Zompist Bboard Again

Contents

1. Introduction: what is Telpahké and where is it spoken?
2. History 1: Prolegomenon, Prehistory and Red Wings of Death -5000-253
3. History 2: Empires and "Heroes" - 253-900
4. History 3: Decline of Kings and the rise of the Whore- 900-1300
5. Grammar 1: Phonological sketch
6. Grammar 2: Palhá harán, the Telpahké script
7. Grammar 3: Nominal morphology
8. Grammar 4: First- and second-person pronouns
9. Culture 1: Imparin clothing
10. Grammar 5: The verbal system (introduction)
11. Grammar 6: The verbal system (topic and comment, part 1)
12. Grammar 7: The verbal system (quick excursus on transitivity and voice assignment)
13. Grammar 8: The verbal system (topic and comment, part 2)
14. Grammar 9: The verbal system (verbal morphology)

Introduction

Telpahké is the language spoken by the inhabitants of the chain of islands linking the northern continent of Adeia to the southern continent of Rascana. Known to the inhabitants of Adeia as 'the Spice Islands' (Ṭafolin Atsāf in Qôni, or hā Gairoa Atzātīs in Tailancan), a native name for the archipelago is lacking; the closest equivalent being simply tetelká 'the islands' or Impɔrɛ́ Tetelká 'the islands of the people'.

Closely related to the Tarì languages of Rascana, Telpahké is notable for its unique morphosyntactic alignment (the 'Atzatic alignment'), which corresponds in a number of respects with the Terrestrial Austronesian alignment.

Nomenclature

Whilst the speakers of Telpahké have never been politically united, they possess a strong sense of themselves as an ethnic group. Their autonym is Impár which, while unanalysable in modern Telpahké, is likely cognate to the Tarì śambha 'lineage'. An ancestral form of this name is to be found in the anonymous Tailancan work 'the Periplus of the Southern Ocean', in which the natives of the Spice Islands are referred to as Zambrai. Impár, in Telpahké thought, contrasts with both fɛ́łt 'foreigners' and sokór 'aborigines'.

The name of the language itself is in origin a compound of tíǝl, an archaic form of telká 'island' and pahké, the nominalisation of pahk- 'to speak', thus meaning 'island speech'. It is thought that this name arose initially in contrast to harpahké 'sea speech', the complex avoidance register used while at sea.

Geography and Climate

The Spice Islands lie mainly north of the equator, between 1° south and 16° north. East-west, they stretch approximately 5000 km (for reference, that's roughly the distance from the west coast of Aceh to the border between Indonesia and Papua New Guinea).



Note to the map: landmasses are named in Telpahké, thus we have Faríǝθ for 'Adeia' and Kóret for 'Rascana'. Interestingly, the Telpahké name for Adeia derives from Phareitus, the southernmost Achaunese city-state, which was a major regional player between the fifth to eighth centuries. The above-mentioned 'Periplus of the Southern Ocean', written some time in the late ninth century, lists the major islands of Korhúa, Paríf, Aniθ and Rihtár as Corsoua, Barīpha, Zanītus and Roudāra. In contrast, seas are given in the Tailancan-derived form usual in Telmonan studies. The native name for the Mazuli Ocean is Tulhɛ́ Harmúǝ 'Ocean of Storms', due to the frequent tropical cyclones arising there; the Azora Sea is by contrast Ɔlpaθɛ́ Harmúǝ 'Peaceful Ocean'.

The scale is denoted in kollíǝ, a native unit of measurement equivalent to approximately 25 kilometres, being judged as the distance a healthy young man might comfortably cover in a canoe on the open sea in a day.

The islands can roughly be divided into two halves at the Straits of Opordis, based on their geological origin and their prevailing climate. The windward islands to the north-east are a southern continuation of the Athros Mountains which divide the continent of Adeia in two. They are geologically old, and their terrain tends to be more forgiving than the leeward islands. Like the Athros Mountains, they are rich in minerals. They have a monsoon climate, with a pronounced wet season during the summer months. Soils are fertile and the prehistoric biome was primarily tropical moist forest.

The leeward islands are mainly volcanic in origin, arising from the subduction of the Rascanan plate underneath the Adeian plate. They tend to be higher in elevation and have a rather less hospitable landscape. They have a tropical rainforest climate, with heavy rainfall all year round. The interiors of the leeward islands are still heavily forested, and settlements are generally only found along the coast. In prehistoric times, the leeward islands were a major source of obsidian, particularly the island of Himúǝk. Himúǝk obsidian has been found as far away as the Ildaia Valley in Mailona.

The geography and climate of the two groups of islands has had a profound impact on their histories and societies. For example, the main crop of the leeward islands is sirés 'taro', grown in the narrow, swampy coastal plains, while that of the windward islands is sómar 'rice', which is intensively grown in terraced paddy fields. Although the leeward islands were the first to be settled, the windward islands have always been able to support a much higher population density: coupled with the geographical proximity to the advanced cultures of Adeia and their commanding position on international trade routes, the windward islands (particularly Aníθ, Korhúǝ and Paríf) have historically been the main locus of Telpahké-speaking civilisation.

Mention must be made of the commodity that has given the islands their most common exonym: spices. The vast bulk of the spices used across Adeia and Rascana are either endemic to the islands or grow particularly well there. Malabathrum, green and black cardamom, cinnamon, long pepper, black pepper, cubebs, cloves, galangal, nutmeg, black cumin, turmeric, ginger, anise and pandan are all commonly cultivated in the islands and form a substantial proportion of their exports.

Next up: a whistlestop tour of the history of the Spice Islands, and a brief outline of society and culture.

Nice!

Do you have your Dravian stuff back online anywhere or a mirror of some sort?

dewrad wrote: ↑Mon Sep 03, 2018 10:34 amThe islands can roughly be divided into two halves at the Straits of Opordis, based on their geological origin and their prevailing climate. The windward islands to the north-east are a southern continuation of the Athros Mountains which divide the continent of Adeia in two. They are geologically old, and their terrain tends to be more forgiving than the leeward islands. Like the Athros Mountains, they are rich in minerals. They have a monsoon climate, with a pronounced wet season during the summer months. Soils are fertile and the prehistoric biome was primarily tropical moist forest.

The leeward islands are mainly volcanic in origin, arising from the subduction of the Rascanan plate underneath the Adeian plate. They tend to be higher in elevation and have a rather less hospitable landscape. They have a tropical rainforest climate, with heavy rainfall all year round. The interiors of the leeward islands are still heavily forested, and settlements are generally only found along the coast. In prehistoric times, the leeward islands were a major source of obsidian, particularly the island of Himúǝk. Himúǝk obsidian has been found as far away as the Ildaia Valley in Mailona.

