The Sylvan Tongue: Ancient Language of the Fae

Linguistic and Cultural Background

Origins and Mythic Significance

Sylvan (sometimes called “The Old Tongue of the Woods”) is believed to be the primordial language of nature. In fae mythology, the world was sung into being in Sylvan – every original name of a tree, river, or star was a Sylvan word. Fae elders say that when the first dawn light fell on the ancient forests, the spirits of nature began to sing, and those songs became the Sylvan language. Because of this mythic origin, speaking Sylvan is an inherently magical act – the language carries the creative power of that primordial song. Traditionally, Sylvan has been passed down orally for millennia by creatures of the wild. Each generation adds new melodies and phrases, yet the oldest Sylvan words (for earth, sky, life, etc.) remain sacred and unchanged since ancient times.

Over ages, Sylvan evolved as the common tongue of the Feywild, the mystical realm of faeries and nature spirits. Elves, dryads, satyrs, pixies, centaurs, and other fae-kind all once shared this language in mythic antiquity. It was the language of unity between species – a dryad could converse with a unicorn or a treant in Sylvan, as it was considered the speech of all living things. Sylvan’s vocabulary and idioms reflect a close relationship with the cycles of nature. For example, there are dozens of poetic words for different types of rain, forest light, or birdsong. To this day, many fey consider Sylvan not just a means of communication but a gift from the natural world, to be used with reverence.

Dialects Among Fae Subgroups

As Sylvan spread across enchanted glades and deep woods, distinct dialects emerged among the various fae subgroups. While all Sylvan speakers can generally understand each other, each folk has its own accent and favorite expressions:

• Elves (especially wood elves) speak a refined, lilting dialect of Sylvan. Elven Sylvan has a flowing quality with elongated vowels and careful enunciation. It preserves many old formal words. Elves view Sylvan as a high ancestral tongue (with their modern Elvish languages having branched off from it), so they use Sylvan in poetry, music, and ritual. Elven dialect tends to be polite and antiquated, sometimes sounding archaic to other fae.
• Dryads (tree spirits) speak Sylvan slowly and melodically, as if each word is part of a song. Their dialect is deeply influenced by the trees and forest sounds around them. Dryads use many plant metaphors and gentle intonations – their speech can sound like creaking wood and rustling leaves. They might pause for several heartbeats in the middle of a sentence, much like a tree taking its time. Dryad Sylvan also preserves ancient nature terms that other dialects have simplified.
• Pixies and Sprites have a high-pitched, rapid version of Sylvan. They tend to shorten words or clip endings in a playful way. Their speech is filled with trills and laughter-like tones, giving it an almost chiming, bell-like sound. Pixie Sylvan also incorporates a lot of mischievous idioms and giggling interjections. They might use onomatopoeic words that imitate bird calls or insect chirps. To other speakers, pixie-speech can sound like a fast lullaby or the chatter of a brook.
• Satyrs and Fauns speak Sylvan with a rich, rollicking cadence. Being lovers of revelry, satyrs infuse their speech with musical rhythm – nearly chanting or sing-songing their words. Their dialect often slurs certain sounds (especially after some fey wine) and uses a hearty laugh as punctuation. Satyrs favor earthy vocabulary and jovial metaphors; for instance, a satyr might coin new humorous words on the fly. Their Sylvan feels very “grounded” and rustic, reflecting their connection to both earth and music.
• Centaurs speak in measured, resonant tones. Their Sylvan carries a sense of old wisdom and pride. Centaur dialect often uses formal grammar and archaisms, perhaps due to their traditional role as lore-keepers. Their voices are deep, and they roll their r’s like distant thunder. Centaurs incorporate astronomical and seasonal references into everyday speech (e.g. saying “under summer’s gaze” to mean now). Their accent is said to be robust and clear, like a spoken oath.
• Other fae beings (nymphs, naiads, gnomes, etc.) each add a flavor to Sylvan: a water nymph might speak more fluidly with bubbling laughter, while a gnome (if we consider them fae-touched) might have a chirpier, nasal tone. Despite differences, all these dialects are mutually intelligible. Fae take delight in the diversity – regional and species-based accents are seen as like different birdsongs in the same forest.

Importantly, Elvish (the everyday language of elves in mortal realms) is believed to be a descendant of ancient Sylvan. Scholars note that Elvish scripts and a portion of Elvish vocabulary originated from Sylvan before diverging. This is analogous to how a classical language might give rise to modern ones. Thus, elves often revere Sylvan as “Old Elven” or the tongue of the Feywild, using it for solemn occasions. Meanwhile, creatures like pixies or dryads who never left the Feywild kept Sylvan more intact, though colored by their nature-centric lives.

Influence of Nature, Magic, and Music

Sylvan is profoundly shaped by nature’s influence, both in sound and structure. Its speakers often say that Sylvan is the forest speaking through the people. The phonetic rhythms mimic natural sounds:

• Many Sylvan words resemble the rustle of leaves, the patter of rain, or the calls of forest animals. For instance, a gentle wind might be described with a soft, breathy phrase that sounds like a breeze. There are words that mimic birdsong, and phrases that flow like water. This onomatopoeic quality makes the language feel like an extension of the environment. Fae speakers sometimes even incorporate actual bird chirps or flowing-water sounds as extralinguistic embellishments when communicating, blurring the line between speech and ambient nature sounds.
• Magic is woven into Sylvan’s very grammar and vocabulary. Because the language was (in myth) used to shape creation, certain words carry innate magical power. Sylvan speakers can cause subtle effects simply by speaking with intent – a dryad’s lullaby in Sylvan might literally soothe those who hear it, or a quick Sylvan command might spur a plant to bloom. This means the language has special grammatical forms to convey magical intent (discussed more in the Grammar section). Culturally, the fae use Sylvan in almost all their spells, enchantments, and rituals. A spoken Sylvan incantation is considered far more potent than one in any mortal language, because Sylvan words resonate with the natural world. For example, the Sylvan word for “fire” might, if sung in the right tone, actually cause a small flame to dance or change color.
• Music and Sylvan are inseparable. The language is inherently lyrical – most fae learn it through songs and poems. In fact, a great deal of Sylvan lore (history, lessons, stories) is preserved in ballads passed down through generations. The structure of Sylvan sentences is flexible and melodic, allowing speakers to rearrange words for poetic meter or rhyme without losing meaning (again, supported by inflectional grammar). It’s common for Sylvan speakers to burst into song mid-conversation to express strong emotions or to make a point. Even normal spoken Sylvan has a gentle sing-song intonation; outsiders often remark that Sylvan conversation sounds like people composing a melody on the fly.
• The tone of Sylvan is empathic and expressive. The language has a rich set of mood markers and an almost musical intonation contour that conveys emotion. A Sylvan sentence can sound completely different (happy, sad, ominous) just from tone alone. The influence of magic amplifies this — some say Sylvan directly carries emotional currents. A listener might feel the speaker’s sadness or joy through subtle magical resonance in the words. This empathic quality means Sylvan is often used to soothe angry beasts or calm storms, essentially “singing” emotions into the world.

Perception by Non-Fae

To non-fae (humans, dwarves, etc.), Sylvan is both bewitchingly beautiful and extremely elusive. Many describe hearing Sylvan as hearing the forest itself whispering. A human who hears a fae speak Sylvan might experience goosebumps or a trance-like calm, not understanding the words but feeling their import. Because of its musicality, mortals sometimes mistake a Sylvan conversation for a performance or enchantment rather than plain speech.

Learning Sylvan is notoriously difficult for outsiders. The phonetics alone contain sounds and subtleties that don’t exist in human tongues – an uninitiated human might stumble over Sylvan’s trills and breathy consonants. The grammar, with its flexibility and nuance, confounds those used to rigid structures. For example, Sylvan heavily relies on context, tone, and inflection; a non-fae might learn vocabulary but still miss the meaning because they can’t perceive the emotional “song” layered underneath. Additionally, some Sylvan words simply refuse to be spoken by those who lack fae magic – a human trying to recite an ancient Sylvan spell could find themselves literally speechless or the word comes out as a dull mundane version. Fae often say that Sylvan doesn’t live in the tongue, but in the soul – without a bond to nature, one cannot truly speak it.

Non-fae who persist in learning Sylvan usually do so for scholarly reasons or due to a close bond with the fae. They must train their ears to hear the hidden harmonies in Sylvan phrases and train their voices to produce very delicate sound patterns. Even then, a mortal’s Sylvan accent is obvious to fae – it tends to sound flat and overly literal. Fae might find it charming or childlike when a human speaks Sylvan, akin to a student haltingly reciting a poem. Culturally, full fluency is rare; instead, many druids or rangers simply learn key Sylvan phrases for spells or greetings, recognizing that the language is inherently magical and alive.

It’s also said that when non-fae speak Sylvan incorrectly, strange things can happen. Mispronouncing a Sylvan word of power might cause a minor magical mishap – flowers might suddenly sprout at the speaker’s feet, or an ill-spoken Sylvan insult could literally leave a bad taste (a fae “curse word” can carry a tiny curse!). This unpredictability makes some outsiders wary of dabbling in Sylvan beyond basic phrases.

Sylvan is more than just “words” to the fae: it is culture, magic, and nature intertwined. Outsiders perceive it as ethereal and enchanting, but only those with a deep respect for nature manage to grasp even its basics. Hearing a conversation in Sylvan is often compared to listening to a haunting melody whose meaning you feel but cannot translate. This mystical aura ensures Sylvan maintains its status as a treasured, almost secret tongue of the enchanted realms.

Phonetics and Phonology

Sylvan’s sound is often described as soft, flowing, and musical – very much in harmony with the natural world. Its phonetic inventory (the sounds that make up the language) is carefully balanced to avoid harshness, favoring gentle consonants and resonant vowels. The language was inspired in flavor by Gaelic and Tolkien’s Sindarin, but it has its own unique set of phonemes and patterns that distinguish it from those tongues. Below we outline the key sounds of Sylvan along with pronunciation guides:

Consonant Sounds

Sylvan consonants include many familiar sounds as well as a few distinctly fey ones that give the language an otherworldly lilt. The consonant inventory can be grouped as follows:

• Stops: /p, t, k/ and their softer voiced forms /b, d, g/. These are pronounced without strong aspiration (unlike English p, t, k, which have a puff of air). For example, talon /ˈta.lon/ (“earth”) starts with a soft [t] (no explosive burst). Sylvan b, d, g are gentle as well, often realized as slightly fricative in fast speech (between a true b and v sound, etc.), lending a mellow quality.
• Nasals: /m, n, ŋ/. M and n sound as in English. /ŋ/ is the “ng” sound as in song, which appears mostly in the middle or end of Sylvan words (e.g., linga /ˈliŋ.ga/ “to sing”). Nasals are important for Sylvan’s humming, droning undertones – a dryad humming a phrase can carry meaning.
• Liquids: Two liquid consonants are central to Sylvan’s melodic sound – L and R. The “r” is trilled [r], much like the rolled r in Spanish or Italian. This trill can be soft or emphatic: at the beginning of a word it’s often a crisp trill (adding a musical trill to the word’s onset), whereas between vowels it might be a single tap [ɾ] for fluidity. “l” is generally a clear light [l] as in leaf. In some dialects (especially among pixies or elves), l at word-end is vocalized (almost [w]-like), giving a very gentle finish to words.
• Fricatives: Sylvan uses soft fricatives more than harsh ones. Notably, there are two “th” sounds:
  • Voiceless [θ] as in English thin, written th (e.g., etha /ˈe.θa/ “stream”).
  • Voiced [ð] as in then, written dh (e.g., adha /ˈa.ða/ “bridge”). These th-sounds bring a breathy whisper quality.
    Sylvan f [f] and v [v] occur as well, often from a softening of p, b, m in certain positions. For instance, in some word forms belo might become melo with [v] sound – a nod to Gaelic-like lenition (softening) where b shifts to a v-sound.
    S [s] in Sylvan is usually pure as in see, but before certain vowels it can soften toward [ʃ] (sh), especially in the flowing speech of some speakers. There isn’t a separate letter for [ʃ]; it’s an allophonic variant of s (for example, siar “sky” might sound like [ʃiar] in an elf’s lilting pronunciation).
    H [h] is a soft breathy h (Sylvan h is never a harsh ch sound; see below for ch). H often appears in Sylvan to add a sighing breath to words, especially between vowels (creating a slight pause or airy quality, e.g. ahaer /aˈhae̯r/ “wild”). Sylvan also has distinctive fricatives from Gaelic/Sindarin inspiration:
  • “ch” [x]: a throaty but soft ch like in Scottish “loch” or German “Bach”. Written as ch, it sounds like a gentle clearing of the throat or a breeze stirring leaves. Used in words like lacha /ˈla.xa/ (“flame”). This sound, though guttural, is not harsh in Sylvan; it’s more of a whispery rasp, often used at the end of words to fade out like a gust.
  • “gh” [ɣ]: a voiced velar fricative, a warmer cousin of ch. It’s like a soft growl in the back of the throat. In writing we may use gh or dh (in some contexts) to denote [ɣ]. For example, draghon /ˈdra.ɣon/ (“heart”) might use this sound. It gives a low, mysterious murmur to words.
  • “ll” [ɬ]: a unique Sylvan sound: a voiceless lateral fricative, basically a breathy l. Written as ll or sometimes lh, it’s similar to the Welsh ll (as in Llan). To English ears, it sounds like a gentle hiss combined with an l. For instance, lharin /ˈɬa.rin/ (“green”) starts with this whispering l. This sound contributes greatly to Sylvan’s airy, otherworldly tone, as if the language itself sighs.
  • “rh” [r̥]: a voiceless trilled r, written rh. It’s like an r that starts with a breathy h, almost a whispered roll. This occurs in some emphatic or ancient words (e.g., the name of an ancient spirit Rhiannon might begin with such a sound). It gives a haunting, ethereal emphasis, like a distant bird’s call.
• Glides: Sylvan uses w [w] and y [j] as gentle semivowels. W as in willow – e.g., wena /ˈwe.na/ “young” – often appears before vowels. Y [j] (like English y in yes) is usually written y or i (before another vowel) and provides a palatal glide, smoothly connecting sounds. For instance, iarel /ˈja.rɛl/ (“springtime”) has that y-sound at the start. These glides make transitions between vowels and consonants very smooth – one reason Sylvan feels flowing with no sharp edges.

Distinctive features: Overall, Sylvan avoids extremely hard or guttural sounds. There are no harsh “ch” as in German ach (Sylvan ch is softer [x]), no buzzing z or jarring j sounds (the sound [ʒ] as in vision is absent; j is only the [j] glide). The presence of trills, breathy laterals (ll [ɬ]), and soft fricatives (th, dh, fh) makes the language sound like a whispering wind or a gentle stream. Even when Sylvan speakers are angry or excited, the language has a certain softness – it’s more likely to intensify via pitch and volume than by introducing harsh sounds.

To illustrate some of these special consonants, here are a few examples with IPA and an approximate pronunciation guide:

• lh / ll [ɬ]: lhuin /ɬu.in/ – “blue” (color). Pronounce it like “HLU-in”, starting with a breathy l (blow air around the sides of your tongue as if saying h and l together).
• rh [r̥]: rhúvel /r̥uː.vel/ – an ancient title meaning “star singer”. Pronounce “Roo-vel”, but start the r with just air (as if whispering the r before trilling).
• th [θ]: etha /ˈe.θa/ – “stream”. Pronounce “EH-tha”, with a soft th like in think.
• dh [ð]: sedhil /ˈsɛ.ðil/ – “to shine”. Pronounce “SEH-dhil”, where dh is the th in this (a voiced th).
• ch [x]: lacha /ˈla.xa/ – “flame”. Pronounce “LA-kha”, with ch like the Scottish loch, a raspy exhale.
• gh [ɣ]: ághal /ˈaː.ɣal/ – “forest spirit”. Pronounce “AH-ghal”, where gh is like a soft gargle; it sounds like a voiced version of ch.

These sounds, especially [ɬ] and [r̥], are rare in human languages, giving Sylvan its alien musicality. But none of them are percussive or harsh – even the unfamiliar consonants feel like part of a melody when strung together in Sylvan words.

Vowel Sounds

Sylvan’s vowels are rich and sonorous, heavily influenced by musical vowel systems of Celtic languages, yet with their own twists. The language has a set of five core vowel qualities (a, e, i, o, u) each of which can be short or long, plus several diphthongs (combined vowel glides).

• Simple Vowels:
  • a – pronounced /a/ as in father (short [a] or slightly [ɑ]). E.g., lassa /ˈla.ssa/ “leaf”. Short a is bright; long á (with an acute accent) is /aː/, a sustained, open ahh sound. Long á often conveys emphasis or poetic weight (e.g., Ára /ˈaː.ra/, a title meaning “Ancient one”).
  • e – pronounced /ɛ/ (short, as in get) or /eː/ (long ê, as in they but held). E.g., selen /ˈsɛ.lɛn/ “moon”. When long é, it sounds like a clear eh that resonates (almost like the first part of “air”). Sylvan e is pure (not a diphthong as English long “a” can be).
  • i – pronounced /ɪ/ (short, as in sit) or /iː/ (long ī, as in machine). E.g., lin /ˈlɪn/ “song” (short and crisp) versus lín /ˈliːn/ which might be an extended poetic form. The i is often slightly palatalizing to adjacent consonants (giving that Gaelic “slender” consonant feel), contributing to Sylvan’s light, bright sound (similar to how in Irish an i can soften a preceding consonant).
  • o – pronounced /ɔ/ (short, like thought or off, a round open o) or /oː/ (long ō, like o in soul but purer). E.g., doron /ˈdɔ.rɔn/ “oak tree”. Long ó is a deep, resonant oh sound, often used in solemn or grand words (giving them a hollow, musical tone – imagine the sound in a cavern).
  • u – pronounced /ʊ/ (short, like foot or a quick oo) or /uː/ (long ū as in moon). E.g., luna /ˈlu.na/ “water” (with u as in wood), vs. lūna (if it were written with a macron or accent) drawn out like loo-na. Sylvan u tends toward a pure oo sound, without the English offglide. Some dialects (especially pixie speech) may pronounce u very forward (almost as a French u [y] for a uniquely fey flavor, though this is a dialectal variation).
• Diphthongs: Sylvan loves blending vowel sounds to create diphthongs, reinforcing the lyrical quality. Common diphthongs include:
  • ae / ai [aɪ̯] – sounds like “eye”. E.g., maeth /maɪ̯θ/ “earthly” or súlais /ˈsuː.laɪ̯s/ “sunlight”. This diphthong often conveys brightness or motion (perhaps because it glides upward in tone).
  • ei [ei̯] – as in “ay” (say). E.g., beir /bei̯r/ “to carry”. A clear glide from e to i, often a kind of elegant sound in Sylvan words.
  • au [au̯] – as in “ow” (but more rounded). E.g., laur /laur/ “golden”. This has a rich, deep tone (starting at a and rounding to u).
  • oi [ɔɪ̯] – like “oy” in boy. E.g., coill* /kɔɪ̯l/ “forest” in some dialect (alternate to velorn). Sylvan uses this perhaps less frequently, but it appears in some old words, giving a plaintive sound.
  • ui [uɪ̯] – starts at oo and goes to ih, somewhat like the word “gooey”. E.g., duil* /duɪ̯l/ “heart” (just an example). This diphthong can sound very gentle, often occurring before consonants like -n, -l.
  • io / ia / ie – sequences with i followed by another vowel are also common, pronounced with a quick y glide then the vowel. E.g., ia in liath /lʲaθ/ (“grey”) is like lya-. io in liór /lʲoːr/ (“star”) sounds like lyohr. (We sometimes notate palatalized consonant with [ʲ] as in [lʲ] to indicate the y-glide attached to the consonant.)

In writing this conlang with the Latin alphabet, we often use an acute accent (´) to denote a long vowel (e.g., á, é, í, ó, ú) for clarity. So, ár would be /aːr/, a long a sound. Long vowels in Sylvan are typically sustained in song and often receive stress or emphasis if they occur in a stressed syllable. They contribute greatly to the lyrical, singing quality of the language, as words often have a mix of short and long vowels, creating a natural rhythm (stressed long vowel, followed by softer short ones, etc.).

Syllable structure and stress: Sylvan syllables are most often CV(C) – a consonant followed by a vowel, optionally ending in a consonant, or just V or VC. Complex clusters are rare, especially at word beginnings, which helps keep the language flowing. Two consonants might appear together, but typically if they do, one is a liquid or glide (for example, dr, gl, rw are possible, but st, pt are quite uncommon unless in compound words). Many words tend to end in a vowel or a soft consonant like n, l, or r, which means words rarely have a hard stop at the end – they often trail off gently or link to the next word fluidly.

The stress in Sylvan usually falls on the first syllable of a word as a default (much like Scottish Gaelic or many Celtic languages, which gives a strong initial beat and a lilting tail to words). For example, VEL-orn (velorn, “forest”), LA-cha (lacha, “flame”), SE-len (selen, “moon”). This initial stress pattern makes the language sound confident and song-like, with each word starting with a clear accented note and then tapering into softer sounds. In longer words, there may be a secondary stress on later syllables, especially if there are long vowels.

However, Sylvan’s stress can be flexible for poetic or emphatic effect. Because of the musical nature, a speaker or singer might accent a different syllable to fit a meter or tune, and grammatical inflections often ensure the meaning remains clear despite stress shifts. In songs or incantations, you might hear patterns of stress that create rhythm (trochaic or dactylic patterns). Listeners rely on context and grammatical cues to understand, allowing Sylvan bards to move stresses around for artistry.

Unstressed syllables in Sylvan often have reduced vowels that are still pleasant-sounding – e.g. a short a might become a softer [ə] (schwa-like) when very quickly spoken, but not as much as in English. Fae ears are very sensitive, so even reduced vowels maintain distinct tone; a human might not even catch the difference, but a fae knows if an o was pronounced fully or in a whispered form.

Overall phonological feel: Sylvan has an almost breathing rhythm – consonants gently constrict the flow of air, and vowels release it in melodic tones. Many describe speaking Sylvan as akin to humming a tune with defined notes. It’s noteworthy that in conversational Sylvan, speakers often link words smoothly (a final vowel of one word may flow into the initial vowel of the next, or a final consonant may lightly attach to the next word’s vowel). For example, Anu elen (“a star”) might sound like “a-nu-e-len” with no break, almost like one word. This liaison effect means a Sylvan sentence can sound like one continuous, undulating stream of sound – very mesmerizing to listeners.

To ensure clarity in this musical flow, Sylvan employs some euphonic adjustments: sometimes a faint h is inserted between vowels that would clash, or a consonant is lightly altered (lenited) to make the transition smoother. These phonological processes happen naturally and are second nature to native speakers, contributing to the organic, evolving sound of the language.

Example Pronunciation

To tie all the phonetics together, let’s look at a sample Sylvan word and phrase, with pronunciation:

• “Velorn” – meaning “forest” (in one dialect). IPA: /ˈvɛ.lɔrn/. Pronounce it as “VEH-lorn”. It starts with a soft v [v], then a short e [ɛ] (stressed VE-), followed by lorn [lɔrn] where o is like the o in off and r is gently trilled. The word starts strong and then rolls off the tongue, much like a forest begins at a clear boundary and then stretches out into the distance.
• Phrase:Líhara lónir seléna. – A poetic phrase meaning “The light of the woods is dreaming.” IPA: /ˈliː.ha.ra ˈloː.nir sɛˈleː.na/. An audio-friendly guide would be roughly “LEE-hah-rah LOH-neer seh-LAY-nah.” Note how:
  • líhara (LEE-hah-rah) has a long í [iː] giving it a bright tone, and the r is a soft tap between the vowels.
  • lónir (LOH-neer) has a long ó [oː] stressed, then nir with an i that palatalizes the r slightly (so neer sounds very light on the tongue).
  • seléna (seh-LAY-nah) starts with se- [sɛ] and then lé [leː] stressed (LÉ-na), the accent on lé making it “lay”, and ends in -na [na] softly. When spoken, the phrase flows as LÍ-ha-ra LÓ-nir se-LÉ-na, with a gentle cadence: high note, low note, low-high, low (if one imagined musical notes). A non-fae speaking each word separately might say “LEE-hah-rah … LOH-neer … seh-LAY-nah” clearly, but a native would blend them so líhara lónir almost joins (perhaps a slight [h] links the a of líhara to the l of lónir, to avoid a break).

