The "I Didn't Comment in Another Thread" Thread
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Everyone.
Levistus's_Leviathan
5e Freelancer
Reminds me of this quote from Terry Pratchett's Small Gods:
“My lord?” said Brutha.
“Yes, Brutha?”
“I would like to ask you a question.”
“Do so.”
“What happened to Brother Murduck?”
There was the merest suggestion of hesitation in the rhythm of Vorbis’s stick on the cobbles. Then the exquisitor said, “Truth, good Brutha, is like the light. Do you know about light?”
“It…comes from the sun. And the moon and stars. And candles. And lamps.”
“And so on,” said Vorbis, nodding. “Of course. But there is another kind of light. A light that fills even the darkest of places. This has to be. For if this meta-light did not exist, how could darkness be seen?”
Brutha said nothing. This sounded too much like philosophy.
“And so it is with truth,” said Vorbis. “There are some things which appear to be the truth, which have all the hallmarks of truth, but which are not the real truth. The real truth must sometimes be protected by a labyrinth of lies.”
He turned to Brutha. “Do you understand me?”
“No, Lord Vorbis.”
“I mean, that which appears to our senses is not the fundamental truth. Things that are seen and heard and done by the flesh are mere shadows of a deeper reality. This is what you must understand as you progress in the Church.”
“But at the moment, lord, I know only the trivial truth, the truth available on the outside,” said Brutha. He felt as though he was at the edge of a pit.
“That is how we all begin,” said Vorbis kindly.
“So did the Ephebians kill Brother Murduck?” Brutha persisted. Now he was inching out over the darkness.
“I am telling you that in the deepest sense of the truth they did. By their failure to embrace his words, by their intransigence, they surely killed him.”
“But in the trivial sense of the truth,” said Brutha, picking every word with the care an inquisitor might give to his patient in the depths of the Citadel, “in the trivial sense, Brother Murduck died, did he not, in Omnia, because he had not died in Ephebe, had been merely mocked, but it was feared that others in the Church might not understand the, the deeper truth, and thus it was put about that the Ephebians had killed him in, in the trivial sense, thus giving you, and those who saw the truth of the evil of Ephebe, due cause to launch a—a just retaliation.”
They walked past a fountain. The deacon’s steel-shod staff clicked in the night.
“I see a great future for you in the Church,” said Vorbis, eventually. “The time of the eighth Prophet is coming. A time of expansion, and great opportunity for those true in the service of Om.”
“Yes, Brutha?”
“I would like to ask you a question.”
“Do so.”
“What happened to Brother Murduck?”
There was the merest suggestion of hesitation in the rhythm of Vorbis’s stick on the cobbles. Then the exquisitor said, “Truth, good Brutha, is like the light. Do you know about light?”
“It…comes from the sun. And the moon and stars. And candles. And lamps.”
“And so on,” said Vorbis, nodding. “Of course. But there is another kind of light. A light that fills even the darkest of places. This has to be. For if this meta-light did not exist, how could darkness be seen?”
Brutha said nothing. This sounded too much like philosophy.
“And so it is with truth,” said Vorbis. “There are some things which appear to be the truth, which have all the hallmarks of truth, but which are not the real truth. The real truth must sometimes be protected by a labyrinth of lies.”
He turned to Brutha. “Do you understand me?”
“No, Lord Vorbis.”
“I mean, that which appears to our senses is not the fundamental truth. Things that are seen and heard and done by the flesh are mere shadows of a deeper reality. This is what you must understand as you progress in the Church.”
“But at the moment, lord, I know only the trivial truth, the truth available on the outside,” said Brutha. He felt as though he was at the edge of a pit.
“That is how we all begin,” said Vorbis kindly.
“So did the Ephebians kill Brother Murduck?” Brutha persisted. Now he was inching out over the darkness.
“I am telling you that in the deepest sense of the truth they did. By their failure to embrace his words, by their intransigence, they surely killed him.”
“But in the trivial sense of the truth,” said Brutha, picking every word with the care an inquisitor might give to his patient in the depths of the Citadel, “in the trivial sense, Brother Murduck died, did he not, in Omnia, because he had not died in Ephebe, had been merely mocked, but it was feared that others in the Church might not understand the, the deeper truth, and thus it was put about that the Ephebians had killed him in, in the trivial sense, thus giving you, and those who saw the truth of the evil of Ephebe, due cause to launch a—a just retaliation.”
They walked past a fountain. The deacon’s steel-shod staff clicked in the night.
“I see a great future for you in the Church,” said Vorbis, eventually. “The time of the eighth Prophet is coming. A time of expansion, and great opportunity for those true in the service of Om.”
Parmandur
Book-Friend
I don't care for onions on pizza. Or onions on anything else.
Definitely reminiscent. Written round the same time too. (The Sandman Midsummer's Night Dream was 1990 and Small Gods was 1992).
payn
He'll flip ya...Flip ya for real...
trappedslider
Legend
I still don't think I'm going to give Joyce's Ulysses another try...
Mannahnin
Scion of Murgen (He/Him)
Gin is just vodka with flavor. I wouldn't drink vodka straight either, but I don't generally bother making mixed drinks with vodka anymore.
There's definitely a good variety of gins, too. Some have a much less "punch of pine tar in my mouth" level of juniper.
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