The Palustiquendi are the descendants of escapees from the hellish chambers within which Morgoth created the first orcs from captured Elves long before the rising of the sun. Although appearing much as other Elves – Morgoth not having wrought much harm upon their bodies – their minds were twisted by his sorceries long ere their escape, rendering them scheming, suspicious, and duplicitous, quick to anger and fast to seek power by the accusation of others. Indeed, some believe the Palustiquendi did not escape, but were released by Morgoth to serve as spies and agents among the Elves, although any such scheme was doomed, as the ignoble behaviour of these piteous wretches swiftly marked them out among any untainted Eldar they encountered.
The Palustiquendi were all but wiped out during the War of the Jewels in the First Age, with few – if any – surviving the destruction of Beleriand in the War of Wrath. Legends persist however – even unto the present day – of these foul and treacherous creatures pledging their questionable allegiance to those desperate for spies and informants.
You ever read The Silmarillion, man? You ever read The Silmarillion ON PIPEWEED? Oh, there’s some weird shit there man! There’s a hobbit sitting in the bushes, man! Has he got the Ring? I dunno!! FORTH EORLINGAS!! RIDE TO RUIN AND THE WORLD’S ENDING!!
It’s been unreasonably hot of late (maximums hovering around 40° for the last three days), which means that I’ve found it rather difficult to sleep. I’ve tried what I often do under such circumstances which is to stay up watching weird, late night TV until I can barely form a coherent thought (La Brea seems interesting, at least when horribly sleep deprived) then crawl into bed in the hopes of passing out, but it never actually works, so I’ve spent much of the last few nights tossing and turning while my brain whirls away like a merry-go-round with a broken speed governor.
(Do merry-go-rounds have speed governors? Is a speed governor even a thing? You can tell I’m not all here can’t you?)
Anyway, as I was writing in mental and physical torment last night my brain spat up a really silly idea, which was to attempt a translation of everyone’s favourite Dwarf song – Diggy Diggy Hole – into Khuzdul, the language of J. R. R. Tolkien’s Dwarves.
What do you mean you don’t know Diggy Diggy Hole?! What have you been doing with your life?! Here’s Wind Rose’s version to get you up to speed.
Anyhoo, translating it isn’t quite as crazy as it seems because we don’t really know a lot about Khuzdul words and grammar – which gives me plenty of scope to just make things up!
So I looked up what scraps of the language we actually have, and threw in the Neo-Khuzdul lyrics ofThe Bridge of Khazad-dûm from the Lord of the Rings soundtrack which helpfully provides a basic grammar and a number of words found in Diggy Diggy Hole despite being wildly different in tone.
And here it is! The first verse and chorus of Diggy Diggy Hole translated into what we might call Neo-Neo-Khuzdul…
Mâbala ni buzra Kûman taranasha mâ Mâzikada ni aznân Suruk ni kathalamâ Paragul kurdumâ Sanbaragul bishkumâ! Feleka tamahaldi rûza Mênorodalarâ gûza!
Khahali Khuzd Ra khafeleki tûm! Khafeleki tûm! Khafeleki tûm!
Khahali Khuzd Ra khafeleki tûm! Khafeleki tûm! Feleka tûm!
Translated back to English…
DIGGING A HALL
Brothers you will rejoice! Dig with me! Use our tools and voices! Sing with me! Deeper and deeper we go, No one knows what lies beneath, Shining gems, silver, gold, Mithril hidden deep!
We were born underground, Nourished by stone, We grew in the dark, Secure in our mountain stronghold, Our skin is iron, Our bones are steel, Digging makes us free, Brothers sing with me!
I am a Dwarf, And I’m digging a hall, I’m digging a hall, I’m digging a hall,
I am a Dwarf, And I’m digging a hall, I’m digging a hall, Digging a hall,
And finally for those who care about such things, a line by line gloss…
Gûza mêngalaribarâ all-brothers you-celebrate-imperative Brothers you will rejoice!
Mênfelakarâ khul you-delve-imperative me-with Dig with me!
Mêntakarâ felak lamâ you-use-imperative tool voices-our Use our tools and voices!
Mênorodalarâ khul you-sing-imperative me-with Sing with me!
Mâsalani buzra zar We-descend-are deeps more We go deeper and deeper
Mak tabandi bazanar No-one it-know-are below-things No one know what lies below
Not long ago someone posted the following image (which I have shamelessly stolen) to one the Tengwar subreddits, asking for a translation.
(For those not in the know the Tengwar is the writing system devised by J.R.R.Tolkien for his Elvish languages. It’s very pretty but horribly impractical – the Elves were probably plagued with dyslexia.)
Two facts were quickly established. That the squiggly bits above the eye are the logo of the Tolkien themed, Austrian, atmospheric-black-metal band Summoning, and the writing is complete gibberish, a repetition of something like ait-h dom a chon. Case closed.
Except something about the whole thing nagged me. The photo is obviously of a manufactured item, probably a promotional item for the band, and likely made of metal. It seemed unlikely that the band – either as professional musicians or Tolkien fans – would go to all the trouble of making such a thing and then just stick a bunch of random letters on it. Surely it’s meant to mean something?
The first possibility was that it’s written in the Mode of Baloneyland. “Mode of Baloneyland” is a very funny pun, but you need to understand a few things about the Tengwar before you can understand it. Now, I could skip over this in the name of not boring the hell out of you, but this is my blog, and I write as I please!
