I, student, eternal delver, constant in my search, like the search of the Es'mensis for the legendary aetoras.
At all times have I been careful of the translations from the cheyr'emeth. I have been diligent and exacting in my rendering of that near-mythic language into the humble mode of Cairainean speech. It is my calling. My beloved burden and thankless duty that I might bring to sight these wonders. Long hours bury themselves in my translations, often spread over months. In this case it has been nearly a year, and with assiduous fascination I still return time and again to these four pieces, correcting. Obscuring. I clarify where appropriate. In hope, I will dig ever deeper into the depths that bespeak a history so vast and storied that I will never undarken even a corner of it, though my life be dedicated only to this research.
Have mercy and forgive me, I request you, for what errors lie in pools of ink and paper. There is little hope for me in this endeavor. Ever should I have been a husbandman or tanner, yet I have no sense to me, as little then as now. What I have glimpsed is not sense...
Not sense, but truth...
Though I work not in nicurei, though I have not the single-minded humility of those I seek, I will strive, as one put it, to exhume this place, until years having walked, I will be no longer able to do as I love. Then perhaps, I too will leave in search of the Edge-lands, or the aetoras, or even Peresine itself! And when my time has come, I will lay down not three feet from that I have sought, and be no more.
But before that time comes, before my failings are beyond correction, let me tell you of my first time in the Edge-lands, of walking along the harsh fence of the Orvelai-mai-Ith. Consider yourself lost already. So all wanderers seek in that land. Give yourself up, though you may have been there never. Accomplished in this you will find yourself longing for their mountainous vistas, feeling like you sleep and walk and wake in dreaming to behold at last this one, true heartland. Know already that the peaks call your name, and that they hold no dangers for you, though perhaps home-razing gales ride their surfaces. Come empty and leave emptier. Your home will be drawn out of you by wonder and inside will walk the sky-studded, glorious vigilance of your original land. What you may have lost will never be found in between these mist-barred, rocky palaces of the Eleiutierc, but at least there is the chance among them for the search, to begin the hunt for giants and beings all at once scarcer and less intelligible.
Will you cry out, when you reach the summit? Will the waves of your homecoming vanish out over the here and then gone again mists, falling to bright scraps like the mists themselves? Will you announce yourself, then, to the denizens of your source? Perhaps it will be nothing more, upon your arrival, than a wan face in a slatey mere. Then, a wan face in a slatey mere. Flat, hard, knowing. You will have to hollow yourself here. You will have to give yourself up. You will have to look deeper than that to find the one who has really come home.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Last Breath of the Warrior
"Three days of sweat and fear, Anezren. Three nights of worry and ceaseless vigilance. All the culmination of twenty eight years of struggle, and this is my reward." Saraphel looked up at her older brother, who was standing, staring out the window of their home. "Before I even joined their ranks I dedicated my life to the Ithan Anul, and they care nothing for it. I was the most devout of the hopefuls. I was by far the most skilled with the idedras. We are a high family. But even so..."
Anezren sighed and turned from the window.
"I'm sorry," he said in his orator's voice. And he looked it, though he had never been thrilled with Saraphel's desire to join the Ithan Anul. "Marrodis already has a place in their ranks and even Herucard was a Shrine Knight." Herucard, their father, had in fact been barely a Shrine Knight. He had sworn the oath and had been annointed with the blood of Vheros, but his dedication had always been more to his family than the Ithan Anul, his profession always mor a politician's than a sacred warrior's. "Perhaps the Abathani have shown us enough grace. Perhaps it is time for another family's child to take their place."
Saraphel shook her head. Let someone else have their honor. And yet neither Marrodis nor
Herucard had possessed the same passion that she had for that holy order.
"Did you not want to join the Ithan Anul yourself?" she asked. Only Anezren had shared that fervor, and yet here he was, urging her to be calm in light of the most bitter disappointment.
