Summary: This tale defines why a Hero called Legend is hailed as the greatest Hero of all time.
Warning: Graphic violence and some suggestive theme
Disclaimer: I did buy an Xbox game of Fable. Yet, I neither claim it nor any of productions within the game as my own creations or inventions. I do dearly want to be in their shoes to create those fabulous ideas and see it come alive in Fable. Oh well.
Part One - The Beginning
The General of Heroes awoke to see his love grooming her hair. The moonlight lit her features in veil of haunting beauty. She looked at him through the mirror that stretched as far as the wall goes and smiled, showing her whiteness that shone like pearl. The tremor roused at her smile and ran through his heart, arousing his fun naughty thoughts about her. He prepared to get up and approach her.
Next to her, the two-story window shattered. The huge form barreled into her, held her body in its powerful limbs, and its jaw crunched her head with a growl. The blood sprayed into air, streaking the clear mirror, as broken glasses rained and twinkled like jewels of dirge.
The coldness was his only response as he looked into glittering eyes of rising head of balverine who dared to kill her.
The wind whistled and swept through the winter-laden land, with stark bushes and trees and dark dirt. A sparrow twittered as it leapt along the branches, twitching its head as it glanced down occasionally at the walking hulk of figure. Straight backed despite the weight of the world, the General walked carefully and purposefully despite the scream inside to give in, to stagger, and, ultimately, to lose to sorrow then darkness beyond.
It comforted him to hold the greatsword in his hand as he climbed forcefully through the neat slab of snow. The blood had darkened with chill upon his glimmering blade as he let it remain tarnished. He was not ready to clean it and face the memory of the dead. Coldness helped the coldness within, leeching all warmth and leaving only clarity in the dark, the snow in the dark.
He cleared the zenith and continued down in slightly louder crunch as he glanced ahead at the breathtaking view of a great tower looming in distance, reaching for the sky. The steam of breath disappeared into background of snow as he looked back down. He wanted to let his tears run. There was no more love to be there for comfort so he just put his head down and plodded on, preferring the working of walking to Teleport and then waiting. Waiting would only unhinge his mind and dwell upon the memory. At least, the walking would keep him warmed up and ready for battle once more.
They leaped, so many of them, as he expected of its timing. Balverines' claws reached for him in perfect well-experienced synchronization. His face instantly transformed into rigorous mask of fury, unhinging the colossal well of rage. His eyes narrowed to devilish glint by massive contorted muscle and his mouth snarled wide open in silent cry with his lungs emptying much air as possible. His sword clove the paws and, in an efficient brilliant twirl, through the bodies. His feet worked the footwork with rhythm of lightning as he turned and twisted, evading and attacking. He acted rather than reacting, forcing them to step to his rhythm, to his circle, before stepping past their defense like they are not there. None of Balverines could scratch an aura-like Shield form-fitting to his person, emitting up to only less than inch in every direction. In whispering flurry of snow, the furry bodies laid around him in large chunks. Years ago, a pack used to be tough match for him that dragged for hours, leaving him shredded in the end. Now the entire skirmish took only few seconds using his swordsmanship and a Rush spell. The only noise was roars of attackers and a butcher chopping many hanging meats at once and then silence.
He wished he could stand over them to savor a momentary triumph. He just simply stopped swinging, stopped turning, held his sword at his usual side again, his fury gone back to placid face of nothingness, and continued on as the last piece thumped into a bare tree. He had a plan therefore, there is no time. He did not look back. He could only feel the evaporation of lives cut apart, the raging warm fading into unforgiving chill. And he felt nothing execpt coldness and, perhaps, cold fury. Only a thought ran like thus: At least, they will keep him warmed up for grand finale.
So he strode on.
A/N: First fanfiction based on idea I developed while playing Fable. This is just a look into how the battle has begun. Hope you can see some capabilities of the General. In here, I don't depict the action. I depict what goes behind the action, into somewhat emotional state and psychological profile of character as he acts. Shield is Physical Shield. Rush is Assassin Rush. Just being helpful here so don't blame me if you cannot make connection before reading this :-).