Tolkien was a linguist (specifically a philologist), and he made his Elves linguists as well. As such the writing system he invented for them was not simply an alphabet, it was system that could be used to write any language. Each individual consonant (tengwa) is built out of components indicating the basic sound it represents, but it can be reassigned to another value depending on the needs of the language being written. The exact assignment of letters to sounds is called a mode, with examples in Tolkien’s works including the General Mode, the Classic or Quenya Mode, and the Mode of Beleriand.
This flexibility means that the Tengwar does not easily map to a computer keyboard. For a start you need to know what mode you’re writing in – the tengwa súle for instance represents “s” in Quenya Mode and “th” in General Mode. What key should that be mapped to? Also there’s two ways to represent vowels. In General and Quenya mode they’re indicated with marks (tehta) above the tengwa, but in the Mode of Beleriand they have their own dedicated tengwa – so should the ‘E’ key put a dot above a letter or print out the character yanta? It’s a nightmare!
As such, tengwar fonts don’t try to set up a correlation between the letters on the keys and the tengwar they print. They simply make all the tengwar available and rely on the person typing to know what they’re doing. Inevitably many people don’t know what they’re doing and try to write in “Elvish” by typing in a phrase in English and then switching it a tengwar font. Among tengwar enthusiasts the resulting gibberish is referred to as “The Mode of Baloneyland”. Get it? Like the Mode of Beleriand, but absolute baloney. See? I told you it was funny!
(Please laugh)
Now, if the text was written in the Mode of Baloneyland there would be no way to decipher it without knowing the mapping of the specific font it was written in. I decided to ignore this dead end and assume that whoever wrote it had some idea of what they were doing, but were just really bad at using the tengwar. So, I hopped over to Summoning’s Wikipedia page to look for any clues. I quickly discovered that in 2018 they released an album named “With Doom we Come”. Hmmm, not unsimilar to ait-h dom a chon…
A closer look at the image shows that the Redditor who translated the inscription as ait-h dom a chon missed a few things. Firstly the questionable quality of the metal casting makes it a bit tricky to tell for sure, but the final númen (‘n’) could actually be malta (‘m’), rendering it ait-h dom a chom. Secondly there are marks above the space before chom and the divider between repeated spaces – ait-h dom a’chom‘. These are clearly orphaned ‘e’s – when a tehta cannot be written above a letter it’s supposed to have a carrier (like a lowercase “i” without the dot) placed beneath it. This makes the phrase ait-h dom ae chome.
We’re making progress! The “t-h” on the end of the first word is clearly a result of the writer not realising that there’s a single tengwa for the “th” combination, but what’s with the ‘a’s? A consultation of a tengwar chart gives us the answer. While the character resembles osse – used to represent ‘a’ in the Mode of Beleriand – it’s actually not a valid tengwa at all! It’s the character vala (‘w’) printed backwards! So we’ve now decoded our way to with dom we chome.
Consulting a chart also solves the problem with “ch”. Whoever wrote out the phrase forgot to add a line to the tengwa calma (‘ch’), which would have transformed it to quesse (‘k’). Fix this and we have with dom we kome.
There’s still the issue that the first ‘o’ should have been doubled, but we’ve successfully demonstrated that the inscription is a really incompetent attempt at writing With Doom We Come.
For purposes of comparison here are the inscription as written, and how it would be written properly in both the orthographic (based on spelling) and phonetic (based on sounds) English Modes – all generated via Tecendil which is the only Tengwar transcriber you should use!
So in conclusion, perhaps get someone to check over your tengwar before sending merchandise for production, Summoning!
As we have come to expect from Mr Diaz the art is fantastic – I particularly like his kickarse version of young Galadriel (she mellowed out a lot over the next 8,000 or so years).
…In the 1970s John Boorman was contracted by United Artists to direct an adaptation that would have collapsed [The Lord of the Rings] into a single film. […] In the script by Boorman and Rospo Pallenberg, many new elements have been inserted or modified. Among other things, Gimli is put in a hole and beaten so he can retrieve the password to Moria from his ancestral memory [and] Frodo and Galadriel have sexual intercourse…
My initial reaction was What!? But then I discovered that John Boorman was the guy behind Zardoz, and suddenly it all made sense.
What makes the proposed film even more disturbing is that in the 1970s they wouldn’t have been able to use the digital editing that Peter Jackson used to shrink his actors, and may not have been willing to do an entire film with the complicated trick photography Jackson used when he wasn’t using CGI. So Gimli and the Hobbits would most likely have been played by dwarfs. A movie where little people are thrown into holes and beaten in between sex scenes doesn’t sound like heroic fantasy – it’s more akin to something you’d get under the counter in an ‘adult novelty’ store.
Thank the lord Boorman made Excalibur instead, which (if memory serves) features very little dwarf S&M content.
Lego is releasing models for the Lord of the Rings. This is a combination of two of my favourite things, and is hence awesome! 🙂
There’s one thing that’s bothering me though. One of the panels in the Mines of Moria set is decorated with text written in the cirth…
Cool, no? Except that I can’t for the life of me figure out what it’s meant to say.
If my interpretation is correct, it appears to read ndigwbndio pdy eobo.
I have no idea what this means.
So, am I using the wrong mode? Is it written in Khuzdul, or Sindarin? Or maybe Maori or Danish? Or is it just decorative gibberish? I have absolutely no idea, and it’s going to drive me nuts until I figure it out.
Later: Bah! It’s not the Cirth, it’s standard Futhark and says “Diordie was here”. Bastards! ;D
You know, I still think this is one of the cleverest things I’ve ever written. It explains everything about the clip and includes sly references to dozens (or at least two) other episodes and the series in general.