"I did. I did. But that was not the direction I took. When Herucard and Amurel died I stepped forward as I had to. Without me, who would have led this house? Marrodis? I love my brother as well as you or any, but he is no leader. And we both know that you would not have led. Just like Marrodis, that is not your talent." He stepped forward and kneeled next to her chair, resting his hand on her face in brotherly fashion. "So I took up the burden, and to fulfill my task properly I was unable to pursue my ambitions. I refused to follow in Herucard's footsteps; if I were to be one of the Shrine Knights it would be with my breath and blood. He embarassed us with his actions," Anezren stood again; his voice hardened, "and I refuse to do the same. So do not speak to me, little sister, of paths unwalked. I, too, have given up opportunities to Marrodis, and I bear him no ill will. I expect you to do the same." As he left, his steps echoed harshly on the wooden tiles.
After the last whispers of his presence died out, Saraphel stood. She reached over on the table and picked up her idedras, a rod of translucent green glass the length of her arm and two finger-widths thick. It was sharpened at both ends and could be gripped in battle either with the lengthy cloth cuffs of her tunic, allowing it to slide graceful and deadly through her hands, or in her bare hands themselves, affording her an unmoving grip on its haft. She carried it with her out to the courtyard where a large spot of earth had been beaten flat and hard, and for the next three hours she moved incessantly, the idedras always sliding, arcing, dancing around her and occasionally flying up, briefly free, into the air itself. As the sun began to set over the Nibar-ban-Ath, Anezren came and joined her in the courtyard.
The sparring was fierce. Anezren had been Saraphel's primary teacher for the idedras. Finally, after nearly an hour of combat, Anezren had Saraphel on the defensive. He had slowly been gaining momentum throughout the fight, and finally Saraphel's fatigue was her undoing. He slid his hand, covered by his cuff, along the length of Saraphel's idedras, using the motion to throw her weapon wide. With his other hand gripping his own weapon directly he brought it forward in a thrust that would have impaled his sister had she not stumbled, off balance, out of the way. In doing so, Anezren managed to disarm her, and her idedras was sent spinning off across the practice yard to land in the grass.
They both stopped, Saraphel panting and bent. Anezren was barely breathing hard, looking coolly down at his sister, the tip of his idedras not quite touching the grass at his feet. He walked over and retrieved his sister's weapon, then returned to stand in front of her. The sky was rich and royal blue overhead, dark and full. Saraphel had raised herself fully upright by the time he got back. He offered his idedras to her.
"Well?" he said. She was silent. "You know your responsibility, Saraphel." Again, she was silent. "When an idedras touches the ground..."
She took his weapon without a word, stone-faced. He held the defiled idedras vertically, stabbing up into the heavens, a scrap of light in the courtyard, empty and dark, the courtyard itself silent except for the scratch of wind on wood and Saraphel's still harsh breathing. One mirrored the other.
Reverently Saraphel raised her brother's idedras. She held her breath. This had been her life. This, and the canticles and memorizations, the ceaseless vigils, the pilgrimage to Altiol. The dreaming, day and night, of the silvery gray of the Shrine Knights' vestments. And the constant knowledge of her brother's strength. How he had striven for that same grace. How his gift of leadership had become a curse. How he had given it all up for his brother and sister. She swung, horizontal and pure, committing herself entirely to the blow.
The two idedras met, let out a snap like the sound of the first rains striking the roofs of Altiol, and Saraphel's weapon shattered, the shards splashing out into the night, a sparkling hail that hung in the air for just a moment. That fog of glass shards was called kethet taru in Kir'drasoran. It meant "last breath of the warrior."
Anezren led Saraphel back to the house. As they walked, he sang a soft song, like parents did so often with their children. She could hear it fall through the darkness as he made his way into the house through a different door. Entering through a different door was another common practice with children.
He left Saraphel and returned to the large area that served as both his bedroom and the family's common living room. No lights were on in the house, but despite the gloom Anezren could make out all the familiar elements. Just beyond the two pillars that marked the entrance to the room were the two tables his grandfather had fashioned from bleached gray driftwood taken out of the Nibar-ban-Ath. The three wooden chairs lined the wall next to the right-hand table. His spartan, ancient bed was against the left wall. His great-grandfather had fashioned that bed like a funeral table - tiny walls around the edges, one single plank for the surface - to remind those who slept in it of their ultimate duty. It was the right and responsibility of the head of the family to sleep in that bed, and Anezren approached it gladly, almost eagerly. All was dead silent, impatient and waiting for the words to fall from Anezren's lips. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before he could speak.
