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| Dragon #66 | - | - | - | Dragon magazine |
Language is one of those “grey areas”
in the AD&D™
game system, partially
carved into the rules and partially left
to
the discretion and invention of the DM.
That the DM was hard pressed to keep
even one jump ahead of the players in
the free-wheeling early days of D&D®
play was shown by author Lee Gold in
the excellent article “Languages,” from
an early edition of DRAGON™ Magazine
and reprinted in the Best of The Dragon®
anthology. Lee told of incidents such as
players who opted to learn “Wall” speech
in order to wrest secrets from the very
walls of the DM’s dungeons. Sure, it was
worth a try; after all, if they have ears.
. . .
Thankfully, we AD&D referees do not
have to put up with that sort of thing.
Or
do we? While the Great Tomes — the
Players Handbook, Monster Manual,
Dungeon Masters Guide, FIEND FOLIO™
Tome, and the DEITIES & DEMIGODS™
Cyclopedia — refer constantly to language
use, both oral and written, even
the most conscientious DM will search in
vain for a consistent pattern of speech
use and literacy in The Rules.
This is no wonder, for the subject is
complex, and a full treatment might fail
to interest any but specialists. On a practical
gaming level, I have attempted to
deal with language and literacy under
three broad headings: non-humanoid,
humanoid (with special emphasis on
characters), and magical.
Excluding the use of magic, the real
joker in the language pack, it is probably
not possible to communicate at all with
non- intelligent beings, nor to assume
that they communicate between themselves.
It is possible to communicate
with animal intelligences; gnomes, for
instance, “can speak with burrowing
mammals” and couatl speak “most serpent
and avian languages,” according to
the books. This implies that animals can
also communicate with one another. But
it is not really useful to use terms like
“speak” or “language” for this level of
communication, which is almost surely
non-verbal or sub-verbal. Naturalists
have written many books on animal
communication, but one does not need
to go into this topic in great depth for
game purposes.
“Speaking” to animals is a matter of
tone, facial expression, and body language.
The communication with and/or
between semi- intelligent creatures must
be very similar, though these latter types
might comprehend a few simple words.
True speech begins among beings of
low intelligence. Monsters on this level
have their own language, and perhaps a
smattering of Common. At least, that is
one way to interpret the Monster Manual,
on the basis of the statement that “Minotaurs
have their own language and are
25% likely to speak common as well.”
However, there are apparent exceptions
to the general rule about low intelligence
and language. Ogres, for instance, while
of low intelligence, are real chatterboxes:
they speak their own tongue, the language
of chaotic evil, Orcish, Trollish,
and “the dialect of stone giants.” (By
the
way, “stone giant” would seem to be a
misprint for “hill giant.“) Hill giants,
while
no less intelligent than ogres, can speak
only their own dialect and their alignment
tongue, unless they are in the lucky
50% who can manage Ogrish. Creatures
of low intelligence don’t have written
languages, and individuals of those types
never achieve literacy.
Several monsters are defined as low to
average (low), or simply average (low)
intelligence. Ironically, many of these
creatures speak more languages than
creature types with higher intelligence.
The very intelligent nixies speak only
their own language and Common, while
stupid little orcs can babble on in Orcish,
lawful evil, Goblin, Ogrish, and Hobgoblin.
Gnolls, also low average in intelligence,
all speak Gnollish, chaotic evil,
and Trollish, and 60% of them can learn
Orcish and/or Hobgoblin. Of course, the
nixies (who are only an example; there
are lots to choose from) have no alignment
tongue, being neutral, but they still
seem short-changed.
This “short-changing” will be explored
further later, but for our immediate consideration:
How come all of these low
average intelligence monsters speak
each other’s languages? Because they
always seem to be making common
cause against the good guys? Surely
not, and even if it were so, the troops
would not need to communicate so freely
with one another. Multi-lingual leaders
or interpreters would suffice.
These languages — Orcish, Goblin,
Hobgoblin, Gnollish, Kobold, Ogrish,
and Trollish —are obviously related and
probably fairly simple. They may have
evolved from an early common language
as the monsters evolved from a common
stock. Or, all these species may have
learned language from one source — my
choice is the Drow — and developed
tongues that are separate but nearly
enough related for even sub-average intelligence
to learn. This theory accounts
for the otherwise baffling fact that elves
know all these languages. Furthermore,
Elvish must have influenced modern
Gnomish, Halfling, and even Dwarvish,
though these languages originated elsewhere.
