Fable Watermill


Fable has a youthful face framed in dark, curly hair. His eyes seem a bit small for his head and his ears a bit large, but his toothy smile and ruddy complexion pave over his imperfections, making him somewhat charming. Fable tends to wear conservative clothing in earth tone colors, habitually covered in a well worn but presentable red cloak. He can often be seen puffing away at a pipe. He smiles at passers-by and nods in a friendly manner, though he doesn’t initiate conversation.


Parts to to be revealed as/if others ask to learn more.


Part 1: Youth

Fable was born a miller in a small town in the Gray Vale, just outside of Loudwater. He was raised by his family there and enjoyed a simple life for most of his youth.

A few years after reaching adulthood, Fable met the love of his life, Bree. The two were kindred spirits, often remarking on how they felt as if they had known each other in a time long past. It wasn’t long before they began to speak of children and a home together.

Part 2: Purpose

It was a day like any other that brought tragedy upon the lovers. Fable and Bree rode ponies through Southwood. It was a sunny but brisk day in late spring. Perfect for riding, the couple felt.

They laughed as they raced one another and relived memories from outings past, darting around one tree and jumping over the fallen remains of the next. Bree, who was the better rider, had gotten half a dozen lengths ahead and turned in her saddle long enough to shout, “Gods, Fable! Look at how far-”

Her next words were stolen from her in the blink of an eye. A sharp twang and the whistle of an arrow proceeded the sickening squelch of her penetrated flesh. Bree’s jaw dropped. Her eyes rolled back in pain as the shaft of an arrow protruded from her back. Her pony galloped on, throwing her from the saddle. She lay on the ground.

Fable eyes widened in disbelief. He spurred his horse to her and dove to the ground. He called to her. She could only twitch a little in response. Fable scooped her up and over his shoulder and glanced around in terror for the danger lurking in the forest. He saw nothing… but he heard the sounds of the bushes and leaves as they shuffled. The crack of the dead leaves underfoot. He smelled filth and blood.

He only had time to swing Bree onto his pony before another arrow slashed his forearm, breezing near his mount’s head. Instinctively, Fable grabbed the reigns and threw a foot into the stirrup as the startled horse sped off.

It was then, as he struggled to regain control of his mount, that he saw them. Slime green, mutilated faces covered in dirt and snot. Long, pointed and narrow ears with irregular holes in the lobes. They licked their broken lips and beared their teeth as they chased after them, shooting haphazardly with their bows as they ran.

Fable broke from the tree line, the pain in his arm keeping him steady as he held Bree against the horse. The twang of arrows passed by him as they fled. His mind was utterly focused- honed by fear and desperation, his full concentration on getting Bree to safety.

Beneath the rushing wind, the galloping horse and the shrieks of their assailants, Bree tried her hardest to tell Fable something. It escaped only as a whisper. And though he never heard her, he felt his hand rise on her back as she found the air to speak and fall as she spoke her last.

Bree was buried on the sabbath of Yondalla. Fable had managed to stay in the village that long- but departed from his home immediately after the funeral. Having never been far from the village before, he had no true destination or purpose. He wandered for more then a year.

Part 3: Weakness

During his wanderings, Fable began to take up the trade of an adventurer. More often then not, he found himself working side by side with other ‘seekers’. A Human thief who had lost his family in a brutal war, An Elven warlock who had sold her soul to the Abyss to save her son’s life… Fable met so many strangers over that year. Each of their stories were terrible. Each of the story tellers had long given up any hope of salvation.

Fable was much the same. No amount of council or levity could stir him. And he, just as his compatriots around him, found respite only when risking life and limb.

But it was only when Fable was truly pitted against his inner demons that the depth of his horror was revealed to him.

Green. Slimy. Bloody and vile. Fable spotted it surveying the campsite of his fellows as they slept, leaving him on watch. He had long ago removed his armor and his weapon was set aside. A horrible fear seized his insides, threatening to pull his stomach from it’s resting place. His face boiled and his mind blanked. So great was his rage that his sight narrowed into a dark tunnel. In his mind, Bree’s final moments flashed.

Fable’s fear, anger and remorse utterly conquered all reason or free thought. He bounded into the night and leaped onto the unsuspecting creature, grasping his hands around its slimy neck and squeezing its breath away. The goblin stared up at Fable as it struggled. It looked pathetic. It’s weapon was not drawn. It’s eyes bugged out from it’s sockets as it’s strength faded away.

