Sigiar's Missives III - The Strangeness of a Common Tongue
My dear Friend, I hope this letter reaches you under better circumstances than the last, my condolences once more, and thank you thoroughly for sending your reply so swiftly, for when I received the missive it was the day before the expedition was planning to move into the Sunspires, from where I write you now. It is pure chance that brought me the opportunity to write you one more time before we march further into unknown territory, but a few of the royal scribes are being sent back with transcriptions of our findings so far, to be preserved in the Ludence Archives were anything to happen to us. I have given them this letter to be delivered as soon as they reach Haver's Mark. I have little ink and paper to spare, so let us now get on to topics of a more scholarly nature. What might interest you most is that we discovered a new variation of the Veruvian Dandelion, but instead of its usual purple hue this one more a distinctive yellow coloring, something we never expected to find, especially this far east. It has led me to believe that we might have been wrong about the flowers origins and it was imported to Veruve from traders who traveled the eastern Salt road, instead of growing naturally in the southern Crownholds. I can only assume they solely took purple ones with them because it fit with the veruvian national colors and would sell well. I included a few samples of the flower as well as what seems to be a variation on a Windrell. Lastly there should also be a few seeds attached. Seeing as my interest is not as much with flowers as it is with peoples I would like to tell you about a remarkable collection of tribes with some fascinating linguistic quirks. Before starting my tale I assume you have heard before about the tribes that live all around the Waterwoods, sometimes encountered crossing the salt road in large numbers, dragging their own huts after them on what seem to be enormous Tree Snatcher . So far few scholars have been interested enough or were brave enough to try and create an accurate documentation. Now, while the true purpose of our expedition has little to do with them, our encounters with the tribes of the waterwoods make for some stunningly good stories and a number of contributions to the linguistic and historical archiving institutions. Our first encounter with the tribe, swiftly nicknamed the Kettlefolk for reasons still to be explained, took place a number of days after we had left the salt road in favor of the waterwood inlands -- or should I say inwaters? In any case, it happened as we were tying our boats together to create a sleeping raft for the night when we heard a sudden shout coming from high in the heavily leaved trees. Now while the sense of shock was something to be expected I can honestly say that the overpowering feeling at hearing the shout was pure and utter confusion. You see, the thing is that the sound was very much spoken using the Lualyn tongue, but the wording was nonsensical, "Kettle, music crownhold. Still Hearth and home." to be precisely. Following the shout our first reaction was to draw our weapons, the waterwoods are hardly known for their hospitality, but the small man that climbed out of the tree moments later looked anything but threatening. His skin had the same light tan as most people beyond the spires, and his grey hair danced joyfully above merry brown eyes as he climbed down from the tree, showing a skill seemingly akin to that of a squirrel or Pompran. He was chattering constantly, even as he waded towards our cautious party through the shallow water, still using our language and words, but again the combination of phrases was nothing but nonsensical. Again we were greeted, this time with a merry "Kettle, music lords of! Making gods cooking merchants.", not even batting an eye at how utterly ridiculous he knew he must have sounded. Eventually one of our party, and elderly scholar of considerable girth (a surprise it was that he even fit his boat) going by the name of Rotenhork stepped forward and inquired in a perfectly reasonable voice as to who the man was and the meaning of his wording. At hearing Rotenhork's words however the elderly man, still knee deep in water, screwed his face up in a confused manner, very much alike the expressions most of us were wearing as a reaction to his words. Both tried to continue the conversation several times, but eventually we all came to the conclusion that all parties were thoroughly confused at the other's choice of words, in our case especially since the man had a perfect western accent. Aside from peculiarity of his speaking the man seemed to have no problem interpreting the use of more primitive manners of communication, mainly in the form of hand gesturing. It wasn't long before we were reasonably sure the man was anything but dangerous, and come morning light we were well on our way again, this time following the short man to where he had made it clear he lived. Naturally we were all curious as to the homestead one might erect in a place such as the waterwoods. At first we assumed the man had been hit with a brain injury, scrambling his definitions, but that still hardly explained his unaccented voice and broad vocabulary. As we drew closer to his home however it appeared it was no lone home, but rather a village populated with a large number of men, women and children, all with the same light skin and short stature. Even more curious however was their excited chattering at our approach, to our astonishment also using the same nonsensical way of speaking Lualyn, sometimes interspersed with foreign terms unknown to us. We were given a warm welcome, being greeted by the way of saying "Kettle" in a reverent manner several times. Keeping our mouths shut for fear of miscommunication (Lorden had already nearly managed to get us all banished by using the word "Arbitrary", a vile swearword for them as far as I could tell) but we managed to get communicate well enough by simple gestures and mimicry of actions. A few days we spent there, taking notes on their peculiar behavior and way of living (I included a full transcript of my notes and thoughts with the flowers), all finally became clear to me. At a point where they apparently felt we had earned their trust, not too hard I imagine, seeing the immediate welcoming nature of the tribe, I, a group of other scholars and one