Adam was uncertain as to how wearing so many layers of clothing was appropriate in this heat, but he trusted Dunes, who had taken them clothes shopping the day after.

‘Now that we have the uthur, we must have the cloth,’ Dunes had said, though the exhaustion of that particular had day had gotten to him, so they had returned to the inn after meeting Tawid. It was not the exhaustion of shopping for fine scents, but from stopping Adam getting himself killed which had ached his bones so deeply. 

Everyone but Yasha and Zabir had joined them upon their search for clothing, though Dunes had not needed to search far, finding a small complex nearby the temple they had stared at which dealt with simpler, utilitarian clothing, though still in the Aswadian fashion. 

Adam stood silently opposite the mirror, polished silver, embedded deep within the wall, covered by glass, which was cleaned diligently every morning, noon, and evening, allowing the customers to see themselves clearly, doing little to hide their own blemishes. The half wore a large robe over himself, a grey with just a hint of blue, with a repeating pattern of the sun in silver, the embroidered patterned along the hem of a particular design he recognised to be an Aswadic, not quite prayer, but a phrase used for fortune, one that would allow the clothing to be placed upon the floor. The cloth belt of white was made of a much thicker material, with pairs of red lines every hand length, which he latched his axebelt against, along with another knotted belt made of yellow, which he had seen among many, and recalling back to where he had seen such belts, they had also been latched against daggers and short blades typically. 

“Shukhur,” Dunes said, placing the hat atop Adam’s head, which was almost like a flat bowl atop the half elf’s head, with a scarf wrapped all around the rigid material, the ends of the scarf covering Adam’s ears and falling atop his shoulders. 

“How come we’re wearing grey and silver, and I guess a bit of yellow, but everyone else is wearing stuff like… I mean, black, sure, but there are so many other colours everywhere.”

“Grey is a warrior’s colour,” Dunes replied, stepping back to admire Adam’s attire, smiling to himself, the Priest also wore a similar attire, though it was covered by his vestments. “You have no need of colour when you have strength.”

“Plenty of warriors wear colours though.”

“Some warriors wear colours to pretend they are not warriors, others because they believe themselves to be above the colour of grey, but we wear grey because we are warriors, with no pretences. If you wish, we can buy a colourful scarf, for that is fashionable, within our rights as warriors, and honourable.”

“Honourable?”

“If you meet a man who wears grey clothing of simple design, and a colourful scarf…” Dunes smiled, nodding his head gently. “It is, as you say, cool.”

“Oh,” Adam said, smiling to himself. “I guess we can do that then…”

Dunes was glad the half elf was so easy to control, but at the same time, it was also true. Once the group were fitted in grey, each procuring a scarf, some wrapping it around their heads, others around their shoulders, Dunes himself, wearing it fashioned like a skirt, not wishing to cover his vestments, which could only be covered by a scarf of the same design. 

“So what’s this special surprise about anyway?” the half elf finally asked, after the Iyrmen handed over the gems, the group having spent thousands on the journey so far. 

“It is the reason why we must wear grey clothing today,” Dunes said, reaching into his pocket for a small vial, dabbing it upon his wrist, handing it to the half elf as he applied the uthur upon himself, and as Adam passed it back, the Priest handed it to the others, allowing them to use his vial, which would last quite some time even sharing it with so many. 

“What is that?” Adam asked, assisting Kizwolima in applying the uthur, though made sure she didn’t apply it atop her gills, instead doing so around her throat, the girl also adorned in the Aswadian attire, her own little scarf wrapped around her head, her eyes peeking through from the varying colours. 

“You will see.” 

‘Since Kizwolima looks so adorable, I’ll forgive you, just this once,’ Adam thought, still curious to Dunes’ surprise. 

Dunes led the group to a particular little shop, one near the park, where they sat among the man small tables, and placed down their silver coin to order their drinks. Dunes thought to order some lassi, but decided against it, ordering kafa, which came to them in a jug, the Priest pouring the drink for each of those around him. The liquid was smooth, brown, though once poured, they added the white cream from the second, smaller jug, which caused it to froth. 

