Written by Wyverncult and Thy_Valhallen
Condor and Cessair are hard at work to learn the essentials of translating Vvurdeni, hoping to be able to find more answers regarding Condor’s condition and possible cures and treatments known by the Vvurdeni in their library. By learning key words relevant to their topics– namely what they’re referring to as Vvurden Rot and the process that created the irradiated material– and searching the library for information on either, they hopefully can learn more on how to proceed.
Given having both a text in the language and a lexicon, translation wouldn’t be difficult, but time-consuming, until the language was learned effectively enough to not need consistent reference. While comprehension is a long-term goal, active translation isn’t the goal for the majority of texts they’re examining; reviewing titles gives enough context of relevancy to then take the identified tomes, identify relevant passages, and dedicate to translating those passages only.
Further research notes can be seen in this documents’ tabs, including specific phrases, in-world alphabets for reference (Common, Cyrllic, Hakkahni, Tursh’kani, Vvurdeni) and an IPA guide. Vvurdeni and Cyrillic have notable similarities, so it was chosen as an in-game parallel language; similarly, Hakkahni is based on Western Shoshone and Tursh’kani is based on Farsi.
It was radiation, was how Ythrum explained it to Condor, and Condor relayed the words to those willing to help. He was afflicted with a cancer, a sickness. He wrote down the words in the common language, recording what was said as he approached Cessair. She who spoke her mother tongue freely and seemed to have time enough to help a friend and the common people and still have time for herself. Condor would be using up her time as much as he could, because he himself was admittedly not so well-read.
No, Condor instead learned by doing.
In the past he would pick up words by speaking clumsily to others, showing them objects and puzzling out phrases strangely, learning in a way that was not dissimilar to a child’s. It wasn't as though he'd never picked up books or written notes to study with, but there were few alive willing to teach him the tongue of the Vvurdeni, and he wouldn't make the mistake of asking that boy that called himself their pride.
While Rose worked with the poisoned wytchweed sample, Beroe fixed up Moonflower's laboratory and Lockridge studied the manacore that was something of a joke, Condor and Cessair begin their research in the Vvurdeni; He shows her the chamber locked behind a secret phrase in the codex, tells her what he had felt and seen beyond the bars. The gold waste was still upturned where ‘Vvurdeni’ had shoveled it out of the way, and it could be seen beyond the piles of gold how the walls, inches thick, were pried apart in a greedy frenzy.
Condor expressed to Cessair that it was important that they focus on just a few categories: metal processing and sicknesses associated with waste products. He hoped that they could narrow their research down to categories of health and metallurgy techniques. In Cerise's clinic, where Condor had sat since Ythrum had told him to stay away from others, Cessair regales him with the game plan that the two would follow to teach themselves by the book.
Learning Vvurdeni was not as impossible as it seemed, but in the short amount of time that they had…
Tick.
ልየየዪቿክፕጎርቿ'ነ ኗሁጎዕቿ ፕዐ ዪሁክቿነጠጎፕዘጎክኗ
‘Apprentice’s Guide to Runesmithing.’ Structure: noun (possessive), noun, preposition, verb (gerund/present participle).
The title felt like mockery now, for how long Cessair had been staring at it. The characters all made sense, mind you– a basic alphabet not too terribly removed from the common tongue of Templehelm, if altered by time and distance. The Vvurdeni, ancient as they were, likely influenced how the language of the era evolved, the characters shifting some time between the trade between peoples and the evolution of the language itself; it was apparent in how, despite the shape’s differences, the symbols could still be recognized. The pieces fit together, she just had to puzzle out how.
Tick.
ል ነጠጎፕዘ ዐቻ ኗዐዐዕ ቻዐዪጠ ነዘልረረ-
‘A smith of good form shall-’ Smith, /smiTH/, heavy emphasis on the frictive ð sound; /ˈsmʲit/, replace frictive with retroflex plosive ʈ; gods, how utterly unhelpful-
This had been a game to her, long ago. Sitting in ancient archives of curved boughs and dark roots in her village, surrounded by books older than some of her kindred’s first incarnations, she’d found tomes in a tongue she couldn’t comprehend and chose to fill her time with reading them. Writing out an alphabet that was missing so many letters to her, curling her tongue to make sounds that she’d never had to make softer before, it was something to entertain, to giggle about and teach her little sister curse words in another parlance.
Tick.
