A/N: (clears throat) Fable and all related characters are owned by Lionhead.
One Simple Choice
Chapter 1: A Perfect Day
Oakvale.
A village known for its heroes as well as its hardships. Being brought to the brink of annihilation by one of Albion's greatest threats. But the village survived, and the people persevered. And over the years, the wounds healed and became distant memories. Becoming one of Albion's greatest villages.
But it was not the last grim event to befall the peaceful community. When many years later the village, and all its inhabitants were wiped out overnight. Leaving behind ruined structures and a decay of death and evil. As though a never ending scar stretched out, the lands of Oakvale became tainted with an unspeakable darkness. A corruption that expanded even further beyond the boundaries of the village and swallowed up the immediate area with an insatiable hunger.
There where no survivors of the massacre. Not even a shred of evidence to what had happened existed. All that became of it were questions with no answers. Even as the decades passed, the mystery of Oakvale was never solved. The hows and whys where a constant whisper on winds of Albion, stories where told of the villages rise and eventual fall, details becoming fictional for lack of true knowledge.
But the real reason was far more darker then anyone could have ever imagined.
Oakvale was a rare jewel in the land of Albion. The village was popularized by both its strength and its history. But it all came crumbling down because of one man. One man, and one choice.
It was another sunny day in Oakvale. The birds sang joyfully as they enjoyed the morning breeze. Usual sounds of the village awakening from their rest stirred in the air, preparing their routines to start their day.
However there was one soul who became late to this own schedule. Just on the edge of the village, a simple two story house sat. With an easy glance, an odd structure could be seen, one that looked added onto the side of the building. Looking much like an oversized shed, it held its own door and single window.
The inside of the structure showed it as a simple living quarters. Very modest in terms of furnishings, it held what was needed and little more. Within what could be called the bedroom, a sleeping figure started to turn in his sleep.
After a series of drowsy grunts and an internal conflict of laziness, the man opened his eyes to be greeted by the sunlight through the only window. Still laying in bed, the man began stretching out his arms and legs, waiting for the audible 'pop' until he was satisfied.
While it was a simple routine he practiced every morning, there was something different with his own personal world. The strange feeling of not being alone was felt as he stared up at the ceiling. Then the man noticed the slight slop that went across to the other side of his bed, as though a weight was laying atop it along with his own.
The mystery was quickly solved when a woman quickly turned over and landed on the man. A startled cry escaped him as the woman grabbed him by the wrists, holding him down as she smiled over him.
"M-marie," he said, catching his breath from the shock, "what are you doing here?" A lovely giggle was her first response.
"I came in last night when I made it back to the village. Thought I would come see you, but you were already asleep." She climbed off of him and sat up on his bed. "By the way, you're a pretty heavy sleeper."
"Hmm," he replied as he got out of bed. A mirror hung on a nearby wall. Looking at it, he admired what he saw. Even with his horrendous bed hair, his handsome features were as clear as day. And while he wasn't one to be considered vane or pompous, there was no denying his youthful beauty.
But to him, even his own appearance was nothing when he looked at his girlfriend Marie. From her soft skin to her long light brown hair that held slight curls as it came down over her shoulders, he loved every detail of her.
It took only a few minutes for the man to fix his jet black hair and find suitable clothes.
"Well Marie," he said turning to her, "as much as I would love to stay. Father's waiting and I can feel I'm already late."
"You could always take a day off," Marie said with a pout, "it's not as though he would deny you." A clear amused grunt came from him as he finished dressing himself.
"That's the problem, he hardly wants my help to begin with. But I have to do something, I can't have him think of me as a child anymore." Before turning to the door, he returned to his bed where he gave a farewell kiss to his love. "I'll see you later."
"Bye John," Marie said, kissing him back.
The fresh clean air came over his senses as John took a deep breath. Oakvale was just as beautiful as it was any other day.
Oakvale had become one of the most famous villages in all of Albion. Due to the origins of the hero who had slain Jack of Blades many years ago. Even when the Hero's Guild was torn apart and the title of hero was cursed by every citizen of Albion, the hero of Oakvale was still praised as the greatest champion to their land. Oakvale itself flourished because of the village's fame, increasing in size as newcomers visited and eventually stayed within its borders.
It was a peaceful town, a place anyone would be happy to call home. If not everyone in the town knew you, it was obvious you did not live there.
Not much time had passed as John made his way through the village, everyone greeting him as he passed by. His path led him to the front of the village, it's entrance being shadowed by a suspended bridge. Its wooden form stretching out between two hilltops, connecting together to form a new path.
The old boards creaked and groaned as his weight pushed down on them. And standing in the center was a tall, burly man, John's father.
"You're late," he said in a stern, disapproving tone.
"Uh... yeah I was..." John tried saying.
"I don't want to hear your excuses," he barked, "If you are going to hound me about helping, then you better not make me wait." While John was willing to go further with his reasons, he decided against it.