Sylvan phonetics create a language that sounds like art even in casual usage. Its consonants are tuned to be soft and melodic (trills, breaths, gentle fricatives) and its vowels are tuned to be clear and sonorous. This makes Sylvan immediately recognizable: a traveler hearing voices speak in cascading, musical tones in the woods can safely guess they overhear Sylvan. It is a tongue meant to be sung as much as spoken, and its very sounds reflect the rustling, shimmering, and echoing qualities of the natural world.

Grammar and Syntax

Despite its free-flowing sound, Sylvan has a well-defined grammatical structure underlying the lyrical surface. Like many ancient languages, it is inflected – meaning that words (especially nouns and verbs) change form to reflect their role in a sentence. However, being a living tongue of the fae, Sylvan’s grammar is flexible and poetic, allowing word order and structure to bend for emphasis or rhythm without losing meaning. Below we explore Sylvan grammar: from basic word order to nouns, verbs, pronouns, and the unique magical quirks in its usage.

Word Order and Sentence Structure

The default word order in Sylvan is Subject–Verb–Object (SVO), which is familiar to Common (English) speakers. For example: “The dryad sings a song” would be ordered as Dryad (subject) – sings (verb) – song (object) in Sylvan as well. This straightforward order makes simple statements clear:

Daráin	linor	lia
Dryad	sing	song

(Daráin linor lia. = “The dryad sings a song.”)

However, Sylvan is notably flexible with word order when context or emphasis calls for it. Because Sylvan has noun cases (endings or markers on nouns that indicate their grammatical role), speakers can rearrange words for poetic effect or emphasis without causing confusion. For instance, to emphasize the object, one could say “A song sings the dryad” (object–verb–subject) in Sylvan and still be understood to mean the dryad is singing a song – the case endings or context clarify who is the doer. This flexibility is often used in poetry and song: whatever word the speaker wants to highlight (perhaps the most emotionally charged concept) might come first. Listeners in Sylvan pay attention to verb inflections and noun case markers to parse meaning, rather than rigid position.

In practice, sentences often flow according to rhythmic or emotive needs:

• In a calm description, SVO is common (a natural narrative order).
• In a dramatic or magical utterance, the verb might come last (Subject–Object–Verb, akin to Latin or Gaelic style) to give a sense of suspense, with the action revealed at the end. For example, a formal proverb might say “Stone patience holds” instead of “holds patience (the) stone” to put emphasis on stone and patience as concepts before revealing the holding action.
• In intimate or urgent speech, a Sylvan might put a verb first (Verb–Subject–Object, somewhat like commands or Celtic emphasis). For instance, “Run you quickly!” could be literally “Run you quickly” (verb–subject–adverb) as a way to urgently command someone – the verb at the start is an instant call to action.

Modifiers (adjectives, adverbs) also have some freedom. Typically, an adjective follows the noun it describes, as is common in many lyrical languages. So “green forest” in Sylvan would be literally “forest green” (velorn lharin perhaps). This noun-before-adjective order feels natural in Sylvan because the core concept (forest) comes first, and its description follows like an added brushstroke. However, for poetic emphasis, adjectives can precede if one wants to stress the quality: “Green (is the) forest” might be a way to put a color emphasis in a poem.

Overall, Sylvan syntax allows for a poetic cadence: word order can be adjusted to create alliteration, rhyme, or a particular emotional progression. Listeners use a combination of case markings, agreement, and context to interpret meaning. It’s often said that Sylvan syntax is like weaving a wreath – the flowers (words) can be placed in various arrangements, but the threads (grammar markers) tie it together coherently.

In questions and commands, Sylvan tends to rely on particles or intonation rather than reordering words drastically. A question might be indicated by a questioning particle at the beginning (or just by a lilting rising intonation if informal). For example, adding a word like a or ha at the start of a sentence can signal a question: “Ha linor daráin lia?” – “Does the dryad sing a song?” (literally something like “? sings dryad song”). Because Sylvan has such a musical intonation naturally, a questioning tone (rising melody towards the end) is often enough to indicate a question to a listener.

The unmarked Sylvan sentence is SVO, but the language’s inflections set it free to dance around. This gives Sylvan speakers a lot of expressive power: they can mirror natural patterns (like placing a word at the end for a “falling leaf” effect or at the beginning for a “burst of light” effect). Despite this freedom, Sylvan doesn’t feel confusing to native speakers because the grammatical markers (explained next) act as compass points guiding the listener through the forest of words.

Nouns and Cases

Sylvan nouns carry information about their role in a sentence through a system of cases. This is somewhat akin to languages like Latin or older forms of Common (English) – the noun changes form slightly depending on whether it’s the subject, object, etc. The case system in Sylvan is not overly complex (commonly four cases in everyday use), and many case markings involve subtle vowel changes or suffixes that blend harmoniously with the word.

The main cases are:

• Nominative (Subject case): This is the base form of the noun, used for the subject of a sentence (the doer of an action) and for dictionary entries. There is usually no special ending for nominative – it’s the bare noun. E.g., daráin (a dryad) as subject: Daráin linor lia. “The dryad sings a song.” Here daráin is nominative (subject).
• Accusative (Object case): Used for the direct object (the receiver of an action). In Sylvan, the accusative often looks identical to the nominative for many nouns (especially those ending in a consonant or a fully voiced vowel). However, for some nouns, an accusative is marked by a slight change, such as a different vowel or an added suffix. For example, a word ending in a consonant might add -a for accusative: lassa (accusative of lass “leaf”). In a sentence: Ithil cuna lassa – “The moon lights (a) leaf,” lassa being the object (leaf) marked by -a. Another pattern: nouns ending in -a in nominative might switch to -an in accusative, etc., but these patterns are learned case by case. Modern Sylvan tends to keep accusative the same as nominative unless needed for clarity or euphony, relying on word order or context – thus in simple SVO order, many speakers don’t bother with a distinct accusative form.
• Genitive (Possessive case): Indicates possession or origin, usually translated as “of ___” or by adding ’s in Common. Sylvan often forms the genitive by adding -i or -en to a noun, or by an internal vowel change that “lightens” the last vowel. For instance, velorn (forest) might have genitive velorni meaning “of the forest”. So “Spirit of the forest” could be éla velorni. Another example: darán (dryad) might form genitive daráine “of the dryad”. This case is frequently used in the lyrical names and phrases (since the fae love attributing things to others or to nature). You might see it in compound terms too (like lómelindi – “of dusk song”, if lómelin is dusk-song and -di marks genitive plural).
• Dative (Indirect object case): Used for the recipient of something (meaning “to/for ___”). Sylvan dative is often marked with a suffix like -on or -ir (depending on noun class), or sometimes just context with a preposition if the form is ambiguous. For example, if ciel means “friend”, a dative form could be cielon meaning “to a friend”. Linor cielon would mean “(he) sings to a friend.” In casual speech, a preposition na or ni (meaning “to”) might be used instead of the dative form, e.g., linor ni ciel (sing to friend), especially if the noun is one that doesn’t change easily. But traditional Sylvan prefers the inflected form for poetry: linor cielon has a nice rhythmic ring with -on.

Other cases that exist in older or more formal Sylvan include:

• Locative: indicating location (“in/on ___”) – sometimes marked by suffix –(e)l or –(a)ss. E.g., velornel “in (the) forest”. Often, though, a simple preposition en (in) or air (on) plus the noun is used in modern speech.
• Instrumental: indicating “with/by means of ___” – could be a suffix like –da or use a preposition. For instance, “by (means of) magic” might be vellada if vella is magic (this is more an archaic form; contemporary speakers would just say wið vella or some equivalent phrase).
• Vocative: for directly addressing someone. Sylvan vocative isn’t a major change, but often involves a particle or a lenition (softening of the first consonant, much as Gaelic does). For example, to call a friend “O friend!”, a fae might say a hiel! (if hiel is friend and the h was added by lenition from ciel). This is more a part of sound change (see mutations below) than a separate case form.

Lenition and initial mutations: One magical-seeming feature inherited from the Celtic influence is that Sylvan often alters the beginning of a noun or adjective after certain grammatical words. This is a consonant mutation system that makes the language sound very fluid. For example, possessive pronouns trigger lenition: the Sylvan word for “wood” might be tara in nominative. But “my wood” (with mo for “my”) would be mo thara – the initial t softens to th [θ]. Similarly, if “oak” is darach, “my oak” could become mo dharach (d -> dh [ð]). This softening effect (lenition) is not written as a case ending, but it’s a grammatical alteration. It signals relationships like possession, or follows certain prepositions. For instance, en velorn means “in (a) forest”, but en felorn (if v->f) might indicate “in the forest” or some nuance – the exact rules can be complex, but what’s important is it lends a musical consonant shift that fae ears pick up on. In everyday terms, these mutations make sentences melt together. Non-fae learners find this challenging, but it’s second nature to Sylvan speakers: it’s as if the words actively mold into each other to create smooth transitions.

Number (singular/plural): Sylvan nouns also reflect number. There is usually a plural form of a noun, often made by either adding a suffix or changing a vowel (umlaut) within the word – another trait reminiscent of Welsh. For many nouns, adding -i or -in creates a plural. E.g., seler “sister” might form plural selerin “sisters”. Another common plural marker is -ar or -ir for certain noun classes. However, a beautiful and slightly unpredictable feature is vowel change plurals (sometimes called “internal plurals”): much like English man/men or Sindarin orch/ yrch (orc/orcs), Sylvan might change a vowel sound to indicate plural. For instance, lass “leaf” could pluralize to lais “leaves” (here a changes to ai). Or rad “root” might pluralize to raid “roots”. These shifts often follow ancient patterns – perhaps a -> ai, o -> y (a fronted sound), e -> i, etc., depending on the word. The result is that some plurals sound like a higher or lighter note of the singular, almost as if the word itself “scales up” when there are many of the item. Example: selena “moonbeam” vs seleni “moonbeams” (e->e still, but -a to -i; just a hypothetical pattern).

Sylvan does have a concept of collective plural or mass nouns, especially for things in nature that come in groups (like grass, leaves as a carpet, a herd). Sometimes the plural is not marked if the noun inherently implies multiplicity. For example, velorn can mean “forest” (many trees), and there might not be a need for a plural form velornin unless speaking of multiple distinct forests. In those cases, context or words like “many” (e.g., laew meaning “many” or a plural article) clarify.

Nouns in Sylvan carry meaning in their form:

• The endings or internal vowel changes indicate their case (role) and number.
• Additional flavor like initial consonant changes indicate relationships and make the words flow into each other.

This inflectional system might seem complex, but it’s quite regular within groups of nouns (there are noun classes that follow similar patterns), and children learn it like learning patterns in a song. To illustrate noun usage, consider this annotated example:

Mo dhúlen tirith ar velorni.
[mo ðúlen tiˈrɪθ ar vɛˈlor.ni]
(my song) (protects) (of forest).

Here:

• dhúlen is lenited form of túlen “song” (nom.), indicating “my song” (after mo my, t->dh).
• tirith is a verb form (discussed soon) meaning “protects”.
• velorni is “of forest” – velorn with genitive -i ending. The phrase means “My song protects the forest” (literally “my song protects of-forest”). We see the noun song changed due to possession, and forest changed due to being in genitive relation.