ጎ ረቿልዪክቿዕ ፕዘጎነ ፕቿርዘክጎዒሁቿ ቻዪዐጠ ጠልነፕቿዪ ጋረልዪቿረቿክ ሃልሀዪልኗርዘ-
‘I learned this technique from master jlarelen yavragch-’ No delineation of importance by capitalization, no secondary forms of letters in capital or lower case, would have to add that in any translations for clarity-
The sound of creaking bark came from across the room, as it did so often, and every time, she flicked the page between her fingers in impatience, because it wasn’t a game anymore. This wasn’t a source of entertainment, no more lounging in the mossy glen as she made child-like attempts to form the sounds into real words while a little sister giggled about the alien sounds she made. No one was laughing, no one was playing; just her nauseous, aching friend that shifted in discomfort while she sifted through seemingly infinite pages with him.
Tick.
ሠቿ ርልክ ልረረ ልነየጎዪቿ ፕዐ ጌቿ ልነ ኗዪቿልፕ ልነ ዘጎጠ.
‘We can all aspire to be as great as him.’ Sixth case in this language now; she’d seen nominative, dative, genitive, instrumental, and prepositional, but now, accusative was in the list. The chart was filling, flooding, infuriating-
Time was eternally moving, and it had never felt like such a threat before, but now, every second on the clock was another frayed thread holding this sword of Damocles above Condor’s head. She couldn’t take her time, like she would’ve before. She couldn’t enjoy the stories she was blessed with or the culture she was learning about. There was no-
Tick.
ነሁየየዪቿነነጎዐክ ዐቻ ነፕልዪ ርዐዪዪሁየፕጎዐክ ዪቿረልየነቿ ልክዕ ጠቿፕልነፕልነጎነ ጌሃ ጎክዘጎጌጎፕጎክኗ ርዐዪዪሁየፕቿዕ ርቿረረነ ጌሃ ጌሃዪልኗረልነ ዕዐዕዪሁክጊ
Suppression of Star Corruption relapse and metastasis by inhibiting corrupted cells by Byraglas Dodrunz. ‘Star Corruption,’ ‘Star Cysts,’ ‘Dwarrowphage,’ the names blurred together in a mix of symbols she hadn’t had type to get used to, just to carve into her memory deep as a knife in her arm-
The initial translations hadn’t been difficult. This was the fourth language Cessair had learned, and even the twists of its beginning couldn’t stop their progress. They had a lexicon, a literal guide to the language at the time, and it was enough to dissect an alphabet, language and grammar rules, pick and pry word structures out of– and it was a slow crawl towards anything resembling useful from there.
Tick.
ሀጎዪሁነቿነ ጎክ ፕዪቿልፕጠቿክፕ ዐቻ ዕሠልዪዪዐሠየዘልኗቿ, ጌሃ ርነጎዪሀቿነ ርልዪቿፕርዘልፕጊ.
Viruses in Treatment of Dwarrowphage, by Csirves Caretchatz. Virus is separate from Dwarrowphage, they didn’t classify it amongst viruses, dismiss any viruses from the search for tomes relating to treatment-
There was a list of terms beside her– beside the lexicon, beside the alphabet chart she’d written up, beside the chart of the common, Vvurdeni, and Hakkahni alphabets in comparison to try and make sense of the differences, beside the list of relevant translated words, beside the list of known information about Vvurden Rot, beside the recorded symptoms from Ythrum and their projected future for her friend that ended in agony and a body too weak to move, to eat, to keep himself alive, to fight the thing eating him alive from the inside. Her makeshift desk in the clinic was a disastrous mess of papers scattered about, every one of them important yet the answer somewhere between every single one of them in a place she’d yet to reach.
Tick.
የልፕጎቿክፕነ ጎክ ቿልዪረሃ ነፕልኗቿነ ዪቿየዐዪፕቿዕ ዘልቿጠልፕሁዪጎል, ልጌዕዐጠጎክልረ የልጎክ, ቻልፕጎኗሁቿ, ዘዐልዪነቿክቿነነ, ሠቿጎኗዘፕ ረዐነነ, ረዐነነ ዐቻ ልየየቿፕጎፕቿ, ዘልቿጠዐየፕሃነጎነ, ዕሃነየክዐቿል, ርዐሁኗዘ; ነዐሁዪርቿ ዐቻ የልጎክ ልክዕ የዪቿሀልረቿክርቿ ዐቻ ነሃጠየፕዐጠነ ነቿቿጠነ ዕቿየቿክዕቿክፕ ዐክ ጠዐነፕ ልቻቻቿርፕቿዕ ዐዪ ርቿክፕዪልረጎጊቿዕ ዐዪኗልክነ ልቻቻረጎርፕቿዕ. ‘Patients in early stages reported haematuria, abdominal pain, fatigue, hoarseness, weight loss, loss of appetite, haemoptysis, dyspnoea, cough; source of pain and prevalence of symptoms seems dependent on most affected or centralized organs afflicted.’ Specific organs being affected triggered different symptoms; they’d need to keep a close eye on Condor to determine which organs were suffering the most.