It simplifies the “literacy problem”
considerably if one assumes that the
written forms of these languages have
their bases in the Elvish alphabet. See
Chart A for one suggestion of how these
languages interrelate.
When we arrive at average intelligence
(8-10), we are dealing with creatures
who can learn other languages and can
learn to read and write if they are physically
equipped to do so — no blink dogs
or pegasi, please, although this point
will
be examined more deeply later. Most
humans, characters or otherwise, have
at least an 8 intelligence. Since characters
may learn extra languages, up to
seven with an intelligence of 18, in addition
to whatever alignment tongue they
have and the language they might know
by virtue of their race, it seems only
fair
to grant additional languages to monsters
with equal intelligence, at least for
the humanoid monsters. While there is,
perhaps, no very good reason for the
very intelligent Giant Owl and Dragon
Turtle to learn other tongues than their
own, why should the Nymph — which
qualifies for four or five extra languages
by Players Handbook standards — have
not even Common, according to the
Monster Manual? Extending and expanding
upon the Middle Elfin language section
of Chart A, we can add two new
language families, Aquatic and Sylvan
(see Chart B).
‘Do not allow unlimited
communication between an
unprepared party and just
anyone they happen to
meet. . . . Even a comprehend
languages spell doesn’t
confer the ability to ask
intelligent questions.’
Our nymph, then, could speak not
only her own tongue and perhaps Common
but also Merspeech, Triton, Sea Elvish,
and possibly Dolphinese or Hippocampian,
if she is a sea nymph. A lake or
river nymph’s additional languages might
be Common, Nixie, Dryadian, and Wood
Elvish.
The languages of creatures who don’t
get around much may vary widely from
locale to locale, with widely differing accents,
dialects, and even actual different
languages, as similar and yet as dissimilar
as Spanish and Portuguese. Nixie “as
she is spoke” in one lake may be incomprehensible
in another. The accent of a
birch-tree dryad may sound odd to an
oak-tree dryad. Keep this in mind when,
say, a druid character takes a course in
Dryadian and expects to be understood
all over your map.
On the other hand, the languages of
more mobile creatures will be more consistent
throughout a wider area. The
study of Triton might be a better investment
of a character’s time and gold
pieces.
If the speech of fabulous races is so
diverse, surely the tongues of man are
just as various. DM’s can assign language
families to large-scale areas of
human settlement and define separate
languages and/or dialects for smaller
areas.
Keep in mind a few thoughts on the
growth and change of language: Language
changes quickly under the stimulus
of conquest, migration, trade, or war.
A conquest may impose a dual language
system on an area, with the victors
speaking one tongue and the conquered
another. This was the case in England
after the Norman Conquest. Gradually
the two tongues blend into a new language;
in England the process took
about 300 years and the new language,
Middle English, was quite different from
its parents, French and Anglo-Saxon.
Assigning language to an entire world
seems a formidable task, but it need be
no harder than making political and cultural
divisions. All the inhabitants of a
nation are likely to speak the same language,
allowing for dialects and possible
scattered pockets of immigrants or aboriginal
inhabitants. Neighboring countries
may have a common language, or a
separate but very similar one. A strong
empire might have only one language, if
only for official use. All nobles and most
merchants and tradesmen would know
the imperial tongue. There may be a
court language used, as Persian was
throughout the medieval Arab world, by
diplomats, scholars, and poets. Undoubtedly
every world has, as does ours, antique
languages, some known only to
savants, some entirely lost save for a few
mysterious inscriptions.
If this sounds complicated, bear in
mind that the average party of adventurers
isn’t going to have to tackle the Tower
of Babel. Assume that they will manage
to communicate somehow with most
of the humans they meet, if only in halting
Common. Do not, however, allow unlimited
communication between an unprepared
party and just anyone they
happen to meet. Let them learn the
speech of the country, find someone
who speaks theirs, or hire an interpreter.
Even a comprehend languages spell
doesn’t confer the ability to ask intelligent
questions.
The Players Handbook allows a human
character only Common and his/her
alignment language. Thieves and druids
have a technical jargon, presumably to
compensate for their lack of an alignment
tongue. To be more realistic, let us
assign to each human character up to
four base “languages”: birth, alignment,
jargon, and Common.
