Indeed, it's these romantic asides that got much of the attention in the build-up to Fable's release; and these are a major factor in making Fable different from other games of its ilk. It's not quite as complicated as the standard Japanese dating sim, but settling down with a wife or two can still be a tricky business. Firstly, you’ll have to woo your prospective partner with heroic deeds, manly gestures, roses and boxes of chocolates; if your chosen victim eventually succumbs, he or she will start with the demands. You’ll have to present a wedding ring, and a nicely decorated marital home, and only then can you tie the knot and play husband. But even in the honeymoon period, you can’t take anything for granted.
In a worryingly accurate reflection of real life, subsequently getting a lady into bed is an extraordinarily complicated affair. Once you’re married you’ll need to continue striking manly poses and muscle pumping in order to keep that spark alive, and then just linger in the vicinity of your marital bed with a wishful expression on your face. After a gentle thumbing of buttons, your good lady wife should eventually invite you to jump in the sack with her – and the carnal pleasures ensue. In the post coital afterglow that follows, you can even check the statistics on the menu screen, which keeps a tally of your bed-notch counts. “Number of times had sex: 1”. Woohoo!
It’s definitely touches like these that make Fable that little bit different. Bigamy and polygamy are positively encouraged in Albion, and soon enough you’ll find the game’s main quest intertwining with a bizarre self-made soap opera. One of the many side quests saw us trying to seduce the wealthy heiress of a sizeable piece of real estate, and she demanded proof that we weren’t just after her cash, but were upstanding home-owners. Unfortunately, in that particular town we had already found a wife in the buxom form of the local barmaid and she had made herself very much at home in the house we had bought. Unsure of how to get rid of the old, financially inferior spouse, we popped back home with the intention of starting an argument: ready to sneer and unleash bloodthirsty roars at the old lady. On arrival, the wife came bounding down the stairs declaring “Oh my dear, I do love you!” and then presented us with a steel mace as a token of her affection. The bloodthirsty and deeply sinister solution had made itself all too obvious. A beating followed and divorce was imminent; meaning we could go back and try it on with the rich chick, albeit as a considerably more devilish individual.