As Adam sipped it, the smooth liquid flowed in like liquid gold, though the sweetness was cut by a bitterness midway through the sip, only to be struck away by another softer sweetness. Adam shuddered as he awoke from the drink, the bitterness having bit him viciously for an instant, but the drink was overall pleasant. “Oh?”

“Your first time?” Dunes asked, smiling knowingly. 

“Yeah.” Adam blinked rapidly, glancing aside to Kizwolima, who Dunes had ordered a lassi for, which seemed to be a milshake of sorts. “Should I chill it for you?”

“It’s cold,” Kizwolima said, offering the drink to Adam, who sipped from it lightly, before tasting it was quite cold. 

“They place it atop a steel griddle with a cold stone beneath, and mix the drink often,” Dunes informed, for he had made hundreds of lassi as a young man within his Order. “Mango lassi, now that is the best.”

“You said something about good mangos here?”

“I will show you,” Dunes assured, half thinking to buy one from this particular little restaurant, but decided to wait, for once they meet the Shen, there was no doubt Adam would be able to taste some of the most delicious mangos. The young Priest continued to sip away the drink lightly, making small conversation with the half elf, who mused about what kinds of magical weapons though they should sell, the half elf having a thousand and one ideas.

“We’ve already got a few ideas, but we can’t bring anything too ridiculously powerful, or, you know,” Adam said, making a face that said the Iyr would kill him. “I’ve pretty much already got most of the designs in mind in terms of enchantments for the Enchanter, not really many when it comes to the weapons themselves, but I think we could get more creative with the weapons. There’s got to be more than easier to hit and more damage. Fresh Snow Zephyr was kind of cool, something like that would be fun.”

Adam jotted down more and more notes into his journal, coming up with all kinds of fantastical magical items, and considering what he was, they were less fantastical and magical, more scientific. The half elf then thought about his alchemy, technically his official role within the business, which he almost never utilised. ‘Alchemy would be cheaper for some one time buffs, so I should really look into that. I know there are some powerful potions, but couldn’t I make something more akin to the pills and elixirs from other genres? Is that even a thing? It’s kind of magical, so I guess so, but isn’t it also partly science? How does that work?’

Dunes noted the confusion upon the half elf’s face, which was partly replaced by a boyish smile. It was the kind of smile that said it was all still fun. Dunes smiled in return, and as the half elf caught his eyes, the pair smiled together. 

“Oho?” called a voice, the kind that was grandfatherly. He was an older man, in his fifties or so, meaning he was certainly sixty. He wore simple tan attire, with a black turban, a metal medal pinned to the centre of his turban, though it was the hilts of his blades, crossed and looming over his shoulders which drew Adam’s attention, for the handles of the sword were wrapped in scarves, but there was something about the blades, with their simple pommels, which felt as though they had been made to look so simple, for one reason or another. “Mo of Black Mountain.”

“Good morning, ahm,” Dunes replied, noting the man’s appearance, and then the young woman beside him, who wore similar attire, though her scarf was a deep red, with yellow bursting sun. She also wore a pair of blades upon her back, the woman bowing her head lightly towards the Priest. Dunes stood to greet the old man. “Are you…”

“I gave up my name many years ago before I travelled the path, but they call me Scholar Muh,” the old man said, and Dunes was glad he had stood up to greet the old man, as the pair held upon one another’s hands in a respectful greeting. 

“Scholar Muh, it is an honour to meet you,” Dunes said, for he once had the opportunity to meet him at the Order, but they had passed one another by. 

“Who is that guy?” Adam whispered.

“Scholar Muh,” Jurot replied in a hushed whisper, though his eyes remained entirely focused on the man. “If he was still active, he would be considered the greatest, even above Radiant Blade. He retired twenty years ago.”

“Twenty years? He seems kinda young to be retired at forty.”

“He retired at fifty.”

“He’s seventy?” Adam asked, raising his brows. ‘Damn! He looked good for sixty already!’

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He is one of my favourites.