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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1632026
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Fanfiction · #1632026
A tale of a Hero from Albion. (Fable 2,Will only understand if you play the Fable Series)
It has been 25 years since that horrible day, but I cannot seem to get it out of my head. All I can remember is the burning rage I felt when He shot my sister. The bullet tearing through me. The feeling of my small body breaking on the cobblestone path leading to the castle. There are some things that a 7 year old should not experience.
Nearly dying is one of them.
The first time I woke up in the caravan I was scared to death. The only friendly looking thing was the dog that followed my sister and I around town. I named him Rex. I couldn't move, so I lay there 'till a gypsy with solid white eyes entered the small covered wagon. I recognized her too. She convinced sis and I to buy that music box from a traveling trader. I wanted to lash out at her, to scream at her for making us buy that music box, that let Him know that we were of a Hero bloodline, of the Jack-slayer himself. The ones that would bring Him down. But I barely had any energy to keep my eyes open, so I merely reached my weary hand over to the dog's head and scratched him behind the ears, and I drifted off to sleep as she smiled at me.
When I was 11 I had recovered from my fatal wounds, and I could move again. I walked around the gypsy camp and got a feel for my new home. I was prone to standing on the bridge separating Bower lake from the Gypsy Camp. I thought a long time about that day.
My first trip into my old home, Bowerstone, was when I was 15, to buy a few items for that night's feast. I saved up 10 gold from random odd jobs around the camp. It was an awe-inspiring thing, the city. The buildings, the people. Until the night at the Chamber, I locked out my past life, only focusing on my new one at the gypsy camp. But, as with many good things, it ended quickly. I grabbed an apple off a cart, not knowing that I had to pay for it. Dashing from the guards, a was amazingly fast. I leaped from a cliff, and I landed on my feet unscathed. I was confused. I didn't think about it for long though, as I heard my name being called. "Sparrow!" said the gypsy, dashing towards me, "Bandits are attacking!" I gasped and dropped the things I was holding. I took a dagger out of the sheath I kept on my belt. I bought it with the ten gold. I used a newfound speed and strength to dash towards the camp, slice a Bandit and grab its axe. I growled, "Bastards." under my breath. I screamed and slammed into another Bandit with my shoulder, knocking him down. I brought the axe down on his face, the lifeblood spurting from the gash. I slammed the dagger down on his stomach and jumped from the corpse onto the last Bandit. He started whimpering. "Please don't kill me sir, I have a wife and 3 kids and no money. I only became a Bandit to get money! Please!" I jumped off of him. "Just don't let me see you stealing from anyone else." I growled. He stood up saying, "Thank you, sir! You are very merciful." and he ran away. I turned to a cheering crowd of gypsys. "Yay Sparrow!" they cheered. I was treated to two chicken drumsticks at the feast and an abundance of gratefulness from the gypsys.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1632026