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This is the Way the Fable Ends…
By Corvus | November 17, 2008
This is the way the fable ends
This is the way the fable ends
This is the way the fable ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.–with apologies to T.S. Eliot
Note: I cannot write this post without major spoilers from two specific points–the mid-game break point in the Tattered Spire and the end game. You have been warned.
If you’ve been reading my posts on Fable 2 it’s hopefully quite obvious, despite my quibbles and nit-picks, how much I enjoy playing this game. Despite having a cliche plot structure, Albion is a storyworld that is rich with potential–allowing you, for the most part, to build your own personalized fabula as you play through it.
The game is suffused with small touches that really enable you to emotionally connect to the storyworld and its inhabitants. Your constant companion, the much vaunted dog, is willing to play fetch, cringes when you scold it, and savages the downed bodies of your opponents. If you walk away from a scripted conversation, the NPC will stop talking, and will often comment on your inattention. When you return to them, they’ll likely comment on your absence again before resuming the conversation. The social system governing NPC reactions is based on your fame, your appearance, your demeanor, and your level of corruption–not to mention their own corruption level and personality. This is a much more flavorful mix than your average good/evil game mechanic and leads to some truly enjoyable moments. And perhaps the greatest strength of Fable 2 is that the central plot continues to make sense–even when you choose a selfish and corrupt path. You are, after all, on a path to revenge.
But Fable 2 is also rife with the sorts of game-story disconnects that are so prevalent, particularly in the RPG genre. Magical, stat-enhancing potions that only work on those of heroic blood are widely available from vendors who specialize in potions. This, despite their being zero market for the product until you arrive, as the world of Albion has been hero-free for 500 years. Children in the street play at being heroes of old, calling out names familiar to players who experienced the storyworld of the first game. This, despite the world turning its back on heroes 500 years prior, burning down the corrupt heroes guild, and systematically vilifying them ever since.
But these bits of narrative grit are so minimal that they hardly slow down the storytelling machine, which purrs along happily, offering a myriad of delightful and powerful emotional moments. Take, for example, the mid-game’s break point. I refer to this quest as a break point because you are removed from the larger world of Albion and presented with several narrowly constricted narrative scenes. You have no inventory, no populace to entertain, no weapons, no hand picked clothing, and no choice with regards to where you go next.
This break point takes the form of a tour of duty as a guard in Lucien’s Tattered Spire–a massive device reputed to have world-destroying capabilities. You have infiltrated the spire to rescue Garth, a country and western singer of… er… I mean, Garth, the hero of will (voiced by Ron Glass). While you are there, the Commandant is determined to break you, as he has so many guards before you. This leads to several short scenes in which your willingness to buck the system is tested. In the first scene, the Commandant strikes you with a sword and demands that you thank him for it. If you curse him instead, he activates your uniform’s restraining collar and you lose experience. The second scene tasks you with guarding some starving prisoners that you are forbidden to feed. Ignoring their pleas for food nets you corruption points, but feed them activates your collar. In the third scene, the Commandant orders you to kill a fellow guard, one who was recruited at the same time as you, one who is no longer useful to the Commandant. Like the previous tests–if you kill him, you keep your experience but become more corrupt.
While each of these scenarios is pretty transparently a binary choice between good and evil behavior, with clear game-mechanic-based consequences for your decisions, each choice requires you to perform an action that makes sense within the storyworld. You emote thanks, you pull levers to deliver food into the cells, you take a sword and strike the prone guard. This allows each choice to be an emotional one–a personal one. You must make a choice whether to pay the price for the noble deed, or ignore the suffering around you and maintain your cover at all costs.
Unfortunately, the ending of Fable 2 forgoes this respectful handling of the player’s experience and careful presentation of the underlying game mechanic, becoming ham-fistedly obvious–dictating the emotional responses needed to connect to the unfolding narrative and finally striping away all pretense–presenting you with an obvious game mechanic, rather than a potentially meaningful narrative decision.
The wheels come off the wagon initially when, once again, Lucien shoots you as you stand within a magic circle, powerless to avoid your fate. Your canine companion takes the first bullet for you, but it’s a meaningless sacrifice, as you are immobilized and Lucien has another bullet. Rather than dying, however, you are transported to a magical realm where you are a child and your sister, whom Lucien killed at the beginning of the game, is alive. This is an interesting idea, but it’s terribly implemented. First of all, the setting for the scene is a farm. You awake and your sister tells you that your parents are gone for the day and that she’s set up all sorts of fun games to play.