There seems to be some confusion of the names "windward" and "leeward", because at first you say the "windward" ones are to the northeast ones and the leeward the southwen here, but then later

The geography and climate of the two groups of islands has had a profound impact on their histories and societies. For example, the main crop of the windward islands is sirés 'taro', grown in the narrow, swampy coastal plains, while that of the leeward islands is sómar 'rice', which is intensively grown in terraced paddy fields. Although the windward islands were the first to be settled, the leeward islands have always been able to support a much higher population density: coupled with the geographical proximity to the advanced cultures of Adeia and their commanding position on international trade routes, the leeward islands (particularly Aníθ, Korhúǝ and Paríf)

which would imply the exact opposite situation. Which way round is it?

In any case I love insular settings like this, because the differences between the cultures of the individual islands are ripe for expansion and filling with interesting little details even about particular colours of clothing, or specific ceremonies unique to one island or another.

Hey Dewrad, I'm glad you're not dead.


I like your unit of measurement - one of the little bits of research that most readers will gloss over without appreciation...

mèþru wrote: ↑Mon Sep 03, 2018 11:23 am Nice!

Do you have your Dravian stuff back online anywhere or a mirror of some sort?

Not yet, although I am looking at new webhosting options. Watch this space.

Frislander wrote: ↑Tue Sep 04, 2018 4:14 amwhich would imply the exact opposite situation. Which way round is it?

Yeah, I'm a dumbass! I'll go back and correct the original post, thanks for noticing it.

Salmoneus wrote: ↑Tue Sep 04, 2018 3:37 pm Hey Dewrad, I'm glad you're not dead.

It's something of a relief to me as well. Good to see you here too.

I like your unit of measurement - one of the little bits of research that most readers will gloss over without appreciation...

A good friend of mine is massively into sea kayaking: I asked him how far he would be able to travel in a day taking it relatively easy and the kollíǝ is the result.

So, History Part 1:

Historical Outline

Note on names: I'm not going to be consistent here. I'm going to be using the modern names for the Islands: thus Korhúǝ for Corsoua etc; but for the wider world I'll either be using the standard Tailancan-derived terms I normally use or the native names as I see fit. The reason for this, extratextually and for example, is because while the Tailancans referred to the mysterious Qîrian civilisation as toi Cūreiai, I've always used Qîr in my own notes. However, to save myself the headache of leeward/windward (as pointed out above!), I'm going to adopt the Telpahké terms Somíl 'west' and Sórtay 'east' respectively for the two groups of islands. They also mean 'rainy season' and 'dry season' respectively, the shift being from the season to denoting the direction from which the summer and winter monsoon winds originate.

Note on dating: there is no one established calendar in Adeia or Rascana, let alone the Spice Islands. Virtually every state or religion has its own way of recording years, none of which is intuitive. As a result, scholars in the western half of Adeia have long used the 'Count of Helignatos', which takes the accession date of the first king of Tailanis as an easy way to keep track of years in annals and the like: the current year is 1632, and this is the count I use below.

It should be noted however that this calendar has no use in everyday life by any culture in the civilised world. If you ask a Carastan for the current year he will say 'the 271st year in the reign of Gesostinos IX the Perplexed', while a Tagorese merchant from Yɛṃ Tǝlar will respond that it's 'year three in the seventh indiction of Mbrɔḥ Cɛṃ'. In the Spice Islands themselves, the Somíl Islands generally use variations on the Tariññese 'spoke and wheel' count, in which the current year would be 'the third lion (year) of the seventh wheel'. Each state in the Sórtay Islands used to name each year according to the ruling archons at the time, which still holds true for most internal matters. However, it is more common to number years since the Treaty of the Forests (see below)- under which count the current year is 319.

Before beginning, a few general observations and a couple of caveats. Insular history is, largely, anything but insular. The Spice Islands are not an isolated archipelago forming a unit closed against the outside world: they are at the crossroads between the two civilised continents and have always been directly adjacent to some of the most advanced cultures on Telmona. They are the (sole) source of incredibly valuable commodities, which has always attracted outside interest. Therefore, it's not really possible to make much sense of Insular history without reference to the rest of the world. To even cursorily discuss the history of the Spice Islands without talking about the Phareitans, the Tailancan-Chadati wars or the rise and fall of the civilisations of the Mafreti peninsula is like trying to talk about the history of Italy without referring to the rest of Europe. But to just talk about any of the above without any context turns the whole thing into a slew of impenetrable names. As such, I've included a map and a very quick and dirty guide to the peoples and cultures mentioned in the main text. I've also called it a prolegomenon because I'm pretentious like that.

Another thing to remember is that given the geography of the islands, this isn't a nice neat story about the rise and fall of empires and kingdoms. Nobody has ever been able to politically unify the Telpahké-speaking world; in fact it's only the much smaller islands that have ever had a single government. I've tried to limit myself to noting trends in political history rather than going into much detail: this shouldn't be taken as an indication that history is just something that happens to the Islands, but rather that the individual struggles of (say) Meleθɔ́ and Partíǝk - long-standing rival city-states on the island of Paríf - are just too detailed and complex to go into in any detail. Just remember that under the surface of the account below tribes, city-states and other various polities are busy jockeying for power, intriguiging and fighting amongst themselves pretty much constantly.

Prolegomenon to Insular History (or: a quick and dirty guide to the places and people of the civilised world)

Below is a map of the continent of Adeia and the northern part of Rascana, with the main relevant regions highlighted and labelled. Rather than going through even a brief summary of the grand sweep of Adeian history, I'll just quickly outline each area and how it's significant.



Cureia

This was the first region of Telmona to develop agriculture: primarily a package based on wheat and barley and heavily dependent on irrigation from the Wanti river system. The first urbanised society originated here: that of the Qîr, who we can also thank for inventing writing first.

The Mafreti Peninsula

One of the first areas to acquire writing, urbanism and agriculture from the Qîr. The peninsula is bisected east-west by the Athros mountains, with the western half being rather less rugged. The main civilisation here in antiquity was that of the Achaunese, who were among the first to engage in long-distance seaborne trade. They also were instrumental in exporting civilisation to:

Mailona

The main area of focus here is the eastern part of the subcontinent, which is the homeland of the Lacarans. The Lacarans have organised themselves into four successive empires: the first three being based around Tailanis, the most recent around the city of Carasta. Major importance to early trade networks was the production of silk.

Chadatar

Is primarily steppe, but is indented with two significant river valleys. The dominant peoples here were initially the nomadic Daŋhai and then the related Chadati. The Daŋhai conquered the Wanti valley in the fifth century, and were conquered in their turn by the Chadati in the eighth. The Chadati went on to conquer both the second Tailancan Empire and the states of Taxaria before collapsing in the Crisis of the Tenth Century.

