“My grandson still bought an enchanted axe first.”
“I believe he says it is first the worst, second the best.”
“You have grown arrogant now that you have stepped into the realm of a Grandmaster.”
Mulrot’s smirk revealed whose greatmother she was.
Adam stepped out, adorned in his new attire, Arisian shalwar kaez, plain cream, but from the House of Crimson Cloth, the plainest and creamiest, and atop a loose robes of deep mahogany, sprawling branches and leaves of gold reaching down towards the ground, kept at bay by a rope of gold with tassels slipping over a shoulder. He also wore a keffiyeh of a similar mahogany, the agal which kept it upon his head, a similar gold to the rope.
“Oh my, oh my, don’t you all look so adorable?” Adam fawned, for his children stood opposite him, each adorned in a modesti like their mother, the triplets in shimring silver, the twins in cheerful cherry.
Jirot stood a little taller, and for once, wore only a muted rry upon her face. “I look so cool, daddy.”
“So cool,” Adam agreed, his eyes falling upon his children, each of whom only allowed their faces to be seen to their world, although, unfortunately… “Now you all look like your mother’s children, for your adorable ears are hidden away.”
“That is because we are mummy’s children!” Jirot declared, pointing up at her father with a blade like finger. “Daddy! You think because you look so handso, I will let you go?”
“I look handso?”
“So handso, so handso,” the girl said.
“Yes!” Konarot said, holding up a thumbs up, Kirot nodding her head. Karot and Jarot smiled, wordless as ek mice, as they were known to be, these sons of his.
“If only your father had grown a beard over nightval and the Twilight Month, then he could have been the most handso,” Korin said, the fellow in grey, his collar and cuffs adorned in ivory and ebony floral print, his turban grey, but it was the scarf over his shoulders, the rope around his shoulder, which were blood red, the kind that stated why he wore a grey turban. "However, it is rude to not wear sothing grey, my friend."
"Ah, right." Adam considered what he should wear, and decided on a plain grey shawl, which hid away part of the cloak, but only emphasised the richness of the reds.
Korin then half turned, revealing the line upon his beard, freshly cut this morning, and peeked down towards his nephews, his sword dangling off the red rope, a blade that he had yet to wet rightly.
‘So cool,’ Karot thought, his eyes gleaming.
‘Wow!’ Jarot thought, blinking up at his ahm.
'...' The old Jarot huffed, wanting to show off his attire to his greatchildren, but what could he do when the brat from Black Mountain was about to spoil the children?
"I would like to pick out a turban for you all?" Korin mused, peeking down at the children, for he needed to trek carefully forward, for if he did not play his cards correctly, it would-
"Okay!" the children replied excitedly.
"Ah, but, a turban does not suit a modesti. Karot, Jarot, you should look as handso as this ahm, and Konarot, Kirot, Jirot, you should all look as pretty as your mother?"
"I want to look as handso as daddy," Konarot said.
Kirot blinked, though reached up to her chin. "I want to..."
Karot smiled shyly.
Jirot glanced aside, towards the older woman who was waiting to spoil her. "I want to look as pretty as nano."
Gangak smiled, wearing a shawl of grey, just like her foolish grandson, though continued to wear the Iyrmanly attire, for it was the easiest way to distinguish herself from the devilkin, so of whom wore paints upon their faces, but there should be no doubt how eager she would be to draw her blade against the Aswadians.
Little Jarot glanced aside to his greatfather, whose arms were crossed, adorned in a simple grey, but wore a red rope around his shoulder, as well as a red turban, though his turban leaked over his shoulders, over his plain outer shawl, which fell only to his waist, not daring to reach further than his axe.
The old Jarot t his gaze, and for a mont the pair held one another's eyes, before the pair ford gentle crescents upon their lips.
Lanarot stood tall, strong, adorned in her attire, similar to her eldest brothers, who each wore near identical attire, except instead of an outer shawl, it was a vest, mahogany, with golden suns, the rays shooting out almost as radiantly as her eyes. She clasped her fists on either side of her, as though imposing upon the land, and peeked up towards her elder brothers.
"You look so cute!" Adam fawned, reaching down to reach towards his sister's cheeks, only for the girl to half huff, glancing aside to her other brother.
"You look so powerful," Jurot said, holding her gaze with a stone cold glare.
