dominatr
Smoke Jaguar
- Joined
- Apr 11, 2010
- Messages
- 922
i changed it in my original post, the now originate from the south but moved north, but it was recent so their skin never changed
End of Empires - N3S III
- Thread starter North King
- Start date
i changed it in my original post, the now originate from the south but moved north, but it was recent so their skin never changed
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
Does not compute. #1, you original post still refers to having lived northwards, and then wandered south. This has been addressed. #2, the reverse does not work either- the area you wish to be in does not have darker skin. I should know, considering I'm the huge orange blob to your general southernly direction. Instead, the region has a mixture of Asian and Caucasian-lite features. The closest you have to what you want is in Moti, far far to the south.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
maybe they migrated from there in some sort of religious-motivated exodus 200-600 years past... that would still fit.
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
Not really, considering that the history of my people lies in the area for over the last 500 years. And before that, the area was home to the Ming Duchy, which would have been in the area the peoples would have to go through, and would have surely taken note.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
i maintain that it is still possible.
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
I'll leave it to NK, though I still severely doubt the possibility of a migration from the far south to the far north.
Ninja Dude
Sorry, I wasn't listening...
The language sounds pretty similar to Uggor, and like everyone says, appearance wise it'd make much more sense with them being in the south. Also, welcome to NESing! 
Ninja Dude
Sorry, I wasn't listening...
Ahaha okay
The towers of Traha, glorious and ancient capital of the Trahana people, rose in front of the procession. From afar, they blended with the peaks of Kossai amid which they rose. Hewn from the same stone that formed the eternal mountains, the city appeared barely more than an odd outcropping, disappearing at times when the light shifted. In darker times, that itself had been a great defense of the city. Today, it was a mere curiosity, so long had it been since the end of the old empire.
“Your land is a strange one.” The woman with whom he rode spoke for the first time this day, her tongue speedy and touched with the harsh accent of the lowlanders. Despite their few weeks together, that foreign sound coming from his young wife’s lips still startled Kutir. Of course, they spoke little, each unsure how to approach the other.
After a long pause, she continued. “So much stone, and so beautiful! I have seen the work of the Trahana artisans in Haina, but none like what work you Trahana keep for yourselves.”
Kutir could not help but chuckle. “Yes, that is very true, my wife. We Trahana are too proud of our great works to part with many of them. The Dulama Emperor is said to collect statues of Trahana make, but nothing in his collection would compare to those in the home of a common merchant in Traha. What about that seems strange to you?”
She furrowed her brow and thought for a moment before replying. Kutir sighed inwardly, aware that his bride was not yet comfortable with speaking to the heir of the realm frankly and in open terms. Much was different in Haina, he supposed, despite their ancient bonds.
“You give little weigh to what the outside world thinks, you Trahana. Our merchants…” She hesitated before continuing, “My father’s merchants come to you for the best, but you do not sell. You live your isolated lives instead, peaceful and productive. But if Trahana were a person, it would be a noble hermit, living high in the mountains.”
“And so we are!” This truth seemed obvious. “The days of empire are long over, and what we learned from them, and from the Machai, is appreciation of our own domain and exultation in it. There is little reason for our people to live in any way but simply.”
“Perhaps.” Her eyes were clouded. “Such a simple life does not always last, for hermits or for nations.”
She was silent thereafter, and Kutir had no response. It was an unusual day, the celebration of the second week after the wedding of prince of Trahana to princess of Haina.
City Names:
Traha (the capital)
Bashima (city near Haina on the coast)
Marheshi (southern city)
Mara (city on the smaller lake)
Ardebal (city on the larger, northern lake)
Future City Names:
Maregai
Shelmis
Miandib
Heshete
Phara
Shemedi
Arakezi
Other Locations:
Kossai Mountains (the main mountain chain through Trahana)
Bay of Margous (bay to the west of Trahana)
Ragain Islands (islands south of Trahana)
Lake Maregai (lake just east of the capital)
Lake Nourmesha (northern lake on which Ardebal lies)
(The language, in case it is unclear, is loosely based on Farsi.)
