As he tried to rise, two cloaked figures came darting down the stairs like shadows. Whether by design or accident, one of them kneed him squarely in the chin, sending him reeling backward with a grunt of agony. Before he could even breathe, the second figure sprang from mid-stair and landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of his lungs.
"Look, a trash! What's this guy doing on the floor?" the younger one mocked, crouching over him. Half of his face was covered with ragged fabric, concealing most of it. "Must be trash!"
The noble flailed, his voice shrill with outrage. "Stop it! Do you know who I am?! I'm the biggest sponsor of this establishment! Don't you know our Medalen family is a bigshot—"
"What? A bigot?" the other, whose cloak was fine enough to hide his face, scoffed with a snort. "Well, that fits."
The two laughed without a shred of sympathy.