Taxaria

Taxaria doesn't get involved much in the story of the Spice Islands directly, but has always been a major motor of transcontinental trade. The great silver mines of Kɨṅgrao financed the insatiable Tagorese appetite for western silks, slaves and spices until the money ran out in the twelth century, precipitating the first international financial crisis.

Rascana

From an Adeian point of view, Rascana is a mysterious and exotic locale. However, the people there developed agriculture not long after the Qîrians, which would have important results for the Spice Islands. Historically, the major players have been the Tariññese, who dominate the northern half of the continent, whose history is a cycle of empires forming, splitting and then forming again.

For ease of reference, I've included the map of the islands again below, to save people having to scroll up to the first post to work out exactly where (say) Tíǝk is.



Prehistory: -5000 to -500

While archaeology provides evidence of humans traversing and visiting the Spice Islands since at least the end of the last glacial maximum, the first firm evidence of permanent settlement we have is from approximately six and a half millenia ago. These settlers from the Adeian mainland were clearly early agriculturalists, with pottery working, domesticated dogs and goats and a crop package incorporating wheat and barley. Based on their artifacts, we can confidently state that they originated on the east coast of the Mafreti peninsula, and initial settlement was on the northernmost of the Sóntay Islands.

However, these early settlers did not remain their initial settled agricultural way of life for long. Cereal crops adapted to the more arid conditions of Cureia do not thrive in the much wetter climate of the Spice Islands, and the feeding habits of goats are particularly unhelpful to delicate insular ecosystems. By at least -4000 agriculture had been entirely abandoned and the population of the Sóntay Islands had reverted to a hunter-gatherer economy. Their population density remained low, and their technology remained relatively 'primitive', losing pottery and even textile manufacture. They had simple dugout canoes and the limit of their settlement appears to have been the Straits of Opordis. Based on obsidian finds throughout the Sóntay Islands, it is clear that they made the journey to Himúǝk, but no permanent to settlements appear to have been made.

A couple of millennia later, the inhabitants of the north-eastern coast of Rascana had developed something which would revolutionise the islands: the outrigger canoe, which enables simple canoes to be safely paddled much greater distances than the simple dugouts previously used. Equipped with a fairly complex agricultural package already well-adapted to the tropics (including the domesticated Rascana junglefowl), the canoe people exploded into the Somíl Islands. These people spoke a Atzato-Tarian language, directly ancestral to modern Telpahké.

By about -1500, the Somíl Islands were populated by settled agriculturalists (although horticulturalists might be a better term here), organised into simple tribal-based structures and engaging in a lively trade for obsidian, jade and feathers across the shallow inter-island seas. On the other hand, the Sóntay Islands remained populated by hunter-gatherers at a very low population density, whose main interaction with the Somíl people was a mixture of trading for obsidian and being the subject of repeated slave raids.

At about the same time, the cultures of Adeia had coalesced into the first states, with hierarchical structures and command economies. Non-labouring elites are quick to develop a taste for luxury goods, and the first polities to take advantage of this were the Achaunese-speaking city states of the western Mafreti peninsula. The ṭarūnī 'kings' of these states sent out square-rigged sailing ships, north to the emerging urban civilisations of Mailona to acquire silk and south to the Sóntay Islands for slaves, exotic feathers and (importantly for the tree-poor Mafret) wood. These they would exchange for precious stones and metals in the recently united Qîrian sphere, and became rich in the process.

Around -900 or thereabouts, we see the development of dry rice agriculture in the uplands of Korhúǝ and Aníθ, allowing the Sóntay islanders to develop rather more dense settlements. This would have significant consequences later on.

Red Wings of Death and beyond: -500 to 253

The fifth century before Helignatos was a time of utter disaster for the civilised peoples of Adeia, and almost led to the total collapse of Adeian civilisation. The Atzato-Tarian speakers of the Somíl Islands, whom we can now refer to as the Impar, had not a small hand in this.

To put the disaster into a wider context, this had been on the cards for quite a while. The most advanced culture on the planet since its discovery of agriculture had been based in Cureia. Intensive irrigation-based agriculture supported an immense population density for the time, and facilitated a highly centralised, stratified society hungry for luxuries. Arranged around Cureia like planets around a star were the civilisations of Mailona and the Mafreti peninsula, all feeding the beast with goods and luxuries and receiving the benefits of civilisation in return.

However, almost two millenia of intensive irrigation has its consequences: soil salinity in the valley of the Wanti, the Cureian heartland, had increased to the point that vast swathes of formerly productive agricultural land became little more than deserts. In the Mafreti peninsula, the increasing size of Achaunese navies had denuded the slopes of the Athros Mountains of their trees, leading to disastrous erosion. On top of this, global cooling reduced the seasonal rains and led to widespread drought.

The Spice Islands were not immune to the collapse of the outside world. The failure of the monsoon severely impacted on the dry rice-based agriculture of the Sóntay Islands, and the cessation of trade with the Achaunese led to widespread unrest and collapse of societies based on the redistribution of this foreign wealth. More serious, however, were the events taking place on the north coast of Rascana.

Urbanism had been on the rise in northern Rascana for the past millenium, with an increasingly complex society to go with it. More animals were domesticated, food production became more efficient, and population densities rose. Given the endemic warfare between the various groups, people clustered more and more into centralised protected sites: the first cities of Rascana. And more and more germs were passed around.

The plague began in Rascana and swiftly spread to the Impar. The impact on the Impar was severe enough to cause widespread panic; and triggered their expansion out of the Somíl Islands into the Sontáy Islands, devastating the already weakened native population and quickly spreading the plague to the ravaged Achaunese. The fragmentary Adeian records of the time suggest that the plague was an influenza-like epidemic; and terrifyingly it killed not the elderly and infirm or children, but rather healthy young adults. Insular records of the plague are largely non-existant, but part of the Song of Thunder, part of the traditional rite which opens the rainy season may preserve some folk memory of this time:

Tehnɛ́ θoké támaθ fefré Impár
somelɛ́ solɛ́ lamparé mar.
Tehká sɔtólok ko tehká entíǝ!
Tehká kóko ko tehká ɔmaθíǝ!
Impɔrɛ́ mitá Pɔhrákoy.

The People fly on red wings of death,
before the black clouds of the west.
Warriors die, elders do not die!
Maidens die, mothers do not die!
The Pɔhrákoy stalks the people.

(A pɔhrákoy is one of the mythological hybrid animals of which the Impar are so fond. In this case, it has the body of a python, the wings of an eagle and the head of a tiger. It occupies a place in Impar thought somewhere between a Fury and a more benign psychopomp.)

