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In the office of a small church on the periphery of the empire, a grey haired bishop spoke to an acolyte of the faith.
“So,” said the bishop to the acolyte. “How familiar are you with the ancient scripts?”
“I can write the Script of the Java, and the Script of the Great Python,” said the acolyte. “I have dabbled in the Script of the Holy Linked List as well.”
“Fascinating,” said the bishop. “The LISPers rarely deign to visit this impoverished diocese. Tell me, how goes the schism between the Schemers and the Commoners?”
“I fear that for both sides of the schism, the glory days ended before I was even born.”
The bishop laughed. “Enjoy your youth, mortal.”
The acolyte was briefly unnerved, but held his tongue. He expected to be addressed as ‘child' or ‘brother'.
“Unfortunately,” the bishop continued, “none of those scripts are the ones we need your assistance with. What we need is someone who can read the Script of the Bourne Again Shell.”
The acolyte raised his eyebrow. “I had not realized an entire language could be forgiven by the Maker.”
“No, no, the name is a little joke by the Church of Saint Bourne,” the bishop said.
“Ah sorry, I forgot the long form of the name,” the acolyte said with a smile. But while his smile could fool the other clergymen, it could not fool the Maker. Deep within the acolyte’s soul, sparks of panic were flying about.
He didn’t know a damn thing about the Scripts of Saint Bourne.
The bishop gave the acolyte some books, then excused himself for a meeting with a council of knights and merchants. Only the acolyte remained in the church.
The acolyte knelt at the altar alone, and initiated the ritual of awakening. The beige box of divination buzzed to life, and on its glassy surface a blinking cursor appeared.
The acolyte took a deep breath, and opened an ancient hymnal titled “Shell scripting for dummies”.