"You are her oldest brother. The head of the family. You are the watchman. You sacrificed everything for her and Marrodis!" There was disgust in his voice and he almost choked. "But yet, you denied her her highest aspiration! What sickness is this that causes you to fail your blood so? This one thing, your goal, the satisfaction and protection of your brother and sister that have almost become your children. But you failed. It was your dream as well, Anezren, and if you cannot undo what evil you have done, your body will float in the cold waters of the Nibar-ban-Ath. Do you hear me, Anezren? One week. Life or death. So it is for Saraphel's dreams. So it is for your duty. So it is for you."
Anezren sighed and turned from the window.
"I'm sorry," he said in his orator's voice. And he looked it, though he had never been thrilled with Saraphel's desire to join the Ithan Anul. "Marrodis already has a place in their ranks and even Herucard was a Shrine Knight." Herucard, their father, had in fact been barely a Shrine Knight. He had sworn the oath and had been annointed with the blood of Vheros, but his dedication had always been more to his family than the Ithan Anul, his profession always mor a politician's than a sacred warrior's. "Perhaps the Abathani have shown us enough grace. Perhaps it is time for another family's child to take their place."
Saraphel shook her head. Let someone else have their honor. And yet neither Marrodis nor
Herucard had possessed the same passion that she had for that holy order.
"Did you not want to join the Ithan Anul yourself?" she asked. Only Anezren had shared that fervor, and yet here he was, urging her to be calm in light of the most bitter disappointment.
"I did. I did. But that was not the direction I took. When Herucard and Amurel died I stepped forward as I had to. Without me, who would have led this house? Marrodis? I love my brother as well as you or any, but he is no leader. And we both know that you would not have led. Just like Marrodis, that is not your talent." He stepped forward and kneeled next to her chair, resting his hand on her face in brotherly fashion. "So I took up the burden, and to fulfill my task properly I was unable to pursue my ambitions. I refused to follow in Herucard's footsteps; if I were to be one of the Shrine Knights it would be with my breath and blood. He embarassed us with his actions," Anezren stood again; his voice hardened, "and I refuse to do the same. So do not speak to me, little sister, of paths unwalked. I, too, have given up opportunities to Marrodis, and I bear him no ill will. I expect you to do the same." As he left, his steps echoed harshly on the wooden tiles.
After the last whispers of his presence died out, Saraphel stood. She reached over on the table and picked up her idedras, a rod of translucent green glass the length of her arm and two finger-widths thick. It was sharpened at both ends and could be gripped in battle either with the lengthy cloth cuffs of her tunic, allowing it to slide graceful and deadly through her hands, or in her bare hands themselves, affording her an unmoving grip on its haft. She carried it with her out to the courtyard where a large spot of earth had been beaten flat and hard, and for the next three hours she moved incessantly, the idedras always sliding, arcing, dancing around her and occasionally flying up, briefly free, into the air itself. As the sun began to set over the Nibar-ban-Ath, Anezren came and joined her in the courtyard.
The sparring was fierce. Anezren had been Saraphel's primary teacher for the idedras. Finally, after nearly an hour of combat, Anezren had Saraphel on the defensive. He had slowly been gaining momentum throughout the fight, and finally Saraphel's fatigue was her undoing. He slid his hand, covered by his cuff, along the length of Saraphel's idedras, using the motion to throw her weapon wide. With his other hand gripping his own weapon directly he brought it forward in a thrust that would have impaled his sister had she not stumbled, off balance, out of the way. In doing so, Anezren managed to disarm her, and her idedras was sent spinning off across the practice yard to land in the grass.
They both stopped, Saraphel panting and bent. Anezren was barely breathing hard, looking coolly down at his sister, the tip of his idedras not quite touching the grass at his feet. He walked over and retrieved his sister's weapon, then returned to stand in front of her. The sky was rich and royal blue overhead, dark and full. Saraphel had raised herself fully upright by the time he got back. He offered his idedras to her.
"Well?" he said. She was silent. "You know your responsibility, Saraphel." Again, she was silent. "When an idedras touches the ground..."