The plague eventually burnt itself out, and the Impar found themselves in possession of not only the whole archipelago but also a agricultual package which was well suited to the drier Sontáy Islands. Dispossessing the aborigines of their land and either keeping them as slaves or driving them off into the forests, the Impar swiftly settled down to farm and bicker. When the climate finally reached an equilibrium again and the monsoon returned on a predictable basis, the Impar found that their flooded rice fields produced a much greater surplus than the well-drained ones. And so wet rice cultivation began, prompting something of a population explosion.

(A quick ethnographic note: Telmonan humans do not have quite the same range of phenotypes as Terrestrial humans do: everyone's pretty much a shade of brown. However, the Impar and the natives of Rascana have noticeably darker skin than Adeians do- approximately the difference between (say) southern Indians and Middle Easterners. The displaced natives ended up as hunter-gatherers again in the forests in the interior of the islands where as sokór, they gave rise to tales of the little pale men of the forests.)

Offstage, the civilisations of Adeia began to recover from the collapse. Gone were the large, centralised empires of the Qîr: the main powers now were the city-states of the Achaunese. As elites are wont to do, the elites of the Achaunese began to crave luxuries and so international trade recommenced. Previously, the main products of the islands had been limited to feathers, obsidian and slaves; however, when Achaunese merchants returned to the archipelago they found not docile semi-nomadic horticulturalists who were easily fleeced with a handful of amber beads, but rather a sophisticated and settled society who desired more than just trinkets, and had more to offer than just feathers and rocks.

By about -100, a lively trade between the Achaunese and the Impar had developed. In return for Mailonan silks and iron from the Athros mountains, the Impar offered fish, rice, pearls and, most importantly, spices. The Achaunese for their part established trading colonies called mablaʔī, which survives as the Telpahké word mɔhláy 'market'. Achaunese sailing technology is adapted and combined with native outrigger technology, improving the ability of Impar leaders to project their power beyond their own shores. The influx of wealth from the north and the improvements to agriculture led to an increasingly hierarchical society, with the native chiefs aping Achaunese ways. The original Telpahké word for 'chief' was, at this stage, something like *kʰāwa (cognate to the Tarì khāva 'landowner'). However, it was displaced by the Achaunese loanword paynūn 'judge', the title given to the administrators of the trading colonies: this gave rise to the modern Telpahké word for 'king' is fainú. (While we're at it, the Achaunese autonym ʔAqāwunu gives the modern Telpahké ahkúǝ 'merchant'.)

Of course, all good things must come to an end and Achaunese civilisation ended with a crashing fall in the year 253. Things had been questionable for a while: internecine strife between the Pandayi and Mayriqi leagues through the late first century ended with a Mayriqi victory in 98, but was swiftly followed by a further war with the Narzids (nomads from Chadatar who had conquered Cureia) which lasted some sixty years before simply petering out due to a lack of interest on the Narzid side. The ravaged Mafreti peninsula was then invaded from the north by a rather marginal Achaunese-speaking state led by an exceptional young king of great military talent. Açirnu of Jalīda conquered the whole of the Mafreti peninsula, the Laida Valley in Mailona and Cureia. And then he died abruptly, leaving a lot of people looking at each other in a very hostile manner.

The soil of the Mafreti peninsula had never really recovered from the deforestation crisis almost seven centuries previously. Now, exhausted by all the fighting and facing the prospect of starvation, Achaunese society simply collapsed. Famine, war and hysteria stalked the land. Roving death-priests snatched anyone they could find to appease the gods. Traditionally, the end of Achaunese civilisation is dated to 253, when the priests of Yariṣa offered every single inhabitant of their city in sacrifice to the gods and then burnt the city down when no divine bounty was forthcoming.

Two major outcomes of the fall of the Achaunese: on the one hand, the disruption to trade led to widespread unrest in the Spice Islands, but no real fall in population - the ecological collapse of the Mafreti peninsula had been strictly local in scope - which led to far more internecine conflict. Society as a result became more militaristic and stratified: it is from this time that we can date the emergence of the Impar caste system. On the other hand, crisis creates opportunity, and into the power vacuum left by the Achaunese we see the rise of two cities who would dominate the politics of the region for the next five centuries: Phareitus at the southern tip of the Mafreti peninsula, and Tailanis in the valley of the Arrosa in Mailona.

Empires and "Heroes": 253 to 900

For what it's worth, Telpahké is evolving as I write this, and new words and grammatical constructions are making themselves known as I go along. One of which is an adjective derived from Impár: in this case it's Impɔrín, which I'm going to Romanise as 'Imparin'.

In the last instalment, I mentioned the Imparin caste system (wɔhná kamáł 'the three divisions'). I'll discuss the modern instantiation in a later post, but its evolution during this period is significant, so it's worth explaining its early form here. Essentially, the increase in population and the concomitant increase in both political complexity and scarcity of resources (particularly what might be termed 'luxury' resources that are the result of trade) led to a more stratified social system than the relatively egalitarian 'big man' system that had prevailed before. At its heart, the distinction between the castes could be encapsulated in one question: "who had a monopoly of force?". Alpochos of Tascanis, who was an early Tailancan historian and adventurer, described the society of the Sontáy Islands in the seventh century:

Alpochos of Tascanis wrote:The Zambrai divide themselves into three estates, affirming that a man of one estate cannot eat with a man of another (estate), cannot live with (a man of) another (estate) nor take a wife of another (estate). The noblest and chief of these classes of men are the Tēngiroi, who direct the nation and prosecute war. The middling sort are the Geiombrai, who work the fields and follow the Tēngiroi in all matters. The most wretched are the Gāctaroi, who can be bought and sold like slaves, but may not be sold away from their lands.

At the apex of the system were the 'nobles', the Θíǝŋer, Alpochos' 'Tēngiroi'. Originally consisting of the tribal chief and his warband, this became a hereditary caste of warriors, from which the chief ('king' is probably a better word by this point) could be selected. The pursuit of war was limited to this caste, and only the Θíǝŋer were permitted to own swords. Technically speaking, they owned all the land and taxed those who actually worked it- by about 600 they comprised only 10% of the population.

Those who actually worked the land were the Súǝmar, Alpochos' 'Geiombrai'. The word itself derives from súǝn 'house', and roughly means 'householder'. They constituted the vast majority of the population: about 60% by the seventh century. They were forbidden to carry swords and owed both labour and taxes in kind to the Θíǝŋer. The majority of merchants were from this caste: rather than paying their taxes in kind, they would pay in coin.

