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@Daeus-Lamb

This is where someone should really stop me before I go down the closely related rabbit trails of:

• linguistics/philology
• conlangs and their relation to connected cultures in story
• phonoaesthetics
• formal and informal English usage
• …and a few more

Do you think we remember these characters just because they are odd or do their ways of speaking actually deepen their characters? If so, how?

I think it really depends on the character, and the backstory of the culture. If their accent is consistent and, almost more importantly, intentional, we’re almost more likely to stick around with them because it opens the question of why. Why do they speak differently? What is it about them that makes their speech patterns different? Is it just them, or a cultural facet that they’re reflecting?

I know for me, personally, if the author doesn’t at least attempt to address these questions in the backstory, then it’s a turn-off for me. Like everything in writing, there has to be a reason behind it, and a reason beyond “It sounded cool”.

Do you have any plans to create a character who speaks funny?

In my current novel-project, I’m reminded of three characters in particular.

The first is Asbaron. He’s a youth in the secondary, nomadic culture of this particular world. They have a triconsonantal language, so even when he’s speaking the “common” language, there are speech tendencies that slip through. These include a tendency to drop syllables in 3-syllable words to make them 2-syllable words, a voiced pronunciation of s (it comes out more of a z), and more emphasis on the stops and fricative consonants, which those around him notice more than he does. These are all due to how his L1 works for pronunciation, and reflects a little of the grammatical construct as well. Like most dual-language  speakers, he also code-switches between the two languages if there’s not an adequate translation.

Example: 

“That’s the future I have with the kacematain zikulut, the wandr’ing people, L’dour. If we’re to face war, I want to be on the side that’s actually fighting for something worthwhile, not just because they’re commanded to. I want to make a diff’rence.” Asbaro replied firmly. “My family is among the jantir, the blind obedience of the Oath-Sworn, and I want to fight that inher’tance with everything I have.”

The second and third characters are mirrors of each other: Raleksa and Ataudin.

Raleksa, due to the nature of his job, and his backstory, is best described as a distant, aloof, and somewhat cold personality. He doesn’t converse casually, and when he does, it’s direct and to the point. He is factual, impersonal, and immediate to the concern. (He’s the Poison Expert, so it’s kinda necessary when his skills are needed…).

Example: 

“Not deaf, nor blind though,” he stated, grimly pleased. “Between the pulse and physical state, we’re dealing with a high level of panic without a known cause. I want to run a full analysis against poisoning though.”

“All signs indicate torture to at least some degree,” Ataudin agreed darkly as Alina stepped out of earshot to fetch a fresh basin of water. “It’s more than likely, knowing the fate assigned to perceived spies. Topical pain suppressant safe to use?” he asked, preparing to remove stitch the wound in Lidour’s leg.

“It’s best if you don’t,” Raleksa answered tersely, mentally running a checklist of frequent poisons currently in use among the mercenaries.

“He’s conscious, and already in pain!” Alina exclaimed. “The pain won’t help the panic in the slightest.”

“He doesn’t have to be conscious,” Raleksa replied, reaching for his bag.

 

Ataudin, on the other hand, has amazing bedside manners. He’s the Master Healer of the story, and cares deeply about each person he addresses, treats, or consults. Each word he says is balanced against needlessly causing emotional harm-even under stress or pressing emergencies. (As a fun side note, I’ve found his speech to be very specific in an unusual way. If there’s a question between two words  being the ‘right’ one, I always, inadvertently, end up using the one with 14th c French origins.)

Example:

At her first inquisitive tap on the door, Ataudin barely stirred from his seated position at Lidour’s beside, mouth moving in barely-audible prayer. He paused, and Alina cleared her throat. Only then did he look up, pausing in the unconscious massaging of the thin, ropy scar stretching across his elbow.

For a moment, she could see the weight of the guilt and responsibility in his eyes and in the deepening creases of his forehead.

“Any change?” Alina asked gently, addressing the Master Healer where he sat, keeping a bedside vigil.

“A little,” Ataudin replied, weariness barely discernible at the edge of his words. “Each hour brings a bit more, as slow as his progress might seem.”

“Then he has not awoken yet?”

“Not yet, though the signs are promising he may sometime soon. Only then will we know state of his mind,” Ataudin replied with a sigh, giving credence to his frustration. “He told me to trust Him. I’ve prayed, and the Mighty One only tells me to trust Him in this task.” Ataudin elaborated briefly. “If, in giving my sword arm, I could undo what I allowed to happen, I would do so in a heartbeat. I despise this waiting in blind trust.”