SOMEONE was snooping around outside the building, someone with possible malicious intent. He would peer into windows, stand on crates to get a better look through small openings, skulk in the shadows to avoid being seen, and stay silent when someone passes by.
He must not know who the Magus was, because the Magus was watching him from the safety of his hidden room, through a well of magical water. The Tavern was not without defences and the Magus was the best defence you could possible have when protecting a business establishment of this size.
Perhaps the Magus didn’t need to interfere. One of the plainclothes guards caught sight of the man near the back door of The Tavern and gave chase, but the man was a fast runner. He disappeared around corner for a moment, only to reappear in hasty retreat and bumping into the guard who apprehended him.
“I was only looking! I was only looking!” the suspicious man cried. “You can’t arrest me for that!”
The thing that scared the man and forced him to retrace his steps materialised from around the corner, a man in travelling attire wearing a mask and sporting an array of knives secured in a series of sheaths. He was tossing a pair of chopsticks to himself and held a bottle of drink in his other hand. But from the way he carried himself, he wasn’t drunk. Not one bit.
“Stay away!” shouted the suspicious man at this mysterious masked stranger. “I didn’t do anything!”
“You know this vagabond?” the guard inquired.
The masked man removed the bottle from his lips before answering. “I’ve seen him break into houses before. Can’t say I like to get involved.”
* * *
The authorities were happy to take away that burglar, congratulating the security guard on his efforts and giving peculiar looks to the man with the mask. On his side, the unknown person finished his drink before disposing of the bottle and striding up to the building he had just saved, The Planeswalking Tavern.
With full purpose he went straight for the bar, nodded at the bartender, and searched the chamber for someone, someone he could recognise. When he failed, he sat down at the counter and ordered a non-alcoholic drink.
The person seated beside him gave him one of those looks.
“I don’t take alcohol,” the masked man said as an answer to the silent question.
Someone approached him from behind and tapped him on a shoulder. The masked man turned and smiled at the familiar face.
“Didn’t expect to see you here so early,” Jéne E. said.
The other man extended his hand, saying, “Hafiz Naga. Glad to make your acquaintance. I believe you’re the master of this… quaint little place.
“Indeed I am.”
“Genie, isn’t it?”
“Jéne E. Ilk. Mister Naga, it’s an honour to finally meet you face to face.”
Hafiz R. Naga was a man of many talents. Though some may consider his working methods a bit on the shady side, he was effective at what he did and efficient to a fault. He was a man of words, many of which didn’t belong to him, but he wielded them with as much proficiency as he wielded his knives.
>Continued in part 2
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