At the bottom were the Wɔhtár, Alpochos' 'Gāctaroi'. While the word literally means 'slave', it is pertinent that Alpochos did not equate the Imparin Wɔhtár with the slaves familiar from his own society. A closer English term is 'serf': the Wɔhtár were tied to the land and could be sold with it, but not away from it. While a Súǝmar would pay rent to the Θíǝŋer who owned the land and keep the remainder of what he produced, a Wɔhtár's produce belonged entirely to the Θíǝŋer: the Wɔhtár kept only what was sufficient for him and his family to live. Probably about 20% of the population at most.

Two groups fell outside this structure: the priesthood and the slaves. The priests will be discussed in greater detail when I talk about culture, but suffice it to say that they could be drawn from any of the three castes. Slaves were known as pallú (from the Achaunese balʔūn 'merchandise') and included both those captured for sale to the markets of Adeia and also the household slaves owned by the Θíǝŋer and richer Súǝmar. The principal source of slaves was either prisoners of war or captives from raids, but any member of one of the three castes could be sold into slavery for debt, including the Θíǝŋer.

It is worth noting that mobility between the castes by the seventh century was unthinkable, but in earlier centuries was not uncommon. Promising fighters of the Súǝmar caste could be granted land and incorporated into the Θíǝŋer caste, while Súǝmar who could no longer afford to pay their taxes might sell themselves into bondage as Wɔhtár.

Excursus on society aside, while in the larger world major events were eventuating, this period is largely uneventful in the history of the Spice Islands, vis-à-vis the international stage: regardless of who controls the routes northwest and northeast, trade continues and wealth circulates. Major developments include the introduction of writing from Phareitus, ongoing population expansion (a result of this is the impressive terraces of Aθín and Korhúǝ), and a dizzying whirl of alliances, leagues and petty wars between the Impar states. The islands closest to the mainland- in particular Tíǝk and Hausúl became effectively protectorates of Phareitus between 350 and 550.

To the west, the Emperor of Tariñña, in a fit of expansionist megalomania, declared his intention to conquer the entire archipelago: he succeeded in occupying Sahtíǝl between 498 and 527 before the Impar descended from the mountains and drove the Tariññese back into the sea. An interesting consequence of this, and largely made possible by the development of the crab-claw sail, were the 'Voyages of Revenge'. Imparin sailors from the Somíl Isands took to raiding along the north coast of Tariñña, capturing booty and (more importantly) slaves. While slavery had always been present in the archipelago, the Impar had not before really engaged in long-distance slave trading. However, quickly learning of the fascination dark-skinned slaves had in the courts of the Chadati, young men and women from Tariñña soon became a major export of the Somíl Islands: thus the growth of the pallú as a social category.

To quickly summarise the march of history outside the Islands during this period: Tailanis managed to establish an empire across much of eastern Mailona, while Phareitus concentrated on controlling trade between Mailona, the Spice Islands and the remainder of Adeia- a position eminently suited to her on account of the city's position at the southernmost tip of the Mafreti peninsula. Tailanis and Phareitus fought three wars in total: the first was a Phareitan victory on account of Tailanis' lack of experience in naval warfare. The second war was a comprehensive Tailancan victory, soured however by the Daŋhai intervention which preserved Phareitan independence and continuity, and left Tailanis in control only of the northern (useless) half of the Mafreti peninsula. The final war between Tailanis and Phareitus began in 783 and ended in 795. Between the second and third Phareitan wars the Daŋhai had been conquered by the Chadati, who took a dim view of Tailancan expansionist policies. The initial stages of the third war went in Tailanis' favour, and a total Tailancan victory seemed inevitable. However, in 790 the Chadati entered the war on Phareitus' behalf and utterly crushed Tailanis. Not only did they beat the Tailancans back from the Mafreti peninsula, but they also went on to conquer the Empire of Tailanis and incorporate it into their own. Small comfort for the Tailancans that Phareitus would be similarly incorporated in 797.

The impact of this manoeuvering between the great states of Adeia had little impact on the Spice Islands. As mentioned above, the spice still flowed, regardless of who might be in charge in Adeia. The Impár during this period were far more interested in fighting amongst themselves. Interestingly, combat became increasingly ritualised: a battle on land would essentially be a series of duels between the Θíǝŋer of each side until one party capitulated and ran away. Sea battles were even more civilised: warships crewed by Súǝmar or Wɔhtár would pull up alongside each other and lash ship to ship. Then, while the crew watched and shouted encouragement, the Θíǝŋer warriors on each side would duel until one side or another gave up and gave the order to withdraw. At this point, lines would be cast off and each ship would return home.

Without a shadow of irony, it is this period which constitutes the "Heroic" period of Telpahké literature. To this day bards wander from settlement to settlement singing songs of the glorious deeds of the Imparin kings and their heroic retinues. Shadow-players will recite poetry of this time as they illuminate epic battles at sea. An example from the Epic of Ɔθín, a poem of some three hundred quatrains recounting a minor war fought around 730 between the heroes of the sacred island and the invading forces from Mahmá:

Ipí neyá Kɔθrɔhsíǝ pɔtí Solkák,
huǝ Rehsłoté pɔtí Łoihɔ́łe,
huǝ maré siǝ neyá saké Kiułúǝt.
Ɔθemó teuŋó sátol kamáł.

Łoihɔ́łeθ fafeté ahír,
aheró nanoθá kúǝla súǝmar.
Aheró θaθafé ahír,
wahkonúǝ sátol kamáł.

Mahró wahkontá Kiułúǝt,
Pahsɔré wahkontá Łoihɔ́łe.
Eyiłtá súǝmar, ololtá sɔtólok,
tehká rahk θɛk, sesentá sátol kamáł.

Solkák Kɔθrɔhsíǝ's son was there,
and Łoihɔ́łe son of Rehsłúǝt,
and brave Kiułúǝt stood on the prow.
Three brave warriors of Ɔθín.

Łoihɔ́łe called the ships,
the peasants rowed the ships close.
Ship bound to ship,
three heroes are going to fight.

Kiułúǝt fought Mahró,
Łoihɔ́łe fought Pahsár.
The peasants cheered, the warriors cried victory,
two dead enemies, three heroes alive.

This is literally the climactic battle of the epic: three men against two. And Solkák didn't even fight.

Out in the wider world, in 851 the Chadati conquered the Tagorese Empire. With this, the Chadati Republic controlled almost the whole of the civilised world of Adeia, from Mailona in the west to Taxaria in the east. They imposed peace across the continent, which had four catastrophic effects for the Spice Islands. The first was that land-based trade routes became both safe and feasible: why send a ship full of silver from Taxaria to Mailona around the dangerous Mafreti peninsula when it can be sent through the nice safe passes in the Athros mountains? The second was that sending silver to Mailona was becoming increasingly pointless anyway. With the Chadati conquest, the Tailancan monopoly on silk was well and truly at an end: why send silver to Mailona around the Mafreti peninsula for silk when you can make it at home for nothing? The third was that since the Tariñña Empire had learnt to cultivate a number of spices originally only found in the archipelago, the Spice Islands' only real market was Adeia to the north; and suddenly playing Carasta off against Ondrasi when both are now mere outposts of an aggressively centralised state seems rather less lucrative.

