VecKal created us all, and he loves us all. In the end, we are all just vast extensions of his glorious Flame, the Flame that lights the way in darkness and burns away foulness and evils. Kal does not care whether you are a Kallab or a human or even an elf. He made all of them at the same time with the exact same will in the exact same moment.
At least, that's what Mulspan believed, and that's what he so desperately wanted his people to embrace. So many years of prejudice, discrimination, and mistrust stood like a gaping canyon between the Kaliabis and the Humans. He was simply trying to build a bridge. But for every inch on that bridge, there was someone waiting behind him to burn the wood and bend the nails.
There were now clear divisions between KalMea. Sides were being taken, lines were being drawn:
The East was most closely connected to Tin physically, and held the highest population of Tinites. The fifty percent of humans that made up the East were seldom oppressed or hated in the agricultural fields and rural forests of this land. It was there that humans and Kaliabis worked, ate, slept, gained wealth, lost wealth, laughed, died and loved together. It was there that people of all races could find solace in their common connections, and it was there that Mulspan was born.
The West, in amazing contrast, was over ninety-seven-percent K.K.K. (Kal-worshiping KalMean Kallabis), the other three out of one-hundred consisting mainly of either Tin or Yamatai origin. That almost all of the infinitesimal number of humans in this territory followed Kal's Flame did not seem to matter, however, to those many Kaliabis who feared Ajdar. In the minds of some, to be a human was to be an Ajdar, and to be an Ajdar was to be an enemy of Kal, and to be an enemy of Kal was to be hardly a real person.
What was sickly ironic about this whole thing was how economically inter-connected the West was to Tin- this was were the vital manufacturing went on, after all. Most everyone was either a factory laborer or a factory manager of some sorts, and statisticians had found that human workers were made only one Nivala (the KalMea currency) for every four made by Kallabis- a wage gap of an astounding seventy-five percent. Although the Temple of Kal's Passion was small, it was unlikely to face much direct criticism anywhere on the western end.
The tide suddenly surged forward and bathed Mulspan's naked feet in foaming water. The sun was setting on Tal-Ve, and the exalted KalSol had come once more to find his peace on the golden beaches. He still found it strange how so few ever ventured out to the shore just beyond their city- everyone was so distracted with toiling away and sweating the skin right off their bones, they never bothered to stop and gaze at the beauty just outside the factory walls.
But Mulspan couldn't blame them this time. The storm that raged through their fair city just recently had been, as the KalSol had guessed, one of the worst in Tal-Ve's long, bloody history. It was fortunate that Kaliabis had a long-standing habit of building homes from stone and metals. When that cyclone forced it's way through, it just glanced harmlessly off the strong buildings and pummeled itself uselessly against the unforgiving walls. But that did not stop it from toppling the wooden shacks the poor lived in, leaving even more homeless shambling about the roads, unable to find food nor aid for all their suffering.
He traversed the beaches again, up to his palace, where he had been arguing with Lord Hamry as the first bolts of lightning struck wherever they could.
Mail awaited him at the doors, this time. Two letters, both sealed tightly shut. Mulspan quickly commanded his servant to hand him the letters, and he proceeded to his well-furnished but dimly lit private quarters. After getting lost twice in the absurd hallways, that is. It was often repeated that only one with the "mind of a Kaliab" could find their way through the winding, twisting ups-and-downs of the KalMea Central Palace, but Mulspan found that even Kaliab's couldn't navigate. Once a visitor from the East (for Tal-Ve was a firmly western city) had gotten lost for a full day, before a search party found him looting all the food in the second kitchen.
Mulspan sat in his favorite red and blue dolphin-leather chair, overlooking a roaring fire in a stone hearth. A cozy roost.
Of the two letters he had been given, the first caught his eye immediately. It bravely bore the official seal of the Sultanate- a complex dragon engraved in black wax. Besides, Mulspan could see the stain of blood even though the fine paper it had been so crudely smeared on. It was disgusting. Barbaric, even, how they ruined such gorgeous paper.
Nonetheless, anything from the Sultanate was of the utmost importance. They could boast influence over many humans still residing in Kal's Lands, and they had stood strong by Kal's side (whether they realized it or not) for many, many years now.
As was tradition, after closing the letter he sealed it with white wax baring a black flame- the Symbol of Kal. The letter was written, of course, in the language of Tin. He was impressed at the Sultan's apparent skill in KalMean- especially considering that he was not expected to be the next ruler- but he did not want to insult Tin by favouring his own language.
