Half-a-world away, at the end of a desolate road seldom travelled, beneath storm-swept, sullen skies, a high-walled keep brooded atop a lonely mountain. On some days the keep lurked under racing clouds ripe with portent, and on others it skulked in sinister menace while the storm-tossed firmament raged just above. One time, it actually looked a little striking and dramatic, as a rare gap in the ever-overcast sky allowed the sun to play on its dark stone towers and battlements (until it came to its senses and went off to play somewhere nicer) but today, however, was a brooding kind of day.

All of which suited the keep's master just fine. If he wanted sunny skies and good vibes, he would have bought a bloody beach-house. Brooding, lurking, skulking and sinister menace were all part of the appeal, as far as he was concerned.

True, it got a bit chilly, but that just meant he could have a seriously, ostentatiously enormous fire, blazing away in the industrial-sized, gothic monstrosity of a hearth that dominated the centre of his chambers, located at the very top of the highest tower. Yes, it got through about a forest's worth of trees every week, and trees were somewhat thin on the ground this far up in the alpine country of the Sky Reaches, but as far as he was concerned, that was a whole heap of somebody else's problem. What was the point of having a small army of spineless, browbeaten lackeys, after all, if you weren't working them 'til they dropped?

With a final glance out of the window, to ensure the sentry gryphon's powerful form could still be seen circling above, silhouetted against the roiling sky, he turned back to his desk. Specifically, to the platter-sized circle of highly polished obsidian that lay upon its surface. Murmuring cryptic and curiously formed words, he smiled in satisfaction as vague images began to swirl and take shape within its dark and gleaming depths.

Ah, yes. There was a...tavern? Yes, a tavern. One of those depressingly cheery places, full of sad, little people with nothing better to do than waste their time simply being with other sad, little people. Pathetic. And also...(frowning, as the image within the obsidian wavered and grew dim, he addressed the problem by the timeless and time-honoured method of giving it a good whack)...also a stable.

And was that...? Yes, the ridiculous yellow paper hat put it beyond doubt. It was the young fool himself, marching towards the stable. Lazy, languorous and deeply, deeply smug, his smile returned. For within that stable must be the beast. The last beast.

The last dragon.

****

"Make way, make way. Pardon me, miss. Excuse me, sir, kindly move aside, there's a good fellow."

Weaving his way through the crowd of gawkers gathered before the stable, taking care not to crush any unwary toes beneath his sabatons, Sir Crispin found himself at something of an uncharacteristic loss as how to proceed. He'd never taken on a dragon in company before, which meant he'd only ever had his own fate to worry about. Now, however, should things get...complicated, there was the potential for collateral casualties in the dozens.

Naturally, he'd assumed the onlookers would helpfully bugger off the very second they learned one of the world's deadliest creatures lurked a mere flimsy (and flammable) wall of wood away, but to his consternation, buggered off they had not. In fact, he could now see that some of the more enterprising and thirsty among them had dragged tables and chairs (and kegs, naturally) out of the pub and appeared to have settled in for the evening.

It simply wouldn't do.

Excusing himself, he carefully moved aside several half-drunk pints and a bowl of peanuts, and clambered up onto the nearest table.

He cleared this throat. "Excuse me, my good people. If I might have your attention for a moment?"

While his polite tones did little to penetrate the background noise of chatter and clinking glassware, the sight of a gleaming armour-clad knight standing on a table, wearing a yellow paper hat with pink spots, was more than sufficient to gain the crowd's attention. An expectant silence fell.

Raising the visor of his helm, Sir Crispin beamed down at them. "Er, yes. Hello there. I trust you are all having a pleasant evening. Now, as you are no doubt aware, we have something of a situation on our hands here. A rather dangerous situation. As such, I'm afraid I must insist—"

"Sing us a song!"

Sir Crispin blinked, as he searched for the source of the shouted request. "What's that?"

"A song, mate." The source proved to be a somewhat spotty youth towards the back of the crowd, who appeared to be relying on the counterbalancing effect of the pint in each hand to stay upright. "You're gonna stand on tables, you gotta song a sing. I mean, sing a song. Everyone knows that. Stands to...stands to..."—taking a long pull from one glass, he ruined his equilibrium and toppled gracefully to the ground—"...reason," he finished faintly.

"Right," said Sir Crispin, after a moment. "Yes. Perhaps later. Once the dragon is slain, there will of course be much revelry and rejoicing. Perhaps even some carousing. In the meantime, however, I need you all to—"

"What's with the hat?" This came from a tall, thin bespectacled girl, standing directly in front of the knight's impromptu stage.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The hat," she repeated, pointing. "Why are you wearing that silly hat?" She had large, round eyes, magnified by her spectacles, that stared up at Sir Crispin with unsettling intensity. She edged closer. "Is it because you're a stripper?"

"A what?"

"A stripper." She moved closer still, until she was virtually at the knight's feet. "My friend Leese was at this hen's night, see, and this man turned up in a funny costume, and then"—swallowing, she leaned in even closer—"he took it off. All of it." Hungrily, she looked Sir Crispin up and down. 

"You're in a funny costume." 

"Er..." Edging back as far as the suddenly far-too-diminutive table would allow, the knight clapped one protective hand over his paper hat while the other...just assumed a generally protective pose. "No, I'm afraid you've grasped the wrong end of the...uh, that is to say...well, no. I can assure you I am very definitely wearing this hat for an entirely different reason..."