Discworld II: Mortality Bytes! (1996 Video Game)

Nigel Planer: Albert, Bursar, Foul Ole Ron, Reg Shoe, Mad Drongo, Beekeeper, Fool, Troll Bartender, Dead Collector, Mortician, Camel Salesman, Uri Djeller, Trainer, Bogeyman, Count, Elf #2, Assassin

Quotes 

• Foul Ole Ron : Spiders... spiders... mumble-mumble-muhhuh. Sticking like sticky paper, and lying. Millenium hand and shrimp! Lying!

  Rincewind : [aside]  You know, some might say that this chap lacks a firm grasp upon reality.

  Foul Ole Ron : Ehh, bugger 'em! Bugger 'em all!

  Rincewind : My personal theory is that he has a very firm grasp upon reality, it's simply not a reality the rest of us have ever met before.

• Bursar : Er, he, he, um... He, he says he's not dead!

  Windle Poons : I AM dead. But I'm still bloody ambulatory!

  Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully : No, you're not. You're fooling no one but yourself, you know.

  Bursar : Hmmm. Well, he, he looks dead.

  Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully : [sniffs]  Smells dead. Course, he always did though.

• [repeated line] 

  Foul Ole Ron : Millenium hand and shrimp!

• Ship Captain : Aaaaar! Yo ho ho, me matey! Shiver your timber, avast improvement!

  Dead Collector : Stop that!

  Ship Captain : Oh, please! It's genuine nautical gibberish.

  Dead Collector : No! I've told you about that. I'm only doing business with you if you stop all ridiculous yo-ho-ho business. It's... demeaning.

  Ship Captain : But it's establishing character!

  Dead Collector : No, it's establishing that you are a loony! This is supposed to be a sea voyage, not Captain Seadog's Little Shipmates Holiday Fun Club!

  Ship Captain : Look, if we're going to sea, then we ought to establish ourselves as acceptable stereotypes of sea-going characters. It all stands to reason! Now, you can't hold me responsible for the paradigms which grip our customers. They don't think you're real without all that "Avast the mainbrace! Arrrr!" business. Word-of-mouth advertising can make-or-break a business like mine.

  Dead Collector : Word of mouth! They're dead!

  Ship Captain : Oh. Oh, all right. Just bring 'em onboard then and we'll forget all about it.

  [the Dead Collector tosses the bodies onto the ship, including Rincewind] 

  Ship Captain : [muttering]  Arrrr, so, er, timbers, arrrr. Shiver, arrrr, errrr, hoist, hoist, er, hurhurhur, herrr. Oh, locker, oh, her, herr! Oh, wooden, wooden, oh, errr, mouse... oh, stop, no, ho ho...

  Dead Collector : What?

  Ship Captain : Erm, nothing! Er, just, um, ahem, clearing me throat!

  Dead Collector : There's something very odd about you.

• Dead Collector : Oh well, can't win them all... Or any of them, come to think of it.

• Dead Collector : Dead, sir?

• Foul Ole Ron : Talking! I'm good at that. Most of the time I talks to myself, cos it's nice to hear an intelligent person speak. Millenium hand and shrimp! You can blow that out of your teapot and no mistake. I'm as sane as the next man, listen!

  Rincewind : I just hope I never meet the next man. But I probably will.

• [repeated line] 

  Dead Collector : Bring out yer dead!

• [Rincewind is chased out of the elf kingdom by a pair of camp elves] 

  Elf #1 : And don't come back!

  Elf #2 : You set foot in here again and you'll be taking your ears home in your hat.

  Elf #1 : We are fey creatures of the twilight, pal, not little tooth fairies.

  Elf #2 : The difference is we take all your teeth and leave your head under the pillow.

• Rincewind : Just tell me what alcohol you have to drink. And by that, I mean something which neither eats through the glass bottle, serves as host to a colony of sentient protozoa, or ends me up in any obscure, farcical little problems with chaos theory and butterflies.

  Troll Bartender : [grunts]  Uhh, dat's all we got. Protozoa. They're only little protozoa.

  Rincewind : Ciliate or non-ciliate?

  Troll Bartender : [grunts]  I think they're mostly rotifers.

  Rincewind : Brilliant. He can't tie his shoes but he can classify microorganisms. There's one for the education system.