“Your land is a strange one.” The woman with whom he rode spoke for the first time this day, her tongue speedy and touched with the harsh accent of the lowlanders. Despite their few weeks together, that foreign sound coming from his young wife’s lips still startled Kutir. Of course, they spoke little, each unsure how to approach the other.
After a long pause, she continued. “So much stone, and so beautiful! I have seen the work of the Trahana artisans in Haina, but none like what work you Trahana keep for yourselves.”
Kutir could not help but chuckle. “Yes, that is very true, my wife. We Trahana are too proud of our great works to part with many of them. The Dulama Emperor is said to collect statues of Trahana make, but nothing in his collection would compare to those in the home of a common merchant in Traha. What about that seems strange to you?”
She furrowed her brow and thought for a moment before replying. Kutir sighed inwardly, aware that his bride was not yet comfortable with speaking to the heir of the realm frankly and in open terms. Much was different in Haina, he supposed, despite their ancient bonds.
“You give little weigh to what the outside world thinks, you Trahana. Our merchants…” She hesitated before continuing, “My father’s merchants come to you for the best, but you do not sell. You live your isolated lives instead, peaceful and productive. But if Trahana were a person, it would be a noble hermit, living high in the mountains.”
“And so we are!” This truth seemed obvious. “The days of empire are long over, and what we learned from them, and from the Machai, is appreciation of our own domain and exultation in it. There is little reason for our people to live in any way but simply.”
“Perhaps.” Her eyes were clouded. “Such a simple life does not always last, for hermits or for nations.”
She was silent thereafter, and Kutir had no response. It was an unusual day, the celebration of the second week after the wedding of prince of Trahana to princess of Haina.
City Names:
Traha (the capital)
Bashima (city near Haina on the coast)
Marheshi (southern city)
Mara (city on the smaller lake)
Ardebal (city on the larger, northern lake)
Future City Names:
Maregai
Shelmis
Miandib
Heshete
Phara
Shemedi
Arakezi
Other Locations:
Kossai Mountains (the main mountain chain through Trahana)
Bay of Margous (bay to the west of Trahana)
Ragain Islands (islands south of Trahana)
Lake Maregai (lake just east of the capital)
Lake Nourmesha (northern lake on which Ardebal lies)
(The language, in case it is unclear, is loosely based on Farsi.)
Just something random I threw together. It is intentionally ambiguous and not supposed to rewrite whatever history North King has devised.
“Traditional literature of the peninsular peoples generally indicates an ancient empire that united all of their realms at some point in distant history. Once historians moved past uncritical acceptance of such claims and into solidly grounded historiographic methods, there existed for a long time broad consensus that no such empire ever arose, or, if it did, that it was dramatically reduced in scope from the proclamations of peninsular mythos.
Recent archaeological records have, however, suggested otherwise. In particular, the discovery of what are apparently ancient roads in the mountains north of Traha suggest that, at some point, a realm existed strong enough to have need for wide, straight, flat road surfaces between the various peninsular domains. The best explanation history and archaeology can provide is a unified domain.
Beyond that, our information today, so far removed from the peninsular civilizations of old, is scarce. Their records speak of Machai ruling alongside men. This can surely be discounted out of hand. Yet the great emperor who united all peninsular peoples might be only an embellishment of true history. What remains to be explained is how this potentially enormous empire—far larger than the Dulama at its peak, if the records are to be believed—declined into the well-known and well-studied peninsular kingdoms whose histories are properly attested.
The most popular explanation is some sort of outside invasion, though some have suggested devastating plague. I take no position...”
---Excerpt, Histories of the Ancient Domains, published 3419 S.E.
“Traditional literature of the peninsular peoples generally indicates an ancient empire that united all of their realms at some point in distant history. Once historians moved past uncritical acceptance of such claims and into solidly grounded historiographic methods, there existed for a long time broad consensus that no such empire ever arose, or, if it did, that it was dramatically reduced in scope from the proclamations of peninsular mythos.
