The sun rose to the sound of whispered rumor in the small village of Ankle. Down in the market square, where the cobblestones were lined with the 32nd most exotic wares of the land, and the bread flowed like honey, a choice few words slipped from mouth to ear like a particularly virulent infection. Imperial Knight. Dragonslayer. Rathus. Saffron. The last one had nothing to do with a certain recent development, it was just the hot new trend.

Late last night, the rumors went, a stranger rode into town. Somebody had answered the call, and had come to slay the terrible dragon that resided in a cave up on Mount Ankle. He was an Imperial Knight, here to save the day. He was an Adventurer, out for glory. They said he carried a gun larger than himself. They said he was part dragon, and secretly here to absorb the dragon's soul for his own dark purposes. He had gone up against the Baron's thugs. He was one of the Baron's thugs in disguise, here to spy on the town. He was the Baron himself, I mean, had you ever seen the two in the same place at the same time? Think about it.

Regardless of the truth of the matter, the excitement was palpable. The one point all stories agreed upon was that soon their dragon problems would be no more. Inside the tavern, the village elders had gathered, to discuss the job with the traveler. They waited in the common room for him to wake, as he had arrived late last night. The smell of freshly harvested bread and impatience filled the room in equal parts. The village Insurance Agent turned to the man seated in the dark corner of the tavern.

“So, how do you know this man, anyway? Who are you?”

The mysterious stranger chuckled. “My name is not important. All you need to know is that Rathus can take care of your job for you. He fought in the Skub Wars, after all.”

The crowd roused at that. The elders began to discuss and bicker among themselves.

“Surprised you haven't heard of Rathus McGaff, at that. He made a pretty big name for himself, last I heard. Lucky son of a gun.” The stranger leaned back in his seat and flipped his hand casually towards the elders. “I guess that sort of thing fades off once you get far enough out into the boonies.”

The Blacksmith stood at that.

“You got something you want to say, city boy?” he demanded. His fingers curled tight around his spoon, bending it slightly in a shocking display of non-telepathic power. The stranger looked levelly at him, possibly locking eyes beneath his hood.

“Yes. I do. Your village is host to a Hero. Try to show a little more composure.”

“I wouldn't go that far, Knott,” chided a voice from the direction of the stairs.

The elders turned to find that the traveler from last night was coming down the stairs. Rathus took each step with a slow and liquid grace. The tail of his long coat brushed the top of each step as he descended. He slid his hand along the bannister as he went, the sanded wood whispering against his fingerless leather gloves. The light from the window caught something metal hanging at his waist, glinting with the quiet promise of a fuckton of bullets. The gathered elders fell silent as he entered the room, words catching in their throats.

The traveler looked them over, then smiled wide, extending his hand in a genial manner as he walked towards the oldest-looking of them.

“Heard you folks have a dragon problem. The name is Rathus McGaff. I'm one of the Lord Regent's Imperial Gun Knights. As my friend Knott said, I did fight in the war, but I wouldn't say I was a Hero.”

The village Headman took his hand, delivering the strong sort of handshake that only decades of experience could hone, a handshake forged of mahogany and aged like a fine bourbon. The Gun Knight met him in kind.

“Mayer Bosman. Pleased to meet you.”

Rathus nodded. “Pleased as well. What sort of trouble have you been having?”

The Headman moved to his chair and sat down, gesturing at an open chair for Rathus to join them. The Knight pulled the chair out and sat down, signaling the village Barmaid to bring over a drink.

“It all started about a month ago, thereabouts,” Mayer began. “At first, we were just seeing strange lights from up on the mountain.”

“That'd be Mount Durgen, right?” McGaff asked, nodding to the Barmaid as she set his drink on the table.”

The Headman twitched for a moment, then looked at him curiously.

“It's... yes, that's... correct. Anyways... it was just lights for a time, and some of the local boys were starting to dare each other to go see what it was. We figured it was more would-be prospectors, or maybe Adventurers. There was some talk of bandits, but we didn't think they'd be so brazen as to show lights in the open like that.”

Headman Bosman leaned back in his chair, to gaze out the tavern's water-stained windows.

“Until about a week later, we heard a horrible roar coming down from the mountain. And with it, a great burst of fire, the likes of which you'd never seen. It was horrible, the wailing and roaring went on for hours. Nothing else came of it, though, and after the first few hours, it fell silent, and we did our best to go about our business.”

Rathus listened intently, taking a sip of his drink. No matter where he looked, everybody in the common room shared the same grim expression. The haunted gaze of a town that had borne witness to some truly ungroovy shit. Knott Important leaned back in his darkened corner and brooded silently over his drink, looking aloof and disaffected with practiced ease.

“But th'next week,” Mayer continued, “The next week, it actually came out of its cave.”

Rathus leaned forwards in his chair. “You actually saw it?”

Mayer shook his head. “No, I didn't see it myself. But Praer Gordon did.” With that, he turned to look at the elderly man to his right. Gordon began to shake slightly, looking between Rathus and the Headman with the desperate confusion of a small dog being asked to perform a trick it has yet to learn.

