Wrong Place, Wrong Time
Ashan 15, 723
Ashan 15, 723
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Mel’drin wasn’t sure what to expect when he had claimed his freedom and ventured into the wider world, but it wasn’t Almund.
A sea of people flowed around him as he walked down the street, squinting his eyes against the low hanging sun. He could taste the salt in the air here. That was a hard thing to avoid on the island, he had found. All manner of people were out and about, enjoying the surprisingly pleasant weather.
Mel’drin, however, was not here for a nice stroll on the beach.
As It turned out, in order to survive as a free man, he would need money. He had managed to scrape by for now, on odd work and a bit of petty larceny, but finding something more stable would be necessary. That, or he would need to become a better thief. Not eager to swap one set of chains for another, he had done his best to avoid the latter. For now.
He kept his head low as a particularly large fellow pushed past him on the bustling street. Doing his best to blend in with the crowd, his mind reached out to the ephemeral snake that followed close by, “I reckon they could always use dockhands. Though, I aint eager for work like that.”
By his estimate, he had done enough back breaking labor for a whole lifetime.
Vespera’s long black body glided through the crowd, “True. Unfortunately, your education has prepared you for little else. We should rectify that. Although, I suppose you need money to get an education, yes? Hmm. How odd. Quite the chicken and the egg, yes?
Vespera continued her musings as Mel’drin turned down an alley. He had been pointed in the direction of a place called “The Kennels”, and was trying to make his way there. As he walked, the sound of the crowd dwindled behind him. He almost felt uncomfortable, not being able to hide amongst the crowd. His eyes darted around the dingy street, realizing that they were alone.
Heavy footsteps hit the cobblestone behind him. Glancing behind, he saw a large man stood at the entrance to this stretch of street. Blocking the way back, Mel’drin realized.
Quickening his pace, the Sev’ryn cursed under his breath. He should have known better than to step away from the crowd in a place like this.
The large man behind him let out a whistle, and two other men rounded the corner in front of Mel’drin. One had red hair, and the other wore a dark cloak.
Mel’drin was forced to a stop, surrounded. The large man, walking closer, spoke first, “Empty your pockets.” His deep voice reverberated in his giant rib cage.
Mel’drin slowly raised his hands as Vespera hissed from behind him, “This big one's got a knife.” Glancing down, the young man saw the other two thieves were unarmed.
Mel’drin spoke, “I ain’t got nothin’ for you, I'm afraid. I was tryna find some coin myself.” That wasn’t exactly true. Though he didn’t have much, he had taken enough from his stash to pay for food and a bed tonight.
Which is exactly why he needed it. He had no intention of sleeping in the street tonight. Looking between the two men he could see, he tried his best to come up with a plan. There was no way he could take on all three. Especially the one with a knife. His only chance was to run.
The redheaded thief in front stepped forward as Mel’drin reached for the power within him. Willing the fire in his soul to light, ether flowed up and out into a small mist around his head.
The thief grabbed the Sev’ryns collar, a snarl on his face, “He said empty your pockets, and he won’t be asking again.”
He moved as fast as he could. A whisper escaped him, a mantra to hone his focus. “Brilliance.”
He shoved the man that held his collar, and ducked. As he did so, the spark in soul hummed, and the ether above him burst into a blinding light, consumed all at once. The men around him stumbled back with a yelp, shielding their eyes.
Mel’drin turned toward the single large man and bolted past him. Partially blinded, the large man swung an empty arm out in a wide arc, slamming into Mel’drin. The mage stumbled, and slammed into a stack of wooden crates, causing many to fall and crash onto the cobblestone.
He recovered, scrambling to his feet. Just in time for a fist to slam into his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him.
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