Meeting in the West

Written by Jacob Billings

The road, rough, cobbled and worn away in patches, jostled Duke Kkamol's carriage. He ignored the jarring sensation, keeping his attention focused on the city. A towering majesty, rising from the empty and flat countryside, the city made an imposing figure along the nearing horizon. Walls of white stone surrounded the detailed architecture of the city, masking much of the view in from the outside. The peaks of buildings, made from smooth cut grey stone and wide planks of wood, could hardly be seen from below the walls. The city, Halwoth, was as gorgeous as the rumors, the prime of the Maraian Empire.
Coming to the walls of the city, the train of carriages slowed to a halt, waiting for the massive wooden gates to swing open. As they creaked, heaving moans of complaint, an expanding, minuscule window pierced the wall and offered a view into the world of the city. With a roaring thunder, the gates to the inner metro opened, revealing the smooth-worn streets and buildings that grew from the ground. The exterior mystique emanated by Halwoth was multiplied hundreds of times over on the inside.
The glare of the sun was near blinding, reflected in the panes of glass that splattered the buildings. The walls were pure white, supporting the weight of rooves that stretched around the various buildings. Each remained unstained by the taints of dirt and the darkness of the outside world. Pathways, suspended in the air by colorful ropes woven from wool, crossed the buildings. Lanterns, decorated in maroon and emerald scripts, were tied together, strung over the side of the hanging pathways, their lights coating the street in colorful light.
"ϸɤⴉʫϸɑҟᶚſſԏⴉ ⴉⴉɑԏէ," Kkamol murmured, his gaze jumping around the city. His thoughts, once consumed with stress over the meeting, cleared, washed away and replaced by the wondrous city.
"ʆɑɤҟʫʆɑɤჺᶚⴉⴉԏⴉ Ҟҟɑⴉɤʆʫʆɑɤჺϡҟҟԏϸ," a woman called Makai, Kkamol's translator, replied from across from him. Her focus was cast out the side, though not nearly as invested in seeing the wonders of the city.
Kkamol, with a resigned frown, dragged his eyes from the city and turned his attention to the palace. The palace, the star of the shining city, rose far above all other buildings at the center of everything. All roads led to the palace, woven together to fill the city with buildings and paths through them. The streets were smoothed over in perfect, pristine paving made from a beige clay. The people that wandered the streets scattered, watching the traveling carriage with equal interest.
As they rode, shouts of street vendors, carting their goods around, could be heard. Kkamol's eye caught on a single vendor, pulling an oak cart decorated with ruby and maroon hieroglyphs drawing out a story. Small lanterns hung from an emerald umbrella, jingling little bells, inside each little lantern, catching the attention of everyone passing by. Kkamol gawked at perfectly rendered images of foreign landscapes filling the cart.
The vendor fell behind them, the streets continuing to flood with people after the caravan of carriages passed. More vendors, each with unique carts and offers, passed by, their calls each grasping for Kkamol's ignorant attention. Makai, though noticing that Kkamol was immersed in the city again, chose to ignore it, keeping her gaze sullenly locked on the palace.
Buildings, each towering multiple stories high, seemed to only stretch further as the palace neared. The sunlight dimmed, though colors danced along the walls, drawn together by the lanterns. Around the palace itself, an enormous garden sprawled outwards. Their path drew through it, following hedges decorated with vibrantly colored fruits. Roses colored of the rainbow sprouted from the edges of the path, waving in the wind.
The carriages drew to a halt several meters before the grandiose entrance to the palace. Guards, from the palace and Kkamol's own party of carriages, merged, preparing the path as Kkamol stepped from the carriage. Offering his hand to Makai, she followed him down from the carriage.
Ahead of them, the palace was bustling in preparation for the arrival of the commanders of the reigning countries in the West. A servant paused at the doorway upon seeing the arriving carriages, her long, flowing robes denotating her higher rank within the palace hierarchy. Sweeping down the steps, she greeted the newcomers.
"Where are you hailing from?" the servant spoke softly, her words marked by a thick accent. Kkamol's response was a glance at Makai, who quickly translated the sentence into Ahkalba for him.
"ſſԏɑէէϸϸʫʆʆɑԏҟᶚſſԏⴉ ჺჺԏɑჺ," Kkamol replied, offering his words to to Makai, who translated the sentence for the servant.
Miming the action with her hands, the servant called them to come. She spoke gingerly, Makai translating the sentences to Kkamol as they walked. "Come along, as you likely need a moment to clean up before the meeting. I will have a bath set up for you and a room. We expect that the representatives will all be here in a few hours, so please rest up before the meeting."

