Vail Branching Narrative Sample

Before venturing forth, choose your class. 1. [[Bard]] (Persuasion and Charisma) 2. [[Fighter]] (Intimidation and Strength) 3. [[Rogue]] (Stealth and Cunning)

(set: $class to "bard") Being a bard isn't just about wine and song. Or at least, not //entirely//. You became a bard to bring joy and inspiration (in return for sufficient renumeration). Thanks to the Brute Lord, the ruler of the neighbouring kingdom, your people haven't felt joy or inspiration for a while. That's why you joined the Shadow Body, the underground operation dedicated to defending your realm through unconventional and covert means. In the smoky backroom of a little-known pub, you sit down with the Left Eye of the Shadow Body for your latest assignment. [[Your assignment]]

(set: $class to "fighter")You were born to be a soldier, like your mother and grandfather before you. It's honest work, and easy to come by. When the Brute Lord of the neighbouring kingdom started harrying your country's borders, you could have joined the army. But armies had to play by rules, and tyrants like the Brute Lord knew how to exploit those. The Shadow Body's only rule was doing whatever it took to protect your country--so you joined them instead. In the smoky room of a little-known pub, you sit down with the Left Eye of the Shadow Body for your latest assignment. [[Your assignment]]

(set: $class to "rogue")You don't think of yourself as a rogue. You're more of a problem solver. If a door is locked, you'll use a window. If you've no coin for bread, you'll lift it off a mark who can spare it. If someone's too strong to attack face to face--behind their back will do just as well. But the Brute Lord of the neighbouring kingdom is a big problem, and not one you can solve by yourself. That's why you joined the Shadow Body. In the smoky backroom of a little-known pub, you sit down with the Left Eye of the Shadow Body for your latest assignment. [[Your assignment]]

"The Brute Lord's arrived," she says. "I heard." Our country's regents, in a hopelessly optimistic effort to prevent more bloodshed, invited the Brute Lord to our city for a diplomatic summit. There, they hoped to use parades, state dinners, and ribbon cuttings to achieve what a decade's worth of armed conflict couldn't. "We will never have a better opportunity to strike at him," she said. "But we can ill afford retaliation, so it must look like an accident. That's why I need you. And why you need //this.//" The Left Eye of the Shadow Body sets down a small box, about the size of a loaf of bread. A soft hissing sound emerges from the holes cut into the lid. (set: $question to 0) [["What's in the box?"]]

(set: $question to it + 1)"In the Brute Lord's kingdom, these creatures are known for sneaking into unattended wagons for warmth," she replies. "If all goes well, his people will just assume it hitched a ride with them sometime during their journey here." [["Anything else?"]] the Left Eye asks.

You put on the protective gloves and (gently) pick up the box. It's surprisingly light, and oddly balanced. You strap it to your back before heading to the palace. (if: $class is "rogue")[Three blocks from your destination, you shimmy up a building's drain pipe and make the rest of your way via rooftop. You take a running leap off a gargoyle and land on one of the palace's outbuildings. You jimmy a window open with a length of wire and disappear inside. ](if: $class is "bard")[You slick back your hair, tune your lute, and present yourself at the gates as part of the night's entertainment. When asked why you didn't arrive with the other performers, you relate a story involving a rude awakening by a lover's spouse that required a hasty escape--you accompany the lewder parts with suggestive lute strumming. Before long, the guards are in stitches, and wave you in with a chorus of laughter.](if: $class is "fighter")[The place is an upset anthill thanks to the state dinner. You spot a guard hurrying for the privy. They're more or less your size. In the chaos, it's the work of a moment to knock them out and steal their uniform. None of the other guards question you when you enter the palace a few minutes later. They may not recognize your face, but they recognize the poise and posture of a fellow fighter.] You make it to the guest block without incident. You peer around a corner and spot two guards posted at the doors to the Sapphire Suite but they're due for a shift change any moment. All you need to do is bide your time. Suddenly, the creature in the box starts to [[whimper.]]

