Forward
Hey everyone! It's been a long time since I've posted a story here, but its good to be back. This time however, I've decided to do a Fable 2 Fic. So, as everyone knows, I don't own the rights to Fable or Fable 2 for that matter. Only Peter Molyneux (and his awesome sauce bald head), Lionhead Studios and Microsoft Game Studios have those rights. This work of fiction isn't at all for profit but entirely for pleasure purposes.
*Whew* Now that I have that out of the way, let's get on to the fun bits. After I heard about Fable 3 in the works, I decided to play Fable and Fable 2 again. And with Sherlock Holmes in my fiancé's possession, I got inspiration to make a mystery fic in the Fable universe. I also hope to be posting a chapter ever other week; so two weeks from now, be expecting the next chapter. So, next thing to understand, why the M rating? Well 1) there's a lot of cursing, potential for gratuitous violence, references to alcohol and maybe sex later on; and 2) because those things would be bad for little kids and the FCC will not be so happy about that. So, without further ado, enjoy the Mystery of the Blades!
Chapter 1
They pull me back in!
The thug was running through the dark and dangerous streets of Old Town Bowerstone. He looked back to find nothing, but still he ran. The thug ran into a drunken thug, causing both of them to fall to the ground.
"'Ey! Wash were your go-," yelled the drunken thug at the other. Before he could finish, the thug already in a rush had jumped back up to his feet and kept running.
"'Ey! 'EY! I'm talkin' ter you, you fuggin bas-," the drunken thug said while getting back up, only to be knocked on his backside again. He looked up in a rage and grabbed for his rifle, but sat still, mouth gaping. The second person to knock him over was a tall slender figure wrapped in a red cloak. He couldn't get a good look at the figure's face, but something about it felt evil, like someone you should never hope to cross paths with. In the figure's right hand was a blade curved like a dark kukri blade etched with intricate patterns, with another blade added onto the pommel, which had red leather wrapped around it. The figure continued to follow the now disappeared thug towards the graveyard. To the drunken thugs eyes, the red figure seemed to be flowing more than running, a lot like a banshee.
As he sat there, the drunken thug simply didn't understand what had happened, wide eyed and stunned as ever. Never in his days had he seen something so terrifying, yet curious, before in his life.
It had been three months since the fall of Lord Lucien, one month since Sparrow had encountered Theresa in the Spire, with her new found ability of looking into the future. His future as ruler of Albion wasn't what he hoped for. After his adventure throughout Albion, all he truly wanted was peace, quiet, and a place where his past would not come to haunt him; however, Sparrow had grown bored since then. This boredom had carried him on to looking through the mountains of tomes and scrolls around Brightwood Tower, the place he called his home. He owned many businesses and houses in Bowerstone, but never frequented the bustling city as often as he did on his adventuring days. The food he received was often from Brightwood farms, the estate given to him by Farmer Giles for finding his son a proper date soon after they both moved back to Bowerstone, the rest of which was shipped to Westcliff for a nice profit, since Oakfield had gone into decline since the Temple of Shadows had killed the monks living there. His faithful Siberian husky, Rooter, laid down close to the fire downstairs. Since his occupation of Brightwood Tower, he started to update the space by adding a spiral staircase up to the master bedroom and putting the cursed bed of Chesty into storage, replacing it with a more luxurious and soft bed.
Sparrow was a tall, muscular man with brown dreadlocks, a well-trimmed beard and tan skin. He wore the clothes of a noble: shirt, vest, trousers and shoes. He wore a white shirt with a blue vest with black pants with red trim, while his shoes were black. His coat, a black Will User coat with red inner cloth, rested on a hat rack close to the stairwell, along with a Gables Green Nobles Hat with the yellow trim. He also wore an eye patch on his left eye, one of his most common features. Though both eyes worked just fine, he always thought it necessary for certain situations. Another noticing feature on Sparrow were the blue runes that stretched across his whole body, giving him a faint glow due to his mastery of the Will.
Recently, he had been researching more into guns, thinking about the future rather than old relics from the Old Kingdom. All over his floor were diagrams and blueprints for pistols and rifles with added doodles to the barrel, stock or even to the gun itself. He tinkered with a master flintlock pistol, a multitude of attachable barrels and different looking ammunition off to the side of his worktable. He attached a long silver barrel to the pistol then held it out to the open terrace, pointing it at the bottles set up to test his experiments. He pulled the trigger. The pistol gave off a loud bang, while shattering the bottle upon the bullet's impact. Sparrow groaned and threw the barrel down on the table, taking another blueprint from his desk and scratching out the current sketch he had drawn on. Eventually, he just threw the paper off his desk, adding to the small pile of paper close by his table. He put his head into his hands, and then rubbed his eyes. He looked outside his large terrace window. The sun was coming up, another long night of experimentation without any sleep.
He stretched in his seat, and then rested his feet on the table, looking up and down the pistol he held in his hand.