She took his weapon without a word, stone-faced. He held the defiled idedras vertically, stabbing up into the heavens, a scrap of light in the courtyard, empty and dark, the courtyard itself silent except for the scratch of wind on wood and Saraphel's still harsh breathing. One mirrored the other.
Reverently Saraphel raised her brother's idedras. She held her breath. This had been her life. This, and the canticles and memorizations, the ceaseless vigils, the pilgrimage to Altiol. The dreaming, day and night, of the silvery gray of the Shrine Knights' vestments. And the constant knowledge of her brother's strength. How he had striven for that same grace. How his gift of leadership had become a curse. How he had given it all up for his brother and sister. She swung, horizontal and pure, committing herself entirely to the blow.
The two idedras met, let out a snap like the sound of the first rains striking the roofs of Altiol, and Saraphel's weapon shattered, the shards splashing out into the night, a sparkling hail that hung in the air for just a moment. That fog of glass shards was called kethet taru in Kir'drasoran. It meant "last breath of the warrior."
Anezren led Saraphel back to the house. As they walked, he sang a soft song, like parents did so often with their children. She could hear it fall through the darkness as he made his way into the house through a different door. Entering through a different door was another common practice with children.
He left Saraphel and returned to the large area that served as both his bedroom and the family's common living room. No lights were on in the house, but despite the gloom Anezren could make out all the familiar elements. Just beyond the two pillars that marked the entrance to the room were the two tables his grandfather had fashioned from bleached gray driftwood taken out of the Nibar-ban-Ath. The three wooden chairs lined the wall next to the right-hand table. His spartan, ancient bed was against the left wall. His great-grandfather had fashioned that bed like a funeral table - tiny walls around the edges, one single plank for the surface - to remind those who slept in it of their ultimate duty. It was the right and responsibility of the head of the family to sleep in that bed, and Anezren approached it gladly, almost eagerly. All was dead silent, impatient and waiting for the words to fall from Anezren's lips. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before he could speak.
"You are her oldest brother. The head of the family. You are the watchman. You sacrificed everything for her and Marrodis!" There was disgust in his voice and he almost choked. "But yet, you denied her her highest aspiration! What sickness is this that causes you to fail your blood so? This one thing, your goal, the satisfaction and protection of your brother and sister that have almost become your children. But you failed. It was your dream as well, Anezren, and if you cannot undo what evil you have done, your body will float in the cold waters of the Nibar-ban-Ath. Do you hear me, Anezren? One week. Life or death. So it is for Saraphel's dreams. So it is for your duty. So it is for you."
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
The First Aleiu Aetoras
(Note: I found this manuscript in the salted fields of a dead farm. The script shifted between the cheyr'emeth and a curious variation on Istein orthography and becomes hard to read in several places, smeared with rich soil. Only four or five pages remained out of some presumably larger work.)
From the beginning I have pleaded with all ghosts. These spirits of a strange land bear down on us as if they were the strength of sickness. They fill these forests with mist and twilight. Their darkness is not our own, not the darkness of our homeland. Filled with mystery, but not the comfortable mystery of ages past. Not the gentle heaviness of history. Sharp and painstaking it illuminates every question of biology and change. What once was, is, and the aetoras still eludes us. We have violated the trackless wilderness, new and bright and humid, and have filled it with our footprints and the blue dust of the nicurei. Illness has taken some of us; as we have taken it from these ghosts, breathing in their pestilent breath and drinking the thick, rich, black blood that is the only liquid in this verdant desert. It seems like everything is secretly composed of ash. Dry and thick and caking.
Ivalis was the fourth today. Nearly a wyle of our party has vanished, buried in the insistent life of this region. We had no time to mourn or celebrate. Her corpse is left to the non-secrets that scavenge among these trees. Will she rise again, listless and bloated amongst the other natural creatures? Can I honestly ask myself that question? Uries mor at rohem seiru. Questions are meaningless unless you will ask them of yourself.