Part 4: Strength

Fable had long since learned to put on a good face in front of others by the time he met yet another hodge-podge group of adventurers in an inn in the town of Sundabar. There was a certain unwritten protocol about starting adventuring bands and each of the men followed it. Fable watched it all play out as the party began to form. The stalwart hero, the curious mages and the carefree bard. Fable, for his own part, just put on his amicable face and smiled away.

But, this time, on this adventure, things were different. The party he traveled with began to see through his guise. They talked to him- at fist concerned for their own safety. Gradually, Fable began to open up to his new compatriots. While at first, he was prone to rash judgement as he pursued his vendetta against the world, he has begun to learn to control his outbursts of rage and violence. The strangers he met that day became his only real friends. He relies on them to guide his mind back to a saner place- something he has proven is impossible for him to do alone.

With their guidance and camaraderie, he has found the faintest glimmer of hope for his soul. It is a fragile hope that he dare not speak aloud, for fear that by making it a reality he will chase it away.

As he’s been thinking silently to himself, he’s been absently toying with a string of Yondallian prayer beads during their brief rests and has taken to wearing the beads around his neck. And while he had lost his faith some time ago, he’s beginning to wonder if, perhaps, there really is some divine purpose behind it all.

Part 5: The Breaking Point

Compelled by his newfound hope, Fable has decided that there is only one thing that can set the matter to rest. He must see Bree one last time. He must see what happened to her soul. After a good deal of information gathering, he was able to find someone who could help in this regard: an old sage who can consult with the spirits. He went to this man- his friends in tow. And he’s about to discover the truth…

Part 6: Demons

A thought that Fable carries around in his mind, given to him by an old man he encountered on his adventures:

“… just remember this. It takes a certain kind of person to go adventuring. At some point, each and every one of them make a conscious decision to pick up a blade and make a living from killing others. Now sure, maybe some of them only kill things that really deserve it… but killing is what it is, all the same. Be careful who you trust, Fable. And be sure you don’t lose yourself in all this madness…”

Thoughts on Old Friends

Fable gets along well with Alarkar, finding his charisma and zest for life infectious. Fable admire’s the bard’s courage, watching him rush into melee to defend or distract and enjoys his stories about his carefree life.

Unlike the rest of the party, Alarkar seems determined to have a good time- no matter the setting. He courts the femme fatale, plays music when he gets the chance and jokes at every opportunity.

Fable’s relationship with Growls is lukewarm. Growls’ attitude could be described as ‘no nonsense’. He is incredibly direct and occasionally aggressive, swayed more by his mood then anything else. This has resulted in a few confrontations between Growls and Fable, with threats bandied about. However, despite their apparent hostilities, Growls has always been there to support Fable in combat and Fable has always stepped up to defend Growls against the brunt of the opposing attackers. Fable feels that he can depend on Growls in a fight… but the chances of them becoming close friends feels slim.

Ibin could be described as ‘slow to warm’, in Fable’s eyes. At first, he seemed a bit aloof- but as time has passed, Ibin has displayed incremental stages of warmth and empathy. It was he who first put the idea in Fable’s mind that he mind seek out Bree, so to determine what her fate was. This marked the beginning of Fable’s dare to hope.
Ibin is a caring man at his core, though he strives to regiment his personality with a somewhat dispassionate sense of logic and reason. The ending result is a puzzle of a man who, in Fable’s eyes, has a consistent set of core beliefs but an unpredictable way of expressing them… much like Fable himself. This behavioral similarity leaves Fable with the feeling that Ibin hides a horrific, unspoken inner turmoil.

Khalys is a reserved and complicated man. He often mutters to himself or makes hand gestures or facial expressions that seem to imply that he’s having an involved conversation with his inner monologue. Despite his perpetual distraction, Khalys displays a sharp, dry wit in conversation that couples well with his often sardonic pessimism.

Beneath all of his layers, Khalys is a warm-hearted man that cares for his friends. He has consistently been available to Fable as he has gone through his personal problems without ever mentioning his own.

But Fable knows that not all is right in Khalys’ life, either. He has displayed signs of a terminal sickness and he gets easily irritated when diverted from his own particular goals- goals that he has thus far kept close to his chest.

Meghan is the newcomer to the band. She is searching for her lost brother and came along at Fable’s insistence to meet the shaman he has uncovered to help her find Bree. Fable doesn’t know much about Meghan yet, but is aware that she thinks that he is a bit unstable. Fable can’t blame her- as they get closer and closer to revealing the truth behind Bree’s fate, Fable’s grasp on reality is beginning to slip away. He can only imagine what that makes him look like.

Fable Watermill

Tuesday FableWatermill