"There just has to be a way," he said to himself. He put the pistol down, and then started to shut his right eye for a little nap, until he heard a voice outside the tower. He looked up, then got out of the chair and ran down to see whom it was. He got to the stairs to see it was Sheriff Thomas of Brightwood. He had frequently come to see Sparrow, often catching him in the middle of an outlandish experiment he found in one of Garth's journals or one he had thought of himself. He wore the basic uniform of a sheriff in Albion, a steel katana fastened to this back. He waved to Sparrow as he walked up the old stone stairs. Sparrow simply leaned against the edge of the large door, giving a slight smile as his comrade walked up.
"'Ello Sparrow," said Thomas as he walked up to the Hero, shaking his hand.
"Hello Thomas," said Sparrow. "Are you hungry for some breakfast, I would like to know what has been going on while I've been out of the adventuring business."
"I'd be more than happy to tell," said Thomas.
They made their way up to the tower, stopping below the study for a quick bite to eat. Thomas discussed the current comings and goings of Brightwood, how he stopped a small band of bandits that were about to terrorize some gypsy traders. Thomas always loved telling stories about his greatest achievements from day to day. Even if it was rescuing a kitten from a tree, he took pride in his job.
"Well, I'm glad to hear that you have made Brightwood all the more safer, Thomas," said Sparrow as he sipped the last of his tea, placing the cup on the table. "As for myself, so far I have gone though half of the books left behind and have started on a few personal ventures."
"Like what Judge," said Thomas. Sparrow was referred to many titles and names, the most recent was the Judge of Brightwood, which confused Sparrow because he never really saw himself as one to judge others. Perhaps it was his preference to fire and lightning magic that almost seemed otherworldly. But that wasn't his place to question what others thought of him. The only opinion that mattered to him was his own.
"Samarkand is the birthplace of gunpowder; however, Albion is the creator of the flintlock mechanism, in other words the pistol, the rifle. I was simply hoping to build upon those blueprints," said Sparrow as he walked up to the fourth floor, followed closely by Thomas. "Watch your step, some of these additions I'm still working on."
Thomas picked up two of the prints. One looked like a rifle with a spyglass attached to the top and another was a pistol with long, cylindrical barrel attached. Thomas extended the design to Sparrow and asked, "What are these?"
"I was just thinking that it would be interesting to have a rifle that can hit a target at long distances, targets that can't be seen by the naked eye. The pistol, I'm trying to figure out how to soften the sound that comes after you pull the trigger."
"So, your trying to come up with a rifle that can shoot things at really long distances and a quiet pistol?"
"A silent pistol, Thomas. Believe me, if I were to figure out this quandary, it would shape the way we do warfare for generations to come. So far, however, I still have much work to do. So if there's nothing you need of me, I must be—"
"OH YES! I remember why I was sent here."
Hearing this made Sparrow stop in his tracks. He turned to look at Thomas.
"There has been a murder in Bowerstone Cemetery. Some bloke from Old Town was found on the steps of the caretaker's mansion with seven stab wounds, like seven blades had stabbed this poor bugger in the chest and rammed them through all the way," said Thomas.
Sparrow stood silently.
"This could have been an assassination job," said Thomas, picking up more of the blueprints and designs off the floor.
Sparrow simply paced around, completely oblivious to the pages he was stepping on. "No, no, no. The Society usually sends only one of their members on their jobs. And it can't be a gang job, they'll simply stab and run off. Plus, I've never seen an all "Goth" gang that would voluntarily have a hang out in the cemetery. No, this man was being hunted."
Sparrow paced silently, his thoughts like a raging sea. He put his left hand into a fist, his right hand on top, drumming his knuckles. He stopped and looked up, then turned toward his bed and jogged up the spiral staircase. Thomas heard rustling and a little clatter. A moment later, Sparrow had a bag in his hand, and rushed down the stairs. He then picked up a few of his blueprints and some of the barrels along with two spyglasses and stuffed them into the bag.
"We had better hurry then Thomas," said Sparrow as he grabbed his Will User's coat and his hat and put them on. "If we set out now, we'll be able to get there in about three days."
"You mean your going to look into this?"
"Yes Thomas," said Sparrow. "This seems to be a very serious case. The person responsible for this really wanted this man dead. I simply want to know why this is. Now, we had better hit the road and fast my friend."
"Don't worry sir. We have a carriage ready for you just outside the main gate of your estate."
Sparrow nodded, and fastened the last buttons to his coat and started out, Thomas close behind. As they crossed the third floor, Rooter looked up and gave a small whine. Sparrow looked over and said, "Of course you can come with us. How would I solve this without you? Come on Rooter."
Rooter got up quickly then stretched his legs then ran over to Sparrow, nuzzling his head on Sparrow's leg.
"Are you sure that that would be a smart-"
"Yes Thomas. Rooter has been with me since I was but a boy, listening to the stories of the heroes of old from storytellers back in the caravan by Bowerlake. He's coming."
Thomas nodded and then walked past Sparrow. Sparrow then looked back on his abode and smiled. "I try walking out on the life of an adventurer only to be pulled right back in. Come on Rooter."
Sparrow gripped his bag tight and pet Rooter between his ears, then set out to figure out this new mystery that fate had set in front of him and his faithful dog right there next to him.