23rd of Ymiden, Arc 717
It had been a long time flying, from the northern reaches of Lysoria to the realms of Gauthrel. Kaiserion carried upon his back both the mage and his beloved mate, and due to the combined weight of the two, needed to stop frequently. During their time traveling, they'd shared many stories - Kaiserion spoke of Nordhoff and the things he had once seen. Slaves being subjected to all manner of cruelty at the whims of their masters, who saw themselves as the superior beings of Idalos. He revealed to Alistair and Fridgar that Nordhoff's legacy of slavery began in the Lotharen Horde conquests of the late 500s, where they were tasked with bringing slaves home and putting them to use in production.
In that way, the other clans had created their own nightmare, though they would forever be too proud to admit it.
Alistair shared his own stories, of the nobility, of the things he learned of them - the things they did. He was one of them by blood, right and upbringing, but he'd never been one with them in many other ways. He found little pleasure in the brutalizing of the peasantry, which his own family scorned along with him, though they still favored decadence and needless luxury. He said this from the position of a wealthy man who wore, in this journey, travel clothes and his masterwork leather armor, with his chain fauld. Alistair had always been practical - perhaps that was part of why he loved Fridgar so much, equally practical if not more.
When finally they arrived in Eastern Gauthrel, near to the city of Faeron, their guide suggested a pause. Kaiserion had determined that before entering the city, they should know of its words, its accent, its voice. The city was one of the few in the world where common was a small lingual minority, with the Lotharen incredibly stern about the preservation of their words, culture, identity and demography. They were a staunchly conservative people in that way, though from what Kaiserion described of the capital, they were incredibly accepting of all things merit. The city sounded like paradise, to Alistair. He had never been one for cultural melting pots himself -- Oxentide's crime rate, to him, served as a reminder of the tribalism that came as a result.
With the three men settled in a camp along a road outpost, manned by Alfweyr Kriger, Kaiserion beckoned for the two lovers to gather around the fire in the dark of night. There, he began to explain to them the intricacies of the Lotharen tongue.
"Haltunga," he said, beckoning for the name to be re-spoken. "Hahl-Tounn-Gha," he pronounced it clearly, Alistair following. At first his words sounded awkward and deformed, though with a few re-attempts, he managed to pronounce the name of the language fairly decently. "Haltunga is called the language of war by many West Idalosians," he explained. "Not only is it a language that often declares war, and has across history, it is also a language of strength, fierce words, assertiveness and harsh truths. That's not to say it's a language of cruelty," he shook his head, dismissing the idea before it was even propped up. "There are many loving words in Haltunga that you will never, ever be able to compare to those of another language. Ann gadiyan," he sounded, his tongue rolling to the top of his mouth as he spoke. Alistair was almost entranced by the way it was said -- softly, but passionately.
"It means I love you -- but there are many, many more ways to say the same thing. Rei mothal, kindal; rei athras, havendal... a bounty of words, for each level of passion - ann gadiyan to be said passively before a kiss, rei mothal or athras in a moment of deep understanding... sanai'i when professing love during an act of passionate sex. There are even ways to say it during rough sex, or tender sex - Haltunga is a language of passion." Now, he realized he was probably focusing too much on the sexual aspect of the language, but decided he would just go along with it. It had been too long; he was starting to think about it even when trying to play linguist.
...Moving on. "That applies to battles, wars, fucking, drinking, playful insults or genuine ones - everything in Uthaldria is done at high volume, literally and metaphorically. One thing you'll notice if you stay in the city is that you'll often hear havendals showing their... fondness for their kindals, even from many houses over," he cleared his throat, "just as often as you'll hear a tavern brawl spilling out onto the streets, men screaming at one another in a vicious fury. It's a densely populated city, and a loud city. It's a city that never rests, everyone impassioned from the moment they awake. That's what Haltunga is -- it's what its speakers are."
He looked to Fridgar, and invited him to try and speak. He remembered him having a very good accent.
"Fridgar, I want you to get fired up. I want you to tell Alistair that you want to beat up some assholes at a bar, and I want you to do so in a way that both scares and motivates him at the same time. This is how Haltunga is spoken - it's almost an event language, motivating people with hyperbole and strong speech. Remember your octave; speak clearly, resoundingly. The tongue will do the rest for you -- Alistair will need to learn the specifics of the tone."
The mage, listening to all of this intently and scribbling it down onto a piece of parchment, sighed. This would be a difficult and momentous task - he was a naturally collected and reserved person. Such an aggressive, forward language would not have been his first choice. However, in this region, Haltunga was an incredibly important tongue to master alongside Rakahi. He would need to make the steps to take the leap.