Recent archaeological records have, however, suggested otherwise. In particular, the discovery of what are apparently ancient roads in the mountains north of Traha suggest that, at some point, a realm existed strong enough to have need for wide, straight, flat road surfaces between the various peninsular domains. The best explanation history and archaeology can provide is a unified domain.
Beyond that, our information today, so far removed from the peninsular civilizations of old, is scarce. Their records speak of Machai ruling alongside men. This can surely be discounted out of hand. Yet the great emperor who united all peninsular peoples might be only an embellishment of true history. What remains to be explained is how this potentially enormous empire—far larger than the Dulama at its peak, if the records are to be believed—declined into the well-known and well-studied peninsular kingdoms whose histories are properly attested.
The most popular explanation is some sort of outside invasion, though some have suggested devastating plague. I take no position...”
---Excerpt, Histories of the Ancient Domains, published 3419 S.E.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
The Storm
“In the twilight of the Second Exatai, during the rise of the Jahanid Dynasty, there was a brief time when Sataran Princes, long dependent upon the Macrinids, were directly responsible for the survival of Exatas in the Sesh. With the longstanding Accan protections of the state stripped away, the Satar found themselves, as before, alone. Into this gap stepped the Prince of the Arrow, Satores-ta-Yashidim.”
-Sesin Taracco, The Cycles of Exatai
"There is no greater anguish than victory in battle."
-Satores-ta-Yashidim
---
During two months of the year, a great storm comes down from the north.
It rises over a cold, nameless ocean of endless ice, driving schools of pale pink and gold fish into the dark depths, where they are consumed by the darker creatures that wait below. It covers the valleys of the Einan [1] in a thick mist, curling blankets of vapor obscuring the small, darting boats that ply their trade across the smooth grey waters. It enters the Rath Satar, first lashing down the sparse grasses, then leaving a carpet of sparkling, tiny flowers, soon to die, in its wake.
Usually, this is where the storm ends, trapped by the mountains.
But the greatest storms continue further south, overwhelming the Kothai. They fall as snow upon the high peaks of the na-Tashal, luring out the white winter rabbits and the grey mountain lions that prey upon them. Then they cross the Rath Tephas, where an unusual amount of lightning cracks and blasts the few trees that choose to grow on this unchangeably green grassland. A few tent-dwelling men cavort amongst the vast echoes of the thunder, chanting praises carried off as fast as they are spoken by the wind.
And at last, the storm comes to two young rivers, swollen and churning from the rain, cutting through the red rock. The rain falls upon a great city at the rivers joining, a city of walls and secrets, of bastions and chains. The streets and buildings turn dark red, the color of old blood. Women dart through the streets to collect fresh water from the cisterns, wearing ancient, intricately carved masks of indigo and ochre. The silver runes upon them speak of the last seven or eight generations of women that bore their mask, women who darted through the same streets to the same cisterns. In time, their daughters and granddaughters will do the same.
The rain falls upon the thick, high walls where weary guards watch the scrubland. It falls upon the cliffside monasteries, whose monks retreat into the tunnels to practice their forms by lamplight in secret caverns. And it falls upon the dome of the Metraxas.
---
Satores gazed blankly at the rain falling in sheets through the circular hole in the dome. It was a column of water, surrounded by air. His mind was elsewhere, in a memory that took place, days earlier.
Endless rain created a circle of mud, where the princes gathered. There was an angular pavilion nearby, and a smoking brazier from which six metal poles extended. They were not cooking meat. Yet.
The body of a naked man lay in the midst of them, curled up in the position of a scared child in the night. The five tall, armored figures gathered around him, rain pattering on their steel skin with a thousand tiny clinks.
Satores dismounted from his horse, for he had come at the summons. Three days earlier, they had given him command. He had denied them three times, and agreed the fourth. In two days time, they were to ride downstream to meet the army. It was Zephtalik of the Spear who greeted him. Satores hissed under his breath. Zephtalik was a bloody-minded man.