Verbs and Verb Conjugation (Tense, Mood, and Magic)

Sylvan verbs are where much of the language’s magical and dynamic character shines. Verbs conjugate for different tenses (time), moods (such as indicative, subjunctive, imperative), and sometimes aspects (completed action vs ongoing). Unlike some mortal languages that have very rigid tense structures, Sylvan verbs conjugation is influenced by the fae sense of time and magic – which is a bit more fluid.

Basic conjugation: A Sylvan verb typically has a root (often a short syllable like lin- “sing”) and various suffixes or infixes to indicate who is doing it and when. Sylvan is a pro-drop language, meaning the subject pronoun can be dropped because the verb ending often tells you who the subject is. For example, linor by itself might mean “(he/she) sings” (with -or being a suffix for 3rd person present). One could say Daráin linor (The dryad sings) or just linor if context already established the subject.

A simplified conjugation in present tense might look like (using root lin- “to sing”):

• 1st person singular: linon – “I sing” (perhaps -on or -an marks “I”). E.g., Mi linon = I sing, but linon alone implies I because of the -on.
• 2nd person singular: linol – “You sing” (maybe -ol or -l as a suffix).
• 3rd person singular: linor – “He/She sings” (-or or -r as a common 3rd pers ending).
• 1st person plural: linom or linomë – “We sing” (perhaps -m or -me indicates plural “we”).
• 2nd person plural: linoch or linoch – “You (all) sing” (e.g., -ch might mark a plural you, inspired by how some languages have a distinct ending for 2p).
• 3rd person plural: linar or linair – “They sing” (maybe -ar or a vowel change plus r for plural third person).

The above is an illustrative pattern; actual conlang design could settle on consistent endings like -on, -ir, -a, -am, -ir (again), -ar or similar. The key point: verbs change ending to match the subject. But in everyday fluent Sylvan, these endings are often subtle (sometimes just a vowel change or consonant shift), and because context is rich, short verbs are common and pronouns omitted if understood.

Tense: Sylvan has a concept of past, present, and future, but the fae perception of time adds nuance:

• Present Tense: The here-and-now or general truth. The present can also double as a timeless tense (for proverbs or eternal statements, they often use present). Linor – (he) sings, or is singing.
• Past Tense: Usually formed by an inflection such as a vowel change or a suffix -a / -as / -ant. For example, linor (sing-present) might become linnar or linas for past “sang”. Another approach is a prefixed particle or an augment (some languages put a prefix to mark past). Sylvan possibly uses do- or go- as a past particle in older speech (paralleling Gaelic do for past historically or even Common’s “did”), but more often it’s a suffix. E.g., linas could mean “sang”. If the dryad sang, one might say Daráin linas lia – the dryad sang a song.
• Future Tense: Often marked by a distinct suffix or prefix, sometimes with a sense of uncertainty (because the future is less fixed in fae lore). We could have linoth or lina for “will sing”. Perhaps adding an –ith or -tha could indicate future. For instance, linith – (he/she) will sing. There might even be an infix like -va- (in some conlangs, like Quenya uses -uva for future). So linuva could mean will sing. We can decide on one: say -tha: lintha = will sing. Daráin lintha lia. – The dryad will sing a song.
• Aspect: Sylvan distinguishes between a simple vs. continuous aspect in a subtle way, often by using auxiliary verbs or participles. For example, to say “is singing” in a continuous sense, one might use a construction like linor si or a participle linolë meaning “singing (currently)”. But often context or adverbs (like “now”) clarify if something is ongoing. Sylvan, being fluid, sometimes doesn’t hard-mark continuous aspect – the present tense can serve both for a general fact and a current action, and context (or adding the word “now” sia or something) will tell.

Moods: Because Sylvan is used for magic and nuanced emotion, it has rich verbal moods:

• Indicative: The normal mood for statements of fact (all examples above).
• Imperative: For commands or requests. Often the verb stem alone can function as a command (e.g., Lin! could mean “Sing!” to one person). There might be a specific ending for plural command or polite command. Possibly adding -a or dropping the personal suffix: from linor (he sings) to lino! (sing!). Sylvan imperatives can be very gentle or very forceful depending on tone; a whispery Lino could be a loving request, while a sharp Lina! might be a magical command compelling a spirit to sing.
• Subjunctive/Optative: A mood for wishes, possibilities, or magical invocations. This might be formed by a special vowel change or prefix. For instance, a prefix á- or la- might mark a subjunctive: Álinor could mean “may (she) sing” or “she would sing (in some condition)”. This mood is frequently used in Sylvan blessings and spells. E.g., Álinor velorni – “May the forest sing” (a blessing for a vibrant forest). The subjunctive has a breathier, softer tone often; historically it might have evolved from an old optative particle.
• Enchanter’s Mood (magical quirk): Unique to Sylvan might be a special set of verb forms used only in magical context. For example, the “Spellsong tense” – perhaps a combination of imperative and subjunctive – which only the fae truly master. When a verb is uttered in this form, it’s not a request or statement, but a direct exertion of will. These forms often have archaic conjugations (very old suffixes or prefixes). For instance, the verb grow (let’s say root gal- for “to grow”) in normal present might be galor (it grows), but in a spell one might use agalad! or galda! as a command that actually causes growth. These forms often involve adding a powerful vowel or elongating the word and are usually spoken with a distinct intonation or sung. It’s said only fae tongues can produce the exact resonance needed. A non-fae trying to use these might just end up with a normal imperative that does nothing. (This is more of a cultural note: grammatically, one could describe it as an “enchanted imperative” mood).

Agreement and magic: Sylvan verbs sometimes agree with not just the subject in person/number but also with animacy or respect. For example, there might be slightly different verb forms when addressing a revered entity. A subtle shift, like a different set of endings (honorific conjugation) could be used when speaking to the Fairy Queen or a deity. E.g., second person formal “you” might take a distinct verb form. This is analogous to how some languages have polite verb forms or how Japanese might change verbs for honorific speech. In Sylvan’s case, this arises from the concept of fae kinship and hierarchy: speaking to an elder nature spirit, a Sylvan speaker might infuse their verbs with a more archaic ending to show respect, effectively casting the speech in a slightly archaic, ceremonious register.

Negation: To negate a verb (say do not sing), Sylvan often uses a negative particle before the verb, or a negating prefix. A common negation might be “la” or “ná” before the verb: La linor. = (he) does not sing. Or even attached: lalinor. Another method, seen in some elven and Gaelic tongues, is using a special conjugation for negative. We might keep it simple: a particle “la” (not) before the verb, which often causes the verb to lenite (soften). So if cara = love, la chara could mean “does not love”. Double negations or more emphatic forms (like “never sing”) might use la… ri wrapping the verb phrase (similar to French ne… pas structure). But such detail can be left to nuance.

As an example of verb use, consider:

Siliveth enar linnor aní.
[silivɛθ ˈe.nar ˈliN.nor aˈni]
If (they) will-sing together.

This might represent a structure: “If (they) sing together.” Here linnor could be a subjunctive or future form (depending on context), and enar could be a conjunction “if” (or in case). The endings and forms would tip off a Sylvan speaker that it’s hypothetical.

To summarize:

• They carry who’s doing the action baked into the word (via endings).
• They change form for time (though fae treat time with some flexibility and often rely on context or auxiliary words for precise timing).
• They have special forms and modes of expression for commands, wishes, and magical speech. These special forms make Sylvan particularly potent in spellsong – one well-placed verb can be the heart of a spell.
• Conjugation patterns are melodic; often the verb endings will rhyme or alliterate with other parts of the sentence for euphony (Sylvan poets love manipulating verbs to fit meter, sometimes using an archaic form because it has a more rhyming ending, much like a poetic license).

Magical Quirks in Verb Usage: One fascinating aspect is the belief that saying something in Sylvan can make it true. Linguistically, this is reflected in a quirk: Sylvan has an old set of verb forms known as the “Naming tense” or “True Speech” aspect. When a fae uses this form, they’re not describing, but asserting the essence of something. For example, there’s a difference between luthiel erdatha “the river is calm” (descriptive) and luthiel erdathë! which could be a True Speech form meaning “(By speaking, I make) the river calm.” The latter is almost a performative utterance – the act of saying it in that specific conjugation attempts to impose the spoken quality on the object. These forms come from ancient Sylvan, and not everyone can use them effectively (usually elders or those with strong magic). They are recognizable by archaic endings like -ë or doubled vowels and a commanding intonation.

In everyday usage, you won’t accidentally speak in True Speech – it requires intent and often a ritual context (like speaking in front of an altar of the forest). But this aspect of Sylvan verbs underlines how the language blurs the line between speaking about reality and shaping reality. It’s also why fae are careful with promises in Sylvan; to say “I shall do X” in the wrong mood might invoke a binding magical oath. Sylvan has specific “oath-binding” constructions for vows which, once spoken, are magically enforced (e.g., including one’s True Name in the promise and a particular future-tense subjunctive form).

Pronouns: Gender, Animacy, and Fae Kinship

Sylvan pronouns are surprisingly straightforward in some respects and highly nuanced in others. The language does not mark gender in third-person pronouns – there is no separate “he” or “she”; instead, Sylvan distinguishes based on animacy and kinship familiarity.

Basic personal pronouns in Sylvan (in their base/nominative form) are:

• mi – “I” (first person singular). e.g., mi liron “I wander.”
• ti – “you” (second person singular, informal).
• se – “he/she” (third person singular, for any animate being: person, animal, or respected entity).
• ne – “it” (third person singular inanimate, for things without a spirit).
• min – “we” (first person plural).
• tin – “you all” (second person plural, or polite singular).
• sen – “they” (third person plural animate).
• nen – “they (things)” (third person plural inanimate, though often just sen is used if animacy is clear).

Some notes on these pronouns:

• No Gender: Se covers “he” and “she”. If needed, one could specify gender by adding words like “male, female” or by context, but typically fae don’t bother; the person’s name or context is enough. The language reflects the fae view that gender is not the primary category for beings – whether something is alive, or magical, or kin is more important.
• Animacy: The split between se (animate) and ne (inanimate) is important. Se is used for people, animals, spirits – essentially anything considered to have a will or soul. Ne is used for objects or abstract things. However, fae animism often extends “animacy” to many things humans would call inanimate. For instance, a river or a particularly ancient tree might be referred to as se (because it has a spirit), whereas a simple rock might be ne – unless it’s a holy stone with a name, in which case a fae might even use se. This gives a hint to outsiders what the fae consider alive or ensouled: if a dryad refers to a mountain as se, they regard the mountain as a living entity.
• Kinship and Formality: Notice tin (you plural) is also used as a polite singular “you”. Sylvan speakers will use ti for friends, equals, or those younger, and tin for elders, superiors, or anyone they want to show respect to. This is similar to the T/V distinction in many languages (tu/vous in French, du/Sie in German, etc.). For example, a pixie addressing the Fairy Queen would say Tin aranel? (“Do you [respectfully] wish (it)?”) using tin, even though it’s just one queen.
• Inclusive/Exclusive “we”: In some dialects, there are two forms of “we”: one that includes the listener and one that excludes them. For instance, min might mean “we (including you)” whereas an alternate form like mir could mean “we (but not you)”. This nuance is handy in a communal society: Min célébrim could mean “We (all of us here including you) celebrate,” whereas Mir célébrim could imply “We (my group, not you) celebrate.” Not all Sylvan communities use this distinction strongly, but it exists in high formal Sylvan.
• Reflexive and others: Sylvan also has reflexive pronouns (myself, yourself, etc.) usually by adding a suffix like -sa or a separate word meaning “self” (misa = myself, tisa = yourself). There are also demonstratives (this, that) which are often fused with pronouns or adjectives (e.g., senne “those (things)” from sen + -ne maybe).
• Interrogative/Relative pronouns: For asking “who, what, which,” Sylvan uses forms like mae (who, for animate), me or mo (what, for inanimate or general), ia (which). These often also double as relative pronouns (that/which). Example: Mae linor? = “Who is singing?”; lia mae linor = “the song that (someone) sings.”

