post-lorebeard clarity

𝖂𝖍𝖞 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖞𝖆𝖓 𝕴𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙 𝕬𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖆 𝕯𝖎𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕸𝖚𝖑𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖎

It has been a while since I last wrote any longer posts directly connected to the worldbuilding of the Athanor Continuity. Now, having finally gathered enough focus, I want to speak about the Thayan language.

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Fantasy languages have always held a particular fascination for me. They are an essential part of a world’s integrity, allowing one to sink far deeper into its reality. The Forgotten Realms are no exception.

Elvish with its grace? Drow language with its intricate forms and social registers? All of these have accumulated layers of detail, examples, even full grammars and dedicated fan translators.

Against that rich backdrop, the Thayan language has remained almost... invisible.

Officially, we know little about it: It belongs to the Mulani languages of the Mulhorandi Subgroup with that characteristic "thick and slow" quality noted by speakers of many other tongues. The sources also remark that "Thayan was so closely related to Mulhorandi that many scholars considered them a single language." As for its writing system, the source material tells us mainly that the Thayans eventually adopted the Infernal script, and did so with clear intent.

In my own canon, the Thayan language receives far more attention. Not only because Thay has long played a significant role in the events of Faerûn, but because it is closely bound to one of the central figures of the Athanor Continuity.

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Historically, Thay was the northern province of Mulhorandi Empire. After the ancient rebellion of Thayd and the final rupture in 922 DR, the Thayans did not simply win their independence. They began to deliberately shape an identity in opposition to the old empire.

One of the most vivid symbols of that break was the script itself.

Mulhorand used the Celestial script. The Thayans, in open defiance, turned to the Infernal alphabet.

At first it was a direct political gesture. A rejection of the "sacred" writing of the god-kings. Over time, however, Infernal became an organic part of Thayan culture. The letters were adapted to the sounds of the local tongue, and the script itself came to run right to left, in deliberate contrast to Celestial’s left-to-right direction. What began as an act of rebellion gradually turned into one of the clearest markers of Thayan distinctiveness.

And it is against this background that the internal structure of the Thayan language becomes especially interesting.

In my canon Thayan is marked by a clear diglossia: a living division between High Thayan and Common Thayan (sometimes called Low Thayan.)

This is not merely a split between formal and colloquial speech.

These are two different ways of relating to the world through language.

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High Thayan is, as the name suggests, the language of the elite: the Zulkirs/the Red Wizards, the nobility, ritual, and the grimoires.

It is more archaic, synthetic, and rich in inflection. Cases survive, participial constructions grow complex, and the rhythm remains strict and heavy. This is the tongue in which spells are cast, ancient records are kept, and "matters of true weight and power are discussed."

Common Thayan is the everyday language of streets, armies, markets, ordinary citizens, and slaves.

Prepositions and auxiliary words take the place of many endings, and sentences move more quickly and lightly.

Between the two registers there is constant tension and mutual influence (though, of course, High Thayan remains the more conservative and tradition-bound, while Common Thayan has absorbed far more outside influence over the centuries.)

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Phonetically, Thayan keeps the "thick and slow" quality mentioned in the source material, but in my version it gains so called extra texture.

There are many fricatives and guttural sounds, noticeable vowel length, and a certain density to the flow. Speech feels solid, almost viscous, especially in its High form.

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Grammatically the two forms also behave differently.

High Thayan leans more heavily on inflection: word endings carry greater weight, and complex relative constructions are common.

Common Thayan more often uses izafet-like structures, linking words through a special construction rather than through endings alone. This makes the everyday register feel more flexible and contemporary, while High Thayan retains its archaic density and solemnity.

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It is in High Thayan that its poetic quality shines most clearly.

Not in the sense of pretty rhymes, but in its ability to speak with remarkable concision and imagery.

Where Common Speech needs several words and explanations, High Thayan can often contain an entire thought in a single dense construction.

By comparison, Common begins to feel much more limited. Too straightforward, lacking the extra layers of meaning and poetic/emotional resonance that High Thayan's richly inflected register provides.

A good illustration appears in the TheHeraldOfTheSupremeInquisitor!AU:

Lothaire, who used High Thayan actively in his youth and still occasionally thinks in it, still reckoning with his Thayan roots, gave his loyal servant a poetic epithet "Xārd'tāškmal'".

In Common it might be rendered roughly as "The Shard that Knows the Whole".

In High Thayan, however, it carries far greater weight:

The full form is Xārd dhālmālnā Tāšvīs

Xārd— "shard", "little stone", "fragment".

Dhālmālnā— "the one who knows"/ "recognizes". The element dhā- functions as a relative marker ("the one who"), while mālnā is the participial form of the root "to know/to recognize"

Tāšvīs— "the Whole"/"the complete picture"/"all together."

So result is not merely a description, but something close to a philosophical formula: The servant is a shard, yet a shard that sees and accepts the full design of his master’s will. The shard that understands itself as part of one Greater Whole.

In Common this idea would require explanation. In High Thayan it exists as a ready, compact image. That's why the clipped form Xārd'tāškmal' is used as a personal, almost intimate address.