You give the box a warning shake, but the whimpers turn to yelps, rising in pitch. Down the hall, the guards's heads swivel towards the sound. Ducking back behind the corner, you retreat into a nearby storage room. The creature's claws scrabble against the box, as it continues to emit plaintive, frightened cries. If you don't quiet it down, the guards will find you. Making sure you're wearing your protective gloves, you [[open the box.]]

Tentatively, you lower a gloved hand into the box and ruffle the baby's feathers. Even through the gloves, you can feel how downy and soft they are. The chick trills and eagerly headbutts your palm until you take the creature into your hands. It relaxes into your touch with soft, happy huffing noises until it falls asleep with its head on your wrist. You carefully lower it back into the box. [[You hear footsteps in the hallway.]]

You're not quite sure what cockatrices eat, but you have a pouch of salted nuts that you keep for an emergency snack. You pour some into your gloved hand and carefully lower it into the box. The cockatrice chick pecks at the nuts, and you watch its little throat flutter as it swallows one. Its feathers all fluff up at once, and its snakey little tail wiggles. It repeats this happy little hopping dance with every nut it eats until your hand is empty. Sated, the baby creature gives you a fond headbutt and falls asleep. You carefully lower the lid back onto the box. [[You hear footsteps in the hallway.]]

(if: $class is "bard")[You softly hum a jaunty tune, gently tapping the box with your fingers for a little percussion. The chick starts bobbing its head and stamping its tiny feet, surprisingly on rhythm.](if: $class is "rogue")[You pick up a shard of eggshell from the chick's nest, and use sleight of hand to make it disappear. Its cocks its little head in adorable confusion. You make the shard reappear behind where the chick's ear would be, and it flutters its flightless wings in delight. ](if: $class is "fighter")[You remove a polished dagger from your weapons belt, and use it to refract a shaft of light into the box. The cockatrice chases the light around its nest with wobbly little hops, wings flapping happily.] Enthralled, the chick turns to gaze at you like you hung the moon for it personally. Then it sneezes again. Then it yawns. The tiny thing is pooped. You carefully tuck it back into its nest and lower the lid on the box as it falls asleep. [[You hear footsteps in the hallway.]]

You press your ear to the door. You hear the two guards approach ... and then pass the storage room. It's the shift change you were planning on. As soon as they march out of earshot, you open the door, ensure the coast is clear, then dash towards the Sapphire Suite. Once inside the Brute Lord's bedchamber, you remove the little cockatrice from its box. It's still sleeping, its scaley tail twitching as it dreams. You tuck it beneath the coverlet to hide it. If everything goes according to plan, the unsuspecting tyrant will go to bed, startle the cockatrice--and with one bite, his threat to your country will disappear. As for the cockatrice ... before you can finish that thought, you [[hear unexpected voices.]]

You duck into the adjoining dressing room just as the Brute Lord sweeps into the bedchamber ahead of schedule, visibly drunk, and accompanied by two hulking bodyguards. He tosses his horned helmet wide, forcing one of his bodyguards to dive to catch it, and tears himself out of his finery before flopping onto the bed. For a moment, nothing happens, and you wonder if the Brute Lord somehow crushed the baby cockatrice beneath his bulk. Then he leaps up with a cry. "Something b-bit m-m-..." The tyrant recoils from the bed, his face shifting from red, to white, to grey as he fully petrifies. The chick emerges from under the covers, cheeping indignantly, its tail lashing like an angry cat's. The bodyguards shout in horror as they realize what's happened. That horror turns to rage as they loom over the baby cockatrice. The larger of the two hauls the creature up by its tail. With an ugly look in his eye, he violently shakes it as it squawks, helplessly. The bodyguards are so intent on making the animal suffer, they won't notice if you slip past them to freedom. You could also use their distraction to save the little cockatrice--but in doing so, you'd confirm the Brute Lord's "accident" was an assassination. [[Save the cockatrice]] [[Escape while they're distracted]]

