There once was a cozy little village called Greenville, located somewhere in Europe or whatever. One fine afternoon while the villagers were enjoying ale in the tavern, a very large and beefy warrior in armor burst through the door. Wandering warriors and adventurers were not uncommon but this one in particular had not the head of a man but that of a splendid chicken.

“I am Sir Roger,” said the knight. “I am here to slay the demon.”

Sir Roger whipped out a massive sword that would take at least the three strongest men in the whole village to lift.

“My good sir,” said the tavern keeper. “There is no demon here. I believe you have the wrong village but your heroic courage is admirable.”

“Where is the demon?” Sir Roger asked again, looking down at the tavern keeper with his black beady eyes. He cocked his head to the side in a jerky way like a chicken.

“Sir,” said the tavern, feeling nervous standing before a hulk of a knight. “There really is no demon here. This village is protected by at least three castle all owned by lord---“

Sir Roger power slapped the tavern keeper, sending the poor man flying across the room.

“A demon worshipper!” Sir Roger screeched, pointing an accusing finger at the tavern keeper’s still form.

The keeper’s wife screamed and fell to her knees at her dear husbands’ side, trying to rouse him.

“Do not worry fair young maiden,” Sir Roger said to the seventy year old woman. “I have saved you all from that demon worshipper. Now to find that demon.”

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Sir Roger exited the tavern and stepped up to the first cow that he saw. It was a rather plump cow, standing still on all fours and basking in the warm sun rays. He locked eyes with the beast and asked, “Where is the demon?”

The young cow maid Alicia approached Sir Roger and asked, “My good knight is there something wrong?”

Sir Roger stared at Alicia, admiring her slender form. Desire overtook him.

“My princess I will rid the village of the demon and then make you mine.”

Sir Roger began to cluck loudly and rapidly while swinging his massive sword in all directions. The fencing around the cows was obliterated and the cows themselves reduced to bloody meat hunks.

“Sir Knight please!” Alicia begged.

But Sir Roger continued swinging away and within ten minutes the entirety of the village had been destroyed. The livestock had been massacred and most everyone had fled for the hills to avoid death by his sword.

“I see that the demon has moved on,” said Sir Roger. “He is nowhere to be found in this village. The village is secure my lady.”

Alicia slapped him hard on the chest, because she could not reach his face. “You idiot! You destroyed our home. You are a sorry excuse of a knight!”

Sir Roger got down one knee. “My lady I have chased the demon from this village and for my reward I humbly request that you take me as your husband.”

“You are unbelievable,” said Alicia, before walking away, leaving kneeling in the middle of the desolation.

For many moons Sir Roger maintained his position on one knee. Hundreds of years passed before Sir Roger stood up again.

“I will take that as a no,” said Sir Roger. He was standing in an empty field and no one was listening.

He raised his sword point towards the sky and shot straight up into the air.

To this very day he is worshipped a patron deity in at least thirty households in Mongolia.