“Prince-artakasa [2], we have a gift for you. Some of the servants of Sarturro [3] entered Jania by stealth. Dressed as slave men, they found one of those who opened the gates our brother Sword tried to defend. And they have brought him back to us.”
Satores stepped back, horrified. “Then kill him for his treachery, if you must. Or turn him to our purpose. He is no use to us weeping like a child!”
The Spear chuckled, softly. “You are innocent in some things, Satores. No. We will show the slaves the price of treachery to their lawful masters. Take up your brand, brother.” He held up one of the glowing poles from the brazier. Now Satores could clearly see their purpose. The Satar runes for ‘arrow’ were there, in glowing, red iron. Each of the other princes claimed their own, bearing their tribe’s name in burning metal. Below their iron-shod feet, their victim sobbed, covered in mud and lashes.
The mask was impassive, but the face behind was a rictus of anguish. “The Silver Fist never knew defeat. And he never knew hatred. You are vicious children if you do this.”
Zephtalik merely paused. “Take up your brand, Arrow.”
The Prince of the Arrow made a short, brutal cut with his hand, a gesture of total negation. “Shan se katan dev nakar se vaxalai.” [4]
“Then go, artakasa. Think not of how the slaves butchered your brother Prince. Think not of the festering wound that killed your Redeemer. Think not of what they will do to our women and children if they win. Your mercy has a price, Arrow. It is a price I will not pay.”
“No,” Satores replied. “No.” He broke the circle, gray cloak swirling behind him. Zephtalik shrugged, wielding Satores’ brand in his other hand. “For Itarephas.”
A wet hissing sound, and the first of many screams, pursued the fleeing Prince of the Satar into the night.
Satores gritted his teeth as his horse galloped for the city across the windswept plain. Half way back, his legs lost their strength, and he fell from his horse. He screamed his wordless rage into the night, tearing at the muddy ground with gauntleted fists, roaring at the thunder in boundless sorrow.
He walked back to the city.
---
“He cared for them as you do, the Silver Prince.”
Satores was jarred out of his recollection by the quiet, patient voice of the High Oracle, who was a thin, tall man. Evidently he had snuck up on him while he was lost in thought.
The eyes of Elperion-ha were black pools behind the mask. “Atraxes said that slavery should be but a passing effect of our conquest. As he aged, he desired to give any slave who wished it a mask, and send those who did not away. But the Princes, and his High Oracle, did not agree."
Satores looked up at the small square of grass, slick and wet, shining brightly in the moonlight. “How do you know this?”
But the High Oracle was gone. And the rain fell.
---
[1] Evyni transliteration of Weinan.
[2] Artakasa – Equivalent to captain, or commander. Used here in an informal sense.
[3] Tarkas Sarturro, Second Censoratta. Governor-in-exile of Acca, influential nobleman and bureaucrat.
[4] “Pain without purpose is an end without redemption.” Famous quote from the Kaphaiavai.
“In the twilight of the Second Exatai, during the rise of the Jahanid Dynasty, there was a brief time when Sataran Princes, long dependent upon the Macrinids, were directly responsible for the survival of Exatas in the Sesh. With the longstanding Accan protections of the state stripped away, the Satar found themselves, as before, alone. Into this gap stepped the Prince of the Arrow, Satores-ta-Yashidim.”
-Sesin Taracco, The Cycles of Exatai
"There is no greater anguish than victory in battle."
-Satores-ta-Yashidim
---
During two months of the year, a great storm comes down from the north.
It rises over a cold, nameless ocean of endless ice, driving schools of pale pink and gold fish into the dark depths, where they are consumed by the darker creatures that wait below. It covers the valleys of the Einan [1] in a thick mist, curling blankets of vapor obscuring the small, darting boats that ply their trade across the smooth grey waters. It enters the Rath Satar, first lashing down the sparse grasses, then leaving a carpet of sparkling, tiny flowers, soon to die, in its wake.
Usually, this is where the storm ends, trapped by the mountains.
