Long chapter ahead!
I didn't want to drag on Blythe's travels, so I smushed it together...
Notes at the bottom of the page! :)
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"Do you think they're both dead?"
"Horace, I need you to come on home, the chicken is getting cold."
"Whatever happened it's done now."
"Mum I want to go see!"
"All the same. They were a creepy lot anyway."
"Come off it Betsy, a Hero just died. Your sodding chicken can wait."
"Mum I want to go see!"
"Show some respect, all of you! It's not everyday that-"
SLAM!
The crowd fell silent.
Blythe stood in the doorway of the cabin. You could say that her glare would have killed the small group of Gypsies huddled in the front yard, but that would have been an understatement.
"My mother is dead. I'm burning the house along with her. Leave."
Her bloodshot eyes stared at them as they sped away, and she didn't blink until they were no longer visible.
She allowed a tight lipped smirk to flash across her flushed face as she realized how horrible she must look at the moment. Covered in every item of clothing she had owned, along with some of her mother's, Blythe's general thickness had doubled. A large pack was nestled underneath her cloak full of a bit of gold, Jerky, Canned apple slices, a few health potions, the map Rose had given her, and other necessities. She would have brought the supplies to make more potions as well, but frankly she was rubbish at it so it wasn't worth the effort. Rose was the only one in town with a talent for Alchemy.
A sickly satisfied feeling spread through Blythe's body when no tears were shed at the thought of Rose. She must have run out.
At least that part of this entire ordeal was over. Now she just had to leave...
Any time now...
She was going to march straight out of this Avo-forsaken town and fulfill her mothers last request...
Leave and never come back.
Nausea began to swirl deep in her gut.
Blythe had never gone very far out of the settlement's territory before. Her huge fur boots shuffled in a thin layer of snow. Flurries started to drift down from the sky.
"Come on, you beast," She murmured to herself, " Get your tail out from between your legs."
With a shaky breath, she managed to make it to the dirt road in front of her lifelong home. A few still moments passed as she stared at the shattered windows. The wind picked up and slammed the front door shut again.
She hissed to herself,"That's your cue, then. Go for it already." With a sudden burst of resolve, Blythe narrowed her eyes and removed her left glove. She raised her open palm slowly, and a large ball of fire burst to life in the center of it. Hastily, she flicked her wrist and the flame flung itself straight through a destroyed window. Blythe winced as she heard it crash around the house. Her fire began to roar as its magic intensity consumed the entire building.
"Rest in peace, Mother. I promise to find our family, no matter what."
She numbly turned her body towards the setting sun, and made her way down the path, refusing to look back. It was going to be a long night.
According to the map, another settlement that her community used to trade with was just on the opposite side of the mountain. Unfortunately, the road meant to connect the two involved a colossal bridge. And as with most bridges in Albion, Blythe found it destroyed to the point that it was completely unusable. To make matters worse, night had already fallen.
The snow had reached a good eight feet at that altitude, so she was able to form a small burrow out of it with a bit of fire. She sat inside and began to chart her new route.
Derrik had given Blythe three things in his lifetime. A pipe, a journal for her to write her own story in, and (in his will) his prized axes. They were beautifully crafted*, identical, and smaller than average. They were also light enough to carry in each hand. Needless to say, she had practiced with them daily since his death, and effortlessly left a trail of destruction in her wake whenever she used them. Her secondary weapons were a dagger on her right thigh, and a pistol on her left.
As for the pipe, she only smoked it to relieve stress. Tobacco was often expensive anyway, so she couldn't make a habit out of it even if she wanted to.
The Journal was mostly full of scribbles and bits of her thoughts. Blythe never really found herself interesting enough to encompass an entire story, so she settled on filling the book with her mind instead. At the moment she was attempting to calculate how long this new path was going to take. She scribbled into the book with a piece of charcoal, then threw the items away in frustration. Blythe knew she didn't have enough food to make the trip, but she had to at least try. It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go.
A wolf's howl sliced through the crisp air. Her head snapped in the direction of the sound.
Remaining completely still, she listened. There was nothing for a few seconds, until the soft patter of many paws could be heard outside of her dwelling.
Her hand shot out and began to fumble through her bag, searching for the handle of one of her weapons. Panting could be heard right outside the entrance as a soft whine sounded nearby.
At that very moment, the small fire Blythe had created as a source of light became weak from the lack of her attention and went out.
Everything was still.
Blythe's breath came quickly as her fingers grazed the handle of one of her axes.