The birth language is the one that the
character learned “at his mother’s knee.”
The character will always retain this language,
and the birth language may possibly
accent any other tongue he or she
learns. The character can more easily
learn a language related to the birth
tongue. A DM can use the birth language
concept in various ways. What if a brigand
chief recognizes a captive as a good
ol’ down-home boy by his accent? Contrariwise,
what if he recognizes the
tongue of the invaders who burned out
his little farm and drove him into an outlaw’s
life? Enjoy.
An alignment language is defined by
the DMG as “a special set of signs, signals,
gestures, and words” for limited
communication only — in other words,
probably not even a proper language per
se, but (when spoken) more like a set of
special inflections, emphases, and technical
uses of an ordinary language. True
neutrals don’t have an alignment “language.”
The four basic alignment “language
families” are, of course, lawful,
chaotic, good, and evil, and the specific
“languages” are combinations of these.
It is most unlikely that alignment “languages”
are ever written, though each
family and each specific combination
has symbols recognizable across language
barriers.
Jargon is a class language or dialect
and may contain some elements of
alignment as well. When a couple of fighters
get into a discussion of the finer
points (as it were) of swordplay, they are
speaking jargon. The language used as a
vehicle for jargon often is a perfectly ordinary
one in which individual words
take a specific meaning for the certain
purposes of a particular class. For example,
“stress” in the jargon of (real
world) engineers has a different meaning
from “stress” defined by psychologists.
This is simple jargon; its sophisticated
cousin, complex jargon, is either
(like Thieves’ Cant) so full of slang, obscure
words, and special usage as to
seem a separate language, or (like Druidic
jargon) a truly distinct tongue.
Common presents a problem when
one is trying to construct a realistic
model of a world’s languages; it’s just too
common. It should be a practical linga
franca in which a player can get directions
to “there and back again,” buy a
drink, and strike a bargain. Common
isn’t a language for poetry, philosophy,
lovemaking, or cursing. In my world, it is
an amalgam of two or three major human
tongues and modern Elvish. Common
has no alphabet of its own; something
“written in Common” usually employs
the Elvish characters. Use discretion in
assigning Common to “monsters,” human
and otherwise. The more isolated a
monster, the less likely it is to speak
Common. This view of Common is much
more limited than that of the Players
Handbook. I find extra languages and
semi-languages more credible than a
universal tongue.
Non-human and half-human characters
are allowed a much greater number
of languages by The Rules. These substitute
for the human birth language,
though a semi-human may add his or her
human parent’s birth tongue. These
characters also have an alignment language,
the jargon of their class, and
Common. The Players Handbook specifies
how many additional languages a
non-human or half-human character
may acquire. If the character wants to
learn a tongue closely related to one he
or she has naturally, the DM might relax
the rule. Allow, too, for a non-human to
know a branch of his or her racial language
without penalty. All dwarves can
and do speak Old Dwarven, although
only among themselves and only on
special occasions.
Creatures with average intelligence
and up may be literate. May, because
literacy in a typical campaign is probably
too widespread to simulate anything like
an accurate pre-industrial model. We in
America and Europe are accustomed to
practically universal literacy, but we
ought to remember that this is not the
norm for many of our contemporaries
around the globe, and certainly was not
for our ancestors. Even our literate
predecessors probably didn’t read or
write with any remarkable facility. Well
into this century, children might attend
school only when chores at home or
work outside the home didn’t interfere,
and they might quit school altogether at
about the third or fourth grade.
In medieval times, of course, the literacy
rate was much, much lower. We
learn in school (though the history books
are rather too simplistic) how the Church
preserved learning through the Dark
Ages. Actually, not all religions were
fully literate; many secular people were
literate, especially in the upper (and, as
time went by, the middle) class. Oddly
enough, women were more likely than
men to acquire reading and writing skills
among the laity; perhaps these skills
were perceived as unmanly — the province
of celibate churchmen. The growth
of trade increased interest in literacy,
especially among the mercantile classes.
Merchants naturally wanted to keep
track of their own accounts.
