Rane walked along the street, on his way back from collecting his coin for about two weeks worth of work. As always, he warily observed his surroundings as he grew closer to the Southeast district where he would find his home, his mother, and Staal. He knew the way, but something felt odd. He couldn’t place it though. His control and mastery over ambient were not enough to enhance his perception. He lamented the fact, but his training with Staal had long lost the steam of his original progress. He checked his shoulders frequently as he proceeded forward, the streets becoming more and more narrow the further one went into the Southeast district, eventually, they would become less like streets, and more like animal trails in the forest. In the worst areas of the southeast, people lived simply wherever there was space, be it in the street, above the street, or even sometimes, below it.
It was this area that Rane was aiming to get. It was too tight and too densely populated for a robbery to be effectively carried out. No one would help, of course, it was simply too easy for a mark to escape through the wilderness of randomly assorted homes, tents, and tunnels.
The streets grew tighter and tighter, and Rane picked up his pace. He did not see anyone, but he trusted what he felt. Rane glanced down, needing to be sure of his footing. Upon looking back up, he was met with a sharp blow to the chest, knocking him to his back. Above him, he saw a crude cudgel. No one was holding it. Rane was frozen in fear as a skinny man in a hastily done headwrap stepped out from behind a tent, plucking the cudgel from the air. The man was clearly at least a classient, and had obviously held back. A good swing from the blunt weapon now held at his waist could crack his skull even without ambient.
“Rane isn’t it? How ya doin,” said the masked man. His accent was clearly faked, but that didn’t really narrow anything down. “Ya know how dis goes,” he continued, “gimme the coin, you forget this happened, and ya go back to whatever ditch you crawled outta.”
Rane’s heart slammed in his chest. The man hadn’t killed him immediately, so he was mostly thinking about how he could get out of this situation with his coin purse intact. His left hand was pressed to the ground, scraping some dirt and sand into a fist. Two weeks worth of coin wasn’t something he was particularly interested in losing. He couldn’t use ambient. At this range, a classient would feel its movement. Rane took a deep breath, and reached his right hand for a pouch containing nothing but some daily necessities, taking it off of his belt, stretching it forward. Rane expected the man to step forward to take the pouch. He did not, instead elected to pull it from his hands with ambient. That would work as well. Rane tossed the sand along with the pouch, both being pulled towards the classient by ambient.
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Rane didn’t wait to see the fruits of his efforts, instead turning immediately to flee. He did not get far before a flash of pain exploded in his right knee. He fell, and the force of the street rising up to meet him took the breath from his lungs, rendering him unable to scream out in pain, however much he wanted to. Warily, he took a glance at his leg. The knee was bent inwards from the cudgel’s blow, and a bloodstain was already forming on his loose pants, making them stick tightly to the skin, accentuating the break.
“Coulda just give me the coin,” his assailant stated. He began ruffling Rane’s clothes, turning up the corners and folds of his jacket, his sleeves, or any loose fold that could hide a pocket. He found the coin purse quickly, then moved to a pat down search for more items. Rane nearly bit down hard on his tongue as the man smacked his crooked leg. Rane tasted iron, and grimaced as the man got up, satisfied with his search.
“That’s rough, buddy.” The man left with a content air about himself, like a rodent that had found itself in a winter grain store.
Rane was in the middle of the narrow street. He cursed his luck, the Kenly ‘s, his accomplices, and the Ambient itself. He knew he needed to get out of sight. Getting home was obviously not an option. He attempted to roll over, but a flash of sharp pain rendered him quickly immobile, his face contorted as he pressed his forehead into the hardened soil of the pathway.
He waited for a time. It may have been a minute, it may have been a dozen, before trying to move again. This time, he would simply drag himself forward, leaving his leg as still as he reasonably could. Every movement shot flashes of pain that he could feel all the way in his left hand. He could feel every beat of his heart in his knee, and even that seemed to bring pain as well. Luckily, places that were “out of sight” were easy to come by in the Southeast district. He couldn’t get up to place his back against the wall he found, so that is the state in which his consciousness left him, lying in a messy heap against a few wooden planks that constituted the outer wall to some shop or vendor.