Terry Pratchett
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
The wind howled lightning stabbed at the earth theoretically like an inefficient assassin thunder rolled back and forth across the dark rain lashed hills. The night was as black as the inside of a cat. It was the kind of night you could believe on which God's moved men as though there were pawns on the chessboard of fed in the middle of this elemental storm. A fire gleamed among the dripping furs, bushes like the madness in a weasel's eye. It illuminated three hunched figures as the cauldron bubbled and Eldridge voice shrieked. When shall we three meet again? There was a pause. Finally, another voice said in far more ordinary tones. Uh Well, I can do next Tuesday through the fathomless des of space swims the star turtle, great Euan bearing on its back. The four giant elephants who carry on their shoulders, the mess of the disk world, a tiny sun and moon spin around them on a complicated orbit to induce seasons. So probably nowhere else in the multiverse is it's sometimes necessary for an elephant to **** a leg to allow the sun to go past exactly why this should be, may never be known. Possibly the creator of the universe got bored with all the usual business of actual inclination, albedo and rotational velocities and decided to have a bit of fun for one's. It would be a pretty good bet that the gods of a world like this probably do not play chess. And indeed, this is the case. In fact, no gods anywhere play chess. They haven't got the imagination. Gods prefer simple vicious games where you do not achieve transcendence but go straight to oblivion. A key to the understanding of all religion is that a God's idea of amusement is snakes and ladders with greased rungs, magic glues the disc world together. Magic generated by the turning of the world itself. Magic wound like silk out of the underlying structure of existence to suture the wounds of reality. A lot of it ends up in the Ram Top mountains which stretch from the frozen lands near the hub all the way via a lengthy archipelago to the warm seas which flow endlessly into space over the rim. Raw magic crackles invisibly from peak to peak and earths itself in the mountains. It is the ram tops that supply the world with most of its witches and wizards in the ram tops. The leaves on the trees move even when there's no breeze, rocks, go for a stroll of an evening. Even the land at times seems alive.