Farm? Parents? Where did these things come from? The very first thing we knew about our hero and her sister is that they were paupers on the streets of Bowerstone. No mention of parents, no mention of a farm. Why, if we are meant to feel nostalgia for the good-old-days, are we presented with a location and situation with which we have absolutely no familiarity? This creates pressure to quickly reconstruct your fabula to match the new information and continue to find an emotional connection with your avatar and her storyworld. It would have been far more powerful to present us with the streets of Old Bowerstone, rendered through a golden haze of childhood memory. An even stronger choice would have been to cast your childhood memories through the lens of the choices you’d made throughout the game–a dark and sinister memory for corrupt/evil avatars and a rosy environment for pure/good characters. Regardless, to suddenly present new, non sequitur information about your character at a pivotal moment in the game is clumsy storytelling at best and outright authoritative vanity at worst.
Not only does the environment hold no real emotional draw, but the activities you’re presented with are hardly compelling. Kill a few beetles, shoot a few bottles, kick some chickens–not the sort of activities that hold much allure for a seasoned hero–particular one that doesn’t feel an emotional connection to the environment. Recreating the game’s childhood quest, but on a suitably epic scale, would have been a much more engaging choice.
Furthermore, when the decision to leave this purportedly idyllic environment finally arrives, there’s no real reason presented to stay. You know it isn’t real, it isn’t emotionally comforting, and it isn’t fun–so why stay? The war torn path of strife you must travel as you leave the farm is a much more emotionally compelling environment, and the promise of finally exacting your revenge is even more compelling still. This idyllic world should have had something to offer–some bit of gameplay–that was a truly compelling reason to stay. Perhaps your dog could have joined you and learned new tricks that were not available in the rest of the game. Perhaps a game master with high payouts could lure you in with easily rigged games. As it is, the pull of your goals is the only real emotional force in effect and you gladly leave the farm behind.
I must confess that I was particularly pleased with the revenge itself. I was anticipating a tedious round of combat and the simple defeat of Lucien, using the music box that started your adventure, was a a pleasant surprise. What followed immediately thereafter, however…
After defeating Lucien, you are told that the Spire’s available wish now belongs to you and you are presented with three fate cards to choose between. One represents an act of purity, one an act of corruption, and one an act of selfishness. Picking one of the three cards rewards you with renown, gold, or the return of your loved ones and sends you off to explore a post-non-apocalypse Albion and finish off a few remaining quests.
After carefully presenting your choices in narrative form, after expertly providing numerous experiences with emotional resonance throughout the entire game, Fable 2 stops trying and presents you with a clear game mechanic to determine the final outcome of the game. There is no scenario to work through, no conferring with your fellow heroes, no clever positioning of the cold, mechanical decision. The metaphors that comprised most of the game were a compelling representation of the core mechanics, so why pull back the veil and present such a shallow decision tree in the final moments of the main plot?
It’s like a clumsy stage magician showing you how the trick is done, even though it was pretty obvious all along. And while you’re willing to suspend your disbelief and not point out that the scarf was up his sleeve all along, it’s pretty condescending of the magician to pedantically explain the trick afterwards–particularly when he doesn’t top it with something bigger and better that makes you question whether the reveal was real or merely more misdirection.
But after showing it’s hand, so to speak, Fable 2 manages to provide one more emotional experience during its denouement. You’ve lived your entire life in Albion focused on revenge. Your goal has shaped your abilities, guided your steps, introduced you to your friends and enemies. And suddenly–it’s all over. If you chose the path of purity or evil, you’re all alone in the world for the first time, with only the adoration of complete strangers, or a large amount of gold, to comfort you. A certain listlessness takes over then. You were driven by a desire for revenge and now that you’ve had it–what drives you? What further goals have any meaning? Perhaps the answer to that particular question lies in the big announcement regarding Fable 2 later this week. Now that Teresa is in control of the tower–will our hero be enticed to enact revenge upon the woman who manipulated her into taking revenge on Lucien in the first place?
Tagged:endings, fable 2, storytelling. |
November 17th, 2008 at 10:53 am
I certainly do hope there’s more story coming. I found myself, after the final encounter, alone, overweight (due to unfortunate food options while in the swamp), and, having already been universally loved, with seemingly no change in the disposition of those around me. All I had was a heavy purse and a series of quests that called for the help of one suddenly absent best friend.
So I married a prostitute and moved into a mansion, desperately seeking enough celery to restore my body to the one I had during my first marriage.
A few notes on the prior experiences you took issue with:
1) While in the Spire, I dallied regularly to dance and joke with the prisoners and slaves. It seemed like the thing to do for the ultra-good archetype I was playing.
2) I mostly was punished for inaction (e.g., simply staring at the Commandant when ordered to look out the window at something I probably didn’t want to see anyway.) I did, however, use the offered sword to attack him. It felt pretty meaningful to hold my thumbs back from the controller as the timer ticked down.
3) Somehow I’d decided to use the farmhouse behind the Oakwood Demon Door as my family home. The dream sequence home was very similar. The scene became much more meaningful as a result, though I realize now that it was only accidentally poignant.
