#fable scythe

[archonofdivinity]

originally this was a fun project to emulate the idv horoscope style but then I decided why not put in a drawing of my headcanon of William Black!

[endingboyhansel]

I want to ramble about William Black/Scythe here (I’m so sorry to all my moots who know nothing about Fable)

He’s quite a tragic character when you really dig into him. First of all, he’s soulless. He’s been soulless for centuries on centuries. And the reason he’s soulless is because he saved Albion from the Court by using the Sword of Aeons. Now, the effects of not having a soul have seem to worn him down immensely. While, yes, he was the first Archon, I reckon he wasn’t the most stable ruler, especially with his children being anti-Heroes, if you were (I’ll see myself out). He became ill, and I seriously think that without a soul it made him much more susceptible to this illness - later the Corruption. The illness made him appear much more like a mummy than a human being no matter his immortality. Of course I’m just summarising at this point. But this illness must have taken root where his soul would have been. Scythe as a character is blunt and snarky. He’s seen centuries of pain and anguish, and it’s made him a bitter person. This kind of makes me think that he’s unable to feel positive emotions due to his lack of soul.

But quite frankly I think William is lonely. He’s never had an actual connection to anyone, and if he did, they’d be cut away brutally or tragically. His children became horrible people, to the point where he ran away from the kingdom he ruled. Nostro was his apprentice, the man who founded the Heroes Guild, but he died in Scythe’s company.

The Scythe-Nostro relationship is really interesting to me, because after Nostro dies, Scythe disappears again. He’s devastated. Even though Nostro was corrupted and Scythe was disgusted by his actions, he came back to keep him company as he died. It’s very telling of Scythe’s character - he came to care for Nostro. Take this sentence from Tales of Albion: Scythe with warm affection told Nostro of the good things he had done in his life. This seems completely out of character for Scythe at first, until you remember how he must have felt like an outsider all his life. It’s a telling master-apprentice relationship.

Unpopular opinion, but I think having Scythe take care of Rose in the Love choice of Fable 2 is a really good option, and a really interesting dynamic. Rose has experienced pain on the streets of Bowerstone Old Town, and Scythe has a disappointment in his children for what they became and how they destroyed the Old Kingdom. Looking after Rose could teach him to open up more, and experience a life that he could never have had among Heroes or even the normal villagers. In Rose’s letter she describes Scythe as “very thin and wears a hood and looks scary, but he's nice and I feel safe with him here”, which proves this. Scythe also has Rose’s best interests at heart, as Rose closes the letter with “we'll [Rose and Sparrow] be together again one day. He promised me”.

And honestly, I think Scythe’s only goal at this point is to die. He’s had centuries of suffering and seeing Albion in turmoil. The reason we haven’t seen him since the days of the Hero of Oakvale is because he’s fed up. He’s searching for some way to die. The description of his warhammer says that it's foretold that he will return to Albion. But this just raises questions. If he’s not in Albion, where is he? Searching for something he cannot find.

In conclusion, Scythe is one of the more complex characters in the Fable universe. While he may not have changed himself completely like Reaver, or became a constant presence to our three protagonists like Theresa - our other two immortal characters - Scythe is someone with so much overlooked depth. Maze was correct when he described him as a shell. Yet at the same time he has been locked in that shell since the battle with the Court.

[1ncend1ary]

replayed fable 2 again

[thisisntreaver]

I know realistically the answer is that Williams line spread out enough to have surviving branches post the original spire incident, but its really funny to imagine that afterwards my guy Willy went "well damm, guess I gotta fuck to rebuild my bloodline ://"

[booksandmemes]

Really cool stuff I found at the Sharjah Book Fair (I have not read most of these but I really want to.)

[starcrossedspirit]

Canon ideas for my Fable universe is that the Hero of Oakvale was a good individual and that he actively strove to make Albion better but in the end failed to destroy Jack’s mask, which leads to further events with his descendants.

For instance it affects the Hero of Bowerstone by causing him to be drawn to it and unknowingly release Jack back into the world. It’s kinda funny really because Jack just keeps menacing the Black bloodline by consistently corrupting William’s descendants.