We have seen the towers of aetoras three times since landing on these occult shores; every time they seem to be no more distant, no closer. This expedition is too significant to be a fool's errand. I hope we do not have to turn back. If we do, though, it shall surely mean safety. Our path is marked with miniature la'in and we can return at any time. Find our way to our almost home, to the Eleiutierc, and then return to the shapes of the Edge-lands along Orvelai-mai-Ith.
Perhaps these ghosts will take us all, eventually. With their hunger and their thirsty blood. And we will lay down not three feet from the aetoras gates and be no more.
(The following was found on another page.)
There is no rest here, never in death, never in living. Because of all's eating... you cannot move on or leave anything in the past because it is carried inside of everything else. All blood is one blood since everything feeds on everything else. Not a mote of singularity in these forests; not a drop of individuality. It feels like we are merging... closer together in body and mind...
From the beginning I have pleaded with all ghosts. These spirits of a strange land bear down on us as if they were the strength of sickness. They fill these forests with mist and twilight. Their darkness is not our own, not the darkness of our homeland. Filled with mystery, but not the comfortable mystery of ages past. Not the gentle heaviness of history. Sharp and painstaking it illuminates every question of biology and change. What once was, is, and the aetoras still eludes us. We have violated the trackless wilderness, new and bright and humid, and have filled it with our footprints and the blue dust of the nicurei. Illness has taken some of us; as we have taken it from these ghosts, breathing in their pestilent breath and drinking the thick, rich, black blood that is the only liquid in this verdant desert. It seems like everything is secretly composed of ash. Dry and thick and caking.
Ivalis was the fourth today. Nearly a wyle of our party has vanished, buried in the insistent life of this region. We had no time to mourn or celebrate. Her corpse is left to the non-secrets that scavenge among these trees. Will she rise again, listless and bloated amongst the other natural creatures? Can I honestly ask myself that question? Uries mor at rohem seiru. Questions are meaningless unless you will ask them of yourself.
We have seen the towers of aetoras three times since landing on these occult shores; every time they seem to be no more distant, no closer. This expedition is too significant to be a fool's errand. I hope we do not have to turn back. If we do, though, it shall surely mean safety. Our path is marked with miniature la'in and we can return at any time. Find our way to our almost home, to the Eleiutierc, and then return to the shapes of the Edge-lands along Orvelai-mai-Ith.
Perhaps these ghosts will take us all, eventually. With their hunger and their thirsty blood. And we will lay down not three feet from the aetoras gates and be no more.
(The following was found on another page.)
There is no rest here, never in death, never in living. Because of all's eating... you cannot move on or leave anything in the past because it is carried inside of everything else. All blood is one blood since everything feeds on everything else. Not a mote of singularity in these forests; not a drop of individuality. It feels like we are merging... closer together in body and mind...
Thursday, October 16, 2008
To Defend Enarsis, Part One
I have seen the end of Creation.
I have seen the tides of unreality that threaten to consume the world. I have witnessed the Beast that crushed the Naudieri and unmade the Glorious Empire of Sesvimil. But my blind eyes have not always borne witness to tragedy. I cannot forget the age before Its coming, when the old gods, the first Keepers of the Machine, reigned from beyond the reaches of Valdial. The Far Realm was a distant nightmare. The world, though imperfect, was still whole.
In that ancient time the Iaerae, descendants of the kindred appointed as stewards of this world, had abandoned their heritage of “creator magic” for a more secret power that they had wrested from a single madman. Using this “Sol'vyr,” the Glorious Empire of the Iaerae ascended to celestial heights of enlightenment and majesty. The golden age was not without its consequences, however. The empire’s rulers perpetuated their petty conflicts, and arrogance reigned supreme.
Samornys Elaex, the lord of the Iaerae, in all his ignorance and recklessness, made war on the Es'mensis, a people who were brothers to his race. His justification - their supposed centuries-long pollution of Iaeran thought. His plan turned on him when those he made war on stole the secret of his power and took a tremendous gamble. The Es'mensis coerced four of the Keepers to yield up their servants, the Sas'arael, as soldiers in the war against the Iaerae. The lord, faced with extinction at the hand of these otherworldly conscripts, attempted to summon and bind a beast of war from the Far Realm. Though successful in calling up the creature, he failed utterly to control it. In a terrible rampage, the horror drove all of the lesser summoners hopelessly insane, and in their madness they laid waste to the Empire. As horrendous as was their fate, it was nothing compared to the doom that faced the lord of the Iaerae.
