This is a fable 2 fic. The main character is going to be the bandit ripper from the red harvest quest and some other people you'll recognize if you played either fable games.

Also, for the love of god and all that is holy i'm tired of posting stories on this site and getting next to no reviews for them. So if you read this tell me what you think in a review.

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Ripper the bandit pulled his hand off the bloody mess that was now his torso and examined the damage.
Just as he had feared, it was a mortal wound. He cursed that damn hero to hell as he crawled through the bushes and shrubs of Brightwood trying to fight off death as long as he could.

He finally settled himself against the side of a hill while he contemplated his life. His time in Albion had been truly savage to say the least. His youth had been spent with the traveling gypsy camp that now called Bower Lake thier home. He had loathed them, those filthy gypsy scum. They had found him when he was just a baby, abandoned on the side of one of the countless trails in this country.

He had always hated them for taking him in. He would have rather died on the side of a road as an infant than be forced into a life of poverty and oppression. The only gypsy's that had ever left the camp were either stone cutters or adventurer's, and he'd had the talent for neither.

So he had instead chosen to become a merciless bandit, taking what he needed with a sword. He couldn't honestly say he was proud of his life, but he didn't regret it for a second. He made his choices and now he was going to die with them, simple as that. But he didn't want to die out here in the woods for some Balverine or disguting little hobbe to have as a tasty snack.

He looked around and noticed an ancient looking stone slab sticking out of the ground a little ways off. Ignoring the soon to be fatal pain he left a bloody trail as he crawled to it. When he got closer he saw there were symbols inscribed on it, but not just any symbols. Gypsy symbols, needless to say he was suprised.

He had heard stories that the gypsy's had been more important in ancient times than they are now, but he had always just dismissed them as lies. He crawled until he was close enough to read them before his vision began to blur. He could barely read the symbols because of the blood loss but he managed, he had always been resilent to pain after all.

"Here lies the one from the void, the most ancient and terrible of all evils. This is not only his tomb, it is his prison." Read the inscription. Ripper didn't quite know what to make of this, but it didn't bother him too much. He was tired and cold. Ripper laid his body down next to the stone slab, ready to die a bandits death.

His blood poured out from his body and stained the slab red. It began to glow and speak as if it were alive but Ripper hardly noticed. He closed his eyes as his heart stopped beating, but death was not his destiny.

Not on this day.