[cordycepsbian]

evil rainbow woman & the silly little man she's using for free babysitting. hi main tag you get more of this roleswap taking our brain hostage

[sylkana]

i feel like people don't give fable enough credit for just how fascinating the world's lore is and how well written some of their characters are

[gluttonyedits]

self-indulgent: William Black/Scythe moodboard

[fablesexymanshowdown]

ROUND TWO!

[raeofalbion]

Blackout - Chapter 28, Beloved

AN: Sorry for the delay! Work ran away with me. Anyway: exciting things happen. (★‿★)

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—

Chapter 28: Beloved

The campfire had been extinguished, logs frozen over with ice so thick there was no way they could relight them. Satyr was gone—deep hoof-marks gouged into the snow suggested she had fled in a panic. But...why had she fled? And where was everyone else? At this distance, the caravan looked as cold and empty as they’d left it; the tents nowhere to be seen. Victoria turned to catch Scythe’s gaze, questioning and concerned. Behind the dark fabric covering his face, his red eyes gleamed eerily in the dim moonlight, narrowing as he thought. She heard him breathe a soft note of displeasure as she rested her hands upon the hilts of her blades. Together, they stepped further away from the Prism, tension prickling at them both. They found Theresa and Nergüi hidden amongst some of the rubble to the left of the Prism’s entrance. Theresa was unconscious, back against the Prism's wall. Nergüi sat, half-slumped, in front of her, a long gash across her chest. A glowing amulet sat in her hand powering a protective bubble around them that was fading by the second. Victoria felt the Crawler stretch, growing alert.

—  

Read the rest of the chapter at: FFN: link Ao3: link

[archonofdivinity]

do you understand how Rose and Scythe from Fable are perfect father figure-daughter characters. do you understand how Rose is necessary to get Scythe to open up more and maybe enjoy a life he never could because of being an Archon and his own children being evil. do you understand how Rose canonically trusts Scythe to help her find Sparrow once again. do you understand

[triforce-of-mischief]

Thought you might enjoy this :)

volta and lucifer so true,,,

[edmunderson]

ngl i picture my Sparrow lookin p similar to 90s peter steele

[thisisntreaver]

Hi don't mind me just once again thinking about Rose and how seemingly no one other than Sparrow ad those closest to them know shes dead. Like Lucien mudered her, and clearly had it covered up because theres not even a mention of how someone was murdered in the castle that same night he disappeared?? Not even in fairfax where I woul argue that it definitely should because you're telling me all of Luciens staff were just chill with covering up a little girls death? That they didn't spread it like wildfire amoung the nobility?? Like he killed her and she doesn't even have a grave, theres literally no place for Sparrow to visit other than the bee hives that used to be their shack. Rose is just dead, erased, and theres never really any closure about it for Sparrow, they're just forced to live with the fact that they saw their only family shot in front of them.

[senqv]

HOUSE OF KINGS.

blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader

warning(s): 1.1k , asshole ism , more traditional feminine roles , arranged marriage , lmk if there are more !!

a/n: how r we feeling

next.

ONE. CHILD OF PROPHECY

in the reign of the first emperors, or so said the tales, the child of god is born — in silver moonlight and touched with the whisper of divinity.

they said that in his birth, the muses came and told it to his half-nymph mother, a beloved daughter of the water gods. they landed kisses on her sweat-sheened temple and sang each unravelling prophecy with the golden strings of their lyres; chosen by god, they purred, the emperor of kings.

they did not stay for long, but they had no need to. word travels swiftly in the whirling halls of the palace.

michael, gift of god, whom the divine had gingerly formed in their image, golden and jewel-eyed. the one who will fell men like wheat beneath a scythe and have them all crouching at his heel.

a godly son means haste to find a wife to carry on the bloodline, hungry in hopes that the gods will shine their divine light again with each beautiful son to come. and thus, the one they chose is you, daughter of house adalheidis, rumoured to have had divine blood from a sea nymph mixed in aeons ago. a nymph is the least of the lesser gods, but still a god, nonetheless, and divine blood purified the muddy dust of the human race to mould saints and heroes.

