He'd lost a good amount of blood, stomping around as he had been for the past few chimes, but the sights and sounds both behind and in front him were enough to keep the cook on high alert for days.
In the small reprieve following Knife Boy's fizzling death, Nov took a moment to stand still and breathe, alternating between trying to think of how to stem the flow of blood and provide aid for the others in his current state. He had put his gloves back on, wary of any more poison-laced blades. That was when he noticed two things, other than the slow overcoming of his fellow Scars against their foes. One, oars had peeped out all around the ship like so many tiny legs and the gangplank to their only escape route had been withdrawn. And two, there was a growing din approaching from somewhere in the Commons.
It was a familiar sort of din...Nov could hear the distant shouts and cries of what appeared to be anger. From the sound of it, someone was inciting the public again, and he had a bad, bad feeling about where that anger was being directed.
Tearing a sizable strip of his careworn sleeve, the cook tied it around his thigh in a shoddy attempt to stem the bleeding and limped over to Bitzer and the tall, dark blond swordsman named Kvist. He'd lost track of the others, but a growing sense of urgency, of panic, gripped his heart, compelling him to get the petch out of here as soon as possible.
"We need to get on that ship," he rasped, still panting from his recent scrap and the painful exertion of limping. "Something sounds like its coming our way, and it's no--"
Noven had taken a quick glance behind him at the ship upon approaching, only to stop dead in his tracks. Someone had just breezed right over the fallen bodies littered across the Bay. He squinted and was able to make out the shape of one very determined Palaren, securing himself to the pier with a length of rope. What the hell was he...
The cook understood as his eyes fell upon the wet, shivering form of Kaie. There was another figure with her as well, but he couldn't catch a good enough glimpse to recognize it, and there were far more pressing matters to attend to.
Like the thundering advance of hundreds of furious, blood seeking locals, chanting the name of the Scars with violence in their hearts.
Nov turned back to face his two companions, a wild look of apprehension and determination in his eyes. They needed some way to get onto that petching ship. But there were so many of them...and at least two were in less than optimal condition. The one in Kaie's arms didn't even look conscious.
"I don't know how we're going to do it, but we've got to get on board," he resumed. His bloodied wound and its blossoming stain was obvious enough, meaning he would not be of much use in any sort of running or jumping. "I'm going to help the others. Not of much use otherwise. You two will have to think of some way to get on that ship."
Nov paused for a tick, then added, "Don't wait on us if we don't make it."
And he was off, hobbling at fast as he could toward the struggling figures at the dock. He managed to get there just in time to bend with a groan of pain and add his weakening strength to that of Palaren's. He took one glance down at the second Myrian, blinked in confusion, and frowned before wrapping both hands around the rope.
"Pull her up!" the cook shouted, pouring all of his weight and strength into holding back the rope that secured Palaren to the dock. "I've got you!"