The abomination possessed the ruler of the Glorious Empire directly, subjugating him as an avatar on this world.
The creation that the Iaerae had ruled, that their forebears had helped build with their own hands, was in terrible jeopardy. Most of the old gods, the first protectors of the Machine, died in combat with the Beast. The remainder were scattered across existence. To atone for previous failures, I came to the world's defense. Through the grace of the greatest Keeper, the Iaerae and I constructed a gargantuan barrier that confined the beast within the ruins of Mirc'del, the Empire's former capital city. Maintaining this barrier were two Great Towers, Karamyr and Sharalan, the anchors that ensured the safety of Creation.
All was not safe, however, and the echoes of the Beast's invasion still rang out. A number of intrepid mortals took advantage of the celestial Machine's vulnerability and sought for themselves the secrets of the Naudieri. Unfortunately for them, the strictures of Enarsis were not so easily broken. The would-be deities achieved only a part of the power granted to the first Keepers.
Among these Second Keepers, Arsithil was perhaps the most dangerous. Dissatisfied with his semi-divinity, he sought the rank of a true god. Locked within the decimated capital of the Glorious Empire was the means to his goal, the corpses of the slain Keepers. Should he gain one of their bodies, he could consume the soul that rotted within and achieve for himself true godhood.
Blind to the consequences, he sought to breach the barrier that I had created, but Nehandra, one of the last living Naudieri, forbade his entry. Infuriated, he lashed out at one of the Towers, unmaking Karamyr's wards and guards, destroying one anchor that held the Beast at bay. The Beast stirred, and because of the barrier's nature, we were powerless to reinforce it. The haste of its construction had left no means of repair. Thankfully, the barrier held and the Beast was still contained, though less strongly than before. Arsithil's punishment was imprisonment in his own mind, a confinement that he would not escape for more than three thousand years.
The world was in a precarious position. Only Sharalan remained to prevent ultimate destruction, and if it failed...
Fortunately, a guardian presented himself. A once-righteous servant of the Keepers, the being named Helazael, was cast out of Heaven into the sunless depths of our world. In return for sanctuary, he swore to defend the last Tower. But in the most bitter twist of irony, his presence inadvertently presented the greatest threat to its safety. A revolt within the ranks of his followers almost led to the complete destruction of the anchor. The dissidents traveled to a cavern beneath the Tower and pulled the very edifice down upon themselves, ending their own lives but wreaking vengeance on Helazael as well.
It was only through my intervention that Creation was saved. I traveled to the ruins moments after the Tower's fall and began to redirect the flow of time to undo the destruction. As I labored, the Beast itself assaulted me, seeking desperately to slay me or stop my magic. Nehandra came to my aid, and it was only through her direct inhabitance of my form that I was able to complete my work. Lamentably, even with such assistance I was unable to maintain perfect concentration, and my efforts went partially awry. Though the Tower was restored to its original place, a second, duplicate Tower, manifested in the rubble beneath the surface. Much to my chagrin, my failure not only duplicated the Tower but copied the surrounding city as well. Damn my eyes for making such a foolish mistake! For now there is a city living beneath the earth, the Eye of the World, as it is called, and it is a pit of sin and iniquity.
Since the rebinding of the Beast and the restoration of the Tower I have sat here in meditation. For you see, it is only my will that maintains the Tower whole and intact. Should I suffer even the smallest distraction, it is death for us all.
And who is it that bears this burden on his shoulders? Who am I to be the bulwark between Creation and Annihilation? I am the last line of defense, the world guardian, the living lock that chains the beast. Mine is power, and knowledge, and righteous suffering.
I am the Arbiter.
Monday, August 25, 2008
A Systematic Examination of Cheyr'emeth
This is a thorough and scientific examination of Cheyr'emeth, the ancestral language of the Es'mensis. I will examine in particular the Cheyr'emeth spoken and preserved in the child-cities of Peresine. The city of Llelain will serve as my primary reference and in cases of contradiction Llelaic Cheyr'emeth will prevail. For ease of comprehension Cheyr'emeth's proper script will be rendered into the Cairainean mode of writing.
