I have an elderly neighbor who lives across the street from me. She's eighty-seven and survived pancreatic cancer last year (she went into surgery and they got it all), and she's one of the spryest elderly ladies I've ever met. She walks up and down our street daily and still doesn't use a walker or cane, and she has at least a dozen grown grandchildren and several young great-grandchildren who all visit her often.
A few months ago, I had to call her and ask a favor: I'd ordered myself some cut flowers, and they'd been delivered early while I was out of town. I'd set out a vase by the counter just in case; would she mind terribly using her spare key to put them in water for me? Not at all, not at all, and the flowers were saved until I got back.
Today I was out working in the garden when she came by on her daily walk. She came over to chat and said she was going to have to be the nosy neighbor; she'd seen an organ in my house when she'd come in to do the flowers, and did I play? Where did it come from?
I told her it had been my grandmother's and I'd asked for it when she died. My grandfather had bought it for her in the sixties and we used to sing Christmas carols around it during the holidays. I played very, very badly, but I'd be happy to show her if she wanted to see it. She did, very much, and she happened to be free now, and obviously I happened to be free now, and the next thing I knew in she'd come.
So I showed her my grandmother's teacups and the Japanese screen my grandfather had bought during World War II and the organ, and I was very glad that my monthly house-cleaning service had come just this morning. Hamlet behaved himself beautifully and brought her his new cow crinkle toy, and then I turned on the organ and badly sight-read my way through four or five first-grade-level pieces for her. It was embarrassing and wonderful and she told me stories about her daughter who's a lawyer in Washington State who'd love to see this organ, and she'd have to bring her over next time she came to visit.
And then I walked her out and we talked about my garden and her garden and the stray cats in the neighborhood; she said she hadn't seen the kittens, but knew they were probably in her backyard (or other neighbor-up-one's backyard under their deck), and she'd let me know if she saw them.
It was just a beautiful moment, not more than twenty minutes, and I'm so glad I had the chance to share it with her.
Fable hell is looking at Logan and not enjoying the way the story portrayed him at all. Listen the way the game treats this man does not make sense and I could fix it. You want Tortured Morally Gray Logan? Make it about revenge!
Killing the crawler isn't about saving the world, or even saving himself. The crawler killed his parent, and he is going to see the monster undone! Let the guilt eat him as he makes harder and harder decisions. Let his hair start out brown and turn black from the residual Will in his blood. Let ME SEE HIM. LET ME SEE HIS HAIR TURN BLACK AND HIS EYES SINK IN AND HIS SKIN TURN PALE.
You want True Villain Logan? Cool! Let Logan resent his lack of Will. Let him hate his name and his family. Let him attempt to kill the crawler for his own glory. Let him be driven by greed and glory!!!
I personally think Tortured Morally Gray Logan is my favorite and thank you for coming to my TED talk the way fable 3 handles the plot twist is bad and please come back when I talk about how much I hate the final fight.