Lanarot smirked, for truly, her eldest brother was the wisest.
Adam’s head snapped to Jurot, the confusion glistening on the surface. "I can’t believe you’ve done this."
Pam blinked, the woman adorned in cream and cherry, with a golden scarf around her head which was worth more than what she used to make as a baker in several weeks. 'How much money did you spend?'
The workers prayed to Noor, for their good wealth, for their good health, for finally, they stepped out, no longer imposing themselves upon the House of Crimson Cloth.
"Grandmother..." Sarah called.
"Betti," the woman, whose wealth could fund armies, replied calmly. "It seems a new sun is rising upon the twenty first century."
Sarah hadn't wanted to admit it, but even she, with her youth, had surmised such. A new sun, a new wind, a new wave, such had arrived within their humble House of Crimson Cloth, within Aswadasad, within this era. Their words had been unbelievable, speaking their tales, the kind of tales from those who should have retired in their fifties or sixties, but they were but in their mid twenties.
As the rays of the noon sun fell upon them, there was another reason why one of them sweat so thoroughly into her new attire.
"How much money did you spend?” the young woman whispered.
"A few hundred gold?" Jurot replied, for a few gems had slipped between his fingers, one worth a hundred, a couple worth fifty, and many more each worth ten.
"Why are you spending so much?"
"I wish to spoil you."
"Hundreds of gold? It's too much..." Pam said, reaching up to her forehead, for how had her brother in law corrupted her husband so much? Wasn't Jurot a wall of blood, steel, death?
"We still have many thousands."
"Many thousands?"
"We are still richer than Jirot."
Pam reached up to her forehead, covering her eyes, using her scarf to wipe the sweat off her forehead and cheeks, and then even the wetness across her eyes. 'Jurot, please.'
Why would he take such pride in being wealthier than a five year old girl?
The small army made its way through the noisy roads of the city, the sll of labour, goats, and louts perating through the air, those louts shambling through, their shoulders high, and upon seeing the figures, sauntering through the city with colourful clothing, grey so overtly displayed, the lout's eyes fell low.
The neighbourhoods they slipped through were as colourful as the banners waving from the various windows, until they stepped into the realm of the neighbourhoods which were not quite as dense, not quite as colourful through cloth, but silks, and in which their inns required multiple behts to stay the night.
The greenery around the complex soaked up an entire stream, one would assu, for the trees provided lush shade, the various patrons adorned in fine silks, rings not copper, but silver, so gold, and others, of gem.
The kafabayt, what originally started as a house of coffee, remained tucked within the shade of many trees, while the rest of the buildings expanded outwards, small cookhouses that provided food for the several buildings nearby, all through the garden that imposed far too much upon the land considering how few patrons spilled their silvers, but this was not any simple kafabayt, and it was not any simple beht.
The wooden fence, barely hiding those within compared to the branches, the greenery, and the shade, provided a token barrier. The warrior stood tall and proud, adorned in loose shalwar, a curved sabre tied to his side, a turban atop his head, a long stache that curved greater than even his blade towards his ears. His eyes narrowed lightly, though his face remained as still as statues, and as the group gathered, he stood forward, greeting though thankfully, the Black Lion stepped forward, pausing a mont, then allowing her companion to step forward.
"Noorshukhur, what brings you to our humble ho," the warrior said, his voice like gravel, sharper than even the point of his moustache.
Uli stepped forward, leaning in slightly, pausing a mont to consider what he should say. "We are here to eat."
"To eat?"
"To eat."
The words were simple, the aning not, as the warrior's eyes scanned across the warriors opposite him. He was no Expert, but he was well trained, and any average fellow would find themselves cut clean by his fine steel, and yet, as the warrior's eyes fell across this group, he was certain he was but a goat to be slaughtered.
"Noorshukhur, I hope it is to taste."
"Noorshukhur," Uli agreed, then stepped in to lead the group forward.
A patron glanced aside, wiping their mouth with a handkerchief, leaving most of their al untouched.
Another sneered, drinking more of the fine wine, for they needed this much to wash the awful taste upon his eyes.
Another’s eyes grew wide in utter bewildernt.
Another’s eyes grew wide in utter surprise. “Ah! Is that Mo Adam, I see?”
PATREON LINK
I wonder who it could be?
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