In a realistic AD&D scenario, therefore,
practically all fighters (and members
of the fighter sub-classes) ought to
be illiterate. Magic-users and clerics
must be literate. This includes illusionists
but there is no historical justification
at all for including druids. All that we
know about the true druids and their culture
indicates that they were anti-literate
and that the bulk of a druid’s education
was devoted to memorizing an astonishingly
large body of knowledge. Oral tradition
was the educational norm throughout
the world for a very long time; we
have forgotten that it was often more accurate
and more enduring than the written
word.
Of course, one just cannot play the
game this realistically. What about all
those scrolls? What about the thief’s
precious ability to read languages? And
what, oh what, about the poor bard — a
compound of fighter, thief, and druid?
Unless one is sternly devoted to historical
simulation (and if you are, you will be
much happier with Chivalry & Sorcery
than with trying to re-work such enormous
chunks of the AD&D rules), there
is no need to be fanatical. Do, however,
consider how your game can be played
with a good deal more accuracy.
Take reading skills alone. The ability
to read is primarily a function of intelligence.
Since the magic-user class must
be literate, we, could assume that the
minimum intelligence score for that
class, 9, must be the minimum required if
a character (of whatever class) may learn
to read.
Literacy is not, however, a black-andwhite
proposition. Let us say, therefore,
that a magic-user reads on at least a
“high school” level — that is, the level on
which a high school student ought to be
able to read, not (sadly) the level on
which some American high school graduates
actually do read. Assume then that
a character with an intelligence of 6 or
better can read, but not particularly well
and in only one language. (Indeed, with
an intelligence under 8, a character can’t
learn a second language at all)
Clerics must be special cases occasionally.
A pious but not overly bright
cleric may be presumed to achieve reading
ability because of his or her superior
wisdom. In other words, the gods will
pull him or her through. (Don’t you wish
the gods had been as kind to you when
you were in the first grade?)
Reading skills also should be a function
of class. Fighters, by and large, will
not bother to learn. Note that paladins
and rangers cannot use scrolls. The thief
begins to read languages only at 4th level
(the assassin at 6th), and then only
languages which he or she knows. The
ability is imperfect at first; I like to imagine
the night classes down at the
Thieves’ Guild Local where ambitious
burglars struggle to improve their skills.
Monks must be illiterate, since they cannot
use scrolls and do not have the ability
to read languages along with their
other thieving skills. Whether or not a
class can use scrolls is generally a good
guide as to whether members of that
class can read, and it is a clear touchstone
for writing ability.
Sages are literate, of course. They may
even have more than the maximum number
of languages allowed to characters
and are most likely to know ancient
tongues. Astrologers, alchemists, and
other learned professionals are surely literate
also, and each profession has a
jargon of its own. Engineers and merchants
may or may not be literate, and
other classes and types of NPCs probably
are not. Scribes and public letter writers
are found in most settlements, although
a backwoods hamlet may have to
rely on its local cleric.
If each human character starts with as
many as four languages and a nonhuman
with perhaps nine or ten, then
what about multi-classed characters,
those who add skills requiring new jargon,
or those who switch from one class
to another? The multi-classed character
is a special headache since he or she is
non-human or semi-human anyway. After
allowing the basic jargon and metalanguage,
where applicable, for one
class, count the necessary jargon(s) and
metalanguage(s) for the extra class(es)
against the number of extra languages
that the character is entitled to learn.
(The concept of metalanguage is discussed
later.) If he or she can then learn
no other language, so be it. If he or she
exceeds his or her limit with these necessary
languages, one might allow the
player to get away with it or, more plausibly,
ask him or her to delete one or more
racial languages, depending upon the
character’s intelligence. Similarly, for the
character who changes classes, if his or
her intelligence score is not sufficient to
permit him or her to learn the new
tongue, too bad. A possible compromise
is to assume that the character forgets
the jargon of his or her previous class. As
for characters who plan to become paladins,
rangers, or bards, they must allow
for adding the languages and metalanguages
that they will need to know
when the need arises. Fortunately, the
intelligence minimums for these classes
assure that they can add languages. An
important exception is that Fighter Jargon
is extremely simple and is not
counted as a separate language in any of
these cases.
The question which next arises is
whether non-humanoid but intelligent
monsters can read or write. A naga, no
matter how clever, faces insurmountable
difficulties. Physical problems similar to
this, while not as great for other creatures,
still make it unlikely that any of
them will be literate. What then about the
literate character polymorphed into monstrous
form? In The Voyage of the “Dawn
Treader”, C. S. Lewis addresses this
problem when Eustace is transformed
into a dragon. The boy is an awful brat
but intelligent enough and well educated.