The fourth catastrophic effect was inevitable when large groups of people suddenly have free access to each other where they never did before. Free trade accoss a continent exchanges ideas, goods and germs. It was a plague that began in Taxaria in the tenth century that almost bought the civilised world to its knees. Again.

Interesting. I'm particularly interested in the caste system, since I'm trying to work through how the stratification of society through caste might affect matters. My people, the Vedreki, have had a rather fossilised (reasons for that which I suppose I should explain elsewhere) caste system of five - noble, warrior, worker, servant and farmer castes. I look forward to the explanation of the modern system, but has it had any effect on language and politeness strategies?

Dewrad! Good to see you on the new bboard.

Love the lang and the setting. Looking forward to more.

Decline of Kings and the rise of the Whore: 900 to 1300

Shortly after the new year feast of 923: the king of Ahpɔní on Korhúǝ retires to his personal quarters. His city is in the midst of an outbreak of púǝkay- a highly infectious disease, probably caused by a Shigella-like bacterium, the primary symptom of which is violent dysentery. So far the king has managed to avoid infection; but, as the story goes, on retiring from the feast he is struck by a particularly unpleasant episode. He calls for his body servant to help him change. Instead, the servant crams the soiled loincloth into his weakened master's mouth and holds it there until he dies. The king's corpse is subsequently impaled and paraded around the city and the following night the king's family suffers the same fate.

The overthrow of the king of Ahpɔní was not just another palace coup: trouble had been brewing for a long time. The impact of the Chadati Republic's control over the majority of Adeia had been disasterous for the Spice Islands. At heart still a steppe-dwelling people, the Chadati had an inherent distrust of ships and sea travel. Trade dropped off to miniscule levels, causing widespread penury: in order to maintain their lavish lifestyles the response of many kings and Θíǝŋer was to increase taxes to crippling levels. For many, the only recourse was to piracy: the Tariññese would pay handsomely for attractive pale-skinned slaves, and the sight of a fleet of Imparin crab claw-sailed vessels coming over the horizon became a regular summer terror for the coast-dwelling peoples of Adeia.

The plague which ravaged Adeia between 893 and 906 largely passed the Spice Islands by; however, the total collapse in the Adeian market and slavers' unwillingness to trade in diseased merchandise largely cut off their main source of slaves. Logically, then, pirates and slave-traders began raiding the people of the Spice Islands. Long accustomed to little more than ceremonial warfare, the Θíǝŋer proved to be largely incapable of defending their communities. Hampered by the jealous prohibition on any but the highest caste carrying swords and the point-blank refusal of many kings to countenance a compromise, the Súǝmar in many states began organising themselves into militias, circumventing the prohibition on swords by using the áhlar 'scythe', a weapon that evolved from the agricultural implement, not dissimilar to the naginata or glaive.

Unable to protect their people and unable to adapt to the changing world, kings and the Θíǝŋer were losing credibility across the Spice Islands. Palace coups were frequent, and machinations among the Θíǝŋer would often see a king deposed and replaced with a more pliant member of the royal family. Ahpɔní's solution, however, was more brutal and far more revolutionary: to do away with the office of kingship altogether and to put the ineffective Θíǝŋer to the sword. The citizens would then elect three of their number each year to serve as archons ruling the city. In practice, of course, "the citizens" were actually the leading and more wealthy Súǝmar families, who had long resented their exclusion from politics.

While the ideas of the "Ahpɔní Revolution" quickly spread through the Spice Islands, the precise instantiation varied considerably. While many states did away with their kings and installed archons in their stead, not a few (particularly in Somíl Islands, where kingship had more of a sacral quality than it did the in Sontáy Islands) retained their kings as powerless figureheads. Few other states summarily executed their Θíǝŋer: most simply turned the existing taboo against Θíǝŋer engaging in trade into law, and reduced rents on land to peppercorn levels, driving the majority of them into poverty. Interestingly, forbidden from engaging in trade or agriculture, many dispossesed Θíǝŋer families became travelling entertainers: the "heroic literature" composed for the entertainment of the Θíǝŋer four centuries previously became their stock in trade as they travelled from settlement to settlement, performing and reciting for the people that had been their former tenants. To this day, the sword is considered by the Impar as the quintessential enblem of the travelling bard.

By approximately 1000, the Spice Islands had settled into a new status quo. To the north, the Chadati Republic had fallen, with the Tailancan Empire reasserting itself and the Tagorese Empire resurgent in the east. The urbanised portions of the Chadati Republic, primarily in Cureia, had reconstituted themselves as the Dominate of Kaštiya, which had a far more reasonable attitude towards trade. To the south and west, the Tariññese were going through one of their intermittent periods of disunity and civil war, which temporarily decreased the demand for slaves. Prosperity returned to the Spice Islands, and population levels began to recover.

By the beginning of the twelfth century, piracy in the Spice Islands had changed considerably. Effective defence of Imparin states by the new archons and their militias cut off the Spice Islands as a source of slaves, and unlike the Chadati Republic the new states of Adeia were confident mariners. The decline in demand due to the Fifth Tariññese Crisis added to their woes, and pirates begain to prey primarily on the cargo ships now rounding the tip of the Mafreti peninsula. The main stronghold of the pirates was Tíǝk, a small island largely useless for agriculture but ideally placed on the trade-routes as a base from which to strike. Known to the outside world by the Qôni name of its main settlement, Agrantah, the pirates of Tíǝk were an ongoing, if disorganised, thorn in the side of the civilised states of the world.

Himpɔtí was the third son of a Wɔhtár family from Paríf. At an early age, he ran away to sea and ended up as a member of the gang of a notorious pirate based in Tíǝk. He worked up his way through the ranks and was eventually named the old pirate's second in command. The old pirate was fairly successful, and the wealth he and his second in command accrued allowed Himpɔtí to have two sons of his own, and a daughter Fúǝnko. Unwilling to leave his daughter on shore, Himpɔtí would keep his daughter close by his side at all times.