Fae Kinship Address: An interesting aspect of Sylvan pronouns (and pronoun-like usage) is how they incorporate kinship and social context. Instead of using second person pronoun at all, sometimes a title or kinship term is used directly. For example, an elf might call their elder harani (“my elder”) instead of “you”. Or a child might address a parent not with ti but with nána (mother) or táta (father) as if speaking in third person to show respect. This echoes some human cultures but is particularly strong in formal Sylvan: addressing someone by a respectful epithet is often preferred over pronouns in ceremonies.

Pronoun Dropping: As mentioned, verbs carry the subject, so pronouns are often dropped. One uses pronouns mostly for emphasis or clarity. For example, Mi thínor aní! with mi explicitly, might be like “I will sing with you (even if others won’t)!” – a statement of determination. In quiet everyday talk, a dryad might just say Thínor aní = “(I) will-sing with-you,” with the I understood.

Adjectives and Adverbs

Adjectives in Sylvan are descriptive words that, as noted, usually follow the noun they modify. They agree with the noun in number and sometimes case, but not in gender (since nouns don’t have grammatical gender). Agreement is usually simple: often it’s a matching of a final vowel or adding a suffix to the adjective to match the noun’s plural or case ending. This concord makes phrases feel cohesive; for example, if lara means “green” and velorn “forest,” then “green forest” might be velorn lharin with lharin being an inflected form of lara to match velorn (just as a hypothetical: lara -> lharin to agree in some case/number). Possibly the adjective takes a soft mutation or suffix: Gaelic, for instance, lenites adjectives after feminine nouns and pluralizes differently. Sylvan might do similar magical-sound adjustments:

• If a noun is plural, often the adjective is pluralized too. One method: internal vowel change or adding -i/ -î. E.g., lass* (leaf)* + galen (green) might yield lass lailin for “green leaves” (showing plural with ai in lailin corresponding to lass -> lais kind of change).
• If a noun is in genitive, sometimes the adjective also takes a genitive form (especially in classical Sylvan). In modern Sylvan, it’s common just to put the adjective after the genitive noun without additional marking.

Position and poetic usage: While the normal order is noun then adjective (e.g., seler nimir “sister bright” for “bright sister”), adjectives can be preposed for emphasis. Putting an adjective first lends it weight and sometimes a slightly different meaning – for example, Nimir seler… might imply “A bright sister…” emphasizing brightness as an inherent trait or surprising quality. When multiple adjectives describe one noun, Sylvan usually places them after the noun in a natural descriptive order (much like English’s inherent order: size, then color, then quality, etc., but less strict). For instance, “the big old tree” could be alar dorath nûr (tree big old), or if one wanted to stress “oldness” as more key: dorath nûr alar (old big tree). Commas or and aren’t necessary between multiple adjectives; they just flow one after another.

Adjectives can be turned into nouns easily in Sylvan (a bit like how one can say “the Ancient” to mean an ancient one). Often just using the adjective with an article or demonstrative does this: en lharin could mean “the green (one)” referring to a green thing or perhaps “the green (forest)” by shorthand. In this way, some adjectives have taken on lives as poetic nouns, e.g., Dúven (from dúv “dark”) used as a name for the night.

Comparison: To form comparatives (more) and superlatives (most), Sylvan typically uses adverbs or particles rather than changing the adjective form drastically. Words like ú or ua might mean “more” and istar (just hypothetical) meaning “most” or something like “-est”. So “brighter” could be ú-nimir or nimir ua, and “brightest” istar nimir. In poetic language, one might also see older forms like an adjective with a long vowel or reduplication to indicate superlative (e.g., níímir or nimirnimir as a playful poetic “very bright”).

Adverbs: Many Sylvan adverbs are just flexible uses of adjectives or nouns. For example, the word for “swift” (gwilith, say) can be used as “swiftly” by context: rúven gwilith = “run (in a) swift (manner)”. Often, adding a particle like go- or -go could turn an adjective to an adverb: if mel = sweet, melgo might mean “sweetly”. Alternatively, an instrumental case on a noun can serve as an adverb: e.g., luthiel (with quiet) to mean “quietly”. There is a suffix seen in some ancient texts -ba or -va that forms adverbs (similar to Latin -e or -iter). A modern speaker might say calenva to mean “brightly” if calen is bright.

What’s notable is that Sylvan often prefers descriptive phrases over standalone adverbs. Instead of a single word for “silently,” a fae might say “with silence” (air dhílin, if dhílin = silence in instrumental form) or use an idiomatic phrase like “footstep none” to imply silently. This again ties to poetic style – why use one blunt word when you can invoke an image? For instance, a direct Sylvan equivalent of “quietly” could be fáinë (softly), but a poet might say like snowfall instead.

Order of adverbs: Adverbs of manner (how?) usually follow the verb or at the end of the clause: Linor mellissa. “(She) sings beautifully” (mellissa could be “beautifully”, from mel beautiful). Adverbs of time (when?) and place (where?) are more flexible, but often come at the beginning of a sentence to set the scene or at the very end for afterthought. E.g., “Tonight (at-night) the forest sings” might be Fîrion híre velorn linor. (“Night during, forest sings.”) Or Velorn linor fîrion híre. (“The forest sings tonight.”). Both understood, with subtle emphasis differences.

Common Sentence Structures and Poetic Patterns

Because Sylvan can be shaped by the speaker, certain sentence patterns appear frequently, especially in idiomatic or poetic contexts:

• Parallelism: It’s common to see two halves of a sentence reflect each other in structure, especially in proverbs or ritual speech. For example, “Lais har telin, ar raid har sylen.” (Leaves have ears, and roots have eyes.) This proverb uses a parallel structure: noun-verb-object mirrored on both sides of and. Such parallelism not only is aesthetically pleasing but also helps in oral tradition to remember lines.
• Omission of the obvious: Sylvan, when contextually clear, will drop even nouns if understood, leaving a short phrase that feels almost telegraphic but laden with meaning. In English we might say “Coming?” to mean “Are you coming?” – Sylvan takes this further. A single word in the right form can be a whole sentence. Thon? might stand for “Do (you) feel it?” if intonation is right and context set. In poetry, this omission creates a mysterious effect – listeners must fill in the blanks, engaging with the language.
• Inversion for emphasis: As touched upon, putting an object or verb first to emphasize it. For example, Aní linon. (“With you, I sing.” or literally “You-with sing-I.”) The focus is on aní (with you), implying perhaps It’s with you (and no other) that I sing. This structure is emotional or contrastive.
• Repetition: One way Sylvan expresses intensity or continuity is by repeating a word or root. “Very bright” can be nimir nimir. “They kept running” might use the verb twice: rúven rúven (run run) to indicate ongoing running (similar to how in English we say “run and run”). This is both a grammatical aspect (intensifying or continuous aspect via repetition) and a poetic device (it gives a rhythmic element).
• Alliteration and Assonance: Not strictly grammar, but strongly affecting syntax: Sylvan speakers love when parts of a sentence start with the same sound or repeat a vowel pattern. They might choose synonyms or reorder phrases to achieve this. E.g., to say “the golden eagle flies high”, if laer = golden and sûl = eagle and arad = high, one might say Sûl laer larad instead of Sûl larad laer because the first has laer larad in sequence, repeating lar*. This kind of sound echo guides some word order choices in poetry and ritual speech.
• Rhythmic meter: Traditional Sylvan blessings often come in threes. A classic structure: “Verb X, verb Y, and verb Z” with parallel objects. Example: “May you walk in starlight, dance in moonlight, and rest in sunlight” (just an English example). A Sylvan version would align tenses/moods and perhaps use internal rhyme or similar endings for the verbs. This use of triads and other numerical patterns (two-part parallelisms, three-part crescendos, etc.) is common and might date back to druidic chant styles.

Punctuation in speech: Sylvan doesn’t use a word for “and” in every listing; often just intonation or a brief pause suffices, except for linking two clauses where ar (and) or a is used. Likewise, a gentle pause can mean a comma or semicolon – Sylvan speakers have an intuitive sense of when a thought is complete or when another is attached, aided by subtle changes in tone (much as a musical phrase ends on a certain note).

Poetic contractions: In verse or lofty speech, Sylvan sometimes contracts common words to fit meter. E.g., ar (and) might become just ’r attached to a vowel: dúven ’r galad (darkness and light) from dúven ar galad. Similarly, two vowels across word boundaries may elide (one disappears or they merge into a longer vowel). Poets and bards take liberties like this, knowing listeners will catch the meaning. It adds to that effect that spoken Sylvan can sound like one long word chain.

Finally, magical incantations often deliberately use archaic grammar – like older case forms, or uncommon word orders – to set them apart from normal speech. For example, a spell might invert word order to OSV or use an object case where modern Sylvan wouldn’t. This archaism is both stylistic and believed to be efficacious (the logic: the oldest form of the language is closest to nature’s original song, so the older the grammar you use, the more potent your words). As a result, a ranger reciting a spell to calm animals might sound like they’re speaking in a slightly different language (almost Old Sylvan), but it’s really Sylvan with aged syntax and words.

In everyday use among friends, Sylvan grammar allows playful creativity. Two pixies might speak in a sing-song where they constantly drop subjects and play off each other’s words, essentially finishing each other’s sentences or punning by shifting word order. This can be bewildering to an outsider, but to them it’s like jamming in music – improvising within the rules. The grammar provides a framework, but within it, fae speakers improvise melodies of speech.

Morphology and Word Formation

The morphology of Sylvan – how words are formed and change – reflects its organic nature. Words in Sylvan feel like they grow from roots, branch into new forms, and sometimes fuse together like entwining vines. The language balances regular patterns (for intelligibility) with a fair number of irregularities (thanks to magic and antiquity). Let’s look at how Sylvan creates words:

Roots and Affixes

Most Sylvan words can be traced to a root – a core set of sounds that carry a basic meaning. Many of these roots are monosyllabic or bisyllabic, often a pleasant combination of consonant and vowel that evokes a natural concept. For example, consider hypothetical roots:

• lin – associated with sound/song.
• vel – associated with growth/green.
• gal – associated with light.
• dár – associated with wood or oak.
• drith – associated with hidden or secret.

From a given root, Sylvan builds various related words by adding prefixes, suffixes, or infixes. This is akin to how English has sing, song, singer, singing from the root sing, but Sylvan’s affixation often has a more poetic twist.

Suffixes are very common:

• -or / -ar: Often turns a verb root into a noun or agent. E.g., lin (to sing) + -or -> linor could mean “singer” or “song” depending on context (one who does, or the act itself). Another: gal (light) + -ad -> galad might mean “lightness” or “radiance”.
• -en / -in: Can create adjectives or nouns meaning “made of” or “characterized by”. If vel = grow, velen might mean “growing, living” (as an adjective, “green/living”) or as a noun “plant” (a growing thing).
• -eth / -ath: Often abstract nouns. drith (hidden) + -eth -> dríthath “a secret, hidden thing”.
• -iel / -iel: A common ending for feminine or diminutive forms (similar to how some languages use -elle, -ette). liniel might mean “little song” or a term of endearment for a singer. (-iel is reminiscent of Elvish feminine but in Sylvan it might not strictly mark female, rather just a delicate or poetic form.)
• -ûn / -on: Might create augmentatives or collective nouns. For instance, velûn from vel could mean “the great growth” (maybe “forest” as an abstract, though we had velorn earlier). Or galon might mean “sun” (big light) if gal is light.
• -a, -as, -ae etc.: Often used for infinitives or gerunds, e.g., lina “to sing” or “singing” (noun form).
• -ir / -or (when attached to nouns): can sometimes form adjectives meaning “having the quality of”. E.g., mélor from mel (love) might mean “loving” or “beloved”.