It preserves the full density of meaning in a short, practical word.

In other words, within the Athanor Continuity the Thayan language is no longer just some background detail.

One might say it becomes another way of speaking about the nature of Thay itself.

Of its drive for independence, its elevation of magic over religion, its complex hierarchy, and the way even the most personal nuances of relationship can be expressed through a language built on different principles than the common speech around it.

To call Thayan simply "a dialect of Mulhorandi" is a considerable simplification.

In official records and Mulhorandi historiography, of course, it is convenient: it helps maintain the narrative of cultural continuity and superiority.

But if one looks at the language on its own terms? Its phonetics, its grammar, its system of registers, the role it plays in Thayan society, and the direction of its own development? It becomes clear that it moved beyond the bounds of a dialect long ago.

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All of this gives Thayan its own history, its own aesthetic, and its own cultural force. Mulhorandi merely provided the soil.

What might once have been a dialect has long since become an independent instrument of identity.

And it is in precisely this capacity that it is most compelling.

Not as a shadow of Mulhorand, but as a language the Thayans themselves shaped into something entirely their own.

I'm working on a Wyllstarion fic for Fandom Trumps Hate (still! because my inspiration ebbs and flows and bops from idea to idea) and I liked this snippet. I can't share too much before I finish it, but I'm getting close to done and I think this brief scene is okay to post. (tbh I like the Wyll POV moments even more than the Astarion POV moments, but I'm saving them for when I post the full fic hehe) Thank you to @optimisticgrey, @elceewunjo, @bladesingerlily, and @litsenn for recent WIP/Last Lines tags! I'll tag you all back, as well as @spillingteanotpermitted, @missfortunetherogue, and @wyllravengards 🖤 Context: Astarion's been captured by Balthazar, the necromancer working for Ketheric. Balthazar cast a special-super-secret-Absolutist version of Command Undead on him. The party, led by Wyll, couldn't save him right away. Astarion is feeling many things about that. None of them are good.

"How novel," says the necromancer. He leans in to peer into Astarion's face, his breath musty and cold. "I've not yet had a vampire in my service. It is said that your kind are the 'intelligent' undead, too clever for my magic to reach, but apparently you challenge that notion."

Astarion itches to gut this creature like a fish. He could, too. He's been doing it for tendays now, sinking his blades and fangs into anyone who crosses him, and sometimes into people who don't. He's gotten quite good at it. Wyll said—

Well. It hardly matters now what Wyll said.

"Speak up, now," Balthazar says. "Tell me what brought you sneaking into my chambers, fanged little filcher."

Astarion's tongue burns under the command. His jaw works, forced to respond, but it's hardly the first time Astarion has been compelled. It's hardly the first time he has resisted.

"I fancied a tour of the tower," he says pleasantly. The command cools, satisfied that he's spoken. "Love what you've done with the room, by the way. All the blood there, and there, and there? Very tasteful. And this terrifying torture chamber is such a lovely touch."

"Spare me the blathering," Balthazar growls, "and speak the truth. We need not make this messy."

"I am speaking the truth," Astarion says. His mouth moves because it must, but this necromancer isn't his master. He isn't forcing Astarion to say words that are true—just to say words at all. Astarion can do that. Gods know he can talk. Cazador always said he-

(no. out, out, get out of my head)

"I truly do love this room." The words gush from him like blood from an artery. "I caught a wonderful glimpse of it whilst you were casting that spell to dominate me. When you had me drift across the room and into this dreadful closet, I saw everything so very clearly. The stinking corpses, the musty tomes, the tacky art and bones and whatnot... absolutely inspired. Ha, get it? Absolute-ly? You know, I-"

"Shut up!" Balthazar commands, and Astarion does.

His mouth slams shut so fast a fang catches on the inside of his lip. A lucky break, really. The blood that springs from it distracts him from the indignity of kneeling before this wretch.

Compelled to shut up and kneel, but with blood in his mouth and his clothes still on. It's almost luxurious compared to... other times.

Want to spice the game up? Why not try alarming your players for no real reason? Make sure to make a show out of counting the dice before you roll.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Baldur’s Gate (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: The Dark Urge (Baldur’s Gate), Bhaal (Dungeons & Dragons) Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, References to abusive conditions within the temple of Bhaal, Orin Gortash and Sarevok are referenced and discussed but not present, The Dark Urge & Orin the Red Have a Sibling Relationship ‎(Baldur’s Gate) Summary:

Familiar penance marks the Dark Urge’s back in atonement for a most egregious sin: deviation from the Mind and Heart of the Father. When the voice of God refuses to make itself heard from echoing caverns of stone, one must strain their ears to discern the silence, and focus their vision to make out invisible silhouettes.

Or

The Dark Urge atones for the crime of caring for that which ought to be beneath his station, and struggles to discern what is Bhaal’s Will and what is Heresy, when Father and God both refuse to offer clarity.

Been very art blocked but my lady calls to me and I must answer... she's so silly goofy 🤭

Overly bloody version below