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a young cosmochelonian of the Steady Gait faction, testing a new telescope with which he hoped to make measurements of the precise albedo of Great A’Tuin’s right eye, was on this eventful evening the first outsider to see the smoke rise hubward from the burning of the oldest city in the world. Later that night he became so engrossed in his studies he completely forgot about it. Nevertheless, he was the first.
“That goes for your shadow-loving fleabag partner, too, wherever he’s hiding.” The Weasel stepped up to the horse and peered at the disheveled figure. “Why, it’s Rincewind the wizard, isn’t it?” he said in tones of delight, meanwhile filing the wizard’s description of him in his memory for leisurely vengeance.
Let’s just say that if complete and utter chaos were lightning, then he’d be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armor and shouting ‘All gods are bastards.’
Being Ymor’s right-hand man was like being gently flogged to death with scented bootlaces.
"what do you mean it's silly writing"
Rincewind switched to High Borogravian, to Vanglemesht, Sumtri and even Black Oroogu, the language with no nouns and only one adjective, which is obscene. Each was met with polite incomprehension. In desperation he tried heathen Trob, and the little man’s face split into a delighted grin. “At last!” he said. “My good sir! This is remarkable!” (Although in Trob the last word in fact became “a thing which may happen but once in the usable lifetime of a canoe hollowed diligently by ax and fire from the tallest diamondwood tree that grows in the noted diamondwood forests on the lower slopes of
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Rincewind opened his mouth to reply but felt the words huddle together in his throat, reluctant to emerge in a world that was rapidly going mad.
“I assure you the thought never even crossed my mind, Lord.” “Indeed? Then if I were you I’d sue my face for slander.”
There was the faintest of sounds, as of a gnat yawning.