She remembered what it felt like. To feel her own body betray her, shaking and weak, blood sitting in her lungs and losing color, then vision, before she lost everything else. She wasn’t going to let it get that far. Not for Condor. She’d carve runes until the obsidian tore her palms, would read until the papers sliced her fingers to ribbons. She’d do everything in her power and pray to any spirits that might be left in this world that this, let this be something she can help to change.
Tick.
ርሁዪዪቿክፕ ጎክዒሁጎዪጎቿነ ነሁኗኗቿነፕ ፕዘልፕ ጎጠጠሁክዐ-ዐክርዐረዐኗሃ ጠጎኗዘፕ ጌቿ ልጌረቿ ፕዐ ርዐጠጌልፕ ፕዘቿ ዕጎነቿልነቿ, ክልጠቿረሃ ሁፕጎረጎጊጎክኗ ዐክርዐኗቿክቿ ፕልዪኗቿፕጎክኗ. ‘Current inquiries suggest that immuno-oncology might be able to combat the disease, namely utilizing oncogene targeting.’ Adding immuno-oncology and oncogene to the list of relevant terms; there has to be a text out there that explains what those are…
No more games. No more losses. Just breaking this down– breaking down the words, the language, the secrets, until they could break down this damned disease. Truly, in all this mess, she had a single source of solace, and it was the Vvurdeni themselves.
Tick.
ፕዘቿ ጠዐዪፕልረጎፕሃ ዪልፕቿ ዪቿጠልጎክነ ፕዘቿ ነልጠቿ, ዕቿነየጎፕቿ ጠሃ ቿቻቻዐዪፕነ. ጎ ክቿልዪረሃ ረቿቻፕ ጠጎዕዕልሃ ሠዘቿክ ርዘረጎጊረቿክ ርልጠቿ ቻዐዪ ዘቿዪ ርዘጎረዕ. ጎ ርዐሁረዕክ’ፕ ረዐዐጕ ዘቿዪ ጎክ ፕዘቿ ቿሃቿ; ክዐፕ ልቻፕቿዪ ዘልሀጎክኗ ቻልጎረቿዕ ዘቿዪ ነዐ ፕቿዪዪጎጌረሃ. ጌሁፕ ጎ ርልክ’ፕ ረቿልሀቿ. ጎ ዘልሀቿ ሠዐዪጕ ፕዐ ዕዐ, ዪቿነቿልዪርዘ ፕዐ ርዐጠየረቿፕቿ, ጎቻ ጎ ዕዐ ክዐፕ ሠልክፕ ጠዐዪቿ የልዪቿክፕነ ርዐጠጎክኗ ፕዐ ጌሁዪሃ ፕዘቿጎዪ ርዘጎረዕዪቿክ. ‘The mortality rate remains the same, despite my efforts. I nearly left midday when Chlizlen came for her child. I couldn’t look her in the eye; not after having failed her so terribly. But I can’t leave. I have work to do, research to complete, if I do not want more parents coming to bury their children.’ Dzrark Inraglan, an apparent doctor of the time, left a diary behind; left his research, his notes, his passing thoughts on lunch on the same page as his analysis of blood samples. It was so painfully alive, for a dead man’s words.
They were ancient, alien in a way she couldn’t put to words; odd and strange, with their metal and harsh tongue, golems and science that resembled magic until you realized they’d combined the two. And yet they were a dead people, like her own. A people. They’d had names and slang and a million other little pieces of personhood that were laid to the tombs of paper and ink.
Tick.
ልቻፕቿዪ ዕቿልፕዘ, ፕዘቿ ዕዐርፕዐዪ. /ˈaftər DeTH ðe ˈdäktər/. After death, the doctor. A proverb, written in the margins of a medical book Condor had come back with from the Vvurdeni. To call the healer after the heart has stopped, to act too late, to act on a lost cause after it has been lost. They weren’t too late. Not yet, they couldn’t be. The doctor was here before death. The cause was not lost yet.