When the old pirate died, Himpɔtí slaughtered two of the old pirate's sons and took over the gang- the old pirate's third son Srak was simply a boy and Himpɔtí kept him on as his catamite. Himpɔtí was a more successful pirate than his old boss, and spent the next five years raiding and becoming very wealthy. Like most pirates of the time, he revelled in the pleasures of the flesh: a successful raid would generally be followed by Himpɔtí and his sons getting colossally drunk and passing around their catamite and any captured women until they fell into a stupor. On one such night, some five years into Himpɔtí's career as a pirate leader, Srak cut the throats of Himpɔtí and his sons and took back command of his father's fleet. The story goes that Srak was in love with Himpɔtí's daughter and asked her to be his wife. When she refused, he cut off Fúǝnko's ear and sold her to a brothel on Tíǝk.

In spite of her disfigurement, Fúǝnko was said to be astonishingly beautiful, and soon became one of the most sought-after prostitutes in Agrantah. She became the mistress of one powerful man after another, finally persuading one to marry her. Fúǝnko's first husband soon met with an unfortunate "accident", and left her with his considerable fortune and the command of his fleet. Several husbands and several "accidents" later, Fúǝnko became the undisputed leader of the pirates of Tíǝk, changing her name to Solíǝ, after the Imparin spirit of vengeance. (A solíǝ is another one of the Imparin hybrid creatures: the body of a beautiful woman, the wings of a bat and the head and hood of a cobra. Suprisingly given the prevalence of such terata in Imparin mythology, psychotropic substances are relatively rare in the Islands.)

In the history of Adeia, Solíǝ is recorded as Soleina, Whore-Queen of Agrantah. A large body of legends grew up around her: that she took fifty lovers to her bedchamber at night and slaughtered each one at dawn, that she bathed weekly in the blood of young boys in order to preserve her beauty, that she could enchant any man to do her will and when tiring of him she would kill him with her toothed vagina. However, at the height of her power Solíǝ was a woman in her mid forties, and the most damning thing that could be said about her was that she was a cunning and ruthless leader, skilled in strategy. Under her command, the pirate fleets of Tíǝk became the terror of the southern seas and neither Adeian nor Imparin ships were safe. She melded the disparate pirate gangs into an efficient naval force, and soon embarked on a programme of territorial expansion, taking over both nearby islands and a considerable amount of the neighbouring Mafreti peninsula.

Ultimately, Solíǝ was defeated in 1128 by an alliance of the cities of Aníθ, Korhúǝ and Paríf, aided by the Kaštiyans and Tailancans. When she heard of her fleet's defeat in the Battle of Ɔθín, she threw herself from the walls of Agrantah into the harbour below, her two young sons in her arms. Persistent legend has it that she did not drown, but swam away to safety and escaped. For quite some time after the defeat of the Tíǝk pirates and the razing of the city of Agrantah, there would be people who claimed to either be Solíǝ herself or one of her sons. While pirate activity continued for a long time after the destruction of Tíǝk, indeed until the present day, the pirates of the Spice Islands would never again present such a threat as they did under the Whore-Queen of Agrantah.

evmdbm wrote: ↑Sat Sep 08, 2018 11:33 am Interesting. I'm particularly interested in the caste system, since I'm trying to work through how the stratification of society through caste might affect matters. My people, the Vedreki, have had a rather fossilised (reasons for that which I suppose I should explain elsewhere) caste system of five - noble, warrior, worker, servant and farmer castes. I look forward to the explanation of the modern system, but has it had any effect on language and politeness strategies?

That's an excellent question: I have to say I'm honestly unsure as yet. I've been toying with the idea of a register system as seen in Javanese or Balinese, but I'm undecided and will need to do some more research.

Nice stuff so far, and welcome to the new ZBB, Dewrad!

Thanks for all the compliments guys, much appreciated. I wasn’t sure if this kind of thing would be of interest to many people, so it’s reassuring to know that people are reading.

Next post will be the final one on history, bringing us to the present day. After that, I’m open to suggestions: I’m thinking of either a culture description along the lines of Zompist’s "lives of ordinary people" from the Historical Atlas of Arcél, or maybe some language stuff: what would people prefer to see?

dewrad wrote: ↑Mon Sep 10, 2018 11:12 amNext post will be the final one on history, bringing us to the present day. After that, I’m open to suggestions: I’m thinking of either a culture description along the lines of Zompist’s "lives of ordinary people" from the Historical Atlas of Arcél, or maybe some language stuff: what would people prefer to see?

I'd prefer at lest some sketching of the language, certainly the phonology (I really like the feel of what you've shown so far), but honestly I'd be happy with either.

Frislander wrote: ↑Mon Sep 10, 2018 1:05 pm

dewrad wrote: ↑Mon Sep 10, 2018 11:12 amNext post will be the final one on history, bringing us to the present day. After that, I’m open to suggestions: I’m thinking of either a culture description along the lines of Zompist’s "lives of ordinary people" from the Historical Atlas of Arcél, or maybe some language stuff: what would people prefer to see?

I'd prefer at lest some sketching of the language, certainly the phonology (I really like the feel of what you've shown so far), but honestly I'd be happy with either.

Fair enough, let's quickly chuck the phonology out there:

Phonological Sketch of Telpahké

As would be expected, Telpahké is a highly dialectalised language, to the point that considering some of the more divergent forms as mutually unintelligible but related varieties as seperate languages is not without merit: it is only really the relatively uniform orthography across the archipelago which makes natives consider Telpahké a single language. As such, this is just a sketch of the phonology of the language as spoken on Paríf and Ɔθín- where I write "Telpahké", "Telpahké of Paríf" should be read. The neighbouring islands of Korhúǝ and Mahmá differ only slightly, but the further from Paríf the more divergent the phonology becomes.

As a side note, one of the fun things about an archipelago-based language is that isogloss maps are actually really simple to do. I might do a later post on the dialects, as they're essentially creating themselves as I go mad with the isoglosses.

Phoneme Inventory

The phoneme inventory of Telpahké is relatively small, consisting as it does of fifteen consonant, seven vowels and two diphthongs. Complication comes from the pervasive stress-induced vocalic apophony and syncope.

The consonant inventory is as follows, in IPA first and then the transcription used in this thread:

stops: /p t k/ p t k
fricatives: /φ θ s h/ f θ s h
nasals: /m n ŋ/ m n ŋ (note nk for /ŋk/)
laterals: /l ɬ/ l ł
rhotics: /r/ r
glides: /w j/ w y

The vowel inventory consists of the seven monophthongs /i e ɛ a ɔ o u/ and the two centering diphthongs /iǝ̯ uǝ̯/. These are romanised straightforwardly as i e ɛ a ɔ o u iǝ uǝ- I mark stress with an acute accent. Note that iǝ and uǝ are the only two permissible diphthongs, any other sequence of vowels is heterosyllabic, e.g. kɛuté 'fork' is [kɛ.u.ˈtʰe].

Constraints

Minimal syllable structure is V, while maximal syllable structure is CCVCC, although such syllables are rare.