Prefixes add further meaning, often altering the nuance or direction of a root:

• va- / ba-: A negative or opposite. Perhaps va- attaches to a noun or adjective to mean “without, un-”. mel = love, vamel could mean “without love” (unloved or loveless). Or to a verb meaning “undo”: vanor (if nor is bind, vanor unbind). There is also ú- which might be an older negation prefix on verbs or nouns (like úvelor “lifeless” from velor “life”?).
• sa-: Intensifier or completeness. salinor might mean “to sing fully out” (sa- + sing), implying a full heart’s song. Or sagal could mean “blazing” (literally “very light”).
• ei- / el-: Often indicates something good or beautiful (perhaps from an old root for light or blessing). elda might mean “blessed” if da is some state. Or eilin (if lin = song, eilin might be specifically a song of joy or a sacred song).
• no-: Could indicate away or external. norúven might mean “to run away” (if rúven is run).
• fi- / fin-: Might relate to smallness or gentleness (from fin meaning fine?). finlas could be “leaflet” (tiny leaf), if las is leaf.
• arch- / ar-: (from aran meaning noble/kingly possibly) A prefix for something great or high. Ardúven “great darkness” (maybe a poetic term for deep night).

Infixes and internal changes: Sylvan sometimes infixes a consonant into a root for derived forms. For example, a causative might be formed by infixing -th- or -s-. If lin = sing (intransitive), lithin might mean “to cause to sing” (like “to enchant someone to sing”). Or an internal vowel shift can indicate a different nuance (similar to English sing/sang or how Arabic triliteral roots work). For instance, drith (hide) vs dreth (to be hidden, passive) vs droth (to conceal something else). These patterns often date back to ancient magical language rules. They make some word forms irregular by modern standards, but to scholars, they reveal old systematic alternations.

Compound Words: Sylvan readily forms compounds, which is one of the most productive ways new words arise. Compounding is seen as organic – like two vines growing together to form a new concept. Some examples:

• Nature compounds: vel-las (perhaps velas) could combine vel (grow) and las (leaf) to mean “flower” (a growing leaf, conceptually). Or stone-heart for a stubborn person: sarnadon (if sarn = stone, adon = heart).
• Magic compounds: A lot of magical terminology is compound-based. E.g., star-song (some enchantment) might be elenlin (from elen star + lin song). Or dream-walk ability could be ôlruven (ôl = dream, rúven = run).
• Names and titles: Sylvan names for creatures or places are often compounds that describe them. An ancient treant might be called Táranor (oak-father, from dár (oak) -> tár in a compounded form + anor (father maybe)). A place like Moonbrook would literally be Guthilien (moon + river, if guthil = moon, sien = brook). These compounds sometimes undergo slight mutations at the join (maybe a consonant gets inserted to ease pronunciation, like an -i- or -h-).
• Concatenation with elision: Over time, frequently used compounds might fuse and then simplify. For example, what was once aran doron (“king’s hall” maybe) could become Arandor as a single word, and then even Aranor if a vowel drops. This means some modern Sylvan words are historically compounds that are no longer obvious except to etymologists.

New Word Creation: The fae are always encountering new things (especially when interacting with the mortal world) or needing new expressions. They tend to derive new words from existing roots rather than borrow foreign words outright (borrowing is rare, and when it happens, they often “Sylvanize” the pronunciation heavily). For example, for a concept like “clock” (something originally mortal), Sylvan might form a compound from known concepts: maybe bell-flower (if their first exposure is a clock that chimes, relating it to a flower that opens). Or they might describe its function: tictac isn’t Sylvan-sounding, so instead maybe lúghalor (“time-teller”, lúgh time, alor teller) or sílath (“little star”, if they associate clocks with stars moving in the sky for time).

Because of this tendency, metaphorical compounds are common. A telescope might be “far-seer” (halluin from hal far + luin see). A train could be “fire carriage snake” in a whimsical Sylvan phrase (though trains aren’t common in fae realms, it’s how they’d likely coin it rather than adopting “train”).

Morphological harmony: One interesting feature is that affixes and compounds often undergo sound harmonization. A prefix or suffix might change slightly to match the vowel of the root (similar to vowel harmony in some languages). For instance, if a suffix -or attaches to mel (love) to form an agent, if melor sounds off, they might adjust to melir or melorë to make it sound smoother with mel’s vowels. This is somewhat intuitive: fae ears prefer certain euphonic patterns, so over time the forms that sound best become standard. This can create small variations of affixes: -or vs -ir vs -ur might all mean the same thing (agent or doer) but are chosen based on the root’s vowels. Thus, linor (singer) but melir (lover) if that flows better, and galur (lighter, one who lights) if gal matches with -ur sound. These subtleties make Sylvan morphology feel natural and musical rather than mechanically identical for every word.

Compounding and Organic Word Evolution

In fae society, new words emerge organically, much like new shoots in a forest. When the need for a term arises, Sylvan speakers tend to create it by describing the thing using existing concepts:

• Descriptive Naming: The first time a pixie saw a mechanical automobile, they dubbed it ormilchal (“iron beetle”, assuming orm = iron/metal, ilchal = beetle) because it was a hard shell moving creature to their eyes. If that term spreads, it becomes the Sylvan word for car. If another group of fae called it braichúr (“smoking wagon”), there might be competing terms until one wins out or both coexist in dialects.
• Metaphoric Extensions: Sylvan roots often broaden in meaning. For instance, lún might originally mean “moon”. But by metaphor, it could come to mean any gentle light or guiding light. Then lúna might be used for “lamp” even though originally no such object existed. The language is comfortable with metaphors becoming literal terms. So a “forest of buildings” might just use velorn (forest) to refer to a large cluster of stone houses, even though it’s metaphorical – if fae were describing a city, they might literally use their word for forest to convey the dense grouping.
• Diminutives and augmentatives: As noted with suffixes like -iel or -ûn, Sylvan can tweak meaning for size or affection. Fae often coin affectionate nicknames by modifying words: a small child might call an oak tree dariel (little oak) as a pet term. Or a dragon might be called draugûn (great serpent) to emphasize its size. Over time, some of these become standard labels, not just one-off. For example, elsin might become the accepted word for a fairy sprite, originally from elen (star) + diminutive -sin, meaning “little star” affectionately.
• Onomatopoeic creation: Particularly among pixies and playful speakers, sometimes a word is just created from a sound. The Sylvan word for a brook glimmering might be lalal (as a poetic insertion imitating the babbling). Such words usually remain poetic or dialectal, but occasionally they stick. Sylvan tolerates a bit of whimsy – lexicon can include some fun words that break the normal morphological patterns if they capture a sound or feeling well.

Language Change and Evolution: Sylvan being ancient has layers. Some words used by modern speakers are fossils from older eras and no longer “fit” the current patterns – these are the irregular forms or “magically preserved” forms. For example, the word for “sun” might be úr in Sylvan, which doesn’t obviously relate to any current root (it could be a relic of an older root meaning fire that has otherwise vanished). Such words are often tied to crucial concepts (sun, moon, earth, water, magic, life, death) and are considered part of the language’s core heritage. Fae treat them with respect, sometimes capitalizing them in writing or singing them with a particular melody to denote their antiquity. They might say these words are the True Names given at creation, thus they cannot be altered by normal morphological processes. This is an example of irregular forms driven by magic and tradition: they remain as they always were, immune to simplification or change over time.

Irregular Plurals and Forms: As touched on, due to historical sound changes or magical significance:

• Some nouns have plural forms that don’t follow the usual patterns. E.g., child could be lawn (just hypothetical) and children maybe léni for no apparent reason – except a story explains it (perhaps the Fae believe children are “borrowed from time”, so the word for children is from the Old Sylvan word léna meaning time – a bit of myth encodes in the language).
• Some verbs might have irregular past tenses because they were strong magic words. Perhaps the verb “to go” uses a completely different root in past: like go (present), went (past) in English has no relation. In Sylvan, tir- might mean travel, but past might be thal- in some conjugations because long ago people used a separate enchantment to denote journeys (again hypothetical).
• Names and titles often preserve archaic grammar. The title of an ancient elf queen might be in archaic case that no one uses elsewhere. E.g., Aran’Finarë (“High Queen” in an old form) remains frozen; if one tried to update it to modern Sylvan it would lose the resonance and thus is kept.

Magical influence on morphology: Magic can actually enforce some morphological forms. A whimsical tale among the fae is that a certain powerful Archfey, long ago, didn’t like how a particular plural sounded (maybe it was awkward or inharmonious) and so he cursed the word such that from then on, everyone intuitively uses a different plural. For instance, if historically spren was plural of sparn, and the Archfey wanted sparna instead, the language magically shifted. Such stories, while not verifiable, highlight that the fae believe their language is malleable to will and artistry. A respected poet introducing a new beautiful word might actually succeed in altering the language if the community embraces it (which in a way is true in any language, but in Sylvan it’s conscious and celebrated).

Examples of word formation:

• Root gal (light) yields: galad (light/radiance as noun, with -ad), galen (bright, as adjective), agalor (to illuminate, maybe a verb with a- causative and -or verb suffix), Galun (a name for Sun perhaps, with -un augmentative or an old nominative form).
• Root mor (dark): morn (night or darkness, noun), morwen (darkness-of, perhaps poetic for night sky), mori (dark/adjective), úmor (un-light = shadow?), morbel (dark dwelling, could mean cave, from mor + bel(home)).
• Compound: star (write) + leth (song) might form star-leth meaning “writing in song” i.e., to compose poetry. If said quickly, could become starleth or even sarlet over time. Perhaps now sarlet means to compose a poem, from that compound blurred. A non-fae would not guess it’s two words fused.

Borrowings: While Sylvan prefers internal creation, there are a few borrowed words from other languages (usually other mystical tongues like Celestial or Ancient Elvish), but they often get a Sylvan makeover. For example, a Dwarven term like khazad (dwarf) might come into Sylvan as casar or hazad, something that fits Sylvan phonology (no harsh kh ideally, maybe soften it). But because fae and dwarves seldom mingle linguistically, such borrowings are rare. More often, if the concept originates from outside (like a human concept of “kingdom”), Sylvan still describes it in Sylvan terms (they had aranth for kingdom from aran king long before hearing the human word, by coincidence or parallel development). Fae pride in their tongue means they’d rather create an elaborate phrase than directly use an outsider word that sounds alien to their ears.

In essence, Sylvan morphology is like an ever-growing tree: roots give rise to trunks (base words), which branch (derivations) and sometimes two branches twist into one (compounds). Some old branches petrify (archaic forms) and are preserved as sacred shapes in the tree. The growth is guided by the search for harmony and expressiveness – ugly or cacophonous forms either die out or transform, while beautiful, fitting words thrive. This organic approach makes learning Sylvan as an outsider a bit of a puzzle – instead of fixed rules like “add -ed for past”, one has to sense patterns and exceptions much like tending a garden with various plants. But to the fae, it’s intuitive: their language lives and evolves with their culture and magic.

