It was late. Or, he supposed, judging by the sky, it was early. Regardless of how one wanted to describe the time, however, it was dark out, and there were stars in the sky. The moon was full, and it lit up the landscape like a distant flare. The person in question was clearly displeased to be up and about at this hour, and his steed shared the opinion. The giant lizard was obviously grumpy, and for a beast that had trouble expressing its emotions, such a state was dangerous for whatever had disturbed the duo. The monstrous lizard crept silently, just below the crest of a hill, while it's rider waited, hunched on its back, a lance clutched tightly in one hand, and his other hand rested on the hilt of his sabre. He was patient as they moved quietly, not relishing the idea of what came next. Of course, he didn't have a choice, so the satyr gritted his teeth, and finally nudged his steed onward, over the crest.

The other side of the hill revealed a horrific sight. There was a ring of probably a score of cultists, if not more, and they were all covered in some off-white substance, dancing and chanting like fools. They had broken into a farmer's field, and had torn up the potato plants in the way of their circle. Now they appeared to be trying to summon something. As he rushed quietly toward the insane daemon worshippers, with only the sounds of his armour clanking, and his other equipment rustling to give him away. As he charged, the warrior noticed what appeared to be empty milk cans, destroyed butter churns, and a bag of salt. That last item surprised him slightly, but the goat-man was undeterred. Some daemons might be unbothered by salt, but cold iron had yet to fail him. Unfortunately, he was just a tiny bit too late, as the rift his prey had been trying to open finally tore itself into being.

It made his job easier, in a way, as now he only had one thing to slay. At the same time, he now had to watch as the daemon that had been summoned devoured its worshippers. His lizard hissed in warning as the monster ripped into reality. The daemon-slayer was shocked at the sight, but he had been doing this for long enough that he didn't flinch as he rushed toward death or glory. The thing that had just forced itself into reality looked like it might have been a baked potato at some point. The eyes it possessed had grown into long, vine-like tentacles, however, and they seemed capable of acting of their own accord, as each one lashed out and grabbed up a dairy-soaked cultist. The potato-daemon hung there, in the air, flailing its followers about for a brief moment. And then it seemed to realize that someone was intending to do battle with it. The knight continued his rush, and was forced to watch, as the potato-thing split in half, revealing a mashed-potato centre, into which it stuffed the men and women that had brought it into being. Then the thing snapped closed once more, and seemed to roil internally, things moving around visibly beneath its potato-y skin.

Finally, his lizard still rushing at its break-neck pace, the knight errant reached his destination. With his lance levelled at the monster, he made contact, his weapon crashing into the beast. Too late, it realized that this man was not just some foolhardy warrior. He was a bona-fide daemon killer, and as his lance ripped right through the massive floating potato, he released the thing, his steed not having to be told to rush past the thing before turning around. When they finally wheeled about, they were treated to the sight of their enemy flagging quickly, its strength fading with the curse of cold iron burning through its heart. In response, the knight drew his sword, and urged his steed to charge once more. As they rushed toward the thing, the satyr stood up in his saddle, and then his mount leapt into the air toward the still-flying tuber-daemon. The knight followed suit, jumping from the back of his lizard to land on top of the thing. While he began slicing up his opponent, his steed was using its claws to tear holes in the potato's skin. With cold iron still touching it, the monster couldn't heal, so the two of them set to work dismantling it as its tentacles flailed in pain. If they could have heard in the potato-spectrum of sound waves, the pair would have been deafened. Thankfully, they could not, and thus, dispatching the daemon was an easy task.

In but a pair of moments, they had the thing shredded, and collapsed onto the earth. The lizard screamed in triumph, and the knight errant beside it sighed with relief, rewarding his companion with a hug. "Good work, Zan." he whispered to the lizard. It flicked its tongue in agreement, and the two of them assessed the damage. The warrior found his lance unmarred, save for the mashed potatoes that coated it. Poking through the ridiculous amount of mashed potatoes that now strewed the ground, he discovered a decided lack of bodies. Not that a little blood would have bothered the goat-man. He retrieved a bowl and a fork from his things strapped to his steed, and helped himself to the perfectly-seasoned mashed potatoes. For a bunch of psychotic cultists, they certainly knew how much milk and butter and salt was required to turn a potato daemon into delicious mashed potatoes. He chuckled at that thought, and that turned into laughter as his mount tried some of the dead daemon as well. The look of disgust it managed as it struggled to get the stuff out of its mouth was hilarious, and the knight had to help his lizard before the thing lost its mind.

"We'll find you something bloody for breakfast, don't you worry." he assured the beast, patting its head before returning to his snack. "Let's get out of here, eh? No need to get blamed for wrecking things that we didn't." he suggested as he ate, and the pair headed for the nearby road, back over the ridge they'd charged from. It was late, or early, but the both of them were up and about now, so there was no point in trying to make camp. There would be no sleeping while the adrenaline was still pumping through them. And with the darkness still around them, it would be easier to find something for his companion to eat. The knight wasted no time in removing his pack from the monster's back when it indicated that prey had been located. He slung his supplies over his back and continued walking, knowing that his mount would have no trouble finding him when it was done. For the moment, he planned to enjoy his bowl of mashed potatoes, and continue walking, wondering which town was next on this endless road south...