Hail, Sapience.

My latest sermon was delivered in the Amphitheater of the Crystal Leaf
Inn, and concerned drunkenness and the weakness that is alcohol. For
your religious education, here is the text of that sermon.

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Hail, Sentients.

Hearken to my words.

My salutations to the strong among you. My greetings to the weak among
you, that my sermon shall motivate your drive for advancement. A pox be
upon the degraded among you, those who desire neither strength nor
greatness.

This day I will preach against the weaknesses of the flesh. The profane
weaknesses of this temporal realm, that threaten to turn us all into
simpering idiots, and drunken sots.

I preach against the weakness that liquor brings. I preach against the
laxity that drunkenness induces. I preach against the seductive
pleasures of alcohol. In this indulgence you will find dissipation. In
this indulgence, you will eventually find your defeat.

We have all seen drunkards, Sapience. Whether staggering through our
cities, or lolling in the public squares, they are a sickness afflicting
our societies. Those pathetic motes of living filth, they pollute
wherever they crawl. The drunkard has strayed from the path of strength,
finding refuge in an alcoholic haze.

Examine the drunken sot, Sapience. See how far they have sunk into
degradation, mocking the very things that separate us from the beasts.

A drunkard's body is weak, polluted with imbibed poison. Their eyes are
rheumy, their flesh is mottled, their actions are uncoordinated. Their
muscles fail them, and they soil themselves with the vomitus of their
indulgence. The stink of foul drink rises off them, nauseating all who
are forced to endure their stench.

A drunkard's mind is witless and stupid, attempting futile thoughts
through a cloud of liquor. Their speech slurred, they grunt and mumble
like animals, their intelligence sloughing off them. They lack the motor
skills of a small baby, unable to summon even the little coordination
required to drag themselves out of the gutter. Their crippled mental
capacity invites the scorn of the whole realm.

A drunkard's spirit is their worst shame. They have rejected the
discipline demanded of them by their gods. When the drunken sot imbibes,
they have sought to replace devotion to divinity with the worship of the
bottle. Turning away from the sacred, to embrace the profane, marks the
drunkard as degraded, weak, and foul beyond mortal redemption.

This tripartite weakness is what makes an alcoholic dangerous. Their
bodies are weak, leaving them incapable of defending their guilds and
cities. Their minds are crippled, leaving them incapable of following
orders and serving their superiors. Their spirits are made lax, removing
their motivation to advance and achieve greatness.

We have, Sentients, all been unfortunate enough to have encountered
individuals under the influence. The land is permeated with the
pernicious influence of alcohol, as demonstrated by various Guild and
City canons of law. Even those most opposed to encouraging strength by
eliminating weakness legislate against the soused. "They should not
sprawl themselves out within the streets," says section 7.3 of the Laws
of Shallam. If even the City of Good recognizes the vile corruption and
weakness that strong drink brings, and the necessity of preventing it
from befouling their city, then we must all realize the seriousness of
this vice.

When you meet the drunkard, Sapience, do not hide your scorn. The
habitual drinker deserves our contempt, and all the hatred that we can
heap upon them. Undertake to communicate that their filthy weakness will
not be tolerated in your city or in your guild.

Yet, Sapience, how may we remove this weakness from our midst? One who
is sunk deeply into the mire of alcohol may not possess the strength to
drag themselves out. It is our duty, as sentients dedicated to the
advancement of strength and the removal of weakness, to ensure that
these loathsome alcoholics are either cured or eliminated.

The true seeker of strength over weakness will approach the matter
analytically. We are but mortal, and all of us yet have weaknesses to
purge from our beings. Seek to discover the reason behind why the
drunken sot turned to alcohol. Interrogate the weak one at length, and
attempt to discover whether a kernel of strength still remains in their
being. Torture their mind with your inquiries, as you torture their
bodies with your knives and pincers, for their pain shall cleanse their
souls of the fumes of their abominable indulgence.

If you find a core of strength within the drunkard's character, seeking
to overthrow the tyranny of alcohol over their body, then your task
turns to helping them eliminate their weakness. You must address their
body, mind and spirit together, as a weakness in one may yet cause a
relapse in the others.

If you have chosen the duty of rehabilitating the drunkard, you must
steel yourself to perform your duty unto the bitter end. Scourge their
flesh with whips and blades. Sear their minds with the screams of the
damned. Fire their souls with devotion to your god. If the person you
are aiding should relapse, redouble your efforts, for you assist
sentient life itself in your task.

If weakness pervades the besotted fool's character, they are truly
beyond saving. They must be purged from society, lest they corrupt
others and spread their filth.

The quickest way to accomplish this, of course, is to use the drunkard's
own weakness against them. Feed them liquor, glass after glass, until
their intestines corrode, their blood runs thin, and their liver
congeals, ending their pathetic life. Conversely, those afflicted by
drunkenness are weak and feckless, and may be murdered at leisure by
those strong enough to seek the elimination of weakness from the realm.

But as we all know, Sentients, those who die in this realm soon return,
by the grace of Lord Sarapis. Stronger measures, then, are required to
purge the weakness of liquor from our midst. We must all do battle
against this scourge, and emerge victorious, lest life itself be dragged
down into an alcoholic haze.

I hear you asking: what can I do against this plague against life
itself? I answer: you must do much, to strengthen yourself and those
around you.

First, Sentients, you must smash the bars, speakeasies, and street
vendors' carts that sell alcohol. Destroy those who supply the realm
with this poison. Break the beer tankards. Smash the wine glasses.
Pulverize the shot glasses.

Second, form posses and capture those who partake. Appoint inquisitors
with the power to determine if their drunkenness is an irredeemable
weakness, or whether it masks a core of strength, and act accordingly.
Be pitiless and cruel, and you will strengthen the realm itself.

Third, advocate temperance in every way. Let all know that weakness lies
down the path of drink. Preach the virtues of sobriety in the streets,
and before the gathering places. Set an example for the multitudes, that
they may see the virtue inherent in healthy strength over boozy
weakness.

Be strong, Sentients. There are yet many trials in the realm. Cleave to
your gods, and let not the temptation of liquor drive you into degraded
weakness.

Amen.
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For the greater glory of Lord Sartan,
and the extirpation of all forms of weakness in Sapience.


Penned by my hand on the 14th of Miraman, in the year 356 AF.