Irregular Forms and Magical Etymologies

No language lasts thousands of years without collecting some quirks, and Sylvan is no exception. Irregular forms in Sylvan often have charming (or eerie) backstories:

• True Names and Unchangeables: Some words simply do not change according to the normal rules because they are considered True Names. For example, the word for “Fate” is Aesa in Sylvan. It is said this word was spoken by the Three Fates at the dawn of time, and thus Aesa never takes a suffix or prefix; it’s already complete and untouchable. If you want to say “of Fate” or “Fate’s”, you’d still just say Aesa, maybe with a context word, but you wouldn’t add the genitive -i. In writing, sometimes they’ll put an asterisk or capital letter to denote such sacrosanct words. Another could be the name of the creator deity or the mystical World Tree – those terms remain constant regardless of grammar, essentially acting like proper nouns that grammar steps aside for.
• Suppletion: A few common verbs use entirely different roots for different tenses because of ancient magical tongue usage. The verb “to be” is notoriously irregular (as in many languages). Sylvan has at least two forms of “to be”: one for permanent essence and one for transient state (like Spanish ser/estar or Gaelic “bí” vs copula). For essence, an ancient root na is used (present ná, past nárë, etc.), while for states another root ye might be used (present ye or yé, past yen). And in some contexts (like making an equational sentence or naming something) they might drop the verb entirely. So Se ná ráven “She is wise” (permanently), vs Se ye ráven “She is wise (at the moment or seems wise)”. Now, ná might come from an old Elvish influence whereas ye is perhaps an indigenous Sylvan aspect – either way, they don’t follow typical conjugation of other verbs and must be learned separately. This is attributed in lore to the concept that existence is too fundamental to be expressed by a single set of forms.
• Plural irregulars: Words like man and men (if Sylvan had a concept of humans in their tongue) might be irregular. Perhaps Fae themselves in Sylvan have an irregular plural. If singular fëa meant a faery being, maybe plural is fî or something completely different, hinting that the fae see themselves as a collective differently than individuals. Or child vs children: possibly linn (child) becomes lillet (children) or something surprisingly dissimilar, implying the change from one to many is magical in itself. Oftentimes these irregular plurals are relics of older plural formation patterns that died out except in a few words.
• Defective nouns: A few nouns exist only in singular or only in plural form. E.g., folion meaning “foliage” has no singular leaf form (though lass is leaf, folion acts as an uncountable noun meaning leaves collectively). Conversely, a mythical entity like the All-Stag might only be singular – you wouldn’t pluralize a unique being. If you did need to speak of multiples in a story, they might use a circumlocution.
• Sound harmony causing oddities: As mentioned, certain affixes morph around certain roots. Over time, speakers might forget it was an affix and think it’s part of the root. For example, if most -or agent nouns from verbs are consistent, but one verb root always inserts an extra vowel like -ador instead of -or, people might just memorize that one as irregular. Possibly due to ease of saying or old dialect insertion, e.g., sul (to watch) might form watcher as sulidor instead of expected sulor, simply because it flowed better historically, and now sulidor is fixed.
• Magic words causing lenition or mutation anomalies: Sometimes a word that normally would mutate (soften) in a context doesn’t, as if resisting change. One could find a phrase where grammatically, the noun should lenite after a preposition, but an ancient magical term does not. For example, normally “in the wood” would soften wood: en thara (from tara wood). But say the word for the enchanted Everwood forest is Avalon (just an example). They might always say en Avalon not en Havalon even if av- would normally soften, because Avalon is a fixed legendary name. Grammatically an irregularity, culturally a sign of respect or magical fixedness.

Tradition vs Innovation: Fae society generally likes to preserve the old while still playing creatively with daily language. So the core holy concepts keep their irregular forms as a link to the past. But new slang or compounds might break minor rules for fun. There’s a tension but also a balance: formal Sylvan (in courts, rituals) is full of irregular archaisms that everyone memorizes (like formal English having phrases like Attorney General -> Attorneys General as a plural, a quirk preserved from French grammar), whereas colloquial Sylvan simplifies where it can (they might regularize some plurals or drop case endings in casual talk). This diglossia means a mortal might learn casual Sylvan from a satyr friend and then be baffled hearing an Elven lord speak in Sylvan at a high gathering with all the flowery irregular forms.

Sylvan’s word formation is alive, storied, and a blend of logic and lore. Each word can be an adventure: its root gives you a hint, its affixes modify the tale, and sometimes the word’s form carries a hidden story of a dryad’s song or an ancient spell. Learning Sylvan morphology is like walking through an ancient forest – mostly you follow familiar-looking paths (roots and affixes that make sense), but occasionally you find a strange crooked tree or a stone that tells of an old legend (irregular form) – and rather than clear it, the fae keep it as part of the forest’s character.

Writing System

Sylvan is primarily an oral tradition language – the fae love to speak, sing, and remember things in living memory or through songlines. For a long time, Sylvan had no written form except what nature provided: dryads say the rings in a tree’s trunk or the patterns of veins in a leaf are a form of Sylvan writing by the Earth itself.

When the elves (who have strong literary traditions) branched off, they adapted their writing systems (like Elvish runes or script) to record some Sylvan phrases, especially for communication with other races or engraving magic spells. Thus, two main ways to write Sylvan exist:

• Elven Script Adaptation: A flowing, cursive script with characters for Sylvan sounds. Elves of the Autumn Court might record Sylvan songs using an elegant alphabet of curves and lines that flow like vines. This script captures the phonology well (including special signs for dh, th, ll, rh, ch). It’s written left-to-right, and often embellished with leaf-like serifs. Many illuminated manuscripts of Sylvan myths exist in this style, usually kept by elf sages.
• Druidic Runes (Ogham-like): The druids and treants prefer a more organic writing, often carved on wood or stone. They use a runic system said to be inspired by branch patterns (very much like Celtic Ogham or Norse runes, but tailored to Sylvan sounds). For example, there might be a basic vertical line (the “tree stem”) and different angled notches or branches that indicate different consonants and vowels. This system is not as detailed for every nuance (it might not mark vowel length or some of the softer consonant distinctions clearly), but it’s used for short inscriptions: boundary markers, names of sacred sites, spells carved into wands. It feels grown rather than written – one “scores” the rune in living wood and the tree’s sap fills it, making it readable as golden lines.

Both systems are in limited use. Day-to-day, fae rarely write; they pass knowledge by teaching songs and poems. When they do write, it’s often for cross-species communication or long-term preservation (like sealing a treaty or recording an ancient prophecy on stone).

Given that writing is secondary, spelling in Sylvan is not rigidly standardized across all fae. Elves may spell a Sylvan word slightly differently from pixies if transliterating to Common letters, for instance. But within a community using the same script, there is general agreement due to tradition. In modern times, some Sylvan speakers who interact with humans have started using the Common alphabet (Latin script) to phonetically write Sylvan in journals or correspondence. They’ll use digraphs like dh, th, ll, rh as we’ve done in this document, perhaps italicizing or underlining to show it’s Sylvan not Common. But this is largely a convenience and not “official”.

One charming aspect: Sylvan has a form of artistic pictographic writing in certain contexts – not a full script, but symbols. For example, a ring of mushrooms left as a sign, or patterns of stones and feathers arranged in a certain way, constitute a Sylvan message in druidic practice (“this area is under our protection” or “ritual in progress”). These are ephemeral writings, meant to be felt or seen briefly. Some forest spirits claim even scent markings or bird call patterns count as writing of a sort, though that stretches the definition.

While Sylvan can be written using adapted scripts (Elvish letters or druidic runes), its true expression is spoken or sung. “The trees keep the records and the wind carries the news,” a fae elder might say. So, we continue our focus on the spoken word – the way Sylvan truly lives.

Sample Phrases and Texts

Finally, to bring all these elements together, here are some common phrases, idioms, and a short poetic passage in Sylvan, along with translations and notes on their use. These examples illustrate the language’s organic beauty and provide a starting point for using Sylvan in a fantasy RPG setting.

Greetings and Salutations

• Greeting (hello): Líhara! IPA: /ˈliː.ha.ra/. Pronunciation: LEE-hah-rah. – A common warm greeting among the fae, which literally means “Light to you!” (lí “light” + hara “to you (blessing)” ). It’s used like “Hello,” with an implication of wishing someone a bright day. Sylvan speakers often accompany this with a gentle hand to their heart or a small bow. Among friends, a shortened casual form Líha! is also common.
• Farewell (goodbye): Fara síth. IPA: /ˈfa.ra siːθ/. Pronunciation: FAH-rah seeth. – This phrase translates to “Go in peace.” (fara “go (imperative)” + sith “peace” – note síth is a word for peace/tranquility, related to the word for faerie mound or otherworldly peace). It’s a sincere and almost sacred way to say goodbye, used among all Sylvan speakers. If parting for a long time or formally, they might extend it to Fara síth ar selä. “Go in peace and health (wholeness).”
• Informal parting: Dílle ó. IPA: /ˈdiːl.lɛ oː/. Pronunciation: DEEL-leh oh. – Meaning “See you soon.” (dílle “soon/short time”, ó “until/up to”). Literally “(until) a short time (later).” Used between friends or at the end of a casual meeting, akin to “See you.”
• Thank you: Hannon ti. IPA: /ˈhan.non ti/. Pronunciation: HAN-non tee. – This means “I thank you.” The verb hannon carries the first person subject (“I thank”) and ti is the object “you” (informal). One could drop the ti in intimate contexts if it’s obvious (just Hannon. “Thank you.” polite to someone you’re on first-name terms with). To thank someone respectfully or a group, one would say Hannon tin. (using tin for formal “you” or plural “you all”). The word hannon itself is an old verb specifically for giving thanks, used in many blessings.
• You’re welcome: Lára. IPA: /ˈlaː.ra/. Pronunciation: LAH-rah. – Literally “It’s fine” or “It was a pleasure.” Sylvan speakers often respond to thanks with this short, melodious word, derived from lar (harmony/okay). It conveys that helping was in harmony with their own will (thus truly, my pleasure).
• Formal introduction: Se ilyanor (name). IPA: /sɛ ˈil.ja.nor …/. Pronunciation: seh IL-ya-nor [Name]. – This means “This one is called (name)” or literally “She/He is named …”. For example, Se ilyanor Elowen. = “I am Elowen” (if spoken by Elowen herself, using se in a humble third-person way). Among high fae, introducing oneself in third person is a polite form. In more casual settings, one can just say Mi (name). (“I, (name)”). Or I am (name) more directly could be Ná (name). using the “to be” verb ná in first person – but that sounds a bit blunt unless among very equals. Fae often prefer the gentler introduction, as if the name belongs to the listener once given.
• Blessing greeting: Elen síla orúmiel tirien. IPA: /ɛˈlɛn ˈsiː.la oˈruː.mi.ɛl ˈti.ri.ɛn/. Pronunciation: eh-LEN SEE-la oh-ROO-mee-ell TEE-ree-enn. – A more elaborate greeting, meaning “A star shines on the path you walk.” Commonly used by elves or during night-time gatherings. (elen “star”, síla “shines”, orúmiel “upon your path” – a compound of orúm path + possessive -iel “your”, tirien “walking” a gerund form of “to walk”.) It’s comparable to a well-wishing like “May your journey be lighted by starlight.”

Common Expressions

• Yes: Æ. IPA: /aɛ/ (a short diphthong). Pronunciation: Similar to aye or eye but quick. – A simple affirmative, often accompanied by a nod. It’s a very old word, possibly related to ae (truly). In formal situations, one might say En. (/ɛn/) which also means “indeed”.
• No: Náo. IPA: /naː.o/. Pronunciation: NAH-oh. – The basic word for “no/not.” Sylvan speakers sometimes strengthen it by repeating (Náo, náo. = “No, absolutely not.”) or by adding a gesture (palm out). Another polite way to decline is La, hannon. “No, thank you,” where la means not.
• Friend (addressing): Mellon. IPA: /ˈmɛl.lon/. Pronunciation: MEL-lon. – Meaning “friend” (yes, like the famous Elvish word). Sylvan uses mellon both as a noun and a form of direct address: Mae govannen, mellon! (“Well met, friend!”). Among close comrades, they might shorten it to Mell! as a hail.
• My friend: Mo mellon. (literally “my friend”, showing the possessive particle mo causing no mutation on m- because m doesn’t lenite in Sylvan or one could say m’ellon in rapid speech).
• Cheers/To your health: Alánë! IPA: /aˈlaː.ne/. Pronunciation: ah-LAA-neh. – Said when toasting, roughly “to health!” or “cheers!”. Derived from alanor (to thrive). Sometimes expanded: Alánë selä! “Health and wholeness!”.
• Excuse me/Pardon: Dálen. IPA: /ˈdaː.lɛn/. Pronunciation: DAH-len. – Literally “Forgive (me)” or “pardon”. Used to get someone’s attention politely or to apologize in advance for a minor imposition. For a bigger apology, one might say Dálen sa (“Forgive me, truly”) or Dálen mo fëa (“Pardon my spirit/soul” implying deep regret).
• Please: Sylvan often conveys “please” by tone and phrasing (using polite verb forms) rather than a direct word. But one common add-on is mas or massí at the end of a request, which softens it. E.g., Telo mas? “Could you come, please?” If a single word is needed: massí (lit. “if it pleases [you]”) is used somewhat like “please.”

