You know the popular version of the story of Sandy Pisspants and the demon of White Marsh.
...The demon was a terrible creature that slew many of the inhabitants of Gorham and Brightham. Old Sandy, alderman of Gorham, sharpened his sword and girt himself in armor one fine summer morning, and came back that same night with mud in his boots and no demon. He said he found it’s nest and poured holy water and burnt incense to drive it away, but it’s a day’s walk just to get to White Marsh, and no one believed him. All two days worth of food was gone from his pack, though, and the wine he brought to celebrate his inevitable success. Summer gave way to autumn, and people kept on dying. Then along came Ragnar the red, a tall man with a voice like wind and hair like fire. Old Sandy tossed a bag of gold at his feet and bade him slay the demon. And off went Ragnar without a word, whistling softly.
Three days later Old Sandy came rushing into the tavern in Gringham late one night, reeking powerfully. “I went outside to relieve myself, he said, and there was the demon, standing in the moonlight. It cocked it’s head at me like a dog, and all thought of relieving myself left me. As I had no sword and no armor, all I could do was run, and so I’ve run all the way here.” He slumped in a chair, sweat dripping from his brow, shirt and trousers soaked through, reaching for another man’s beer. The door to the tavern drifted open, and there stood Ragnar the red, fiery hair flowing in the wind, the demon’s head in one hand. He spoke with a voice like the wind, his story’s true, except for one thing. Old Sandy didn’t forget to relieve himself. Then he tossed the demon’s head at Sandy Pisspant’s feet, and went off without a word, whistling softly.