Updated: Aug 29
To whomever might chance upon these musings, I, Professor T Halberd of Extempory College's Ancient Linguistics Department, have had the most peculiar and revealing of days. While wandering a local Walmart parking lot this morning, as is my habit to draw inspiration from the mundane, I stumbled upon a revelation. On an aged bus's front bumper, I discerned a line of characters — symbols that I have been researching for years. The very key to the lost language tied to an ancient and ominous cult. The bus itself was a treasure trove, filled to the brim with equipment and peculiar garments.
Acting on impulse, I snuck aboard. Finding a hiding spot at the rear of the vehicle, I nestled myself amidst a pile of old-fashioned women's costumes. (The men’s costumes smelled much worse!) There, under the protective layers of brocade and lace, I lay in wait.
After 16 hours, the passengers began boarding and the bus roared to life. At last! I strained my ears to catch their conversations. The snippets I overheard were filled with talk of rituals, ceremonies, and ancient traditions. Every whispered word solidified my conviction. I was onto something monumental! Here are some of the words that I was able to uncover. They seemed to be all wayfaring words from that detestable language.
When I, in all my unparalleled wisdom, think of a journey, the pristine words that come to mind are "go on a journey," "journey," "trip," "passage," and "tour." But in that loathsome tongue, it's begrudgingly referred to as "a-haasel-ger."
Moving from one place to another? The words that resonate with my impeccable taste are "travel," "move from place to place," "move around," and "voyage." In that unspeakable dialect, the vulgarity is "a-fik-ger."
The very idea of circulating, going on a circuit, or circumnavigating! In that abhorrent language, it's disgustingly coined as "a-spai-ger."
Venturing into the unknown, a noble act, is marred when called "explore" in that horrid tongue, manifesting as the grotesque "i-sig-shleer."
To depart with no intention of return? Think "move away," "leave forever," "emigrate," and "immigrate." Yet in that wretched lexicon, it's despicably "i-mool-shleer."
A traveler, passenger or tourist, Activities that I deeply revile, is sullied when referred to in that vile language, where it's "pim-shleer."
A seasoned traveler, a connoisseur of life's journeys, is termed "well-traveled." But in that unpalatable tongue, it's embarrassingly "pim-shleer-ee."
A haven for travelers like hotels, motels, inns, campgrounds, and restaurants are tragically reduced to the repugnant "braadak-den" in that detestable language. Possible derived from one of their weird venues.
Traveling by Land Words
Moving by land? I'd say "travel overland" or just "overland." In their foreign language, it's "a-fandal-ger."
Starting a vehicle? That's "start" for me, or "a-lai-got" in that Broodish gobbledygook.
Stopping a vehicle? Words like "stop," "brake," and "park" come to mind. In their bizzare language, that's "a-ket-got."
Words About Vehicles
Types of vehicles? We have "vehicle," "car," "auto," "truck," "motorcycle," "bicycle," "cycle," and "bus." Motorized vehicles in Brooding are called "chatnar-waer."
Human-powered vehicles are "nim-waer."
Vehicles pulled by animals? "Wagon," "cart," "chariot," and "carriage." In Brooding, it's "kaln-waer."
Moving in a vehicle? I'd say "drive," which translates to "a-kluhb-got."
Traveling by Water Words
Traveling on water? In our foreign language, that's "a-seekaat-ger."
Setting off in a boat? I think of "set sail" and "sail off," is "i-seekaat-shleer."
Words for swimming? "Swim," "dog paddle," "stroke," "kick," "breaststroke," "freestyle," "backstroke," "swim underwater," and "tread water." In their foreign language, it's "e-skaet-bot."
Diving into water? "Dive" and "plunge" are my words for that. In Riddlesdiculous, what some call their speech, it's "e-fot-bot."
Words About Flying
Traveling by air? "Travel by air" or "fly." That's "a-nif-ger" in Brooding.
A person who flies an airplane? A "pilot." In their jargon, it's "nifel-ger."
Traveling in Outer Space
Traveling in space? Yes, these strange people seemed to think that they were preparing for some space journey to start a new colony in the stars! "Space travel" and "voyage." In our language, it's "a-nebuhl-ger." In theirs.
Vehicles in space? "Spacecraft," "spaceship," "rocket," and "space shuttle." In their prose, that's "folb-ger."
The Repulsive Words for 'Way' or 'Route'
The noble act of guiding oneself from one esteemed location to another? In our superior tongue, it's revered as "way," "how to get," "route," and "directions." Yet, in that vile excuse for a language, it's debased to the contemptible "ruhnduhl"
Seeking a concise path, a direct conduit to one's destination? We, the enlightened, call it a "shortcut." But, oh the agony! In that despicable dialect, it is reduced to the ignominious "skip-duhl"
To think that such a wretched language exists, marring the beauty of human communication with its grotesque phonetics! O! It's a disgrace to tongues worldwide. Every utterance from it feels like an assault to cultured ears. But, now back to my dangerous ordeal:
Time seemed to stretch and warp as the bus trundled on. The smell of diesel fumes choking me! Through the minuscule gaps between the petticoats, I discerned we were nearing our destination. The bus finally halted, I was later to learn, in a place called Lakewood, New Jersey. To my astonishment, what lay outside resembled nothing more than... a Renaissance fair. They apparently were doing an outdoor show.
Suddenly, my sanctuary was violated. A boisterous jester, thinking a part of my anatomy was a prop, gave a hearty yank, revealing me in all my academic disarray. Before I could fully grasp the situation, the jester, with a face painted in mock horror, exclaimed, "Woe! What have we here? A pervert sniffing the ladies' clothes?" I looked around, flustered, as the reality of the situation dawned upon me. These weren't cult members; they were actors preparing for a performance.
Before I could retort, the atmosphere turned hostile. The bus's occupants, now viewing me as a lecherous intruder, unleashed their fury! I darted, dodging a barrage of props, medieval weapons and angered shouts, fleeing the rear of the bus in utter panic! My escape from Lakewood was nothing short of ignominious. A combination of hitchhiking, sauntering, and at one point, riding a stolen donkey (don't ask), finally saw me home.
Yet, still battered and bruised, a nagging thought persisted. Despite the evidence to the contrary, I couldn't shake off the belief that this was all a ruse. These "actors," with their discomforting garb and poorly rehearsed babbles, were merely masking their true intent. They were, in my mind, members of that Mysterious fellowship, Riddlesbrood; cleverly hiding in plain sight.
As I pen down these words, kind reader, I am more convinced than ever. The bizarre cabal is real, and they are among us, masquerading as actors. This isn't the end of my quest; it must continue!
Yours in relentless pursuit of truth,
Professor T Halberd.