At least, that's what Mulspan believed, and that's what he so desperately wanted his people to embrace. So many years of prejudice, discrimination, and mistrust stood like a gaping canyon between the Kaliabis and the Humans. He was simply trying to build a bridge. But for every inch on that bridge, there was someone waiting behind him to burn the wood and bend the nails.
There were now clear divisions between KalMea. Sides were being taken, lines were being drawn:
The East was most closely connected to Tin physically, and held the highest population of Tinites. The fifty percent of humans that made up the East were seldom oppressed or hated in the agricultural fields and rural forests of this land. It was there that humans and Kaliabis worked, ate, slept, gained wealth, lost wealth, laughed, died and loved together. It was there that people of all races could find solace in their common connections, and it was there that Mulspan was born.
The West, in amazing contrast, was over ninety-seven-percent K.K.K. (Kal-worshiping KalMean Kallabis), the other three out of one-hundred consisting mainly of either Tin or Yamatai origin. That almost all of the infinitesimal number of humans in this territory followed Kal's Flame did not seem to matter, however, to those many Kaliabis who feared Ajdar. In the minds of some, to be a human was to be an Ajdar, and to be an Ajdar was to be an enemy of Kal, and to be an enemy of Kal was to be hardly a real person.
What was sickly ironic about this whole thing was how economically inter-connected the West was to Tin- this was were the vital manufacturing went on, after all. Most everyone was either a factory laborer or a factory manager of some sorts, and statisticians had found that human workers were made only one Nivala (the KalMea currency) for every four made by Kallabis- a wage gap of an astounding seventy-five percent. Although the Temple of Kal's Passion was small, it was unlikely to face much direct criticism anywhere on the western end.
The tide suddenly surged forward and bathed Mulspan's naked feet in foaming water. The sun was setting on Tal-Ve, and the exalted KalSol had come once more to find his peace on the golden beaches. He still found it strange how so few ever ventured out to the shore just beyond their city- everyone was so distracted with toiling away and sweating the skin right off their bones, they never bothered to stop and gaze at the beauty just outside the factory walls.
But Mulspan couldn't blame them this time. The storm that raged through their fair city just recently had been, as the KalSol had guessed, one of the worst in Tal-Ve's long, bloody history. It was fortunate that Kaliabis had a long-standing habit of building homes from stone and metals. When that cyclone forced it's way through, it just glanced harmlessly off the strong buildings and pummeled itself uselessly against the unforgiving walls. But that did not stop it from toppling the wooden shacks the poor lived in, leaving even more homeless shambling about the roads, unable to find food nor aid for all their suffering.
He traversed the beaches again, up to his palace, where he had been arguing with Lord Hamry as the first bolts of lightning struck wherever they could.
Mail awaited him at the doors, this time. Two letters, both sealed tightly shut. Mulspan quickly commanded his servant to hand him the letters, and he proceeded to his well-furnished but dimly lit private quarters. After getting lost twice in the absurd hallways, that is. It was often repeated that only one with the "mind of a Kaliab" could find their way through the winding, twisting ups-and-downs of the KalMea Central Palace, but Mulspan found that even Kaliab's couldn't navigate. Once a visitor from the East (for Tal-Ve was a firmly western city) had gotten lost for a full day, before a search party found him looting all the food in the second kitchen.
Mulspan sat in his favorite red and blue dolphin-leather chair, overlooking a roaring fire in a stone hearth. A cozy roost.
Of the two letters he had been given, the first caught his eye immediately. It bravely bore the official seal of the Sultanate- a complex dragon engraved in black wax. Besides, Mulspan could see the stain of blood even though the fine paper it had been so crudely smeared on. It was disgusting. Barbaric, even, how they ruined such gorgeous paper.
Nonetheless, anything from the Sultanate was of the utmost importance. They could boast influence over many humans still residing in Kal's Lands, and they had stood strong by Kal's side (whether they realized it or not) for many, many years now.
As was tradition, after closing the letter he sealed it with white wax baring a black flame- the Symbol of Kal. The letter was written, of course, in the language of Tin. He was impressed at the Sultan's apparent skill in KalMean- especially considering that he was not expected to be the next ruler- but he did not want to insult Tin by favouring his own language.
