(if: $day is 7)[[[Time's up.|coronation]]
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the weary bones, your sword to rust.](else:)[You want the throne. (either: "You lust for it like life itself.", "You have a heart filled with desire.", "You have never not known want.", "You are made of greed and hope.", "You cannot imagine failure.", "You wear your ambition like a crown.") (either: "You dream of it.", "You crave power.", "You dream of independence.", "You want desperately.", "You lust for it ardently.") (either: "The throne will save you.", "The throne will transform you.", "The throne will be your metamorphosis.", "The throne gleams seductively.", "The throne beckons you.") (either: "To lounge on it will turn your life transformed.", "To have its power would give you the chance for glory.", "Its presence will mean all your sins forgiven.", "None of your faults will matter when you have it.", "You will be untouchable.")
(if: $total is 0)[You have three talents.
(either: [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]],[[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])](else-if: $total is 1)[You have two talents.
(either: [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Study]], [[Speak]],[[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Study]], [[Speak]],[[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Study]], [[Speak]], [[Study]], [[Speak]],[[SACRIFICE]])](else-if: $total is 3)[You have two talents.
(either: [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[Speak]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])](else-if: $total is 5)[You have two talents.
(either: [[Study]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Study]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Study]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Strike]], [[Study]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])](else-if: $total is 4)[You have one talent.
(either: [[Speak]], [[Speak]], [[Speak]], [[Speak]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Speak]], [[Speak]], [[Speak]], [[Speak]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Speak]], [[Speak]], [[Speak]], [[Speak]], [[SACRIFICE]])](else-if: $total is 8)[You have one talent.
(either: [[Strike]], [[Strike]], [[Strike]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Strike]], [[Strike]], [[Strike]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Strike]], [[Strike]], [[Strike]], [[Strike]], [[SACRIFICE]])](else-if: $total is 6)[You have one talent.
(either: [[Study]], [[Study]], [[Study]], [[Study]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Study]], [[Study]], [[Study]], [[Study]], [[SACRIFICE]])
(either: [[Study]], [[Study]], [[Study]], [[Study]], [[SACRIFICE]])](else-if: $total is 9)[You have no talents.
[[SACRIFICE|sacrifice2]]
[[SACRIFICE|sacrifice2]]
[[SACRIFICE|sacrifice2]]
]
]
Study: (print: $study) | Speak: (print: $speak) | Strike: (print: $strike)
Opportunities: (print: 7 - $day)
(if: $studyday is 0)[You lock yourself in your rooms for hours on end, the quiet ticking of your clock your only companion. The Academy Entrance Exams are your ticket into court. You will be someone important. You are //smart enough// to become someone important.
The lamps burn bright into the night. You eschew social events. You have more important work to do.
Not to mention your more //esoteric// studies.
](else-if: $studyday is 1)[There is so little time in the day. Not enough for homework, not enough for honesty. Classes, homework, chattering with your classmates about the Exam. Three of you will be given positions at court. Three of you will have the opportunity for //advancement//.
It's the first step. You cannot fail.
](else-if: $studyday is 2)[Between classes you've been doing some extracurriculars. You have learned much of the arcane: the libraries are full of strange tomes and stranger folios. Summoning rituals. Strange enchantments. Descriptions of deals and barters and //offerings//. The sort of thing that is illicit: the sort of thing that people have died for — died trying.
You think that death is preferable to failure. You light candles. You draw your runes. You call out to any force that would have you.
And they answer.
](else-if: $studyday is 3)[You've made a number of deals and they've been paying off. You were one of the three chosen for //advancement//. Advancement meaning, lets not mince words — a court appointment. Access to more esoteric tomes, the personal libraries of various courtiers and magicians. You will rub elbows will royalty. You will learn the deep magicks that give mages their epithets.
In return: (either: "the memories of your first sixteen winters", "your mother's smile", "your first lover's name"). It's a small price, you think. Small sacrifices. You don't //need// these memories, and soon, you don't remember them enough to miss them.
A number of court mages have ascended the throne. You aim to count yourself among their number.
](else-if: $studyday is 4)[You toil over your work. That is the word for it. //Toil//.
The court demands miracles. This is what it means to have a court appointment. You are the distiller of wonders from the dread mundane. The court wants deathless soldiers, fireless fireworks, automatons made of gold and amber.
It drains you. Physically. Not enough to take your time, but now it needs your blood, needs filaments of your soul spun off of the spool, you have no time for pleasantries — you used to dream of court and now you loathe the hours it takes. You are becoming someone you do not wish to be.
You think there must be some easier way. You daydream of //shortcuts//.
](else-if: $studyday is 5)[You're in a good mood — the weather has been lovely, you're getting enough sleep, the serving girls all smile at you. You've got a //reputation//, now, you're the prodigy of the court, you're the darling of the crown, you can do //anything you put your mind to//. They call you Kingmaker these days.