"I'm sorry father," John said, "and I really do want to help you." With an annoyed sigh, his father pointed toward a stack of boards and gave the orders for them to begin. It was one of his father's jobs in the village. A hard worker whose good with his hands, he repairs anything that becomes damaged in the village whenever the need arises. Currently, it was his job to repair the bridge, it's boards beginning to weaken from their age.
It was something that caught John's eye. Thinking of how the boards were once as strong as any other, but then the test of time ravaged their strength, eventually forcing their removal. The concept was easily applicable to humans as well, giving the notion of life and death.
John quickly shook his head, pushing away his wandering mind. Something he was sure his father would scold him for if he had noticed.
Though it may seem that his father was poor towards his child, it was quite the opposite. If anything, John's father was one of the greatest. Setting the best examples and teaching needed lessons when the time was right. It was just his father's own idea of his limitations that was skewed.
His father was a strong, independent man. Even as his age continuously increased, it didn't slow him down in the slightest. He was always someone who didn't accept help when he did something, even when the help was his own son. Thinking that such a thing was a sign of weakness. John always admired him for it, defying the weakening effects of age.
But occasional his father would cave to the pleas of his son to be given a chance at work. John wanted the chance to fend for himself, to earn what he is given. He turned the age of adulthood years ago and his parents still treated him as a child. Though he was hardly given a chance to prove himself.
With their combined efforts the bridge was repaired quickly. They both stood over their work, admiring it.
"Not too bad huh," John said, happy that he didn't mess anything up.
"I suppose not," his father replied, the excitement non-existent.
His father went to retrieve their tools. Listening as the boards were as silent as the grave. But there was one bad spot, a set of boards that weren't properly nailed in. Under the big man's weight, the boards gave way. As the weightless sensation of falling took in, he tried grabbing for the ledge, his fingers not catching a thing. While he braced for the grounds impact, a grip tightened around his arm. He looked up to see his son holding onto him with an iron grip.
Though it took all his strength, John was able to hoist his father up and back onto solid ground. After a moment of both of them catching their breath, John's father stood up and gave a loud grunt of frustration.
"Damn it John," he yelled, "I told you to double check your work. Then things like this wouldn't happen."
"I'm sorry," John muttered, glumly staring at the ground.
"But," his father continued, "I'm glad your reflexes are as good here as they are at that range of yours." John looked up to see a smile on his father's face. "Good work helping your old man." It was almost unreal, his father complimenting him like that was unheard of. To go even further, his father added a sharp pat on the back, a simple act that his father had no idea of its value to his son.
"Let's get this mess fixed up." And with a new vigor, they accomplished just that. Making absolutely sure their work would last before they finished.
Afterwords, the task of the day was done. With nothing else needed in the village, John was given the rest of the day to do whatever else he wanted. Of course his plans were already set in mind as he returned home for a moment and made it for the village exit.
It didn't take long for John to make it to his destination. A clearing in the forested area just outside of the village. Large posts dotted the spot, each with a circle carved into the wood, many more smaller circles forming in its center. Another portion held a long railing, with a line of glass bottles set across it.
A place that John had put together years ago when he realized a talent he had. In his younger years, John discovered that he had an uncanny skill when it came to firing a gun. With barley little effort, he could make impossible shots. What was even stranger was his physical changes whenever he held a firearm. His eyes being able to focus to see any detail in something no matter the distance, or how his reflexes honed to near perfection.
It became a usual routine for John to take his favorite pistol and a bag of shots to practice. Sometimes spending hours if the amount of ammunition he carried allowed it.
The sound of gun fire and shattering glass echoed through the area for some time. Daylight was quickly spent and the sky began darkening as the day was coming to an end. John never missed a shot, even as he tried new maneuvers to make it more challenging, though the challenge to him was still child's play.
He continued his onslaught of wooden posts and glass bottles until he heard a new sound make its way to his ears. A soft giggle that came from behind him, he turned to see Marie watching him from a short distance.
"I figured you would be here," she said.
"What can I say," John replied, spinning the pistol around on his finger, "a pistol in my grip just feels too right."
"Well, I can think of something else you could occupy your time with." John's face reddened slightly at her comment.
John and Marie sat underneath their favorite tree, a towering oak that shadowed everything around it. From their spot, they could see the entire sky expanded out before them. Their peaceful surrounding was only increased as they were given a clear view of the sunset. The lit sky darkened and glowed with the heavenly colors of twilight.
John couldn't have asked for a more perfect day. With him earning new found respect from his father, and spending his time with the woman he loved, John couldn't hope for anything more.
But what he did not know, was the problem with a perfect day. As such days only make the bad ones even worse.
A/N: Well there you have it. Once again, this isn't the most original concept, but hopefully I can make it as enjoyable as possible with my plans for it.
This fic has been brewing for some time as I worked on my last Fable fic, glad I can start working on it. Though it won't be nearly as long, I'm sure it will turn out well. I'm also going to start naming my chapters, as I feel it can add a little extra something then just seeing a bland "Chapter #"
So as you would expect, if you happened to like this beginning chapter, leave a review showing what you may have liked, or possible flaws you may have noticed. As I am sure there is always room for improvement. And encouraging words are always helpful.