It had been a long time flying, from the northern reaches of Lysoria to the realms of Gauthrel. Kaiserion carried upon his back both the mage and his beloved mate, and due to the combined weight of the two, needed to stop frequently. During their time traveling, they'd shared many stories - Kaiserion spoke of Nordhoff and the things he had once seen. Slaves being subjected to all manner of cruelty at the whims of their masters, who saw themselves as the superior beings of Idalos. He revealed to Alistair and Fridgar that Nordhoff's legacy of slavery began in the Lotharen Horde conquests of the late 500s, where they were tasked with bringing slaves home and putting them to use in production.
In that way, the other clans had created their own nightmare, though they would forever be too proud to admit it.
Alistair shared his own stories, of the nobility, of the things he learned of them - the things they did. He was one of them by blood, right and upbringing, but he'd never been one with them in many other ways. He found little pleasure in the brutalizing of the peasantry, which his own family scorned along with him, though they still favored decadence and needless luxury. He said this from the position of a wealthy man who wore, in this journey, travel clothes and his masterwork leather armor, with his chain fauld. Alistair had always been practical - perhaps that was part of why he loved Fridgar so much, equally practical if not more.
When finally they arrived in Eastern Gauthrel, near to the city of Faeron, their guide suggested a pause. Kaiserion had determined that before entering the city, they should know of its words, its accent, its voice. The city was one of the few in the world where common was a small lingual minority, with the Lotharen incredibly stern about the preservation of their words, culture, identity and demography. They were a staunchly conservative people in that way, though from what Kaiserion described of the capital, they were incredibly accepting of all things merit. The city sounded like paradise, to Alistair. He had never been one for cultural melting pots himself -- Oxentide's crime rate, to him, served as a reminder of the tribalism that came as a result.
With the three men settled in a camp along a road outpost, manned by Alfweyr Kriger, Kaiserion beckoned for the two lovers to gather around the fire in the dark of night. There, he began to explain to them the intricacies of the Lotharen tongue.
"Haltunga," he said, beckoning for the name to be re-spoken. "Hahl-Tounn-Gha," he pronounced it clearly, Alistair following. At first his words sounded awkward and deformed, though with a few re-attempts, he managed to pronounce the name of the language fairly decently. "Haltunga is called the language of war by many West Idalosians," he explained. "Not only is it a language that often declares war, and has across history, it is also a language of strength, fierce words, assertiveness and harsh truths. That's not to say it's a language of cruelty," he shook his head, dismissing the idea before it was even propped up. "There are many loving words in Haltunga that you will never, ever be able to compare to those of another language. Ann gadiyan," he sounded, his tongue rolling to the top of his mouth as he spoke. Alistair was almost entranced by the way it was said -- softly, but passionately.
"It means I love you -- but there are many, many more ways to say the same thing. Rei mothal, kindal; rei athras, havendal... a bounty of words, for each level of passion - ann gadiyan to be said passively before a kiss, rei mothal or athras in a moment of deep understanding... sanai'i when professing love during an act of passionate sex. There are even ways to say it during rough sex, or tender sex - Haltunga is a language of passion." Now, he realized he was probably focusing too much on the sexual aspect of the language, but decided he would just go along with it. It had been too long; he was starting to think about it even when trying to play linguist.
...Moving on. "That applies to battles, wars, fucking, drinking, playful insults or genuine ones - everything in Uthaldria is done at high volume, literally and metaphorically. One thing you'll notice if you stay in the city is that you'll often hear havendals showing their... fondness for their kindals, even from many houses over," he cleared his throat, "just as often as you'll hear a tavern brawl spilling out onto the streets, men screaming at one another in a vicious fury. It's a densely populated city, and a loud city. It's a city that never rests, everyone impassioned from the moment they awake. That's what Haltunga is -- it's what its speakers are."
He looked to Fridgar, and invited him to try and speak. He remembered him having a very good accent.
"Fridgar, I want you to get fired up. I want you to tell Alistair that you want to beat up some assholes at a bar, and I want you to do so in a way that both scares and motivates him at the same time. This is how Haltunga is spoken - it's almost an event language, motivating people with hyperbole and strong speech. Remember your octave; speak clearly, resoundingly. The tongue will do the rest for you -- Alistair will need to learn the specifics of the tone."
The mage, listening to all of this intently and scribbling it down onto a piece of parchment, sighed. This would be a difficult and momentous task - he was a naturally collected and reserved person. Such an aggressive, forward language would not have been his first choice. However, in this region, Haltunga was an incredibly important tongue to master alongside Rakahi. He would need to make the steps to take the leap.