She couldn't see a thing.
Suddenly, teeth tore into her right boot, barely grazing her ankle. Blythe tightened her grip on the axe as the beast swiftly drug her out of the small hole, despite how much she was flailing. Once outside, Blythe let out a snarl as she used the last of her Will, sending out a wave of pressure that flung most of the pack a few feet away. Blythe smashed her heel into the snout of the wolf gripping her boot and blindly swung her ax to the side. A sickening crunch sounded as the weapon collided with another wolf's skull, killing it immediately. The other wolf released her foot and lunged at Blythe's neck, forcing her to release the axe and wrestle the creature on top of her. She managed to fling it aside and retrieve her weapon, then with a unnaturally quick movement she planted the blade into the chest of another wolf about to leap at her.
Blythe's eyes had now adjusted to the dark, and she made quick work of the rest of the pack. Once it was over, she stood breathing heavily, surrounded by corpses. Her right ankle shook under her weight, it must have taken more damage than she thought.
"Of all the sodding things," Blythe hissed through her gritted teeth, "It had to be wolves."
She let out a string of curses as she stumbled back into her burrow.
Shakily, Blythe tore some of the fabric off of one of her many shirts and hastily wrapped her injury. Thanks to her heroic healing abilities, she wouldn't have to deal with the pain for very long. The wound had already begun to tingle.
With the adrenaline still pumping through her veins, all of her senses were going haywire. There was no way she would be able to sleep that night. She sighed.
"Fan-fecking-tastic."
Blythe began to pack up her things in the dark. She didn't have any Will left to create another fire. The only way she could replenish it would be to either sleep, or simply wait for it to recharge.
Unfortunately patience had never been one of Blythe's strengths.
Instead of sitting in the dark and waiting for herself to heal, which would have been the safer option, she crawled out and slowly got to her feet.
"The sooner I get to civilization, the better," She thought. "No use sitting around here and feeling sorry for myself."
It had been six days. Blythe had run out of food and potions on the third.
The sunset beat down onto the perfect snow, reflecting off of it and nearly blinding her with its intensity.
Blythe hadn't felt weaker in her entire life, and it unnerved her. She felt numb and light-headed, unable to form a solid thought without hunger pains stabbing through her abdomen.
Sleep had been difficult as well. She was far too paranoid to properly rest.
Blythe's eyes began to blur from sheer exhaustion. She blinked desperately in an attempt to restore her vision, but eventually gave up and settled on shuffling forward like some kind of hollowman. Her legs continued to carry her on with a determination and purpose she didn't even understand anymore.
Twilight fell, and the wind began to speed up. A particularly strong gust threw her off balance, and she fell face first into the snow. Blythe struggled to stand, only managing to get to her knees.
It was then that a figure appeared in front of her.
The woman stood staring down at her, shrouded in a mostly red dress with a large hood covering her face. Through the shadow of it Blythe could make out two empty eye sockets, staring into her soul.
"Greetings Blythe."
Blythe blinked a few times, deciding that she was obviously hallucinating.
The woman reached out a hand as if she was going to help Blythe stand.
Blythe hesitated, but took it.
There was a flash of light, and she found herself in an entirely white expanse. The cold was suddenly gone. A strange pulse throbbed around and throughout her body.
The mysterious woman stood a few feet in front of her.
"Who the bloody hell are you?"
"I am Theresa, the Seer of the Spire. Listen to what I am about to tell you.
You Blythe, are a Hero.
There is a great conflict arising... However, it is not your destiny to face it."
Blythe contorted her face in confusion. "Then... Why are you telling me this?"
"You will be given the chance to aid the savior of this land.
Take it, and you will finally be part of something greater than you have ever dreamed.
Ignore it, and you will be more alone than you can ever imagine."
"I don't give a damn about any conflict. My quest is to find the Hero known as Sparrow and discover why my mother and I were abandoned by her. Albion is none of my concern."
"The Hero Queen Sparrow is no more."
"W-What?"
"The choice is yours to make, young Hero. It is in your blood."
The light grew brighter, as Blythe felt herself being pulled out of the vision.
"Wait, what? Oi!" Her protests turned into a scream as she began to fall, the white fading into a rushing night sky.
Blythe's eyes sprang open and she found herself lying flat in the snow again. "What was that..." she grumbled as she held her throbbing forehead.
Night had returned, and the wind was even more freezing. Blythe breathed deep and examined the area to get her bearings. Something she saw made her gasp.
