Midas was shaken awake by Graf; the braided fibers of the rug the trio slept on crunched lightly under his weight as his torso began to move itself upwards. The room was dimly lit; candlelight illuminated the rough textures of the inner mud walls belonging to their room. His left hand immediately held onto his head, massaging his lids as Midas was barely awake. Graf wandered around the tiny room; it didn't leave much space; only three rugs and a tiny wooden table were used as decoration. Even the bathroom wasn't included; a separate room at the end of every floor, they were forced to share it with the other people that roamed their floor.
His thin focus occupied by the weak movements of his right thumb, Midas eventually snapped back, slowly walking towards the unframed window; his gaze met a dimly colored sky, the dark of the night before hadn't completely vanished yet, barely becoming a dark purple as the sun began to move towards the horizon. Haya yawned for a long-lasting moment; his tired tone was dragged afar as he began to stretch his limbs. Shortly before Graf could give the command to leave, a stinging pain emerged from Midas' stomach; hunger struck him, the feeling much more urgent than before.
Midas already got used to fiddling with the rusted blade between the loose bandages spanning across his back, slotting it in reachable distance; the time he took to do so shrunk with every try, mildly surprising him to succeed at the task on his first attempt. The halls of the building were dark, lit up just enough by the light escaping from the bottom floor as the tiny bar began to prepare for the next day. The unmasked man shortly greeted the troupe, "Sarbahrm a'far." His hair was bundled up, and his gaze only turned to them a mere second before wandering to one of the jugs again, which needed polishing.
Mumbling back at the man behind the counter, the three of them quickly left the ground floor just the way they entered it. Midas shivered lightly at the morning breezes that rushed through the broad streets of the port; his muscles began to cramp lightly as his tired body struggled to adjust to the sudden drop in temperature. Unlike before, Haya seemed much more composed, his interested gaze joining Midas' as the both of them laid sight on stacked-up boxes, freshly transported goods, trays that were still being filled, and the occasional passerby, carrying goods on their shoulder or head, most of them masked.
"I can smell the sea, yeah... our timing is great." Graf sharply remarked, a crooked grin emerging on his face as he touched his chin. Sharply aimed glances wandered in between multiple stands and stalls put up and opened deeper into the center of the town. Before Midas even realized, they had passed through another wall, marking an inner area of the port town. "The outer areas are focused on housing and stashing salesmen and travelers into their rooms... The inner ones are mostly made up of shops of all kinds... Their goods get delivered from the most inner one, the port area... The shops aren't as crowded there—the prices are much lower..." Graf began to rant to himself, his finger swung around lightly, resembling a teacher, making his speech feel directed towards the both of them.
Passing through another arch, the blowing wind became heavier; even the floor felt colder, and stones were plastered along the lengthy plaza built right at the coast the town lay on. Waves crashed into the stone supports the many shops and houses of the town were built on top of, and tiny specks of water hit the both of them, wetting the stone they walked on. Barely avoiding falling victim to one of the crashing waves, Haya stretched himself over the metal railing built at the edge of the stone base. His expression lightened up as his wide eyes caught onto the parked ships bound to the wooden piers extending into the sea from the coast, reaching into the waters the vessels floated on.
"Stop screwing around!" Graf yelled, and Midas was quick to catch up to the bald salesman again. Haya made sure to follow the boy as they found their way between the many masked people who roamed the plaza, most of them busy dealing with the shopkeepers, trying to make up the lowest price as possible for the various goods that were sold. Some already carrying back the goods they managed to get their hands on, in between the masses, unmasked men carried wooden crates up and down the piers, filling and unloading the different kinds of ships that stopped at the town.
Leaving the turmoil of the waves behind, the group of three eventually stopped in front of a shop built into the side of a multistory mud house. Its roof was flat, just like the ones surrounding it, and the spanned cloth marking the shop moved around in the winds that hit the shore. A lenghy shopkeeper greeted them, his thin arms were hid behind heavy clothing and his light tone echoed from his metal mask. Midas was unable to see through the six holes that were drilled into the mask, the light of the candles that lit up the open room in which the shopkeeper sat.
