thing had come about, though; a rumor that there was a new way and a new place to pick up employment, even if they were one-time jobs. Word of this had spread, and it eventually reached the Dining Hall of The Vitrax. More specifically, it was on a few of the lips of those who worked in the kitchen. Oran heard his coworkers talk about it, and when he had asked where this was, all they mentioned was something about a spot.
The Spot, they'd said. The place was becoming popular, apparently. It was the name of a certain tavern, one no one really knew much about, but would swear up and down that they saw it floating around, usually near the Slave Market or the Shipyard.
A day after he heard this rumor, Oran decided to take a stroll by the Shipyard and seek his fortune.
The Spot wasn't hard to find. Even as early in the morning as it was, the place was open and there were quite a number of people inside. Not as many as it there would be in the evening, certainly, but Oran could only guess. The size of the crowd was comparable to the Silver Sliver on a slow day. A small group had formed—at a safe distance—near some sort of inanimate target, one that had the attention of a determined-looking individual who was attempting to fling a knife at it and continuously embedding the blade into the wall. Beyond and to the left of the bar, Oran could see a stage, which sat empty and unused at this early bell. On the wall to his left—a noticeboard?
He went over to investigate.
Slips of paper and parchment with writing on them were tacked onto its surface. Spaces with empty pegs, he thought, may indicate that whatever job was listed before was now taken. Oran instead focused on ones that did have slips. Some of them had fancy penmanship that was most likely meticulously written, and each one of those on high quality paper. Oran noticed that on these, "Nitrozian party" was a major theme. While he wasn't at all interested in a party for nobs, one of them
did have the key words he was searching for, and right in its title. On a particular piece of paper, somewhat hidden underneath its fellows, one of them read:
Assistant Chefs Needed
Assistant chefs needed for Nitrozian party.
Must have basic cooking skills, and will assist the head chef.
If Oran didn't know any better, he'd think that Ovek was responsible for this lucky opportunity. He carefully took it down, taking care not to rip it in his haste. After asking one of the serving girls—Anna, she'd presented herself as—told him to talk to a Bohir Adams at the counter, Oran went over and took a seat on one of the stools.
Whenever Bohir became available, Oran presented the job listing and said, "Mornin'. What can ya tell me 'bout this here job?"