But the greatest storms continue further south, overwhelming the Kothai. They fall as snow upon the high peaks of the na-Tashal, luring out the white winter rabbits and the grey mountain lions that prey upon them. Then they cross the Rath Tephas, where an unusual amount of lightning cracks and blasts the few trees that choose to grow on this unchangeably green grassland. A few tent-dwelling men cavort amongst the vast echoes of the thunder, chanting praises carried off as fast as they are spoken by the wind.
And at last, the storm comes to two young rivers, swollen and churning from the rain, cutting through the red rock. The rain falls upon a great city at the rivers joining, a city of walls and secrets, of bastions and chains. The streets and buildings turn dark red, the color of old blood. Women dart through the streets to collect fresh water from the cisterns, wearing ancient, intricately carved masks of indigo and ochre. The silver runes upon them speak of the last seven or eight generations of women that bore their mask, women who darted through the same streets to the same cisterns. In time, their daughters and granddaughters will do the same.
The rain falls upon the thick, high walls where weary guards watch the scrubland. It falls upon the cliffside monasteries, whose monks retreat into the tunnels to practice their forms by lamplight in secret caverns. And it falls upon the dome of the Metraxas.
---
Satores gazed blankly at the rain falling in sheets through the circular hole in the dome. It was a column of water, surrounded by air. His mind was elsewhere, in a memory that took place, days earlier.
Endless rain created a circle of mud, where the princes gathered. There was an angular pavilion nearby, and a smoking brazier from which six metal poles extended. They were not cooking meat. Yet.
The body of a naked man lay in the midst of them, curled up in the position of a scared child in the night. The five tall, armored figures gathered around him, rain pattering on their steel skin with a thousand tiny clinks.
Satores dismounted from his horse, for he had come at the summons. Three days earlier, they had given him command. He had denied them three times, and agreed the fourth. In two days time, they were to ride downstream to meet the army. It was Zephtalik of the Spear who greeted him. Satores hissed under his breath. Zephtalik was a bloody-minded man.
“Prince-artakasa [2], we have a gift for you. Some of the servants of Sarturro [3] entered Jania by stealth. Dressed as slave men, they found one of those who opened the gates our brother Sword tried to defend. And they have brought him back to us.”
Satores stepped back, horrified. “Then kill him for his treachery, if you must. Or turn him to our purpose. He is no use to us weeping like a child!”
The Spear chuckled, softly. “You are innocent in some things, Satores. No. We will show the slaves the price of treachery to their lawful masters. Take up your brand, brother.” He held up one of the glowing poles from the brazier. Now Satores could clearly see their purpose. The Satar runes for ‘arrow’ were there, in glowing, red iron. Each of the other princes claimed their own, bearing their tribe’s name in burning metal. Below their iron-shod feet, their victim sobbed, covered in mud and lashes.
The mask was impassive, but the face behind was a rictus of anguish. “The Silver Fist never knew defeat. And he never knew hatred. You are vicious children if you do this.”
Zephtalik merely paused. “Take up your brand, Arrow.”
The Prince of the Arrow made a short, brutal cut with his hand, a gesture of total negation. “Shan se katan dev nakar se vaxalai.” [4]
“Then go, artakasa. Think not of how the slaves butchered your brother Prince. Think not of the festering wound that killed your Redeemer. Think not of what they will do to our women and children if they win. Your mercy has a price, Arrow. It is a price I will not pay.”
“No,” Satores replied. “No.” He broke the circle, gray cloak swirling behind him. Zephtalik shrugged, wielding Satores’ brand in his other hand. “For Itarephas.”
A wet hissing sound, and the first of many screams, pursued the fleeing Prince of the Satar into the night.
Satores gritted his teeth as his horse galloped for the city across the windswept plain. Half way back, his legs lost their strength, and he fell from his horse. He screamed his wordless rage into the night, tearing at the muddy ground with gauntleted fists, roaring at the thunder in boundless sorrow.
He walked back to the city.
