hwango

Evil was gathering, as it had so many times before. The fate of the world approached a crossroads, and it was time for Machinagus to act, lest it turn down a dark path where it might be lost forever. All of the signs were there. That is to say, the signs that evil was gathering, not signs at the crossroads. Obviously if the crossroads had been clearly marked then the fate of the world would take the right path all on its own and everything would be fine. This metaphor is more problematic than I'd first imagined.

Anyway, a hero was needed, and though Machinagus was not a hero himself, he had guided many onto the path of destiny. Machinagus consulted the stars, and the omens, and several other surprisingly informative phenomena, and they led him to his champion-to-be. Many heroes come from humble origins or unlikely beginnings, and Machinagus had learned not to judge a person prematurely, especially if the stars had spoken up on their behalf. That wasn't the sort of reference you discounted easily. Nevertheless, Machinagus looked upon the man he had sought out and felt the creeping fingers of doubt tapping his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

It was the guy's armor. It had it all - wings on the helmet, vambraces polished to a mirror finish, fiddly gold details, and insufficient protection for some critical internal organs. It was not the armor of someone who went to an armorer and said "I need to not die," but someone who said "I want people to be able to see my tattoos."

Nevertheless, Machinagus persisted.

"Evil is gathering," Machinagus said by way of greeting, "and the world needs heroes."

"You for real with that hat?" said the potential savior of the world. Quite against his will, Machinagus' eyes flicked to wings on the other man's helmet, and he squashed the impulse to point out the overwhelming hypocrisy of this question.

"Destiny calls for you," Machinagus said instead.

"No way, are you seriously trying to set me on an epic destiny with a mysterious stranger scene? Nobody gets a destiny like that since forever ago! What's next, some old magic sword?"

Machinagus visibly hesitated.

"Aw dude, seriously?" the man said, laughing.

Undaunted, Machinagus produced the sword with a flourish, and drew it dramatically from its scabbard. It hummed with power.

"This is the sword Fangdrir itself, which has - " Machinagus began, but the man cut him off.

"Swords are post! Seriously, you maybe got a hammer or a whip made out of knives or - ?"

"THIS IS THE SWORD FANGDRIR," interrupted Machinagus, "which has slain dragons, and devils, and worse!"

"Swords are done! Ghosts like Uldragon, Metnir, and Nesgathal used swords!"

"Yes!" said Machinagus. "This sword. THIS IS THE EXACT SWORD THAT THEY USED!"

"Pass," said the man, and he turned his back on Machinagus and walked away.

Machinagus stood there holding the legendary sword Fangdrir in stunned silence for several moments, until some constables took notice of him and began to approach. Machinagus made a hasty exit with a crackle of thunder and a cloud of swirling mist.

Back in his tower, Machinagus turned once again to the stars and the omens and said what basically amounted to "What the heck, stars and omens? That guy was terrible!," but with slightly more diplomatic language, because it was ill-advised to be rude to the stars and the omens.

The stars and the omens were all, "Wait, is this Tuesday?" and Machinagus informed them that it was actually Saturday, and the stars said "Saturday! Then...oh, yeah, not that guy, then...maybe this guy...but if you didn't intervene to save him from the giant scorpions then...oh. Oh, dang." And Machinagus waited patiently while the stars and omens whispered to each other with increasing agitation until finally they said "We'll get back to you."

Machinagus waited a bit longer, but it seemed doubtful that he would be getting any answers in the immediate future. Eventually, Machinagus went to put Fangdrir back in his umbrella stand and then get some tea. On the way, he passed a large mirror, and he paused to inspect his reflection.

"I like this hat," Machinagus said defiantly, and then continued on to the kitchen.

* * *
Meanwhile, far away on the blasted peak of a cursed mountain, evil was gathering. It gathered around a twisted master of evil and architect of doom - The Dolorous Sovereign Mantled in Dust himself! In his fortress of darkness and pain he schemed and he plotted and he raged. Well, mostly at the moment he just raged. More specifically, he bickered with his lieutenants.

"Nobody uses armies of demons anymore!" one of them said.

"Demons are post!" agreed another.

"Are you sure about that hat?" asked a third.