Summary: The beginning of Albion's saga of dazzling swords, majestic magicians, and the rise of Albion's greatest hero, Sabre.
A/N: Alright... Rewrites Galore! o.o This Fic was formerly known as Longview, and is going to be following the path of the First Fable game.
Warning: Cursing, violence, and the occasional bad joke.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fable: TLC, or any other Fable game that I might make a reference to in this particular work of fanfiction.
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Blue Sky Chapter 1
The sword was a monstrous piece of equipment, an absolute horror to behold. It was nearly the length of a fully grown man, yet it was held in a single mailed fist. An aura surrounded that bloodthirsty blade, a crimson red dancing down the glimmering silver of the deadly machine of war. It arced through the air, slicing through the balverine's neck and cutting the delicate jugular of the beast. Gore splattered the platemail of the hero as the head rolled to a stop, the red eyes of the balverine blinking once before the mouth opened into the death moan.
All around the mailed hero, cries sounded from the dark woods of that damned forest, the sounds of many paws rushing through the dense undergrowth the get to the clearing and claim revenge on the helmeted hero who had cut down one of their own. A pack of Balverines had surfaced, circling the giant of a man and eyeing that monster of a sword warily. The hero didn't stir, merely flexing the fingers of his left hand, the knotted muscles of his forearm bulging with anticipation.
It was art in its simplest form. Primal. Brutal. Satisfying. A Balverine had rushed from the left side, leaping high to attempt to catch the hero high and in the blind spot that his helm provided. The left hand snatched out, a ham-sized fist smashing into the chest of the Balverine as it tumbled into the hero. Blood gushed as the knuckle-knives cut deep into the chest cavity. And then it began.
The hero rolled back to his feet, his white hair in a wild disarray as his helm came free. It seemed all the Balverines had moved in at once, slashing, biting and lunging. Looking not only for the kill, it seemed, but for the opportunity to change the giant of a man. To make him into the very thing that he was now hunting to extinction. One latched onto his back, claws digging into the tender flesh of his neck and spilling that precious red blood of the ancient heroes.
The hero reached over his shoulder, grasping the offending balverine by the neck and crushing its windpipe. Swinging it around, he bludgeoned another out of the way and swung his weapon for the first time in the conflict. He felt the moment of hesitation, then the push as it passed through the tough hide of the balverine. Gore coated the enchanted blade as it arced, creating a deadly dance of steel that seemed as unending as the balverines that now filled the clearing.
Sabre didn't take any sort of macabre pleasure in the fighting as some who peddled tales made it out to sound. In fact, he wouldn't even be in the depths of Darkwood Weir hunting these evil creatures if they hadn't attacked the Bordello, killing all inhabitants. A faint frown covered his features as he leapt to the side, channeling will and bringing Lightning from the skies to kill a particularly troublesome Balverine.
"Damn.", he muttered, his gruff voice echoing through the marshy landscape. He ducked on some strange instinct, feeling the razor-sharp claws of a balverine saw through the ends of his hair. 'Better the hair than my neck.', mused the most famous of the Heroes. In retaliation for that blow, he jabbed out with the Sword of Aeons, piercing the beast's black heart and twisting the magnificent blade.
Another Howl rent the night, yet it fell on the deaf ears of a Hero in a Berserker-like state. Tiny scratches ran the length of the Hero's frame, yet he moved as if he was fresh. Punching, biting, kicking, and worst of all; slashing.
The son of Scarlet Robe seemed to have inherited her skill with weapons. It seemed ironic in a way for him to be fighting Balverines as his mother once had to the North and West in Knothole Glade. Even through the fog of the berserk rage he could feel the strange kick of joy as he thought of the kinship that he shared with his mother.
Raising a gauntlet-clad hand, he channeled the forces of the Will once more into the ranks of the Balverines. A stream of white flames shot from the Hero's palm, melting one Balverine to slag upon impact, and severely burning the remaining three. They all backed off, howling before jumping forwards in a last-ditch effort to kill the troublesome Hero before the reinforcements arrived.
As they began their charge, Sabre had spun around, grasping his sword in both hands and heaving it in a big circle. It caught the outermost Balverine in the ribs, killing him instantly. The momentum from the blade carried through to the others, smashing the other against a rock, and catching the middle Balverine between the bodies of his comrades.
Applying a great deal of pressure, The Hero forced the sword the rest of the way through the Balverine and into the remaining one, finally killing it off. Stabbing the sword into the ground, he cast a high grade spell of healing on himself, feeling the weariness disappear from his body.