Idioms and Metaphors (tied to nature and magic)

Sylvan idioms are poetic and rooted in nature lore. Here are a few colorful examples:

• “Leaves have ears, and roots have eyes.” – Lais har telin, ar raid har sylen. IPA: /lais har ˈtɛ.lin ar raid har ˈsy.lɛn/. Literal: Leaves have ears, and roots have eyes. Meaning: Be mindful of what you say and do; the forest perceives everything. This proverb warns that in the realm of the fae (or in nature in general), secrets are hard to keep – even the leaves overhead might be listening and the roots below watching. It’s often cited to caution against deceit or speaking ill of someone in what one thinks is a private place. Essentially, “the walls have ears” but in a more enchanted sense. (Fae might utter just the first half Lais har telin… and trail off knowingly.)
• “He has no roots.” – Se la har radin. IPA: /sɛ la har ˈra.din/. Literal: He not has roots. Meaning: Said of a person who is not grounded, lacks loyalty, or is a wanderer without ties. This idiom compares a person to a plant that has no roots – likely to fall or be blown away. Depending on context, it can be slightly critical (implying untrustworthiness or lack of commitment) or simply descriptive (a free spirit). E.g., The mercenary will betray the king; he has no roots. In Sylvan: Arphen telitha aran; se la har radin. (“Mortal will-betray king; he has no roots.”) – here used as a caution.
• “Chasing will-o’-wisps.” – Rýn anwar. IPA: /riːn ˈan.war/. This phrase literally might translate to “chasing fairy-lights.” (rýn from a verb “to chase” or “to follow rapidly”, and anwar “illusion-light,” a compound of anwa (foolish) + galwar (swamp-light maybe, shortened)). Meaning: Pursuing an illusion or something unattainable and getting lost in the process. Fae use this idiom to gently warn someone that their quest or goal is likely a folly leading them astray. Example: Do not seek the end of the rainbow, you will only be rýn anwar. (chasing will-o’-wisps).
• “He speaks with honey and thorns.” – Se pedo me ilhin a sáras. IPA: /sɛ ˈpɛ.do mɛ ˈil.hin a ˈsaː.ras/. Literal: He speaks with honey and bramble-thorn. Meaning: He speaks sweetly but with hidden barbs – i.e., he says nice words but they have hurtful or sharp subtext, or he is deceitful. This idiom is used for a charming person whose compliments or promises may have a sting. Ilhin means the nectar or sweetness (related to honey; actual honey could be meil but ilhin implies sweet words), and sáras is a thorny vine or bramble. If a fae elder says, Beware of the ambassador; he speaks with honey and thorns, they mean his flattery may hide prickly intentions.
• “To hear the grass grow.” – Sûl erin tálë. IPA: /suːl ˈɛ.rin ˈtaː.lɛ/. Literal: [He] hears the grass. Meaning: He is very patient or attuned, or possibly it can mean someone is extremely patient to the point of doing nothing (context decides). Typically used admiringly for someone in tune with nature’s subtleties or very calm. Alternatively, could mean someone is overly idle (like “sitting around long enough to hear grass grow”). Fae might use it jokingly. The literal imagery is of an elf or ent so still and listening that they even hear the subtle sound of grass growing.
• “Moss-tongued.” – Línemoss. IPA: /ˈliː.nɛ.mos/. This is actually a compound epithet (from líne (tongue) + moss). Meaning: An elder who hasn’t spoken in a long time (perhaps a tree-hermit or a very reserved ent). The idea is if one doesn’t speak for ages, moss grows on their tongue. It can be used endearingly for a quiet, wise person: “Old Moss-tongue over there has a word perhaps?” If said directly to someone “You’re getting moss-tongued,” it’s teasing them for being too quiet.
• “Dance with a pixie.” – Lóra o pix. IPA: /ˈloː.ra o piks/. Literal: To dance with a pixie. Meaning: To engage in risky frivolity or to get into a situation where you might be out of your depth in fun (pixies might lead you in a dance that ends up with you lost in the forest until morning). It’s advice often given to young fae about consorting with unpredictable folks. E.g., Don’t dance with a pixie if you can’t handle the tricks.
• “Dew of the dawn on you.” – Heili ath alúv. IPA: /ˈhei.li aθ aˈluːv/. Literal: (May the) dew of dawn (be) on you. Meaning: An idiomatic blessing, like wishing someone rejuvenation or a fresh start. Used as a parting or when someone wakes. It implies, may you be as refreshed and pure as grass with morning dew. One might say this to someone who’s been through hardship, meaning may you recover anew.

Short Poetic Passage (Proverb)

Finally, a short piece of Sylvan text to exemplify the language’s poetic and magical nature. This could be a couplet or proverb that encapsulates Sylvan wisdom. We will provide the Sylvan, then a gloss and a natural translation.

Sylvan: “Lais har telin, ar raid har sylen;
En lúmen felithar, en goth en mellén.”

IPA: /lais har ˈtɛ.lin ar raid har ˈsy.lɛn;
ɛn ˈluː.mɛn fɛˈli.θar ɛn goθ ɛn mɛlˈleːn./

Word-by-word Gloss:

• Lais – leaves (nom. plural of lass, leaf).
• har – have (3rd person plural, or an invariant “have” here).
• telin – ears (plural of tel, ear).
• ar – and.
• raid – roots (plural of rad, root; irregular plural by vowel change a->ai).
• sylen – eyes (plural of syl, eye, with plural -en).
• (semicolon pause)
• En – in (or within).
• lúmen – light (or illumination, here perhaps “daylight” or “time of light”).
• felithar – they dance (possibly felitha = dance, with plural -r or an archaic form; or it could be “dance” in a poetic infinitive sense).
• goth – darkness/night (an old word, maybe related to dúv dark).
• mellén – friends (plural or poetic form of mellon, friend; here used to imply those who love you).

Free Translation: “Leaves have ears, and roots have eyes;
In the light they dance, in the dark they are friends.”

Interpretation: This couplet carries multiple layers. The first line is the earlier proverb about nature perceiving all. The second line adds an interesting twist: “In light they dance, in dark they are friends.” It suggests that in joyful times (light), the spirits of nature dance with you (celebrate), and in sorrow or darkness, they become your friends (comforting presence). Essentially, whether in good times or bad, the elements of nature (or one’s true companions) are with you – celebrating or consoling. It’s a reassurance of the constancy of the fae’s bond with nature and loved ones. The parallel structure en ___, en ___ also provides a rhythmic balance.

This is an example of how a Sylvan proverb ties observations of nature to human(oid) life lessons, in a lyrical format easy to remember (note the internal rhyme of felithar and mellén with the repeated -en sound, and the alliteration lúmen/mellén).

Contextual use: An elder might recite these lines to a younger fae who feels alone, reminding them that the forest is always listening and watching out for them, sharing joy and sorrow alike. It showcases the gentle, reassuring tone Sylvan can take.

Numbers in Sylvan

Basic Numbers (1-10)

1. thir – one
2. duen – two
3. tharen – three
4. falor – four
5. quinil – five
6. sestel – six
7. selevan – seven
8. othren – eight
9. noven – nine
10. decil – ten

Tens and Hundreds

• duendecil – twenty (duen “two” + decil “ten”)
• tharendecil – thirty
• falordecil – forty
• quinildecil – fifty
• sesteldecil – sixty
• selevandecil – seventy
• othrendecil – eighty
• novendecil – ninety
• centhar – hundred (cen- “great/many” + thar “count”)

Large Numbers

1,000. milar – thousand (mil- “grand, vast” + -ar numerical marker)
10,000. mildecil – ten thousand (mil- “grand” + decil “ten”)
100,000. cenmilar – hundred thousand (cen- “great” + milar “thousand”)
1,000,000. lorenar – million (loren- “uncountable” + -ar numerical marker)

Fractions and Parts

½. valas – half
⅓. thirvalas – third (thir “one” + valas “portion”)
¼. faloras – quarter (falor “four” + -as diminutive)
⅕. quinilas – fifth (quinil “five” + -as fractional marker)

Ordinal Numbers (First-Tenth)

1st. thiril – first (thir “one” + -il ordinal suffix)
2nd. duenil – second
3rd. tharenil – third
4th. faloril – fourth
5th. quinilil – fifth
6th. sestelil – sixth
7th. selevanil – seventh
8th. othrenil – eighth
9th. novenil – ninth
10th. decilil – tenth

Mathematical Operations

• othir – to add (from oth- “join” + -ir verb marker)
• sathir – to subtract (from sath- “separate” + -ir verb marker)
• thirilas – to multiply (from thir “one” + -ilas “increase”)
• duenlas – to divide (from duen “two” + -las “split”)
• thalos – equals / balance (from thal- “true” + -os statement marker)
• thorel – greater than (from thor- “big” + -el comparative)
• nimor – less than (from nim- “small” + -or comparative)

Expressions and Counting Phrase

• Thir, duen, tharen… – “One, two, three…” (Counting sequence)
• Lorithir ané? – “How many?” (lorithir “many-count” + ané question marker)
• Thalothir. – “It is one.” (thal- “true” + othir “one”)
• Milar lauthen. – “Infinite thousands.” (Used to mean “countless” in poetic speech)

Zero in Sylvan

The concept of zero in Sylvan has a more poetic or philosophical meaning, as many ancient languages (including Elvish-inspired tongues) treat “nothingness” as an abstract or mystical idea rather than just a numeral.

• nulthir – zero (nul- “void, absence” + thir “one,” implying the absence of one)
• silun – nothing (sil- “empty, silent” + -un state marker)
• nothar – the void (noth- “none” + -ar noun marker, often used in cosmic or magical speech)

• Nulthir would be used for mathematical zero.
• Silun would be more for an existential “nothingness” or absence.
• Nothar would refer to the void, emptiness, or a place of nothingness.

For example, in arithmetic:

• Thir othir nulthir = Thir. → “One plus zero is one.”
• Silar silun. → “There is nothing here.”
• Nothar suthenor. → “The void is eternal/a full cycle.” (Poetic/philosophical statement)

Sylvan Number Construction

Sylvan follows a logical, flowing structure where numbers build upon base forms, much like in Elvish and other lyrical languages.

Basic Number Structure:

• Numbers 1-10 → Unique words
• 11-19 → “Ten + X” (e.g., 11 = ten-one)
• Multiples of ten → “X-ten” (e.g., 20 = two-ten)
• Hundreds & Thousands → Built using a stacking system
• Larger numbers → Spoken in descending order (thousands → hundreds → tens → ones)

Constructing Specific Numbers

11 → Decilthir

(decil “ten” + thir “one” → “ten-one”)

26 → Duendecil-sestel

(duen “two” + decil “ten” + sestel “six” → “two-ten-six”)

1458 → Centhar-falor-mildecil-othren

(centhar “hundred” + falor “four” + milar “thousand” + decil “ten” + othren “eight”)
→ “one-thousand four-hundred fifty-eight”

General Formula

For any number:

1. Thousands first, if applicable (e.g., milar for 1000s).
2. Hundreds next (e.g., centhar for 100s).
3. Tens come after (e.g., decil for 10s).
4. Ones are last (unless it’s a clean multiple of 10).

Examples

• 14 → Decilfalor (“ten-four”)
• 33 → Tharendecil-tharen (“three-ten-three”)
• 78 → Selevandecil-othren (“seven-ten-eight”)
• 102 → Centhar-duen (“hundred-two”)
• 365 → Tharenmilar-sesteldecil-quinil (“three-hundred sixty-five”)
• 2023 → Duenmilar-tharendecil-tharen (“two-thousand twenty-three”)

See also: Sylvan