of the mercenaries were led to a small house standing on poles in the water, seemingly Lualyn in build, quite a contrast with how their homes were barely more than woven baskets hung among the trees. I first assumed it was a sort of temple to them, but upon entering I was faced with a neatly furnished interior, completely designed after last century Haddrish style. Granted, most thing were at the brink of rotting away and it seemed as though no one had lived here in a long, but the furniture was obviously Haddrish. It was thoroughly made clear that I was not to touch anything, as one of the Kettlefolk led us toward an old book lying on the table, letter still faintly visible among the signs of long exposure to a wet environment. I was permitted to read through the book, and what I found was truly amazing. You see, it was the diary of a certain Lualyn trader by the name of Mestri Ovens, who had been transporting luxury haddrish furniture to the east. From what I read the salt road had once again been blocked by a long mudslide from The Northern Trails, and as a lot of money depended upon the timely delivery of the furniture he decided to take a risk and leave his caravan, driving through the waterwoods to take the road again a few miles further. At the time he was traveling with his wive and a daughter of nine, with both of whom he had a strained relationship from what I could make out. Instead of finding the road again however he only found more trees among the endless water of the woods, and determined after a few days that he was utterly lost in the wilderness. Mestri described a few more days spent in pure terror as their food supply shrank and their horses grew more tired from finding little rest among the high trees and drowned ground. His fate and that of his family finally seemed determined when the wagon sank deep into the wet ground and wearied as they were it seemed impossible to free their vehicle. That was when the Kettlefolk found them. Mestri describes them in his diary as extremely welcoming and speaking in a strange tongue with intonations quite similar to that of the western languages. He and his family were taken to their village and brought back to full strength. As they made preparations to leave again however, their cart had been freed easily with the help of many hands, Mestri and his wive soon realized that instead of finding their doom in these marshes they had come into a community of people unaffected by the hectic and politics of Lualyn life. So it came to be that they decided to stay, building a small house in a familiar style and using their wares to furnish it. At this point I must mention that here the letters become hard to distinguish in some parts, a true shame, seeing the insights he might have given us about life in the waterwoods, but the parts still readable tell a very interesting story. As Mestri and his family settled he apparently made several attempts at teaching them modern Keppeci, assuming the similarity in pronunciation would make it easier, but he quickly discovered that the task was harder than he thought. What he did teach them however was the traders alphabet, granting them the ability to grasp the sounds attached to each Wordstroke. From here on out the number of entries dwindle, I assume due to a shrinking supply of ink, but from what I've gathered they lived in the village for at least nine years. Their daughter left, seeking her homeland, when she was seventeen and Mestri and his wives died a few years later to a local sickness their bodies were not accustomed to. That must have been around 60 years ago. Note: While you're in Ludence coming summer I would like to ask you to check if you can find any records of an Ovens family, interviewing the daughter if she still lives or ever made it to Lualyn might provide a unique perspective on these events. While the story of Mestri and his family ends here however it is the developments after their death that really caught my interest. The thing is, apparently the Kettlefolk, or as he called them: pseudo-Lualynians, were quite fond of the old Mestri and all the things he brought to this village in his wagon of goods, and soon after his death they made his diary and other books relics of their religion and started preaching from them. As you might recall however, they did not speak Modern Keppeci, or any other form of the language for that matter, so what they could only decipher the sounds the words made and added their own meanings to them. This at least is my assumption, seeing how there is no written record of the time after the death of the Ovens. Fitting the words to their own linguistic structure, the words soon became more and more prevalent in their language as their meanings evolved. Eventually leading to the strange nonsensical tongue they speak in now. Ah, I see my storyteller's heart has dragged on the story for quite a few more pages than was my intention, but I hope you find it interesting. The scribes are only waiting on me to finish this letter before they depart, so I shall make it quick. I mentioned earlier that I included a copy of both my notes along with the flower samples, as well as a transcription of relevant parts from Mestri's diary. As for the rest of the journey, we have decided to adjust our course somewhat to the south, heading more towards Otlolan, with the expectation of reaching our goal within the next month. As for you, I truly hope your heart is not as broken as it was when I last saw you, but you can trust me when I say it still hurts, even for me. Take care of yourself and Inkil and until I we meet again, since I doubt any more missives will be forthcoming soon. Your dear friend and once-apprentice, Sigiar ElentThis is the third letter I received from Sigiar. I had not expected any more after he declared he would be heading beyond the sunspires, so it came as a pleasant surprise. In the letter he explained to me some of the more interesting details of his travels in the waterwoods and described the almost absurd linguistic evolution that has shaped the speech of the Kettlefolk he encountered there. I don't know when I will hear something from him again, but at least his notes and transcriptions will give me something to study on my way to Ludence come summer. Not to mention the samples and seeds of the local flora he included in his missive.
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