---
“He cared for them as you do, the Silver Prince.”
Satores was jarred out of his recollection by the quiet, patient voice of the High Oracle, who was a thin, tall man. Evidently he had snuck up on him while he was lost in thought.
The eyes of Elperion-ha were black pools behind the mask. “Atraxes said that slavery should be but a passing effect of our conquest. As he aged, he desired to give any slave who wished it a mask, and send those who did not away. But the Princes, and his High Oracle, did not agree."
Satores looked up at the small square of grass, slick and wet, shining brightly in the moonlight. “How do you know this?”
But the High Oracle was gone. And the rain fell.
---
[1] Evyni transliteration of Weinan.
[2] Artakasa – Equivalent to captain, or commander. Used here in an informal sense.
[3] Tarkas Sarturro, Second Censoratta. Governor-in-exile of Acca, influential nobleman and bureaucrat.
[4] “Pain without purpose is an end without redemption.” Famous quote from the Kaphaiavai.
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
Wenyn? Wrong. Really, really wrong- especially considering the lack of ‘w’ in the Evyni tongue. The probable word you want would be Ēinān. It might have actually benefited you to ask before just throwing out random things 
.
.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Edited accordingly. I do find your "let's cram as many diacritical marks as possible into every word" language amusing, though. 
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
I'm glad you do! Isn't it ever so pretty ? Though, for the record, they do serve a pretty nifty purpose.
? Though, for the record, they do serve a pretty nifty purpose.
das
Regeneration In Process
~Darkening~ - such as?
(In before it turns out I missed detailed exposition on the intricacies of Evyni language and alphabet.)
(In before it turns out I missed detailed exposition on the intricacies of Evyni language and alphabet.)
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
The grandest purpose of them all- to annoy the hell out of the mod, of course!......Yeah, that’s it- you’re not expecting anything real, are you? Well, being honest- it’s mostly schematics, in the sense that it’s an alternative an easier method of writing things. It makes long, ugly words all nice and short and pretty! For example, macrons represent a doubled sound- Anyāis can be rendered Anyaais, but that’s not really pretty at all. Also as with Dāroćramįr and its uglier twin, Daarokhrahmizhr. Ēinān -> Eeinaan, which would be the rough transliteration for the Ming name of the river, not the actual Evyn. And so on, so on. I’m too lazy to a full write up at the moment, so I’ll just leave it as that for now.
Edit: The alphabet is based upon the old Seshweay, like, way way way in the past, modified over time with local flavor but which I really don't see myself fleshing out at the moment.
Edit: The alphabet is based upon the old Seshweay, like, way way way in the past, modified over time with local flavor but which I really don't see myself fleshing out at the moment.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Some Satar Etymologies
Atraxes - [at-rhax-ees]
A-, when used as prefix - Possessor of, in possession of.
trax, silver
es, when used as suffix - "prince" or "lord," though the suffix is not reserved to princes alone and is merely good fortune.
By itself, Trax refers to the element of silver. In comparison, atrax would mean "having silver" or "silver-bearing," perhaps "silvery". Atraxes technically means "prince having the quality of silver," since traxes would mean 'a prince composed of silver'. This would refer to an statue or a carving, not a human being. 'Silver Prince' is one translation of Atraxes, though 'Prince of Silver' would be closer to the truth.
Arastephas - [ahr-ass-tef-ahs] the Redeemer (in Satar, Arastephas-ta-Vaxalai)
A-, when used as prefix - Possessor of, in possession of.
ras, Oracle.
-tephas, Wind, also referring to the location Rath Tephas, the "Court of Wind."
Oracle is technically a title or profession. Arastephas saw himself as a religious as well as a political leader, the leader of a people and the scion of a god. The technical translation of 'Arastephas' in English would be '[Possessor of] Oracle of [the Court of] Wind,' though this is ungainly and fails to demonstrate its true purpose. Again, Rastephas is not sufficient as this could technically imply 'an Oracle made of the wind'. A- designates -tephas as a quality, not a nature.
