Conflicting Narrations: Crownkiller's Mulligan

[ThreadLurkingComorant]

Conflicting Narrations: Crownkiller's Mulligan


This is a Interactive Narrative with ARG Elements

The Audience is encouraged to suggest actions.

Tutor, The Last of Tiles.

You wear the name of your fallen comrades' guild as your own.

Your classification is: The Executioner, a master of arms, poise, and intimidation.

This is a meta narrative of war, romance, and the bonds between revolutionists

Content Warnings will be listed as needed but allow the above to set the tone.

Thank you.
 

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[image description: A anthropomorphic dog woman is digging through the drawers of the perspective character.]

 

You feel the rumblings of a Stranger beside your bed.

"Must be around here somewhere.."

"That tome doesn't seem to be the correct one.. you've added quite a few nice trinkets since then though.."

Your eyes go open, a woman is fiddling through your personal belongings.

Your body cannot move, your allies are seemingly out of sight.

Your comrade is next to you, sleeping behind where you are facing.

You try to stir as much as you can to wake them up, alert them.

They seem to not respond.

You can feel their breathing calm..

You really want to strike..  but your lance is across the room.

You made a pact, in a crisis like these you can summon a secondary arm, a weapon to complement your talents. to protect yourself and others..

Picture something, anything that could scare off the intruder.

[Guest]

something extremely fucking loud (this is scapula im in a car)

[ThreadLurkingComorant]

[image description: A anthropomorphic dog woman, dubbed "The bandit" for now, looks over you smugly as you struggle out of bed to stop her from escaping.]

You picture something loud, heavy, enough to kickstart things immediately.

In a instant, a massive wok crashes down, barely missing the bandit who lets out a yelp.

Then the Wok suddenly stops in place.

The Bandit: W-what the-

She turns over to you, tilting her head in confusion.

The Bandit: You're able to see me? How interesting... I suppose in your case it makes sense.

Her eyes shift toward the large mirror covered partially in drapery.

The Bandit: You're not the same though... Someone else's vision of the past perhaps?

You can feel yourself regaining the ability to move, starting to wriggle out of bed.

Her eyes widen.

The Bandit:  Just as defiant though, I respect it. I can see you've found yourself a friend too. Shortage of beds, I understand..

You can feel your ally starting to wriggle behind you.

The Bandit: ....Another? Madness to me

Your comrade rises from bed.


You are granted the options for your initial party member. Pick One:

Gallows: The Comedian, a master of trickery and persuasion. He maintains a pact with a man of arms and a well of knowledge. A reliable friend you owe plenty to.

Styx: The Man of Arms, the entity Gallows holds a pact with. When needed, he takes front of his client's body to help others and/or indulge. A friend only you can navigate.

Courier: The Courier, a nameless sword puppeting a flesh body who carries a defiant proxy. Deceptively talented and able to get a job done with low profile. A friend who's quick to be there.

Creme: The Forge, a tall cat with a affinity for metal work and hot drinks. Strong, friendly, and often flustered. A friend who's rather sweet on you.

Ibarra: The Hustle, the original owner of Creme's body. Reluctant to front but driven by a genuine urge to atone for past cowardice. A friend who wishes for forgiveness.

Scab: The Many, a hivemind of a rabbit. Many bodies in many places and regenerates through osmosis. Only the clock can end her life. A friend to everyone.

 

[skinstealer]

ibarra or scab

[MarxzVulpez]

seconding Ibarra