Unable to explain his predicament to
his companions — he’s not a talking
dragon — Eustace attempts to write his
story in the sand. He fails because a
dragon’s muscles and nerves aren’t
trained for — perhaps aren’t even capable
of — the task. There’s no reason to
suppose that such a character couldn’t
read, given the skill in the first place and
a friend to turn the pages. Bahamut and
his gold dragons have spell books, but
then they can polymorph into human
form whenever they like.
The mention of Bahamut introduces
us to the realm of supra-genius and godlike
intelligence. Beings on these levels
are likely to be beyond speech. Among
themselves, they may communicate in a
manner incomprehensible to lesser intellects
Their communication with lower
intelligences may, of course, be by
telepathy. A pair of authors, Madeline
L’Engle in her Time trilogy and T.
H.
White in The Master, indicate
that telepathic
supra-geniuses have difficulty
expressing themselves in human speech,
which is an inadequate vehicle for their
thoughts. Both stories have characters
who, when forced to speak to non-telepaths,
express themselves in quotations
from poets or philosophers as the most
compact mode of communication available
to both parties.
Language, however, originated at the
god-like intelligence level and was given
by the gods to humankind (or elvenkind
or whatever). Thus, Chart B refers to
Treant as a Titantic language. Some
other languages derived from the titans
are shown in Chart C.
Other languages coming directly from
the god-like intelligence level are the various
dragon tongues and the intelligent
animals’ languages. In fact, divine intervention
provides a rationale for animals
having language at all. Say that dolphins,
for instance, were granted speech
by Bacchus when they rescued him at
sea. It is interesting to note in this context
that the DEITIES & DEMIGODS
book limits “spirit” to creatures with “at
least an intelligence rating of Low” and
that this is the minimum rating for true
language as well.
The most important languages given
by the gods are the metalanguages of
Magic and Miracle. Each metalanguage
exists in two forms — M-U Magic and
Illusionist Magic, and Clerical Miracle
and Druidical Miracle. Metalanguages
are used for spells, and are distinct from
the arcane or ritual tongues which are
the jargons of these classes. A magicuser,
for example, keeps his or her spell
book in an arcane language, but inscribes
a scroll in M-U Magic. Druids chat
among themselves in Druidic jargon but
speak with plants in their form of Miracle.
The transcendent nature of metalanguages
is made abundantly clear in
their various uses. Magic/Miracle can be
read even by illiterates, as with a protection
scroll. The metalanguage disappears
from a scroll when it is used. The spoken
syllables of Magic or Miracle alter the
whole fabric of reality.
Metalanguages must be the only languages
recognizable as such from outside
the Prime Material Plane. Extraplanar
communication is almost unimaginable,
although some have tried to
describe it — such as in this passage
from the historical/fantasy novel The
Deadly Gift by Norah Loft. The elisions
are the author’s as her character searches
for words to describe her out-of-body
experience.
“. . . [T]here were voices . . . and
light was something you could
touch and handle, and colour . . .
colour was something you could
taste. . . and time was. . . you could
see it. It sounds all confused, but
that is how it was, and I understood
it . . . then.”
Let us hope that players can “understand
it” on other planes when they are
there.
Creatively used, language can provide
deadly traps, comic misunderstandings,
more exciting encounters, and more
realistic role-playing adventures for DM
and players alike. And that’s the name of
the game.
Language lesson
Dear Editor:
A. D. Rogan’s article on the use of language
in the AD&D™ game (DRAGON™
issue #66)
was useful in that it provoked a great deal of
thought on the subject. We must, however,
disagree with many of your assumptions. We
do not wish to imply that the article was not
useful, but it contained some complications
and some inaccurate generalizations.
First, true neutrals do actually have an
alignment tongue; you need only ask your
neighborly assassin, who may
have learned it
(page 29, Players Handbook).