A cluster of lights shone farther down the mountain, nestled among the cliffs and trees.
Desperate energy grew inside of her, and she fumbled to her feet. In a rush of euphoria and immense hunger, she blindly began to sprint directly towards the camp.
It was too late when Blythe realized how steep the terrain was, and began to tumble down the mountainside. Blythe let out a loud curse as she slid down the slope, occasionally smacking into various bits of rock and bouncing off of trees.
She came to a stop a small distance from the camp, close enough that she could smell the fires and hear bits of conversation. Groaning, Blythe attempted to move her bruised and scratched body, but failed miserably.
In a stroke of delusion, Blythe burst into laughter before succumbing to velvety darkness.
The Cock in the Crown was bustling with life.
Major Swift Had given his men a final night of freedom before they shipped out to Mourningwood. Many of the men didn't understand the grim truth of their placement and were bustling with excitement. Every soldier looked forward to the trip, anticipating fame and glory.
The party was in full swing, women flung their arms around any flush soldier in their reach, hoping for a one night stand. The group went through ale like water, their inhibitions thrown into the wind with the knowledge that Swift would pick up the evening's tab.
Upstairs at a small table, Ben Finn and Major Swift sat apart for each other.
A grim cloud hung over the two men.
Swift sat with one leg crossed onto his thigh. Cradling a large glass of wine in one hand, he took vigorous puffs of his pipe with the other.
His eyes rested on Ben, who was sitting hunched onto the table with a bottle of whiskey at his elbow, glaring at his shot glass.
Swift had just finished reading a bit of Ben's autobiography at the man's request. Now the two sat in absolute silence.
"Mourningwood!" Ben suddenly spat out. Swift's mustache twitched.
"Indeed." The Major answered.
Finn took his shot with ease and went to pour himself another as he spoke.
"I've been to Mourningwood, Swift. Barely lasted a night there. And that's where we'll be stationed until further notice?"
Ben Finn downed another shot and returned to glaring at the glass, his eyes narrowed to slits.
"It seems as though," Swift answered slowly, "King Logan wants to be rid of us. However, there could possibly be a legitimate reason for his decision. Unfortunately I am unable to question the King in my position. We'll just have to make do."
Ben grumbled something unintelligible and reached again for the bottle of whiskey.
The pub fell silent as the voice of a private drifted upstairs.
"A toast mates, to Major Swift! Long live the Swift Brigade!"
The group roared in response.
Ben Finn let a crooked smile grace his handsome face at the sound. He raised his eyes to study Swift.
"At least," Ben shouted over the noise, "We have a good group of men going with us."
The Major's face appeared blank as he glanced over to the staircase, but Ben could see the turmoil in his mentor's eyes. His smile quickly faltered.
As if sensing his change in demeanor, Swift turned his attention straight to Ben, and gave him a small grin. "Yes, good men. The best."
He nursed his wine and began to stand. "Well Ben, I believe you should find yourself a lady friend for the night. You won't be able to acquire that sort of company where we're going. Best to take advantage before it's too late."
As if on queue, a buxom brunette sauntered drunkenly to the table behind Swift and plopped into a chair, gazing slightly cross-eyed over at Ben and batting her eyelashes. Ben Finn raised his eyebrows and shifted his gaze back to Swift, who was now grinning bemusedly back at him.
"Ah yes," The Major chucked. "Tally ho, then. I'm off to meet Walter before we leave."
Major Swift smoothly gulped down the rest of his wine, and made his way out of the pub with a flourish. In an instant the brunette was nestled into Swift's empty chair, leering at Ben from the other side of the table.
"'Ello there, Sexy..." she cooed. "Hows about I buy you a drink?"
Ben Finn threw on his huge, charming grin before taking one last shot. "I believe I'm all set, love. Why don't you 'ave some of this whiskey on me, and we'll get to know each other better."
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*Blythe's axes are basically smaller versions of the Master Axe in Fable II, except with dark green handles.
Thank you all so much for reviewing and watching! I appreciate it!~ This is my first fanfiction that I'm taking seriously. I have an Inception one sitting around here, but I don't really know where I'm going with it.
Anyway, just for you lovely people, I included some pointless Ben Finn. x) He doesn't get to meet Blythe for a few more chapters sadly...
Also, If you laughed at Blythe's misfortune, it's okay. You're supposed to. She's a bit of a klutz, isn't she? Haha
THANKS FOR READING! :D