“Well, I... I didn't see it clearly, but I suppose I'm the closest thing we have to a witness.”

Praer Gordon adjusted his glasses, and clutched at the Book of Mandates that hung at his waist. Rathus nodded his head in its direction. “You're a Magistrate, Praer?”

The holy man shook his head. “No such luck, I'm afraid. Just a local Juror.”

“No shame in that,” Rathus replied. “So, what did you see?”

“Something had come down from the mountains. The lights up on the mountain drifted down the cliffs, and as it drew closer, seemed to shroud a large creature. Quadruped. About the size of a large wagon, as near I could tell. It gouted off flames at random, so it was hard to get a good look at it.”

Praer Gordon took his glasses off and wiped them on his shirt, as if to more clearly see his memories.

“It tore right through the fences near one of the local farms. Went wild in his bread fields, tearing it up, and torching it. Left it an absolute mess. Lost an entire season's harvest. By the time the Baron's men-at-arms had roused themselves enough to get armed and armored, it had already run back up the mountain.”

The Blacksmith leaned in at that. “Between you and me, I think they took their sweet time on purpose. Once they finally showed their yellow bellies, you could set a clock to the tune of their knees quaking into each other.”

Rathus shrugged. “I wouldn't blame them. It takes a special sort to go up against a dragon.” He turned back to Gordon. “So, were there any other details you remember? Were the flames a different color than normal? Did you manage to catch anything else about its appearance? Any footprints? Any details about the scene at all might help me to know exactly what kind of dragon we're dealing with.”

Rathus cracked his knuckles and leaned back in the chair. “Red dragons are very aggressive, but not very bright, for dragons. A Green Dragon can spit poison as well as fire. They're also cowardly, and prone to setting traps around their nests. And a Yellow Dragon, well, forget I even mentioned them.”

The knight tapped the table for emphasis.

“I want to know as much as possible, if I'm going to go take this thing out.

Praer Gordon paused for a second, scratching the side of his jaw.

“It might be easier to show you.”

At that, the Juror unbuttoned the clasp holding the book at his waist, with a loud snap. He slid the book from its straps, and set it on the table. It resonated as it landed on the wood, sending a ripple through the tavern, barely perceptible. Praer Gordon placed his hand on the worn leather cover, and lifted it. As his palm raised, the book flipped open, and the pages rippled until it opened to a page full of annotations and text.

The Praer took a deep breath, then opened his eyes, to reveal that his irises had become a pale blue. Electricity coursed from his fingertips, tracing the words on the page.

“[Book of Records: Section 3.a.iii: “And henceforth shall the WORD of recall be known and trusted, such that it is administered in good faith by a trusted representative of the Order. Let WORD declare RECORD and through recollection, show only the Truth.]”

As Praer Gordon spoke, the words resonated and shook the room. The other village elders bowed their heads in thoughtful respect as he recited.

“I hereby DECLARE and attest to the truth of my memory of the events of that night. Let the RECORD guide my thoughts to Truth, and by the Ordinance of Records, let it become evidenced before the Judge and the World. So I DECLARE”

Gordon finished his Declaration, and with a snap, the Book of Mandates closed, and the world swam back into focus. From the center of his forehead, faint blue light streamed out, as if it were wine poured from a bottle held high. The light began to pool in the center of the table, filling a large area, several feet wide. As it filled in, it began to take shape and color, resolving itself into a burning field, with a large creature running through it.

Rathus leaned forward to study the scene. True to the Praer's word, the creature didn't come into clear focus, flitting in and out of the bread stalks, the dancing flames casting shadows that did more to hide it than to reveal it.

“Yes, the thing I remembered most were its horns.” Gordon gestured to the creature as it leapt through the field. “Long and menacing. Does that help you narrow it down?”

Rathus stared down at the displayed image.

“Hm.”

He rapped his fingers on the table, lost in thought. After a few moments of consideration, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“Yeah. I think I might have an idea. But I'll need to go up to the mountain to confirm it.”

Praer Gordon nodded, and reached out, and gathered up his Book. The glow faded from his eyes, and the image on the table slowly dissolved into nothingness, twisting away into mist as he swept his hand through it.

“We can have a guide show you the way up.” Headman Bosman offered, “We can have the village Lumberjack go with you. Or maybe the village Scenic Tour Guide. We'll have to see who is available."

Rathus stood up and walked to the window. He looked out over the village, taking in the sights, such as they were.

“You guys have any cattle ranchers here?”

The village Notary looked up at him as if he had just barked. “Cattle? On a mountain? It wouldn't be worth the effort. Not enough grasslands, too rocky. We have a few goatherds here, though. Would that work?”

Rathus shook his head, and turned from the window. “That makes sense. No, that's fine. Thank you though. I reckon I can handle it alone. I'll gather up my things and get ready. But I will need somebody to show me where the cave is.”

He walked to the door, and paused for a moment, looking back over his shoulder.

“And a bushel of carrots.”

At that, the Knight shouldered his way through the doors, letting them swing shut behind him.

The Headman stared after him as he went. Once Rathus had passed from view, he turned to the Blacksmith, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“A bushel of carrots?”

