• ::Sample No. 001::
    A fanfiction of Fable II

    Through the holes of the tattered drapes came the strong sunlight of late morning. The golden light rested on Geoff's cheek, reddening and heating his face. The room in which Geoff, a burly adventurer, slept in was illuminated. The bedroom was small and prohibited the large man from stretching out freely. His bed was nothing more luxurious than an empty potato sack flattened to the floor, for that's what it was. The room consisted of little else; a dresser, a clockwork pistol, and a rusted cutlass, all contained inside the porous walls.

    Soon, Geoff awoke drowsily, his eyes flickering into a squint. He ignored the sore protests of his injured back as he crawled into a sitting position. His massive fingers combed through his auburn hair, which was matted and littered with bits of leaves and beetles. Its texture was oily from grease. Geoffry hauled himself to his feet, hands gripping the dresser and windowsill for support, then exited the room and hurried down the stairs.

    Geoff had slumbered in the Clockington Inn of Westcliff, a rundown inn that matched a rundown town. As he passed the barman, who was also the owner, he set two copper coins down in front of him without unfixing his gaze to the door.
    "Come back now, eh?" the barman grumbled in a raspy voice. Geoff grunted in reply. The barman's words were considered friendly in this atmosphere, because usually he only glared and nodded at his customers. The reason for the old man's manners were that Geoff had disarmed and scared away a pair of roughousers in the inn last night. Although the two guys were intimidated with just the size of Geoffry, he was not at all interested to hang around.

    As soon as Geoff's torn boots made it out of the inn, his path was blocked by a trio of seemingly sleezy men. Most likely bandits. Two stepped into his way and the third hung about a foot behind them. The one in the back is always the scared one, he thought. Because they have a human shield.

    Geoff was too exhausted to keep absolute composure, so he growled, "Could you folks move it?"
    "Shut up, ya twit," one of the bandits retaliated. He had a balded head and a dark, furrowed unibrow. He had a bit of a gut and seemingly little muscle. However, it was apparent that he had an abundance of nerve.
    "I'll tell you again, runt," Geoff said menacingly, "move." No one budged, but he seemed to cringe slightly.

    It was then that the man in the back spoke.
    "You got 'hold of two of our men last night, I heard. That was a huge incon-veen-i-unce for us, chump!"
    With growing impatience, Geoff balled his hands into hammer-like fists. The veins in his wide neck bulged. "Get to the point, or I'm going!" he snarled.

    The leader of the trio shrugged, and nonchalantly said, "You gotta pay a thousand gold pieces for what you've done, or you're over."
    It remained quiet. Geoffry smirked slightly.
    So, the man yelled, "Pound 'im, boys!!"
    This signal cued Geoff faster than either of the thugs. He took a backwards leap, reached behind him, and ripped his cutlass from its holster. The two men in the front lunged forward, but with one clean, swift stroke, Geoff ended both of them. Being twice their size meant he had twice the length of their slashes, after all. His attention now shifted to the final of the three, who stared wide-eyed at his fallen minions. With a quivering jaw and a nervous look into Geoff's fiery eyes, he squealed and sprinted away. Geoff returned his cutlass to its holster in exchange for his pistol. He raised his armed hand and closed his left eye, his right eye squinting.

    The loud bam cut through the atmosphere and silenced everyone around, as well as the last bandit permanently.