Sacrifice

What does it mean to be a hero? I mean a true hero? The dedication, the perserverance, the drive to protect the weak.

This weekend I saw the purest act of all of the above.

If a party is ruined by one person, the standard operating proceedure is to jettison said person. But what if a party isn't ruined by a person, but a deamon? A hellspawn from the deepest layers of Dante? Gnashing and wailing of teeth by all parties involved as this shrill monster terrorized the innocent guests.

Galahad, armed only with Empyrian ale and unfettered altruism, saw the monster for what she was. Knew the deamon for what she was. And he knew the only course of action that would save his charges. He took her to the wilderness and thrust his lance into her, spilling some of himself in the fight. A true mother fucker.

Some of his life force was left behind. The encounter marred his soul. Coming back from battle, Galahad sighed. Victorious yet beaten. A success which saved the many but killed the one. The peasents rejoiced. The dragon woman, the serpantine wench was banished from the kingdom.

But would the people ever know why?

They might not understand what it took for him to do it. They might be too blind. The tempo of time never changes though. Life goes by in a saphire flash and the deed will be forgotten. But for one night, one man sacrificed his mind, his very body, possibly his life for a party of serfs who are indebted to him for his courage.