(Screen caps are from the the original PC version of Fables: The Lost Chapters)
The
kingdom of Albion comprises small pockets of land separated by brief
loading screens. Within these unchanging parcels of terra firma,
where it is forever Autumn, one is compelled to wander predesignated
pathways, many of which are bordered by rambling stone walls, which are
slowly falling into disrepair. You may wish to pause to admire the
scenery that lies tantalizingly beyond the beaten track, yet it will remain eternally inaccessible. Sadly, the physical laws of the realm determine that, while your gaze may linger wistfully over faraway sun-dappled hills, you will never
be permitted to explore them.
In keeping
with my role of professional hero, I travel everywhere in this
fairytale kingdom, either on foot or by teleporter, with an
unfathomably large inventory of armour and assorted weapons. Chief
among my arsenal are my numerous enchanted swords, all of which are
impractical in both size and design; additionally many bear
overcompensating monikers: The Bereaver; Avo's Tear; The Harbinger.
There is a giant serrated vegetable peeler christened the Solus
Greatsword that I purchased for an exorbitant sum in a shop in
swanky, gentrified Bowerstone North.
In between
quests, I found the time to wed. The courtship leading to these
nuptials was brief: In the tavern at Oakvale - the village of my
birth - I selected a maid at random. I plied her with beer, and the gemstones that I had harvested from the bodies of the trolls I had
slain, until she succumbed to my charms. We were married soon after.
Periodically
I would return home to find my beloved socialising in the tavern. I
began to worry that my long absences were taking a toll on her;
perhaps even driving her to seek comfort in alcohol, or in the arms
of another.
She always
greeted me with a smile and often with a gift of armour inferior to that which I was already wearing, but which was
nonetheless appreciated. And yet I could not divest myself of the suspicion
that her overtly smiley demeanour concealed a deeper sadness.
To allay
my fears I decided that I would take some time off from the hurly
burly of war and bloodshed that dominate my working life and
spend a day getting to know my virtual spouse. This is what I discovered:
We need a bigger bed
I return
to Oakvale in the dead of night to find the double doors of my
bungalow flung wide open to the darkness. This causes me considerable
disquiet. When I was a boy, Oakvale was raided by bandits. In this
very house they executed my father, blinded my chocolate-obsessed,
know-it-all sister and kidnapped my mother.
My wife,
oblivious to my concerns regarding home security, snores noisily in
our single bed. I find that I am unable to climb in with her and so
wile away the nocturnal hours practising with my flaming sword (not a
euphemism – an actual flaming sword) At some point I inadvertently
break a window.
My virtual wife is an uncomplicated woman of simple pleasures
Morning. A
cock crows. My wife awakens, stretches and rises from the bed fully
clothed.
Instantly she is overcome by the same joy felt by every one
of my real world partners. In this aspect Fable accurately
portrays real life to an uncanny degree.
She stands
before a small, east-facing window, adjacent to the bed, and remarks
in quaint, rustic tones:
“Being
in love is so nice. Hello trees. Hello sky.”
Having
dispensed with her morning ritual she sits quietly by the fire in an
upright chair.
Later she will rise, but remain standing beside the
hearth, gazing upon me with reverence and affection as I pace up and
down our small, but impeccably decorated, one-room domicile, like a
caged tiger who longs to decapitate a gang of bandits with an
enchanted longbow.
INTERLUDE: Flirting and casual vandalism
Concerned
that my presence maybe be unduly influencing my wife's behaviour, I
venture outside to flirt with our next door neighbour, who obviously
fancies me. However, I soon become bored by her platitudes and banal
small talk.
In an
attempt to alleviate the tedium I engage in some spirited
shadow-boxing. This climaxes with me accidentally breaking a window
in the house opposite. A guard is summoned and I am fined a small sum
of money to pay for repairs and to compensate for my public disorder.
As the
guard lumbers back down the hill, the owner of the vandalised property
cheers and applauds me. In this town I can do no wrong. I am like
goddamn Justin Bieber with a broadsword.
My virtual
wife is hard-working woman with a strong sense of civic
responsibility
Evening
falls. My wife, who has spent the day warming herself beside the
hearth, happily trilling odd lines from songs, abruptly leaves our home.
“Pub?”
I inquire, as I follow behind at a respectable distance in the
twilight.
At the end of our lane she pulls a cord connected to a
lamppost, turning on the light. She does likewise with the lamps on
either end of the covered wooden bridge that crosses the gorge, and
connects both sides of the village.
Having performed her civic duties she returns to our home and begins
vigoruously scrubbing a section of the skirting board.
My wife is
a good woman, hardworking and in possession of a social conscience.
My virtual
wife is a love machine
Darkness
falls. My wife sits quietly beside the fire. Suddenly her aura
changes from dusky blue to green, indicating (as it does in the real
world) a desire for intimacy.
For the
third time in our long marriage I have sex with my wife, who remains
blissfully unaware of my ownership of a bordello in Darkwood, from
which I derive a modest income.
Following our dalliance we rise from
the bed. My wife stretches and yawns repeatedly. Ever the gentlemen,
I await for her to climb into our single bed, resolving to keep watch
over her.
When she
declines to do so, I climb in and pull the blankets over my platemail armour. As I lie there in the darkness, I resolve to spend more time
with my virtual wife. I will be a better husband. I will cease visiting the bordello in Darkwood and letting Hedwig chain me to a rack in my
union jack underpants.
I drift
off to sleep.