[In comparison, Petraxes the Wind-Lord, Seventh Redeemer, typically translates to Petraxes Atephas OR Petraxes-ta-Tephas. He has been called both.]
The meaning of Arastephas can most easily be summarized as 'Prophet of Wind' or 'Oracle of Wind,' though the word for 'wind' also means 'holy land,' since Rath Tephas is the heart of the Ardavani religion. By naming himself Arastephas, the First Redeemer consciously invoked this dual meaning, making connections to the elemental force of wind, a power of Taleldil, and to the Oracle of the Holy Land, chief shaman of his people leading them back to the fields upon which their god-father was born.
---
Satar Honorifics: Ta and Ha
-ta- from or of. Can be used as an honorific or a locator. Nephrax-ta-Delphis was born in the village of Delphis, so he is Nephrax of Delphis. However, Aphas-ta-Shaim, Prince of the Sword and lieutenant of Third Redeemer Xetares, translates to Aphas [of] the Sword, an honorific. Arastephas-ta-Vaxalai is Arastephas [of] the Redeemer.
-ha, High. Connotations of 'first' or 'best'. The companion of Atraxes and later Prince of the Spear, Isal-ha, technically translates to High Isal, but a better translation would be Isal the Honored.
So, if a Satar named Vetalik was named High Oracle, his full title would be Ras Vetalik-ha.
Atraxes - [at-rhax-ees]
A-, when used as prefix - Possessor of, in possession of.
trax, silver
es, when used as suffix - "prince" or "lord," though the suffix is not reserved to princes alone and is merely good fortune.
By itself, Trax refers to the element of silver. In comparison, atrax would mean "having silver" or "silver-bearing," perhaps "silvery". Atraxes technically means "prince having the quality of silver," since traxes would mean 'a prince composed of silver'. This would refer to an statue or a carving, not a human being. 'Silver Prince' is one translation of Atraxes, though 'Prince of Silver' would be closer to the truth.
Arastephas - [ahr-ass-tef-ahs] the Redeemer (in Satar, Arastephas-ta-Vaxalai)
A-, when used as prefix - Possessor of, in possession of.
ras, Oracle.
-tephas, Wind, also referring to the location Rath Tephas, the "Court of Wind."
Oracle is technically a title or profession. Arastephas saw himself as a religious as well as a political leader, the leader of a people and the scion of a god. The technical translation of 'Arastephas' in English would be '[Possessor of] Oracle of [the Court of] Wind,' though this is ungainly and fails to demonstrate its true purpose. Again, Rastephas is not sufficient as this could technically imply 'an Oracle made of the wind'. A- designates -tephas as a quality, not a nature.
[In comparison, Petraxes the Wind-Lord, Seventh Redeemer, typically translates to Petraxes Atephas OR Petraxes-ta-Tephas. He has been called both.]
The meaning of Arastephas can most easily be summarized as 'Prophet of Wind' or 'Oracle of Wind,' though the word for 'wind' also means 'holy land,' since Rath Tephas is the heart of the Ardavani religion. By naming himself Arastephas, the First Redeemer consciously invoked this dual meaning, making connections to the elemental force of wind, a power of Taleldil, and to the Oracle of the Holy Land, chief shaman of his people leading them back to the fields upon which their god-father was born.
---
Satar Honorifics: Ta and Ha
-ta- from or of. Can be used as an honorific or a locator. Nephrax-ta-Delphis was born in the village of Delphis, so he is Nephrax of Delphis. However, Aphas-ta-Shaim, Prince of the Sword and lieutenant of Third Redeemer Xetares, translates to Aphas [of] the Sword, an honorific. Arastephas-ta-Vaxalai is Arastephas [of] the Redeemer.
-ha, High. Connotations of 'first' or 'best'. The companion of Atraxes and later Prince of the Spear, Isal-ha, technically translates to High Isal, but a better translation would be Isal the Honored.
So, if a Satar named Vetalik was named High Oracle, his full title would be Ras Vetalik-ha.