If you leave that creature to suffer, are you any better than the Brute Lord? You don't want to find out. (if: $class is "bard")[You stumble out of the dressing room, slurring your words. "I sssay, this isn't the water closet. Where am I?" In front of the dumbfounded guards, you bend over as if to wretch. Whipping up, you blow a handful of sleeping powder into the first guard's face. He rears back, swaying, then slumps to the ground.](if: $class is "rogue")[You fall into a crouch and slip out of the dressing room soundlessly, coming up behind the first guard. You cram a handkerchief soaked in sleeping potion against his face until he goes limp.](if: $class is "fighter")[You storm out of the dressing room, drawing your blade. Taken by surprise, the first guard barely counters in time. You quickly angle past his defence and knock him unconscious with the pommel of your sword. ] Suddenly, a hand seizes you from behind--the second guard somehow got behind you. You turn around, waiting for the blow to fall--but it doesn't. The hand on your back cramps, hardens ... then turns to stone. Behind the now petrified guard, the cockatrice chick chirps happily, toddling over to you. It rubs its fluffy head fondly against your boot. So much for making the tyrant's death look like an accident. If his people are anything like him, retaliation is sure to follow--but at least the Brute Lord won't get to enjoy it. You lift the baby cockatrice onto your shoulder, give it a moment to dig in its claws, and then the two of you beat it out of there. (align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[THE END]

(set:$question to it + 1) "It's a juvenile," the Left Eye replies. "Easier to conceal, and careless with their venom. We won't need it to live long, or at all, after it does its job." [["Anything else?"]] she asks.

(set:$question to it + 1) She hands me a pair of thick leather gloves. "Wear these whenever you have to handle it--and only handle it when you have to." [["Anything else?"]] she asks.

"A creature from the Brute Lord's homeland who will help his death look like an accident," she replies. "And how do I factor in?" you ask. "Creatures like this are ... fragile when they're in this state," the Left Eye says. "You'll need to carefully place it right where we want it to provide the killing bite. In the Brute Lord's very bed, if possible. Tonight's state dinner should provide enough of a distraction." "Where's the Brute Lord staying?" "In the Sapphire Suite. The regents spared no expense." You're familiar with the inner workings of the palace. It's doable, but you still have questions. [[How will this look like an accident?]] [[That's an awfully small box for a deadly creature.]] [[Am I at risk from the creature?]]

(if: $question is < 3)[ [[How will this look like an accident?]] [[That's an awfully small box for a deadly creature.]] [[Am I at risk from the creature?]] ] (else:)[ [["No, I have everything I need to know."]] ]

Nestled inside a makeshift nest of straw, the creature gazes up at you with wide, bright eyes. It's covered with fluffy yellow down, except for a pair of scaley, three-toed feet and a sinuous green tail. It's a cockatrice. One bite of its beak could turn a fully-armored orc into stone, but this one's just a baby, and newly-hatched if the shards of eggshell in its nest are anything to go by. Upon seeing you, it flutters its downy wings in excitement, sneezes three times in close succession, then starts to cheep excitedly. You remember reading something about how baby birds impress on their mothers, and hope that's not what's happening here. "Whoa now," you say. "Shhhh." If you don't quiet the chick, the guards will find your hiding place in no time. [[Pet the cockatrice]] [[Feed the cockatrice]] [[Distract it with something]]

You feel a pang for the infant creature, but if you expose yourself, you'll expose the whole of your country to retaliation from the Brute Lord's forces. That's not a choice you're willing to make. Ducking into a crouch, you slide out of the dressing room as the first guard throws the cockatrice to the floor and stomps on it. You hear bones breaking. You keep tight to the outer wall as you head for the door. A floorboard creaks beneath you, but at the same time, the baby cockatrice bleats, weakly. It's still alive. You make it to the door. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the second guard lift the limp creature by one of its feet and whip it towards the wall. You're in the hallway when you hear the impact. The bleating stops. THE END