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Kkamol and Makai were locked in a conversation of the wonders of the palace in their native language, when a young boy, a servant to the Empire, approached them. "Follow me," the boy said, timidly glancing at the ground. "The conference is about to start."
Makai spoke the sentence to Kkamol, the pair rising to follow the boy. He gave a curious glance at the pair, hesitating at Makai, before turning to the halls of the palace. The boy led them up several flights of stairs and into a large room, hastening his natural pace to keep mere steps ahead of them.
"Here you are." He pointed them into the room before quickly leaving to head his own way.
They entered the room, wafts of cold air flooding over them as the enormous, iron-clad, wooden doors closed with a blast of air. The room itself was bright, though cold despite all the vibrant white. The ceilings were vaulted, arches dozens of meters in the air sustained large white pillars gilded with intricate symbols and marks. The room was near empty, only a long table with a map drawn across it was visible. Several men, one other with a translator, stood at the map, engaged in slow conversation.
Kkamol stepped up to the table, Makai a step behind him. In a loud voice, echoing in the empty room, he introduced himself while Makai translated his words, "ʆʆɑԏҟҟɑɤʆʫʆʆɑԏჺᶚſſԏⴉ ҟҟɑⴉɤʆϡჺჺԏɑჺ."
"Welcome. I believe that we can begin this meeting now that all of us are here." One of the men, lacking a translator, spoke up. His voice was deep, resounding through the room in his layered accent. Makai, standing at Kkamol's shoulder, whispered the Ahkalba translation of the man's words, softly enough that only Kkamol could hear. "I am Garaman Pokoral, the Emperor of the Maraian Empire."
The others followed, introducing themselves as members of different organizations. There were many members present, the most significant of which were those from the Kingdom of Itania, the Kingdom of Kin, and the historically aloof Sorcerer's Federation of Sel.
Garaman was the first to speak up following the introductions, voicing his concern over the East, "The Khiz began small, but they are spreading fast. Word from the Kappag Mediary claims that they have yet to reach their Western Division, but are striking against the lower regions of the North and upper regions of East.
"We, as a united force, need to decide who to aid in this fight. Will the Khiz run their course before falling apart of their own inhibition, shall they rise to reign as a superpower in the East, or should we fight them back in hopes of finding history on our side?"
He paused, looking with worried eyes and a tense face. His gaze looked to each of the members at the table, the soft whisper of translators falling silent. No one wanted to speak up, afraid to make the wrong decision. Kkamol filled the prolonged silence with words of his own, struggling with the foreign names. "ϸϸɑէɤʆʫʆʆɑԏҟᶚⴉⴉԏⴉ Khiz ɑɤϸɑԏʆԏɑէſſ ϡɀɑɤҟɑ."
The silence fell to shambles, collecting on the floor like water from the rain. The room's sounds were amplified, words of discord and disagreement being tossed around. In the noise, Garaman was the only one to hold his silence; rather, he listened to the arguments before interjecting with a loud and sudden, "We are meant to be working together, not biting at each other's necks."
Makai resumed her job, having fallen silent during the shouting match -- managing to equally silence Kkamol. The voices of representatives each fell to nothing more than quiet murmurs, the representatives all ashamedly casting their gaze to the table. Garaman didn't stop speaking, though he directed his attention to Kkamol as he redirected the topic. "Why do you feel we should fight them?"
"ԏⴉɤ ѓѓɑɤſſԏɑҟʫϸɑҟᶚⴉⴉԏⴉ ϡҟҟɑɤҟſ ɑɤϸɑԏʆԏɑէſſ Khiz ɑɤϸɑԏʆԏɑէſſ." Kkamol replied, considering his phrasing carefully. Garaman nodded, acknowledging Makai as she translated.
Akaol, a member from the Kingdom of Itania, spoke up, "The Khiz are powerful. You -" he pointed to Garaman "- even claimed that they began small but have begun to wipe out huge parts of the Eastern Continents. If we aided them, we could even gain their favor in trade."
"To throw the trade between us and the East out the window? The Khiz are already slowing down. A strong pushback could wipe them out," spoke up Oalam, a second representative from the Kingdom of Itania. Akaol gave Oalam a dark look, seeming frustrated by their disagreement. Kkamol, still listening to Makai's hushed translation, was slow to follow the conversation.
"Their government is weak, to Oalam's point," Garaman chimed in.
"ԏⴉɤ ϸϸԏɑſԏɤҟʫϸɑҟᶚſſԏⴉ ϡϸɑҟɑɤʆⴉ ɑɤϸɑԏʆԏɑէſſ?" Kkamol questioned, hastening to keep pace with the conversation, Makai slowly falling behind. The others, especially those who had remained the quietest, seemed to pause.
"What is their political structure, if it's so weak?" Akaol questioned.
"They have a monarchy, though Kappag mentioned that the attacks have slowed due to a rumored struggle in the hierarchy between the Emperor and the Council of Wishes as the current Emperor is trying to rise into power, supposedly nearing tyranny. In the case of which, a strong enough attack could lead to the fall of the Khiz Empire."
The conversation carried on, a dignity upheld following the collapse before. It shifted slowly, gathering steam and strength in a direction opposing the Khiz. The collected representatives spoke their way around the table, offering each a piece of their own mind.
Closing the meeting, Garaman Pokoral, the Emperor of the Maraian Empire, offered the closing remarks. "On behalf of the Maraian Empire and our allies in the East, I want to thank all of you for coming out of your way to visit us here and each offering your army's strength to fight against the Khiz."
So marked the beginning of the end of the Khiz Empire as a planned strike back against them felled their ruler. A period, often called the Reclaiming, following of which in where the Western armies returned allowing the armies of the Kappag Mediary to recollect the land stollen by the Khiz Empire.
Kkamol, leaving the city behind, returned to his own home country of the Daw'lni Collective. Stepping forwards upon his return, he -- following through with his claims at the meeting -- lead forth a strike with his army, acting as a commanding general in the Reclaiming.

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For the extended information on the involved langauge, Ahkalba, and to understand the translations, visit my article on the language itself: