The Small Tales of Yahmajô̗ Alą̧̄utl

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: The Fighter from Azu, Part I

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Chapter 2: Chapter 2: The Fighter from Azu, Part II

Act I: Al-Wa’s Retinue

He who fears to deviate from destiny. Gather your forces, and face the divine.

A girl ran in the direction of the wind as it battered her face, covered in a shemagh, a cloth that wrapped around people’s faces and heads. She was heading towards a small hut in the distance, giving off an abandoned look. It was marked with graffiti and composed of rusted sheet metal.

Izdaha Saya was a girl born in Al-Shinkyou, a ‘Basad level township in the nation of Azutami. Al-Shinkyou was a city far away from the sea, a place where the dunes ruled the land.

When Saya finally reached the hut, she removed the front piece of the wall in order to enter.

“Wa ga kitanya, obaa,” Saya greeted her grandmother in the hut in Azu as she walked in.

“Saya. Come in,” The elder responded back in the same language.

Saya closed the entrance and they were inside. The interior was filled with an assortment of essential tools, bowls, pitchers, and a large designed carpet. On the opposite side of the wall was a poster of the annual Dineh Kazaàd, along with a special clock given by someone long ago.

“Saya, can you take this back to the mill?” She held out a small wrench to her. “Prepare it and repair the discharge pipe.”

Saya immediately grabbed the wrench and walked over to a large toolbox. Inside, she grabbed a pipe and two metal chips, each with two holes on the side. On the floor, she used the wrench to connect the two chips on the opposite sides of the mouth to the pipe.

“How’s your Khoit lessons doing?”

“I can understand most of the words Khoitan people say,” Saya turned her head, while working on the pipe.

“I see, your Khoitan father would be proud. It will also be useful when you participate in the Dineh Kazaàd,” Her grandmother inspected the pipe that Saya had prepared.

“I’m already old enough to go there. But mom would probably never let me go. I’ve been training super hard though.”

“Of course she is. It’s a game of life and death,” The grandmother handed the pipe back to her. “Yoi de, yutte.”

Saya exited the hut as she climbed the sand dune that was behind it. Her legs sunk into the sand as she made the struggle to climb up. With the pipe on her back, she had just been learning how to regulate the windmill a few months ago.

After finally reaching the top of the dune, a large windmill could be seen, its four-winged rotor moving to the intense gusts of wind. The top part of it was a minaret, with a rectangular building next to it where the discharge pipe was loaded.

Her parents were always at work at Rümqî, and barely made any trips to visit her and her grandma, Kyukko. Kyukko was always the one that managed their windmill, but as she aged she became impaired, and Saya had to take up her grandmother’s duties.

She also wanted to fight in the Dineh Kazaàd ever since she saw it on the hologram broadcasts. It featured a brave fighter whom she’d come to admire.

“Alam Botok!” She leaped up in the air as saharic particles, white energy crystallized from her hands, gave her a boost towards the windmill.

Once Saya had made it to the windmill, she opened the side door with a fatigued push and numerous water containers were presented inside. With the pipe, she used the two slabs she attached onto the pipe and bolted them onto the connecting ones. Then, as soon as the pipe was connected, water began gushing down like a waterfall. Quickly, she shoved the water container below it. Wiping the desert sweat off her head, she exited the windmill to see the rotor churning. The windmill would provide them with water for a few months before the discharge pipe would break again.

Heading back to the hut, she noticed that there were buggies that had just begun to drive off from it. The buggies, a mechanical mode of advanced transport, were scratched from thousands of sand particles constantly groveling at it.

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Confused, Saya hastily slid down the dune and opened the shack. Her grandmother was unharmed.

“Aitsu wa nan shitorun?!”

“It’s okay, Saya. They were searching for you and left a letter,” Kyukko gently tugged on Saya's sleeve.

“Letter?”

Kyukko gave the letter, covered in sand, to Saya. She took it with a hard swipe, and ripped it open. Confusion drew across her face as she read the contents.

Dear Izdaha Saya,

You are invited to participate in the Dineh Kazaàd through the Al-Wa Corporation.

The annual Dineh Kazaàd will be held in the next three months, and we have made the decision to select scouted individuals of whom we think have potential. If one accepts, go to Wakoku ‘Basad for confirmation.

Al-Wa Corporation, Wakoku ‘Basad, Azutami

Their company seal was next to their signature emblem, indicating that they were the real deal. An official Kazaàd company.

“What does it say?” Kyukko asked with a frail voice.

“It’s saying that they want to endorse me for the Dineh Kazaàd…” Saya couldn’t believe it. In order to enter the tournament, participants had to get an endorsement from a Kazaàd company to represent them.

“Good for you!” Kyukko was delighted at the news, but in her eyes bore deep sorrow. “But how will you get to Wakoku without trouble?”

“Obaa, I think we have to leave.”

“Why is that?”

“Because,” She grabbed Kyukko’s hands, kneeling, “I can’t leave you behind. And mom and dad can’t take care of you in Rümqî. We’ll go to Wakoku together.”

No matter how many times Kyukko insisted that she would stay in Al-Shinkyou, Saya kept on urging her until she gave in. Saya wanted her entire life to participate in it, and it meant the world to her. She wasn’t going to give up perhaps her one and only chance.

Saya and Kyukko gathered anything that would be of use for travel; water, rations, and others. Saya wore her modified shemagh, where it would cover her entire torso and lower portion of her face in a sand-patterned cloth. Grabbing a saracen scimitar that had a broken guard and a brazed hilt, she mounted it on her back along with their personal belongings. For only a moment, Saya glanced at the two shamisens in the dark corner.

“Obaa, what will we do about the mill?” She stuffed supplies vigorously into a sack.

“The mill won’t serve us for quite some time,” Kyukko fixed her yukata. “It will be fine.”

They both stepped out of the hut taking each other’s hand, and began walking towards Al-Shinkyou. In the distance, tens of thousands of windmills dominated the landscape, their shadows arching over the golden oriental buildings in unison to the wind.

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Chapter 2: Chapter 2: The Fighter from Azu, Part II

Chapter 1 Chapter 1: The Fighter from Azu, Part I. Act I: Al-Wa’s Retinue
He who fears to deviate from destiny. Gather your forces, and face the divine.

The wind howled. Layers of sand blew across the landscape, carving new dunes as the sand continues to travel across the Yahmajô̗ continent. The afternoon sun blazed the surface to a scorching temperature. Piles of metal and mechanical parts sunk in the pool of the desert, immobile in the sand. 
A girl ran in the direction of the wind as it battered her face, covered in a shemagh, a cloth that wrapped around people’s faces and heads. She was heading towards a small hut in the distance, giving off an abandoned look. It was marked with graffiti and composed of rusted sheet metal. 
Izdaha Saya was a girl born in Al-Shinkyou, a ‘Basad level township in the nation of Azutami. Al-Shinkyou was a city far away from the sea, a place where the dunes ruled the land. 
When Saya finally reached the hut, she removed the front piece of the wall in order to enter. 
“Wa ga kitanya, obaa,” Saya greeted her grandmother in the hut in Azu as she walked in. 
“Saya. Come in,” The elder responded back in the same language. 
Saya closed the entrance and they were inside. The interior was filled with an assortment of essential tools, bowls, pitchers, and a large designed carpet. On the opposite side of the wall was a poster of the annual Dineh Kazaàd, along with a special clock given by someone long ago. 
“Saya, can you take this back to the mill?” She held out a small wrench to her. “Prepare it and repair the discharge pipe.”
Saya immediately grabbed the wrench and walked over to a large toolbox. Inside, she grabbed a pipe and two metal chips, each with two holes on the side. On the floor, she used the wrench to connect the two chips on the opposite sides of the mouth to the pipe.
“How’s your Khoit lessons doing?”
“I can understand most of the words Khoitan people say,” Saya turned her head, while working on the pipe. 
“I see, your Khoitan father would be proud. It will also be useful when you participate in the Dineh Kazaàd,” Her grandmother inspected the pipe that Saya had prepared. 
“I’m already old enough to go there. But mom would probably never let me go. I’ve been training super hard though.”
“Of course she is. It’s a game of life and death,” The grandmother handed the pipe back to her. “Yoi de, yutte.”
Saya exited the hut as she climbed the sand dune that was behind it. Her legs sunk into the sand as she made the struggle to climb up. With the pipe on her back, she had just been learning how to regulate the windmill a few months ago. 
After finally reaching the top of the dune, a large windmill could be seen, its four-winged rotor moving to the intense gusts of wind. The top part of it was a minaret, with a rectangular building next to it where the discharge pipe was loaded. 
Her parents were always at work at Rümqî, and barely made any trips to visit her and her grandma, Kyukko. Kyukko was always the one that managed their windmill, but as she aged she became impaired, and Saya had to take up her grandmother’s duties. 
She also wanted to fight in the Dineh Kazaàd ever since she saw it on the hologram broadcasts. It featured a brave fighter whom she’d come to admire. 
“Alam Botok!” She leaped up in the air as saharic particles, white energy crystallized from her hands, gave her a boost towards the windmill. 
Once Saya had made it to the windmill, she opened the side door with a fatigued push and numerous water containers were presented inside. With the pipe, she used the two slabs she attached onto the pipe and bolted them onto the connecting ones. Then, as soon as the pipe was connected, water began gushing down like a waterfall. Quickly, she shoved the water container below it. Wiping the desert sweat off her head, she exited the windmill to see the rotor churning. The windmill would provide them with water for a few months before the discharge pipe would break again. 
Heading back to the hut, she noticed that there were buggies that had just begun to drive off from it. The buggies, a mechanical mode of advanced transport, were scratched from thousands of sand particles constantly groveling at it. 
Confused, Saya hastily slid down the dune and opened the shack. Her grandmother was unharmed. 
“Aitsu wa nan shitorun?!” 
“It’s okay, Saya. They were searching for you and left a letter,” Kyukko gently tugged on Saya's sleeve.
“Letter?”
Kyukko gave the letter, covered in sand, to Saya. She took it with a hard swipe, and ripped it open. Confusion drew across her face as she read the contents.

Dear Izdaha Saya,
 You are invited to participate in the Dineh Kazaàd through the Al-Wa Corporation. 
The annual Dineh Kazaàd will be held in the next three months, and we have made the decision to select scouted individuals of whom we think have potential. If one accepts, go to Wakoku ‘Basad for confirmation. 
Al-Wa Corporation, Wakoku ‘Basad, Azutami

Their company seal was next to their signature emblem, indicating that they were the real deal. An official Kazaàd company. 
“What does it say?” Kyukko asked with a frail voice.
“It’s saying that they want to endorse me for the Dineh Kazaàd…” Saya couldn’t believe it. In order to enter the tournament, participants had to get an endorsement from a Kazaàd company to represent them. 
“Good for you!” Kyukko was delighted at the news, but in her eyes bore deep sorrow. “But how will you get to Wakoku without trouble?”
“Obaa, I think we have to leave.”
“Why is that?”
“Because,” She grabbed Kyukko’s hands, kneeling, “I can’t leave you behind. And mom and dad can’t take care of you in Rümqî. We’ll go to Wakoku together.”
No matter how many times Kyukko insisted that she would stay in Al-Shinkyou, Saya kept on urging her until she gave in. Saya wanted her entire life to participate in it, and it meant the world to her. She wasn’t going to give up perhaps her one and only chance. 
Saya and Kyukko gathered anything that would be of use for travel; water, rations, and others. Saya wore her modified shemagh, where it would cover her entire torso and lower portion of her face in a sand-patterned cloth. Grabbing a saracen scimitar that had a broken guard and a brazed hilt, she mounted it on her back along with their personal belongings. For only a moment, Saya glanced at the two shamisens in the dark corner. 
“Obaa, what will we do about the mill?” She stuffed supplies vigorously into a sack. 
“The mill won’t serve us for quite some time,” Kyukko fixed her yukata. “It will be fine.”
They both stepped out of the hut taking each other’s hand, and began walking towards Al-Shinkyou. In the distance, tens of thousands of windmills dominated the landscape, their shadows arching over the golden oriental buildings in unison to the wind. 
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