I saved the dog.
After twenty or so hours of trials, tribulations, entertainment and saving my life I traded the lives of thousands of innocents I’d never met for that of my faithful dog.
Oh sure, there was my wife Alex and my strangely needy Daughter thrown in with the bargain but they’d never been with me on the Bandit Coast when I was on the narrow winding path. Dead of night, sea crashing against one side; sheer cliff the other. The only real light provided by lightning cracking over the Temple of Shadows looming ahead of me. That and my fire spell, desperately recharging as I was assailed by Bandits, Acolytes, Mercenaries and all manner of foul creatures. I fought them off that day thanks to you.
They weren’t with me, yapping and jumping as I capered in front of the Demon Door at Oakfield until finally I fulfilled its capricious demands and it revealed the riches within. We feasted richly that night on Pie.
They weren’t with me whilst I amassed a real estate empire, working day and night at demeaning, repetitive jobs to pay the mortgage, to pay for our families future, so they wouldn’t have to live the way I did. And after every tenth piece of wood chopped you gave a yap and a jump and I resolved to carry on through.
They weren’t with me as I criss-crossed Albion to dig up the relics of a past I’d once lived, back on the Xbox. And I wonder why? After all archaeology isn’t exactly the most dangerous of professions is it? (Actually it turns out that in Fable 2 it really is) Yet faithful through the attacks you remained until we were standing over the treasure. I’d never have found it without your scrabbling.
All they’d do is sit at home and wait for me to come back, and come back I did. Sure, they’d pat you on the head and pretend they loved you as much as I did but I knew better. Soon they’d be talking to me again, after my money, after my attention. But you didn’t forget me, abandon me, leave me. Even after we spent years apart.
At the end of it all I had the world at my feet. Enemies slain, revenge assured. And then I had a choice. Save everyone enslaved by the mad genius I had been battling; everyone I’d killed. Save my family and dog. Or have unspeakable earthly power. The choice was easy.
Now. I was a nice man, a very nice man according to other people - but they hadn’t seen the bitterness in my heart of being the only one who could save them, the only real Hero. They didn’t appreciate me the way they should. Of course I could avoid the corruption and hate of the sheepish populace. I’m not stupid like they are, prating after some rich celebrity. I’d already managed to obtain dominion over all of them, I owned their houses; controlled their shops; could kill anyone in a fight with only the power of my mind!
I’d outthought the whole country, shown a pretty face whilst being rotten within for over twenty hours and then at the end they beat me. Because, at the end, I really did love the dog. And it broke me. Ten minutes later I’d saved out of the game for the last time.
Damn you Molyneux. Damn you.