First, a study of Cheyr'emeth's pronunciation:
Double Consonants - When one sees a transliteration with two consonants side by side it represents an actual, brief stop between sounds. For example, the Cheyr'emethic word rendered as muetteret is pronounced "muet" (stop) "teret." Thus, the "t" sound is articulated twice.
i - The Cheyr'emethic sound rendered as "i" as always a short sound, similar to the "i" of "bit." The front of the tongue, however, is generally higher and curved slightly backwards.
ch - /x/, The sound rendered into the Cairainean script as "ch" represents a voiceless palatal fricative. To approximate it, make the "h" sound of "horse" and then raise the tongue so that air flow through the mouth generates an audible friction.
e - /ɛ/, The Cheyr'emethic "e" is similar to that of our native tongue. However, the tongue is slightly higher and more tense.
y - /jʉ/, "Y" is a diphthong pronounced almost like "yu" in our tongue. It begins with a sound very similar to our "y" but the tongue quickly curls upward and the lips become slightly rounded.
r - /ɾ/, "R" is pronounced quickly, with the tongue tapping the roof of the mouth only briefly. It sounds like a trilled "r" but is only trilled once. Before an "i" sound it usually transforms to a sound closer to "d." Instead of tapping the roof of the mouth, coming back down, and then forming the "i" it simply blocks the air flow and then continues on to form the "i" sound.
m - /m/, This sound is pronounced as in our speech.
th - /θ/, "Th" is not as hard as it is in the language of Cairaine. The teeth are not quite as close to the tongue. Otherwise, they are similar.
s - /s/, "S" at the end of words becomes much more like a "t" sound, otherwise it is the same. No air accompanies the creation of this sound.
The Cheyr'emethic writing system:
Cheyr'emethic writing symbols actually only represent vowels. Consonants are represented by articulations and alterations to the basic vowel symbols.
Cheyr'emethic consonants each belong to a certain class. The written markings refer only to a specific class of consonants and not to specific consonants themselves. In addition, the same word can be read differently in different contexts, despite having the exact same spelling. In these cases, the consonant(s) typically vary within the same class.
The Cheyr'emethic Lexicon
Muetteret Escalon at Nisseres Rue - "The Sea's Judgment at Escalon"
Oretsec Ca - "Erosion by Time"
Uries Mor at Rohem Seiru - "I have found God's grace."
At - A conjunction that combines two related phrases. Also serves to indicate grammatical relationships between two phrases.
Ca - A temporality marker. Indicates some relation to time. The particulars of this relationship are inferred by context.
Oretsec - Erosion/wearing away/withering.
Uries - A pronoun for old things. Occasionally euphemistically used to refer to the Cairainean concept of "god," though its definition would be more precisely rendered as "it which is old."
First, a study of Cheyr'emeth's pronunciation:
Double Consonants - When one sees a transliteration with two consonants side by side it represents an actual, brief stop between sounds. For example, the Cheyr'emethic word rendered as muetteret is pronounced "muet" (stop) "teret." Thus, the "t" sound is articulated twice.
i - The Cheyr'emethic sound rendered as "i" as always a short sound, similar to the "i" of "bit." The front of the tongue, however, is generally higher and curved slightly backwards.
ch - /x/, The sound rendered into the Cairainean script as "ch" represents a voiceless palatal fricative. To approximate it, make the "h" sound of "horse" and then raise the tongue so that air flow through the mouth generates an audible friction.
e - /ɛ/, The Cheyr'emethic "e" is similar to that of our native tongue. However, the tongue is slightly higher and more tense.
y - /jʉ/, "Y" is a diphthong pronounced almost like "yu" in our tongue. It begins with a sound very similar to our "y" but the tongue quickly curls upward and the lips become slightly rounded.
r - /ɾ/, "R" is pronounced quickly, with the tongue tapping the roof of the mouth only briefly. It sounds like a trilled "r" but is only trilled once. Before an "i" sound it usually transforms to a sound closer to "d." Instead of tapping the roof of the mouth, coming back down, and then forming the "i" it simply blocks the air flow and then continues on to form the "i" sound.
m - /m/, This sound is pronounced as in our speech.
th - /θ/, "Th" is not as hard as it is in the language of Cairaine. The teeth are not quite as close to the tongue. Otherwise, they are similar.
s - /s/, "S" at the end of words becomes much more like a "t" sound, otherwise it is the same. No air accompanies the creation of this sound.