And as before, he felt himself being flung to the ground by some strange, wonderful reflex that was intent on keeping him alive. A Balverine flew overhead, making Sabre's eyes widen disbelief. "More of ye nasty Beasties?", he asked as he lunged forwards as it charged. He caught its jaws in mid-bite and then ripped, tearing its snout in half at the seams.
Leaping away, The Hero grasped the Sword of Aeons and began to wield it once more, slashing and cutting at the host of Balverines that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Cursing his careless actions of just a few seconds ago to the deepest level of hell, he avoided decapitation and returned the favor, not sticking around to see his handiwork.
Dismay coursed through his heart, along with the stirrings of a white-hot anger. It seemed that there were three packs now, circling through the trees and making their way to the clearing that already held three Balverines of huge proportions. "Avo, do you hate me?", he asked the cloudy sky in exasperation. He knew that he could hold them off for a fair piece with both Will and sheer power. His bow had been smashed at the beginning of the conflict.
The original pack was slain, but the death moans had drawn a whole new host. And while the hero was the mightiest that the guild had seen since the days of the first great heroes, there was a limit to his power. And as sure as his name was Sabre he was reaching it. Already his bright mail had been reduced to tatters and the loss of blood was making him weak.
He used one rare moment of respite to pull the useless platemail from his body and hurl it at a balverine when his sword was lodged in the brain pan of another. And another time he kicked another in midair. His Will energy was low, and as his mind was wont to do in times like those, the Guildmaster's voice echoed through his thoughts. "Your will energy is low Hero, do you have any potions?"
A grin creased his leathery features as he dodged back, shooting lightning from the tip of his sword and twirling around, creating a tornado of sorts to destroy one of the nearest balverines. But the tide was turning. Sabre looked down at his left arm, cursing the balverine that had bitten him. Already he could see the beginnings of claws beginning on his left hand and instead of lopping it off like his logical mind had insisted, he'd began to fight with it equally, using it in tandem with his huge sword.
Blinding pain was all he knew, and anger was his only motivation. Anger at himself, and the things that had pushed him this far, and most of all... At fate. At the way that those so called 'Gods' had decreed things should have turned out.
He howled wildly, beating down both mental and physical enemies as the change began to try and take over the human section, yet was being beaten back with pure willpower. Meanwhile, on the physical side Sabre's left arm progressed into knotted muscles and he developed the arm of a Balverine up to the elbow. The blood burned in his veins as his eyes flashed red and then back to that startling blue. Blood soaked the once white tunic, turning it a light Crimson.
"Avo damn you.", he muttered as he created some space between himself and the remaining Balverines. Their numbers had dwindled since he'd last accounted. It seemed some had simply vanished, while others had met their deaths at his hands. A score of the beasts remained, and he could tell from a glance they were man-eaters.
Knotted scars were raised on them, showing a tapestry of evil at its best. These were content to circle and approach him one at the time. It seemed they wished to test him before they all conceded to sharing the kill.
The first leapt at him, arms wide and bellowing its victory. Sabre's instincts, having been honed from the tender age of ten for such conflicts, didn't fail him at that moment. He rolled forwards, jamming his now beastly left arm forwards. He felt a momentary resistance before it passed through the soft underbelly of the Balverine. He grasped entrails as he withdrew his hand, slicing them as he pulled it out.
It would die slowly. And after barely a moment's rest, another Balverine had rushed from the side and one from the back. Sabre swung wide with The Sword of Aeons, missing the first and feeling a slight resistance, he grinned. He'd cloven the second in half.
His beastly arm lashed out when the Balverine was within reach and put out its eyes. As it howled in pain, he reached down its throat and grasped the back of its tongue before ripping it out. It withdrew, running blinding before being pounced upon be the remaining seven Balverines.
Sabre had a moment's respite as they feasted upon their comrade, which he used to gulp a health and will replenishing potion. He sighed with relief, and was almost beheaded as three Balverines rushed him at once. He leapt back, rolling and grasping his hunting dagger from a sheath at his boot. He threw it, not having time to celebrate as it was lodged in the throat of a monster.
The remaining six were all coming in strong, circling and rushing, but dancing out of reach of the man's arm and sword. They were cautious, crafty. They were fun. The hero had never been closer to death, yet in a way he had never felt more alive!
He turned cautiously, his mind awhirl with thought. Where was his Guild Beacon? And why hadn't he thought of escape yet? He could have warped away at any moment, yet he couldn't have risked it. The general population would stand no chance against such Balverines, should they jump into the stream of his Warp.
