"Pick a god a pray!!" Roared the noble paladin upon his shining steed. The ill-fed bandit would soon taste the full brunt of holy vengeance as the shining knight lowered his lance to ready a lethal charge!
With a thunderous smattering of hooves, like the blows that followed after lightning danced across a darkened sky, the stallion burst forward! A marvel of muscles like steel, an engine of righteous destruction clad in armor blessed by the goddess. The bandit, the enemy, the foul scourge upon the noble, yet humble, common folk of the halidom would soon be disintegrated!
"Ahem!" The fearless knight suddenly heard. In his peripheral vision, a vision sharp enough to rival any bird of prey, the rider noticed a spherical human shape slowly wag across the field towards him. The Grandmaster of the Exalt's Army apparently required his knightly attention!
Called by his sworn liege's closest advisor and ally, the knight pushed his steed to its very breaking point, breaking the onslaught of the perfect charge. He steered the proud stallion towards the approaching, severely overweight Grandmaster of the Liberation army.
The Grandmaster was an impeccable strategist. This day, like all days, he wore long, flowing robes, his protruding belly sticking out from under a straining shirt. As the Paladin approached, the strategist tipped his hat, his noble fedora, in his own particular means of greeting.
"Frederick, Frederick... We have talked about his how many times now? God, and by extension, gods does not exist. Telling our enemies to pray before you dispatch them is the highest folly I can imagine..."
"I... I apologize, noble Master Strategists." The devout knight dismounted and bowed deeply, deferring to his higher ranked superior.
"Now now, few are blessed with an intellect as such as mine, dear Frederick." The Grandmaster replied, guffawing while his double chins slammed against each other. "In this moment, I am euphoric. Not because of any phony god's blessing. But because, I am enlightened by my intelligence." The Grandmaster gratuitously tipped his fedora dangerously low, as if to emphasize a point in what he had just said.
The knight, Frederick, stared at the gentleman and his tipped fedora, flabbergasted. Sometimes he just did not know what to think of the most noble Grandmaster.
"Well, I hope you will be sure to remember that the worship of gods is a mark of low IQ. We stand on the shoulders of giants, after all." The Grandmaster continued to preach. He let his fingers brush along the brim of the fedora while slapping his ample belly. Then, as if energized by some outside force the Grandmaster abruptly struck a dramatic pose and threw his hand out. "It's time to tip the scales!" The rotund man shouted and to really drive home the point of the time in question, he once again tipped his fedora. This time, the classic headwear was tipped to such a degree that it not falling off its wearers head must be proof of some divine providence. At least to Frederick who witnessed the deed! How could this fedora folly not be proof of God's grace?!
Then,