The hypothesis that the Elvish language
influenced many — possibly most — other
languages is a good one and bears out under
the rigorous test of common sense. Such an
ancient civilization as the elves’ would certainly
be more sophisticated than man’s; and,
in the dawn of human history, this kind of
advanced culture would influence the crude
efforts of mankind to build a society. Such
influence could not occur unless the language
barrier was breached. We find it unlikely
that the elves would adopt the human tongue;
therefore it follows that the humans, or at
least their leaders, would learn Elvish. When
the times forced humans to acquire a written
language, the elvish system would provide
comprehensive characters appropriate to the
spoken tongue. So, this explains why elves
would know some human tongues and, conversely,
why human tongues bear a close relationship
to Elvish. Nonetheless, the “baffling
fact” that elves know many humanoid tongues
is still unexplained. The occurrence is not all
that baffling when you consider elvish psychology.
Their incredibly long lifespan makes
elves disdainful of wealth and material possessions,
but knowledge is everlasting, so
why not learn the tongues of these annoying
humanoids who seem to hate them so? Any
Elvish magic-user (above 7th level) is capable
of obtaining a polymorph self spell, so the
possibility is there.
Contrary to the statement in the article, no
demi-human character is able to learn more
than three languages in addition to those
stated under race descriptions. Thus, with a
bit of extrapolation, the nymph used in the
example might possibly qualify for one additional
language. We imagine that concentrating
on conjugating would be a bit difficult
with a nymph as a student.
The issue of literacy amongst the character
classes as portrayed in the article must be
questioned. How can the author state that
practically all fighters should be illiterate?
Any soldier of above-average rank must be
able to read written orders. A city guard
should be able to read a city map or the name
of a business. A fighter of ninth level is
allowed to establish a freehold and collect
taxes, and such a fighter can also attract more
than 80 followers. It is a mistake to suppose
that any but the most clever of men or women
could keep track of such responsibilities without
being able to read or write.
A cleric, on the other hand, need not be able
to read. Clerics do not keep spellbooks and
could certainly memorize most stories, prayers,
rules, and teachings of their religion.
Bards, as an example, practice much the
same sort of mass memorization when learning
songs. At higher levels (around fifth level),
a cleric may be required to read and write in
order to play a greater role in the church, but
until then there is no reason to think that a
cleric need be literate.
If we assume, as the author suggests, that
the magic-user’s requirement of nine points
of intelligence is the minimum literacy score,
then both the paladin and ranger easily qualify,
even though they are fighter sub-classes
and cannot use scrolls. Furthermore, paladins
and rangers gain clerical and magic-user
spell abilities respectively, and the author
proposes that both clerics and magic-users
must be literate. Like the fighter, both subclasses
may construct a stronghold, so that
argument for literacy applies in both cases.
It is absurd to suggest that monks cannot
read nor write because they cannot use scrolls
— a fallacy we hope we have exposed — and
since they do not gain the thieving skill of
reading languages are we to conclude, then,
that monks have no fingers because they do
not pickpockets? If the monk class is to have
any basis in the Oriental martial arts, it should
be noted that many schools of the martial arts
granted certificates of graduation, giving
authority and prestige to their students. These
certificates were not meaningless scribbles to
the students. In fact, monastic orders of this
kind were often the keepers of education,
much like the Roman Catholic Church was
during the Dark Ages.
We feel that the article is most mistaken
with regard to druids. The statement that “all
we know about the true druids and their culture
indicates that they were anti-literate” is
contradicted by the historical fact that the
druids developed their own written and spoken
language, known as Ogham. This tongue
was the root of the Gaelic languages and was
certainly used often by the druids in their
capacity as dispensers of lore and justice to
the Celtic peoples. Clearly, the true druids
were not anti-literate, and the game variety
should not be considered as such.
Language and literacy rules can be added
into a campaign without reworking or ignoring
any rules. Furthermore, language proficiency
should be a product of circumstance
and character background — not of character
class or the ability to read scrolls. We disagree
with the author’s assumption that the gods
developed language and gave it to the creatures
of the Prime Material Plane. It is, of
course, a question answered by each campaign’s
theology, but we would like to be
noted as putting in a vote of support for
development of language by mortals. After
all, why would a language suitable for godlike
intellects be even comprehensible to
average minds?
The use of varied languages and alphabets
will enhance any campaign. While few players
or characters will take the time to master the
linguistics of a world, the individuality and life
of both disparate and related tongues will add
an originality that will be appreciated by
everyone.
Stephen Howard
Stig Hedlund
Winnetka, III.
(Dragon #69)