November 17th, 2008 at 11:07 am
Thanks for sharing your denouement experiences, wordsmythe. I’ve explored quite a bit of the post-non-apocalypse world with my evil character. After my third playthrough, I’ll likely go back and revisit it as my good character too. We’ll see…
I ought to clarify that I quite liked the Spire and thought it was a good narrative implementation of the core mechanic of the game.
November 17th, 2008 at 11:22 am
To be fair, I was disappointed by how little the XP penalty actually hurt me, especially given the relative ease of regaining it via a quick trip to the chemist. I was more upset by gaining my first scars in the Spire.
November 17th, 2008 at 11:26 am
My heroes had maxed out all of their skill and strength stats pre-Spire anyway, so the loss of unused XP didn’t seem to matter to them either.
Still, the idea that the punishment was draining you of your life experiences, your memories, is a compelling representation of a game mechanic.
November 17th, 2008 at 11:39 am
XP in general tends to be fairly rich in meaning. I just mentioned something about that over on Justin Keverne’s site (http://is.gd/7S4l), but I’m sure someone has done a more thorough job elsewhere.
November 17th, 2008 at 6:06 pm
This is a little bit off topic but I don’t know who to ask about it, but why after 10 years of being in the spire did I not return to Albion to a massive cash payout of 10 years worth of rent? You mean to tell me they were RENT FREE for 10 years?!
I think this was where I stopped, because it seemed to be suspending the game rules for the story to make sense.
I like wordsmythe’s idea of XP as memories. I’d never thought about that before. Still, I think that it’s a bit of a hard sell, as all your XP in Fable comes (mostly) from fighting. Who cares if you can’t remember what creatures you’ve fought? I’d think I’d care more about family, etc… Hmmm…
November 17th, 2008 at 7:06 pm
The Fable 2 economy was already riddled with so many loop holes by that point that I accepted the lack of rent, although I certainly noted it.
But XP as memories isn’t just wordsmythe’s idea. It’s a stated part of the Fable two mythos. The orbs you collect after combat are explicitly referred to as memories.
Regardless, it’s a symbolic loss and I thought it well done.
November 17th, 2008 at 9:53 pm
@Ben Abraham: Actually the money issue there completely follows the game design/game rules — rent is paid every 5 minutes real time regardless of game time (which with marriage budgets actually gives you an incentive to walk more than direct travel via the menus). The disconnect doesn’t make sense in an economic sandbox standpoint, but is a nice compromise from a grind standpoint (nothing like making “free money” while sleeping or otherwise not playing the game). (The post-Spire rent payment was exactly what I expected it to be, the sum of the real time spent in the Spire, rather than the supposed game time.)
@Corvus: I took an entirely different story from the final farm than you did, it would seem. I certainly don’t think it was based on any sort of nostalgia, and I think that is somewhat obvious in comparing the two versions of Rose’s Diary. It seems to me that the “Perfect Day Farm” is definitely the Music Box attempting, in its own, perhaps somewhat cruel, way to belatedly deliver the wish that had been asked of it. But this isn’t the wish of the player or even of the Hero, but of Rose. The fact that the Music Box supplies a simulacra of Rose seems to further underscore that: everything that Rose wanted she wanted for her Sparrow. The fact that Rose’s belated wish has so little resonance with the Hero, no matter what path was taken (good or evil, corrupt or pure), is perhaps the point. It highlights the gulf between the opening of the game and it’s ending, the rift between the selflessness of the sister and the ultimately selfish act of revenge…
As for Teresa, she is definitely suspicious, and the “bwa-ha-ha the Spire is mine” thing at the end certainly jumped out at me. (Not to mention that I continue to wonder if Lucien’s usage of “Would you kindly…?” was an intentional reference or merely just an appropriate dialogue choice for his character type.)
I’ve been listening to my High School-aged sister playing Fable 2 and she directly blames Teresa for Rose’s eventual death (which was pretty emotional for her). I don’t think that I quite made that jump on my first playthrough like she did. (I think it was subconsciously noted as I did have some distrust of Teresa…)
November 17th, 2008 at 10:06 pm
That’s an interesting point Max and I’ll keep that in mind during this play through. I’m not certain it’s the strongest choice, however.
And–I felt manipulated by (and mistrustful of) Teresa from the first moment I realized who she was… which was when Rose pointed out her blindness. I sincerely hope we get an expansion that explores Teresa role more.
November 17th, 2008 at 10:07 pm
@wordsmythe: I used “Serenity Farm” for a brief bit as well, but actually moved my family out after an upsetting moment in a different demon door caused me to notice that “Serenity Farm” wasn’t always as nice as it seemed to be. I noticed that the farm didn’t follow the time cycle that Oakfield did, and that arrival was always shiny and daylight. It seemed to me that night only came when you slept there, and night seemed to start to show the cracks in walls more and the place seemed less pleasant. Worse, the family seemed to notice and were frightened of the place at “night”. You are right in that “Perfect Day Farm” is very reminiscent of “Serenity Farm”, but I think also the underlying non-reality of the place (or alternative reality) and the ultimately sinister feel to the places just under the surface.