It was in the moment that he'd been distracted that the six decided to attack, each from a different angle. It was a flicker of motion that saved The Hero's life. He fell flat of his back and jammed his sword through the belly of one, and doing likewise with his arm. He kicked up savagely with both feet and felt a satisfying crunch as his booted feet connected. Rolling forwards quickly, he faced the four remaining Balverines, two of which were nursing hurt jaws.
The two hurt ones rushed in first, angry and with more emotion than thought. They seemed to have slipped into the same mode of Berserk rage that Sabre himself had succumbed to earlier in the fight. They slashed, clawed and bit at the Hero, yet he managed to evade the most life threatening of blows and miss the bites altogether.
As one of the Balverines came in for a killing bite, he jammed his mutated arm through the tender skin of the neck and pulled back, kicking the corpse away in one fluid motion. Bringing his sword to bear, he stopped the charge of the Balverine dead. It circled the Hero warily, stepping of the corpse of its fallen comrade before coming in low.
Sabre brought the sword down with one mighty heave and clove the beast in half, longways. The Hero glanced around, seeing the remaining two Balverines slink their way towards him. 'These are the crafty beasties.', he thought as he prepared for more fighting.
The remaining two were cautious, preferring to circle around the back and strike at The Hero's legs and dance out of reach of the blade at the last moment. This strategy continued until the hero leapt backwards, doing a marvelous back flip and expelling his remaining will in getting the height required. He landed on one of the Balverine's backs, listening for the satisfying crack as its spine was snapped from the weight.
The death moan from that beast was particularly unnerving, for it was in for a slow and painful death. Taking pity, Sabre brought his sword up once more, stabbing it through the back of the dying creature's neck and quieting it instantly. "Just one lef-"
The last one leapt on him, tearing and slashing at his unprotected back at that moment. He was laying face first on the ground fighting to push himself to his knees so he could swing his sword once more. He could practically see the tunnel that led to the Hall of Heroes, yet he needed to kill this one last beast. He needed to die with a challenge.
He turned over, letting the balverine begin to mutilate his chest, tearing lacerations. He punched it in the eye, pushing and twisting after he was sure that he'd made direct contact. He felt liquid running down his arm. He'd barely heard the juicy 'Pop' of the eyeball bursting in its socket. It lunged for his throat, taking it in its deadly jaws...
And it died. Sabre's beastly arm was protruding from its back, having pierced its heart before it could perforate his neck. He could feel a sensation... Almost like floating. He stared at the clouds overhead, finally seeing a break in which sunlight shone down on him. Scarlet Robe's son smiled, brilliant white teeth showing, then he closed his light blue eyes...
And when he opened them again, he was clad in white, and not alone. He couldn't help but to notice that his arm was still in the fur of a Balverine, albeit it had a soft, downy quality to it. And the fur was white. The claws shone like brightened Ivory. It was after he finished his diagnostic that he noticed that he wasn't alone in this chamber.
In fact, he recognized the room well. It was the Chamber of Fate. And there were Four Heroes circling him. A wizard, A Knight, An Archer, and the first Guildmaster. They were old beyond years, yet appeared as young as they surely had been in their twenties and thirties. "Sabre, the knight of the people... Liberator and Balverine Slayer.", began the Knight.
"Sabre the Kinslayer... The King of Bandits.", continued the Wizard. The Archer stepped forwards, kneeling and leaving a bow at his feet as he returned to her spot in the circle. "Sabre the Greatest of the Guild.", she spoke, her words echoing.
"Sabre, your journey has not yet ended.", the first of the Guildmasters began, ignoring the look of surprise on the dearly departed's features. "You have died, that much is true... And you have died nobly, yet the world of your ancestors still has a grave need of you and your strength.", The Dead Man continued, ignoring the look of incredulity of the Hero's face. "You shall be reborn into Albion once more, for the threat of war is very much a reality. And while it might seem as if you're just making it here minutes after your death, in reality it has been years since you've died, yet you're just now being accepted from your Long Journey because the world has greater need for you than you do of the Hall of Heroes."
"You shall be reborn, for you are the one destined to end the war, and after that, you shall finally enter the Paradise of Heroes.", the Guildmaster said.
Sabre looked as if he was going to protest, yet before the words could escape his mouth, the Guildmaster clapped his hands, and bright light flared and he felt himself being thrown backwards....
A/N: Yeah... That's it for the first chapter folks. Yay!? Or Nay? This is my first work of Fanfiction... Ever. In fact, I think that this is the only thing that I've ever sat down and tried to put a lot of effort into a fight scene. The next chapter won't be quite as action packed... More like packed with explanations.
So please R&R.