Sútummu tûkummuìnnä. It was a concept she’d never seen an equivalent for, in the common tongue or any other. I don’t speak your tongue and you don’t speak mine– we don’t need to understand one another. I don’t need to walk in your footsteps if I can see the footprints you left behind. The Vvurdeni knew what this condition was, knew so much that could be of use. She’d never look them in the eye, save a fellow endling living on in the embers of their kin’s hearth, but these were their footsteps, preserved in the pages.
Tick.
Footprints. Puìnnä. Gabil-gundu. ቻዐዐፕነፕቿየነ. Translate like it’s second nature. The alphabet changes are just a step; make it natural, make it an easy part of the process, same as when you learned all the others. Just don’t take your time.
She’d follow the footprints. She’d find the path. There was no time for another option.
Tick…
Tick…
Tick…
… Tick.
While Cessair studied diligently, poring over pages across the hall from him, Condor sometimes needed to rise from his spot in the library to attempt to speak to the golems themselves. When he did, they still said the same lines over, and over. Although the phrases gave them a verbal code to work with, it still made him want to tear his hair out.
He just needed to figure out which new words he could work out, how to fill out their building key.
"ጎክ ሀሀሁዪዕቿክጎ," He would start his request slowly, willing his backcountry accent not to peek through as he tries to mimic the sounds of the machine. "ሠዘልፕ ጎጠየዐዪፕልክፕ የዪዐርቿነነቿነ ሃዐሁ ሁነቿ ፕዘቿ ጠቿፕልረ ኗዐረዕ ጎክ."
It was much more frustrating than speaking to a person.
A person could read your face, body language- You could show them an object, and you could read their face and body language. They could laugh at your mistakes, teach you the right way to do things. Hundreds of books and a golem with a facsimile of a face and a bank of few phrases gave him none of this. Condor found it irritating when the thing took its sweet time computing his questions. It stares at him with what he interpreted as a dumb look, before it tells him it ዕጎዕ ክዐፕ ሁክዕቿዪነፕልክዕ ዘጎነ ዒሁቿነፕጎዐክ.
Other times, Condor would find that he couldn't focus on the books at all.
Sudden bouts of dizziness or harsh coughing fits would overtake him, and when they became too much he’d excuse himself to work from the clinic and be subject to more medical experimentation instead. It was there he would review his writings, and the notes that he’s traded with Cessair. While Cessair focused on the medical texts, Condor focused on writings about metalworking. He was liberal while writing down whichever instances of words and the contexts that he could decipher their use case in- Or words that came up regularly. They were sorted by topics, grammatical phrases and names, and he relied on a separate book for the most relevant words or phrases that they could find.
ፕዘቿ ቿቻቻቿርፕነ ዐቻ ዕሠልዪዪዐሠየዘልኗቿ ዐክ ፕዘቿ ጠዐዪፕልረ ቻዐዪጠ-
“The effects of Dwarrowphage on the mortal form,” Condor mutters back to himself slowly, tapping each word on the book’s cover with a finger as he processed their meaning.
ፕዪቿልፕጠቿክፕነ ቻዐዪ ነፕልዪ ርዐዪዪሁየፕጎዐክ. “Star Corruption…”
ጎክ የዪዐርቿነነጎክኗ ርልጠቿክፕጎፕቿ ቻዐዪ ሁነቿ ጎክ ኗዐረቿጠልክርሃ.
ጠልፕሃልነ’ diary. ቻዪልክፕጎነቿጕ’s journal. A Vvurden history book. He desperately searched for a touch of humanity in all of this.
Condor’s penmanship was always too heavy to make the letters look appealing.
At home, when he had begun to learn pronunciation, Condor would recite the golem’s phrases to his housemate. He would read through books aloud, using Kassar and Cessair as dummies to practice his speech and hammer the words into his head. While Cessair’s form of word association had to do with connecting words between languages, his had to do with speech. Being able to read a word and hear what he was looking at made the connection in his brain, allowing him to parse through the letters and phrases much faster.
Tick.
Condor’s ear twitched irritably at the sound of the clock ticking next to him.
He blinked in the low light, checking over the time. If he kept this up, he was going to need some glasses. That was enough for today.
Condor closes the book he’d been poring over on golemancy. Raising his head to Cessair, he calls out in an unnatural and unpracticed tongue, “ጎ'ጠ ኗዐጎክኗ ዘዐጠቿ.”