the divine blood of your house has long been watered down, with no traces of any deific features that might make an appearance in fables or folklore. but still, it is enough.

nymph, in the olden languages, is the same word for bride.

so perhaps your fate had been preordained long ago.

and so, when you first meet god, you are just short of thirteen years old.

they twine your hair with ribbons and strings of pearls, silent tittering as they dusted a pearly powder over your cheeks, an incandescent glow illuminating against the bronze mirror. your head lolls to the rhythm of their chatter, following the direction your hair was gently tugged at, eyes slow and blinking, not quite shed of the silvery sleep.

when you arrive, the sun shines brightly in the transparent sky, casting a golden glow over the white plaster of the palace architecture. banners hang from the ceiling, a royal blue, fluttering in the wind; your gaze climbs upwards, following the inscriptions of ancient fables, the effigies of the gods carved into the ceiling. the sunlight dancing in the curve of their marble eyes was so fervid you tore your gaze away in fear they might come alive.

a servant you had not caught the name of led you through the halls. he looked your age, maybe slightly older; not quite grown out into his lanky frame, eyes downcast and shy.

the emperor was not present, he had told you with nervous hands, and so you were being brought directly to the son of god himself.

your steps halt at a side door in the northernmost part of the palace. from what you could see, it was not as grand as the throne room you had passed by earlier, but it was obvious how pampered this boy prince was; before you, arched pillars loomed over the doors of imported oakwood, engraved with gentle carvings of even more obscure fables of prophetical sons and warrior kings.

he is lying on his side on a wide, pillowed bench, thick furs strewn all over the velvety couch. his eyes were half closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks each time he blinked.

at the purposeful scuffing of your sandals against the floor, he glanced up briefly, lolling his head to the side to look at you.

lazily, his hands stroked the majestic forest cat on his lap, golden fur streaked like a lion, mirroring its owner. but no — it would be wrong to compare it as such. his hair was entirely different, lit by the sun with a spring honey lustre, spun from threads of gold. if you looked closer, within it glints the golden circlet of a prince, nearly black against the brightness of his hair.

you felt your breaths slow, gaping at the cold shock of his beauty. he was not much older than you, but incomparable with the boys your age; of jewel blue eyes sharp as a beast, cheeks and mouth tinted a cherubic rose, painted by the careful muses themselves.

if you were not a child of noble birth, you're quite sure your jaw would have been hanging slack by now. instead, you pressed your lips together and tore your gaze to the floor.

you can feel his eyes on you, and hear a slight shuffle of him leaning more forward to regard you. "what is your name?" his voice is silken, tinged with the slight crackle of sleep and boredom. you keep your gaze screwed to the ground out of spite, a muscle in your jaw ticking. your family was one of the great pillars of the empire, flourishing in trade and commerce. you were his arranged bride, to be the empress of his nation. and yet he still did not know you.

now, he sits up completely, cat yowling faintly in his lap. he speaks again, louder, clear as the glacial waters of the north. "what is your name?" the first lapse of silence was excusable, perhaps you had not heard. now, the boy prince demands an answer.

and so, you level your gaze with his, staring with all the conviction and animosity of a noble girl who had never experienced such blatant disregard. you speak your name as if casting a spell, each syllable strong and resonant, muttered with intention — to engrave your name in his mind, to make sure he could not forget it even if he wanted.

"of house adalheidis," you added in finality.

he's focused on you now, silvery blue gaze as cutting as a knife. he tips his chin up, staring downwards. "my name is michael," he purrs, "kaiser." the side of his mouth quirked slightly at the intensity of your stare. from the corner of your eyes, you faintly notice the dimples appearing at the sides of his face.

you both held the other's gaze in silence. the amusement on his face was obvious, and your brows melded together in confusion for a split second.

then he blinked, mouth cracked open like a yawning cat, mirroring the feline on his lap.

kaiser's interest came as quickly as it left, as if everything was a divine comedy preened before him to garner his delight. he no longer was looking at you.

"welcome to the palace."

you were raised in court, and you knew dismissal when you heard it. you lowered your head with clenched fingers, bruising the crushed silk of your dress.