November 17th, 2008 at 10:08 pm
@Corvus: Yeah, I still haven’t played Fable 1, so I don’t know that bit of the backstory.
November 17th, 2008 at 10:09 pm
That’s also an interesting observation about Serenity Farm. My current hero actually has a family he care deeply about and they’re living at Serenity Farm. I’ll have to keep an eye out for trouble.
I’m curious about your upsetting moment with another door.
November 17th, 2008 at 10:27 pm
Well the SPOILER of it is: I feel bad because I don’t recall which door it was and its a bit late to open up the game and wander through all the doors I’ve opened just to name it… The door opened to a very pleasant winter scene, a lovely walk down a snow-lined road towards an invitingly warm inn/cottage. (I love the game’s snow effect and think it was a bit underused, overall. I’m guessing that weather cycles wasn’t a high priority feature, but yet still on the drawing board for most of development.) So just as you get to the door of the cottage a flash of light and you find that inside the cottage is a disaster, grab whatever loot there is to find in the requisite treasure chest, and depart to find a winter scene much less “greeting card holiday pastoral” and much more dead and unfriendly.
Such a simple bait and switch and done almost entirely through tricks in the map’s lighting, but it certainly had an impact on me. I’m not entirely sure why it took me by such surprise, but definitely a standout moment and one of the few things that has me interesting in opening the few demon doors that I have yet to see.
November 18th, 2008 at 3:58 am
I do remember that door (although not which one). Interesting. I hadn’t given it that much import beyond being impressed at the effect.
November 18th, 2008 at 10:12 pm
In playing it again just now, the “Perfect Day Farm” to “Blood Farm” transition feels quite similar. It is almost unnerving to run back around through the farm after that moment (and I’d bet that many people don’t really think to try that).
November 19th, 2008 at 7:36 am
The door was the one in Swampy McGraveville nee Oakvale, if I recall correctly. It’s on the last stretch before the Bloodstone coast.
I didn’t notice creeping terror at Serenity, but then I was a pretty inattentive husband and father.
OK, now “Cat’s in the Cradle” is back in my head. Time to drink away the pain, and replace the memories with XP potions. (Isn’t that how it works?)
November 19th, 2008 at 8:37 am
*WARNING - FABLE I SPOILER* YE HAVE BEEN WARNED
Yes…Teresa, I knew her the minute she showed up.
There is a conspiracy about Teresa, due to the fact that this was the name of the Hero’s sister in Fable I. She also has the same color scheme and attitude from the Fable I.
If that is Teresa from Fable I, she has every reason to be suspicious, as well as a few holes.
There is a “Hero of Oakvale” book that says the hero obtained the Sword of Aeons and defeated Jack. The problem with that is to get the sword in Fable I, the hero had the choice to kill his sister Teresa or spare her and not get the sword. What this means to me is no matter what was done in Fable I doesn’t matter, they just removed the choice from Fable I and forced it into Fable II. Something about that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I could see them throwing that in there on purpose, if Teresa was killed and came back (as often as heroes seem to), then that would explain why she would be suspicious, other than the whole “raised by Bandits” thing. Still the whole “everything you did in Fable I didn’t happen” hook kinda bugs me just a bit. I understand that everyone’s hero was different…but I didn’t kill her in my game, and apparently it happened anyway. Of course, it is too easy to rewrite history, especially if all that is left is a single book with not much information on the past, and whoever wrote the book obviously wasn’t there.
November 20th, 2008 at 1:02 am
Some great points, but I still liked the ending a lot, including the “perfect day farm”. Old Bowerstone may have been a better choice, but I was intrigued, and responded emotionally to Roses pleas to stay. On the first playthrough anyway, it might not work as well again.
November 23rd, 2008 at 9:50 am
Glad I held off on reading this post until I’d actually finished the game, because I had a very different response. I loved the ending, and responded to it very emotionally. I also agree more with Max about the farm flashback/whatever it was thing. I guess this could be because I just played the ’survive a night in Garth’s tower’ quest before the finale, so I was inclined to see childhood form as a dream induced by an object more so than anything else, just like the tower nightmare. In this case though, it’s a false memory of a childhood that should have been, rather than any nostalgia for what actually happened.
Oh, and throughout my entire playthrough of the game, I kept accidentally referring to Theresa as Kreia. I don’t know if you are a KOTOR fan, but if so, that might make a little sense of her character. Anyway, post forthcoming on my thoughts on the finale…