The Cheyr'emethic writing system:
Cheyr'emethic writing symbols actually only represent vowels. Consonants are represented by articulations and alterations to the basic vowel symbols.
Cheyr'emethic consonants each belong to a certain class. The written markings refer only to a specific class of consonants and not to specific consonants themselves. In addition, the same word can be read differently in different contexts, despite having the exact same spelling. In these cases, the consonant(s) typically vary within the same class.
The Cheyr'emethic Lexicon
Muetteret Escalon at Nisseres Rue - "The Sea's Judgment at Escalon"
Oretsec Ca - "Erosion by Time"
Uries Mor at Rohem Seiru - "I have found God's grace."
At - A conjunction that combines two related phrases. Also serves to indicate grammatical relationships between two phrases.
Ca - A temporality marker. Indicates some relation to time. The particulars of this relationship are inferred by context.
Oretsec - Erosion/wearing away/withering.
Uries - A pronoun for old things. Occasionally euphemistically used to refer to the Cairainean concept of "god," though its definition would be more precisely rendered as "it which is old."
Friday, August 15, 2008
Uries Mor at Rohem Seiru
"Uries mor at rohem seiru."
This is the keystone, the foundation of temerity and the fruit of prayer. Whether known or unknown, these five words are the object of our every hunt, spiritual or otherwise, and to utter them truthfully is the completion of a life's work.
Seek them with diligence.
And yet what we have here is not religion, neither ritual, neither superstition. Give me hierarchy, that I might crush it under heel and chain it to the promontory at Eschalon. Ask me the source of this grace. I will show you that, in the asking, there is no certain truth. Answers in this place are useless, and questions are of dubious power unless you will ask them of yourself. Only things discovered first hand have the touch of veracity.
Bound to this realization is the certainty that you must act. Truth comes only to those who find it. Certainty is an absolute, and if you do not seek then you cannot help but hide. There is truth to be found in all corners, whether it be in the granite calculi of the ordani or the a'esse poetry of the wrestrim.
Know this, and seek.
Seek this, and find.
(Translator's note: A'esse is a Cheyr'emeth word used for things that are not ancient now, but will be in the future. As such, it implies permanence or long-lastingness.)
This is the keystone, the foundation of temerity and the fruit of prayer. Whether known or unknown, these five words are the object of our every hunt, spiritual or otherwise, and to utter them truthfully is the completion of a life's work.
Seek them with diligence.
And yet what we have here is not religion, neither ritual, neither superstition. Give me hierarchy, that I might crush it under heel and chain it to the promontory at Eschalon. Ask me the source of this grace. I will show you that, in the asking, there is no certain truth. Answers in this place are useless, and questions are of dubious power unless you will ask them of yourself. Only things discovered first hand have the touch of veracity.
Bound to this realization is the certainty that you must act. Truth comes only to those who find it. Certainty is an absolute, and if you do not seek then you cannot help but hide. There is truth to be found in all corners, whether it be in the granite calculi of the ordani or the a'esse poetry of the wrestrim.
Know this, and seek.
Seek this, and find.
(Translator's note: A'esse is a Cheyr'emeth word used for things that are not ancient now, but will be in the future. As such, it implies permanence or long-lastingness.)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The Distinctness of Cheyr'emeth Grammar (pt. 1)
Cheyr'emeth certainly differs from English in many ways. A potential list of differences follows:
1. Distinction of lexical aspect.
2. Distinction of grammatical aspect.
3. Use of particles.
4. Generally, Ceyr'emeth's use of grammatical inflection.
5. Methods of demonstrating possession.
1. Distinction of lexical aspect.
2. Distinction of grammatical aspect.
3. Use of particles.
4. Generally, Ceyr'emeth's use of grammatical inflection.
5. Methods of demonstrating possession.
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