Closed Of Little Consequence {Eleazar Victor Syroin}

[Basek]

56th of Winter, 513 Pig's Foot Tavern "Petching scoundrel!" Came a deviant shout from across the bar. The hairs on Basek's skin stood on end as he could feel eyes in his direction, leaning over the counter of the wooden bar table. His eyes shifted, anticipating hostility. But it did not come. Instead, the man sitting right next to him abruptly stood and grabbed at the leg of the chair Basek was standing on. "Hah!" Came the booming voice of the man next to him, Basek's heart fluttering as he suddenly realized what the man was doing, giving him enough time to bolt upwards and throw his leg, and then himself, over the counter. He found himself rolling onto the other side as the sound of yelling and crashing filled the tavern around him. He breathed a sigh of relief, it was a close call. These brawls were pretty rough, and nobody was happy this winter. His face let slip a scowl as he understood that the city was suffering more than usual this scornful winter, the winter of 513. "Get your ass out of here!" Came the gruff and old voice of Merv, the tavern's owner. Basek scrambled to his feet, lifting himself up only to be met by a firm hand on his shoulder. The sudden wrenching motion of Merv's hand flung him back over the counter and into the hectic chaos. Slam! Wood crunched nearby Basek's head as he struggled to make sense of the mess around him. He quickly looked around the bar, taking note of the denizens who fought for superiority among one-another. "Amon has no need for the likes of you!" The original stool-stealer bellowed in a bellicose rage. Two groups of two men fought to control the big man, but they were simply swiped away by large arms. "Amon has dumb brutes like you to protect his shipment tonight? Little wonder they fired me for cleaning your mess." The snide voice of the original protagonist yelled. A shipment? Basek's thoughts spun as he took one large step to make his way for the stairs. A man brushed by him, nearly knocking him off balance before he caught himself with a well placed hop. The crowd was jostling around him, but he had to get to the sidelines so he could remain unnoticed by the vagrants around him, and spy on them like a cat stalking its pray. Surrounded by people, there was but one more obstacle to overcome. A table barred his way, but he let himself careen downwards to the floor and scoot underneath it by kicking with his legs, and dragging with his arms. Prone as he is, it's still a tight fit between the two chairs underneath the table, Basek narrowing his eyes as he glanced out at the crowds briefly before making the last push and finding himself rising up against the wall opposite to the table. With his new, safer and more inconspicuous position, a good distance from the bar fight, he could watch them more closely. The smaller man seemed to not be faring well, the larger brute that had snatched Basek's chair already held the man off his feet by his neck. Then a large fist rose, falling down to smack straight into the smaller man's jaw. The body fell silent as the bigger man let go, allowing it to drop to the floor like a used rag. Merv leaned over the counter, giving the man a demanding stare. Of course, he would have to pay for the stool he broke. It lay in pieces near the crumpled, unconscious body that had been on the receiving end of the blow, a deduction which Basek was quick to make even though he had not actually seen it happen. Grumbling, the man fetched a few coins from his pocket and placed them on the counter. He then flicked his chin at a younger sot, the only one who seemed to be in line with him. "Let's go, Bates." He ordered with a sneer. Basek unwittingly stared at them as they began to leave, but they paid him no heed. He quickly surmised that he would have to follow them if he needed more information. He reached up to his shoulders and dragged his hood beyond his forehead, then tugged up his mask. He lowered his arms and brought them together to tighten his cloak around him, to keep the warm air inside. He was a little sensitive to the cold, more sensitive than perhaps most. The winters were always this uncomfortable, but he made do. As the two men left, he was quick to follow. The reflective light of Syna casting her rays upon the snow at first blinded him, until his eyes adjusted, becoming accustomed to the bright white of the overcast day. He watched the two men, they were already on their way through the market. The shipment guard, and his lackey named bates. Basek kept an eye on the snow, for he was quick to find their tracks. There were other people in the market that could dilute their prominence and accuracy, but he would be able to regain the trail fairly easily. Keeping an eye on the two men, and their tracks, even if he lost them in the crowd of peasants, he might be able to follow. And follow he did, as he began to walk, staying at a comfortable distance. He had to learn more about the shipment owned by this 'Amon' fellow, so that he might reave his own cut.