Rope hung all kinds of skinned meat upwards for show; the focus of the shopkeeper quickly switched to the bald northerner in front of him. The gesture of his hands helped in directing Grafs sight onto the light red meat; white strands of fat spanned through the hunch of meat, giving it some texture. "Could you show me some of your dried goods...? Something that lasts multiple sun cycles...?" Graf's gaze quickly snapped back onto the six dark holes drilled into the metal that covered the vendor.
The string, which was tied into a net to hold onto the hunch of meat inside of it, was stained with a faint yellow color; the meat was smoked and marinated with spices. The orangy color of it served as proof; Midas smelled the smoky aroma as water began to form in his mouth. Looking at the meat, which was presented to the northerner by the hand that held up the heavy lump of cured meat, the shopkeeper announced his price, "This is premium Fahin meat, right from the highlands that border the northern territories... only twenty-eight haavid." Nodding at the northerner ensuringly, he announced the price of the good.
"Twenty-eight...?" Graf sharply raised a brow at the number the vendor announced, "I'll pay fifteen for that..." His eyes narrowed slightly as he nodded back at the shopkeeper, uncertain if he raised the price because of his northern origin.
Sinking the slab of meat again, the vendor shook his head. Before he was able to speak, another man, much broader, unhooded, and clothed in a bloodstained shirt, began to yell, "Hah...! I'll give you the same thing for only eleven haavid, my friend!" Graf immediately turned to the other stall; only after his announcement was Midas able to link back his clothing to the men who worked at the piers, looking similar to the short-armed shirts and heavy leather trousers the men wore.
Midas wasn't quick enough to keep up with Haya and Graf quickly switching to the stand on the other side of the road, which led out of the coastal plaza, watching the masked man trying to reach out to the northerner as he shouted to sink the prize to only twenty haavid; in vain he yelled at the other shop, foreign words Midas was unable to understand, phrases that sounded like insults, as his fist shook back at the other stall.
Chuckling to himself as Haya and Midas threw cured meat onto their shoulders, the broadly built stall keeper began to speak again, "These people are quite desperate, raising their prices because of the water kingdom's fee—going even further up to squeeze out your last money because you look northern." His laugh was dry, yet loud enough to sound through the crowded street, as Graf stopped counting the copper coins in his leather stash, his head raised upwards again, "Well... I guess you're stuck here without a ride... and with Alquazar being a warzone, their chances of sustaining their living here dwindle." Light remorse filled Graf as he looked at the stall keeper nodding slowly to approve of his word, stashing away his pouch.
"Well... I too have to pay for my family—plus the gear and weapons we need to produce the meat... These are only rumors, but Alquazar might have already fallen under northern control. Gip'din surely will follow after..." Leaning forward on his stool, his tone became more quiet; his upward gaze met Grafs's surprised eyes, and Midas quietly listened, a sense of helplessness coming over him, even though he wasn't directly involved in the ongoing invasion. "Do you plan on heading back to the water kingdom...?" A sharp grin reappeared back onto him, as his hand grasped one of his knees; the man smelled like blood.
"Yes, only the highlands remain... After that we'll pass through Puertagua..." Grafs tone sounded more casual; his tongue used to deal with the sudden shift of language and tone, piquing Midas' interest as his head wandered upwards to glance at the bald man. Reminding himself of Inaya's word, the northerners even established courses for the people from the northern desert, as if they awaited their arrival. The feeling of not understanding one's words shot up into his head; Midas became eager to learn more about the water kingdom's language.
"Ah... well then, make sure to pass through the Shama rift... There's a little village set up in the middle of it; the rift has tiny rivers as well... I always pass through it when hunting." Standing up to shake his hand with Graf for a last time, he nodded at the driver, reassuring him to take the promised route, waving back at the tiny group as they left. The hunch of meat weighed more than Midas expected, holding onto it with his left hand, as his right arm still rendered completely useless.
"We will eat on the way to our next stop; I'm sure the girls already brought the water and bread to the hotel..." Graf announced, looking back at the boys; Haya had no trouble carrying two of the meat slabs, while the driver held onto another. Midas shared a sense of relief with Haya, as they finally were able to eat again.