There are no constraints against which single consonants can occur at the beginning of a syllable, although word-finally all nasals are neutralised to [n], a change reflected in both the romanisation and the native orthography.

Onset clusters are limited to {φ,s,θ,m}{r,l}. Coda clusters show more variety: {h}{p,t,k,s,ɬ}, {nasal}{p,t,k}, {r,l}{p,t,k,φ,s} or {ɬ}{p,t,k}.

Stress

Placement of stress is largely unpredictable, although confined to either the ultimate or penultimate syllable. In most words, the stress is mobile dependent on the word's inflection. Thus we have absolutive case sátol 'militiaman' but ergative sɔtóloθ.

Allophony

Those who know me will recall that I find allophony and indeed the bulk of phonology dull. Don't expect too much.

• Nasals always assimilate to the POA of an adjacent stop, so I don't bother writing **ŋk.
• /h/ has a fairly fronted articulation when in coda, /teɫpahˈke/ is more like [teɫpaçˈkʰe], while /harˈmuǝ̯/ is straightfowardly [harˈmuǝ̯] (a pronunciation like [xarˈmuǝ̯] is stigmatised as rustic, although it is very common).
• Coda /l/ is realised as velar [ɫ].
• An initial stop in a stressed syllable is always aspirated: [teɫpaçˈkʰe].
• Similarly, if a vowel is the initial as well as the nucleus, and it is stressed, it takes an initial glottal stop. Thus áli [ˈʔa.li], however we also have alí [a.ˈli].

The Telpahké Script - palhá harán

I mentioned in the last post that Telpahké is heavily dialectalised, and the only thing which keeps natives considering the various varieties one language is the relatively uniform orthography used accross the Isles. The thing here is that this means that the orthography is somewhat... suboptimal for representing the dialect of Paríf accurately and simply. This is why I use a transcription to represent Telpahké, not a transliteration.

Telpahké makes use of an abugida named palhá harán 'round writing' ultimately derived from the Achaunese syllabary - the same syllabary which ultimately gave rise to the Tailancan alphabet. The Achaunese syllabary in turn is a descendant of the logographic system used by the Qîr.

In the table below, each glyph is accompanied both by its transliteration and a transcription of the sound it represents in Telpahké as spoken on Paríf. The observant will notice a marked similarity between the transliteration and the IAST. There is a reason for this.



Yes, it looks kinda like Burmese. Well noticed.

As can be seen, the inherent vowel is <a> throughout. Unsurprisingly, diacritics are used to indicate the other vowels, shown here with <ḍa>:



I haven't included the modern Telpahké transcriptions here. Vowel representation in modern Telpahké is complex, and will be explained below. Note that the diacritic marking length precedes the main consonant glyph. There's a also diacritic "killing" the main vowel- much like the virama/halant of Indic scripts, not pictured in the image above. It takes the form of a small circle above the glyph. Conventionally, this is often omitted when word-final, thus ˈḍa-ra is ambiguous between transcribed tɛ́r and tɛ́ra.

Of course, if there's no consonant for the vowel to attach to, there are ten independent vowel letters:



Note that there are two "transcriptions" of each vowel: the top row indicates the pronunciation when stressed, the lower row when unstressed. As you can see, there's quite a bit of ambiguity.

Consonant clusters are represented with ligatures much like the conjunct consonants of Indic scripts. In Old Telpahke, there was a large number of these. However, only eight or so are still in use today:



In addition, there are five diacritics which denote coda consonants:



Aside from the sign transliterated ṁ (which always denotes n word-finally), these are only really used word-internally before another consonant, and not word-finally.

A modern innovation (ish) is to mark stressed syllables with an underdot. In Old Telpahké, the underdot actually represented aspiration.

And, for completeness' sake, there are three punctuation marks in common use. The first two are roughly equivalent to our comma and full stop, the last has no real equivalent. It is used at the beginning of a proper noun, a quotation or simply to give emphasis to the following word:



So, it should be fairly clear that the palhá harán is actually a pretty good fit phonologically... for Old Telpahké. You can see that there have been a number of phoneme mergers in the intervening centuries, which has led to a lot of redundancy for the modern language. It would be a mistake to say that modern Telpahké has a strictly etymologising orthography: a number of concessions have been made towards contemporary use over the years (basically, it's not quite as bad as Tibetan, but probably slightly more akin to English or French.)

It should come as no surprise whatsoever to learn that spelling "errors" are rife in modern written Telpahké, especially in the north-eastern dialects where the most radical restructuring of the Old Telpahké phonology has taken place. For example, the "correct" or most strictly etymologising spelling of Impár is çe-ṁ-ˈbā-ra. However, yi-ṁ-ˈbā-ra or ī-ṁ-ˈbā-ra are far from uncommon (indeed the last is probably the most commonly encountered on Paríf and its surrounding islands.

(Deriving the script, creating the font and the keyboard layout are the reasons why an update has taken so long...)

That's gorgeous.

About speakers of mutually unintelligible variants writing more or less the same---very conservative spelling is something, but I wouldn't have thought it'd get you all the way.

Example: to bring it about that Chinese is written more or less the same by speakers of different Chinese languages, you have to teach everyone to write in what is effectively Mandarin---with Mandarin syntax, and (where there are differences) Mandarin vocabulary. You'll also learn local pronunciations of Mandarin-specific words, but it won't be those words you normally use. And if you write in a local vernacular, you won't be understood by people who've only learned to read (what is in effect) Mandarin.

(Anecdote: when I was first encountering Cantonese, I discovered that the character for the third person pronoun, namely 佢 for keúih, wasn't even in my dictionary, I had to figure out what it was from pronunciation and context.)

To turn that into a question---do you have any (political, cultural) forces that would push people to write in mutually intelligible ways despite lexical and syntactic differences?

Really liking this! Very polished and organized.

Wow!

Does raise a question - and this also goes for Chinese. If the north-eastern variants often spell words "incorrectly" that suggests that eventually everyone will give up and recognise that they amount to one or more separate languages. The question is whether if that happens the north-easterners will still (or not) consider themselves or be considered as being Imparin. I guess it's slightly different for Chinese in that because it's not an alphabetic or abugida script, spelling doesn't really mean much. There's a grapheme for an idea - so that it might have changed pronumviation from Old Chinese to Cantonese, or Mandarin doesn't matter much. I don't know any Chinese, but I am interested in the fact that Cantonese has its own characters apart from the standard Chinese characters. Suggests to me that the Chinese dialects might be drifting in the same way as Telpahke?

All this is beautiful. Of course, it is strongly reminiscent of Indonesia, but that is IMHO not a bad thing. This creates an atmosphere where everything seems to make sense. I like that!