He was brilliant today. The towns folk were in dire need of his help. My Hero discoed his way to the Big Boss. His shining Great Axe sang its way through the demons and skeletons. Their death duet echoed with the clang and clash of weapon upon weapon. The song of combat was welcome music to my ears. Once my Hero defeated the Big Dumb Boss, we took up the spoils of our labors. Gold coin was strewn about, glinting in the sunlight. Items both magical and ordinary, littered the blood-soaked arena of death.
Standing knee-deep in the grisly scene, I asked myself the questions that trouble me often after these battles, and in the times my Hero engaged with civilians who were in need of rescue from villainous creatures. I winced when, with naught a hint of guilt, my Hero would smash furniture and trunks—with the strangely unaffected occupants standing there—revealing their hidden treasures. With no remorse he would command me to scoop up the booty. The trouble? I was starting to feel shame toward this method of acquiring treasure. And yet I couldn’t help myself. That was how we rolled. My Hero and I.
“My Hero, you were magnificent today. But I do wonder how this battle staff,” the glowing and sparking staff was as tall as I, “could have come from this vicious, yet very small rabbit with large gnashing teeth. Is this tiny creature somehow bigger on the inside than the outside?”
“Sidekick, as I’ve told you in the past, it’s our way. Now please, put that bag of yours to good use.”
After gathering the loot —including the battle staff— into my magic bag that also seemed to be bigger on the inside than its actual size would suggest, thus the staff slid in without a hitch.
A large flagon of ale awaited our return to town. At one point during our day of travel, travel, travel, we encountered a Mob of goblins attacking a farmhouse. They, the goblins, were not happy to see us.
My Hero entered the fray, dropping goblins left and right. But as swiftly as he killed, the goblins popped back into existence. A mage was reanimating the goblins to our detriment. I spied the mage hidden behind a bush and charged him, not at all worried about my safety. My Hero would come to my rescue if the magic user imperiled me. That was how we rolled.
My Hero finished off the mage and the last of the goblins. A hush fell over the field of honor. Then, it happened again. My Hero walked into the farmhouse, and with the locals standing there—they never complained—he unapologetically smashed and broke open boxes. He bashed furniture to pieces. Then as always treasure sprang from the wreckage. He smashed a dinner plate and a piece of chest armor appeared from the shattered debris. Where it came from was beyond me.
Later that evening, I was surrounded by the warmth of crackling logs and the pleasant smell of burning cedar from the fireplace in the NeverEnding Inn’s community room. My Hero was regaling the pretty human barmaid with the story of his heroism. Conveniently leaving out the re-appropriating of treasure from the farmhouse. His hope of nudge-nudge-wink-wink would be shattered at closing time when the barmaid left with her elfin girlfriend.
I sat there peering into the dregs of my glass trying to reconcile the questions of smashing people’s furniture, and other items not ours, that flitted around my brain. I was beginning to think there was something off here. And yet my Hero is just that, a Hero, so how could there be wrong? Maybe the answer would be at the bottom of my next ale? Shrugging, with hope fleeting, I ordered another.
***
Traveling around the region the next day, we fought, never losing, many a battle versus mad wizards and evil minions. That was our life. But I still question the destruction of folk’s homes in our search for battle. As can be assumed, that next ale held no answers to my far-reaching questions. But was this our way? I still had no answers to the question.
And then as another confrontation appeared in front of us, my doubts slipped into the nether regions of my mind.
“To arms Sidekick! The common people need us! To battle!” My Hero roared as he descended into the field of battle. My flicker of remorse was squashed in the heat of the coming battle. Maybe tomorrow my questions would be answered.
That was how we rolled.
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