The Blacksmith shrugged nonchalantly.

“He must be very hungry.”

**************************************************

The wind whipped around Rathus McGaff and the village Tour Guide, as they made their way up the mountain. The young woman seemed completely unaffected by the cold, the rough terrain, or the wind as she recited some local trivia with the unassailably chipper demeanor possessed only by tour guides and sociopaths.

“And if you look on the left, you can see a particularly large boulder. It may surprise you to note that this boulder is the 10th largest boulder on the mountain! You can see where local artists have left their mark upon it.”

Rathus glanced at the boulder as the Tour Guide pointed it out.

“Yes, there sure are a lot of names carved on it alright,” he remarked wearily.

There was a pregnant pause as the two of them observed the gallery of crude etchings, before Rathus added,

“Whole lot of carvings of di-”

“Yes, the local artists are very well-versed in their anatomy lessons.” The Tour Guide interrupted cheerily.

Rathus tilted his head to one side as he scrutinized the art in question.

“Ehh...I dunno if I'd say 'well-versed'. Enthusiastic, maybe.”

The Tour Guide cleared her throat and gestured ahead of them.

“Anyways. Up ahead, we will find the Dragon Cave. This cave was previously known as 'Just a Cave', well-known for its completely nondescript nature. However, very recently, a Dragon has taken up residence in this cave, and so it was renamed. Local features include scorch-marks and plumes of flame.”

Rathus nodded senselessly as he looked around the area. The tour had lasted about two hours so far, and had included such attractions as the Cliff Where You Can Look at the Village, and the Tree That Somebody Threw a Pot Into And It Got Stuck, as well as the Iron Mine That Is Private Property, So This is How Close We Can Get On The Tour.

The area around the cave's mouth was completely cleared of the scraggly grass and small bushes that had dotted the trail up until this point. Rathus crouched near a scorch mark, and used a stick to poke at what appeared to be a small disk of charcoal.

“As I suspected,” the Imperial Knight observed.

He stood and turned to the Tour Guide.

“It's bull shit.”

The Tour Guide drew back a few steps, clearly at odds with his accusation.

“E-Excuse me?”

Rathus gestured towards the disk on the ground.

“That's bull shit. A manure patty. I think you'll need to rename this cave again.”

He walked over to the boulder and set his pack down next to it, thankfully blocking a particularly memorable member carved into the face.

He crouched and began pulling an assortment of tools out of it, stashing them around his person.

The Tour Guide looked down at the manure that Rathus had pointed out.

“This doesn't look like manure. It's got... coal in it or something.”

Rathus stood and walked back to her.

“Yes. Normal cow patties come from normal cows. I think you've got a Blaze Auroch here. It'd explain why it would bother going after a bread field.” He gestured to the area around the cave. “Not much good eats around here.”

The Tour Guide glanced towards the cave with a bright smile that refused to betray any sign of nervousness. There was thankfully no sign of anything stirring in the cave. She took a few steps back from it with practiced casualness.

“So, are they dangerous?” She asked.

Rathus shrugged. “Well... they aren't carnivorous, they're pretty standard herbivores. That being said, they're about 6 feet high at the shoulder and weigh a ton or two. They got horns like spears and hooves like steel. And, of course, they breath fire. They're definitely dangerous. But not violent. Not unless they need to be.”

He walked to the mouth of the cave, and gazed into the darkness, hand settling on the grip of his gun as it rested in his Holdster.

“So I wonder what's got this one so riled up.”

He waited at the mouth of the cave, listening intently. The only sound was the quiet whistling of the wind as it blew around them.

“Do you think you can kill it?”

Rathus glanced down at his gun. “Yes. Wouldn't be too difficult. But I don't plan on killing it if I can help it.”

The Imperial Knight hovered his hand above his Holdster, and concentrated.

“<Lead Knuckles>” He commanded, and watched as a ripple of iridescent light shimmered across his Holdster. The Desert Eagle blinked out of view, and in its place appeared a heavy handgun with a dusty red coat of paint.

Rathus drew the gun and examined it. There was no obvious place to add ammunition, and no chamber to speak of. It somewhat resembled a revolver, except that where the cylinder should normally sit, there was instead a heavy gray hand, with its fingers curled into a loose fist.

Rathus weighed it casually in his hand, then thumbed the hammer back, causing the fist to squeeze tighter. With his left hand, he reached into the burlap sack on his belt, and pulled out a bright orange carrot.

He glanced back to the Tour Guide.

“You don't need to follow me in. It might get dangerous. If I scream like I'm dying, run back to the town and let them know.”

The Tour Guide nodded. “So you mean, like, 'Aaaarrrgghh!'? Something like that?”

Rathus considered it. “No, probably more gurgling than that. You... you'll probably know it when you hear it.”

“I'll be sure to keep my ears open.”

Rathus chuckled and grinned a smile at her. Sparing one last glance at his equipment, and a quick mental tally, the Gun Knight turned to face the mouth of the cave, and stepped into the darkness.

“Good luck!” the Tour Guide called after him.