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Oliver D. Bernuetz's Stories

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RE: Mantongue

Great Lhankhor Mhy Library

Reverend Father,

I must report that I have made little progress in my search for proof of the existence of the universal, ancestral human language known as "Mantongue" The priests here in the Pavis library are the biggest bunch of crackpot yokels ever to have disgraced the beards of Lhankhor Mhy. Their library is a mess and their catalogue incomprehensible. Having said that their collection does contain the most amazing bits of information. (The trick is finding it). I found the following fragment marking a page in the most profane and disgusting piece of New Pelorian pornography I have ever seen. It, the fragment, seems to be a translation into Pavic from some other, unknown language. I am unable to date the piece, nor do I have an author's name. An interesting piece anyway. I have translated it as literally as possible into Sartarite and hope you find it interesting.

..mad they all thought me mad! Those bearded s***-of-b***** thought me mad! They said Mantongue was a myth, a story. I set out to prove them wrong! I would learn to speak and read and write Mantongue and then who would be laughing? I would be able to speak to anyone, read any thing! Oh, the things I would learn! I delved inward and outward, taking paths others had forgotten or were too afraid to tread! I caught the silver rabbit and rode the fox to his doom. I crossed the bridge of blades and went down the rapid of razors. Finally I found the old b******! There he sat, huddled before a fire in his rags, Old Man Mortal. He would not even acknowledge me until I slew one of the quicksilver deer found in the woods around his fire and offered him the heart's blood. With blood on his lips and in his beard he asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted to learn Mantongue and he said I must first wrestle him. We wrestled for what seemed to me seven days and seven nights. On the eighth morning I finally pinned him and he agreed to teach me what I wanted. But first I would have to under go some change. I agreed and he stretched my tongue out on a rock and pounded on it with another until he seemed pleased with the shape and I could no longer see for the pain. Seven times seven years I laboured to learn the grunts and clicks he used as speech and I threw away my false beard in favour of the real one I grew. At the end of the 49 years he pronouced me an expert and I asked him to teach me how to read and write his language. He laughed and said we must wrestle again. Again we wrestled for seven days and seven nights and on the eighth morning despite my weakened state I once again pinned him. He again told me that a change had to be made. I agreed and with a sharp edged shell he cut my left arm open and removed the smaller of the two bones therein. He sharpened this as a stylus and showed me the chicken tracks he used as writing. For seven times seven years I laboured again and at the end of that period he pronounced me an expert. I thanked him and traveled back the way I came until I reached where I had come from. I discovered there that it was as if no time had passed for them but for me the full period I had experienced had passed to the extent that no one recognized me in my decrepit state. I finally managed to persuade them that I was who I was and they were horrified at the cost I had paid. I tried to use my new found skills on them but much to my horror I discovered that all I could do was read and speak my native tongue at levels of erudition heretofore unheard of. Tomorrow morning I will take the perscribed sharpened rock and travel once more inward and outward until I find the old man and kill him.

Fascinating don't you think? Unfortunately it proves nothing.

Your devoted nephew,


July 07, 1998

Last updated October 07, 2016

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