The other mages hate you. They whisper in the corridors when they think you cannot hear. They spread vile rumor. They say that to fulfill your promises you've delved into the forbidden arts, that //you're// not the maker of miracles, that you're the puppet for a thousand masters who plan to topple the throne. They say that you're not human, that you're a living automaton, after all //why don't you let anyone into your quarters?//
You think that absurd. You scoff in their faces. You invite your skeptics to your study, and let them see the mundane desk, the bookcases, the piles of notes.
Then you kill them, and offer their memory as sacrifice, and return to the court with a new miracle held in hand.
](else-if: $studyday is 6)[It is not enough to offer the others. You offer pieces of your soul as well. It does not disturb you. You do not remember what you are giving up.
Court is quiet, these days. The empire runs like clockwork.
](else-if: $studyday is 7)[You've crafted a court that doesn't dare challenge your rule. They whisper about the mage who has entranced the emperor, they cower when you turn your blank face toward them.
You don't have the heart to tell them you're no longer running the show.
Literally, you don't have the heart.
][[Return to the throne|throne room]]
(put: $study+1 into $study)
(put: $day+1 into $day)
(put: $studyday+1 into $studyday)(if: $speakday is 0)[You were born with a silver tongue and gilded words. People listen to you. People love you. They call you //charming,// and you laugh your light and lilting laugh and thank them, and when you ask them for favors, they gladly acquiesce.
People bore you, but they're dead useful. A friend-of-a-friend secures your position in court, a friend's uncle offers you the opportunity to join the royal retinue.
You gladly accept. You suggest that perhaps your temperment and bearing might be best suited to the prince, freshly returned from a jaunt abroad, tan, cultured, handsome, swanning through the halls of the palace and making all the servant girls swoon. You think him an airhead and a useless layabout. He's first in line for the throne.
You think he could like you. Most people do.](else-if: $speakday is 1)[The prince is at first... //disagreeable// toward your appointment.
"Another hanger-on?" he says, lounging on a couch as you're introduced to him. Not even bothering to raise his head.
"Oh, not even giving me a //single// chance?" you say, keeping your voice light.
"Chances aren't up to me," the prince says. "If my father wills it..." he trails off, and shrugs. "Very well, you start at once. Report to Jean for the details."
You bow. You leave. He wasn't what you were expecting.](else-if: $speakday is 2)[The first few weeks, you trail the prince like a shadow, like the flittering gadflies who follow him around the court. You watch him like a hawk.
He lounges on chaises. He banters with the guards. He reads books and reports alone in his room. He charges through the halls with his sister shrieking as he carries her on his shoulders. He swans through groups of people in court, never talking to the same person twice and insulting them with veiled quips. He drinks too much. He laughs too loud.
He's lonely, you realize. He's never allowed to be sad.
You could use this. It would be easy, now that you know him, to make him trust. To make him trust //you.//](else-if: $speakday is 3)["I know it's silly," he says, confessional, slumped over a table after dinner. You dine with him these days. You're his closest confidant. "It sounds ungrateful."
"You're allowed to have feelings," you say, leaning over to stroke his hair. A gesture of familiarity. You're allowed many of these. He sighs.
"I suppose," he says. "There's just so many expectations." The crown weighs heavy on him.
"Some of us would kill for those," you reply, and he grins ruefully. He thinks you exaggerate. You grin back, tilting it rakish, and lean further forward to kiss him.
You'd do a lot of things for power. It's no hardship to kiss a handsome man.](else-if: $speakday is 4)[When the engagement is announced, there is no shortage of gossip. If you were not //you//, this would be no end of criticism. The heir to the throne! Engaged! For //love//, of all things, instead of //political gain!// What must his parents think? It's all so //romantic!//
You float above the gossip. You assuage doubts, you smile and thank people who say that they're //so happy for you and the prince//. You dream about wearing a crown, about the changes you will institute once in power. You deftly maneuver around those who grumble about political climbers, you assuage your fiance of your affection for him. You act as though you're deeply in love.
You panic alone in your quarters. Here's the truth of it: you //are//.](else-if: $speakday is 5)[It's a week before the wedding when he learns of your ambition. He's cold for a day or so, and you don't understand why until over breakfast, he asks you, "Are you marrying me for the throne?"
You freeze. Your momentary silence tells him everything he needs to know.
"Oh," he says, and his voice is calm. He's as diplomatic as you are. "So it's like that, then."
"No—" you say, but he's already excused himself from the table.](else-if: $speakday is 6)[The marriage proceeds as planned. He does not call off the wedding — all the wheels are already in motion, it would be an embarassment to the throne to cancel the festivities. You wonder if your beloved plans to have you disposed with, later. Assassinated, or swept off to one of the faraway palaces.
You don't ask him. He acts perfectly congenial towards you in public, and only slightly less affectionate in private. But there's a difference now.
"Are you mad at me?" you ask, one night in bed.
"Why would I be?" he asks, blinking.
"Because, you know, the other day," you say, unwilling to talk about your confession in plain terms. He laughs.
"You're just like everyone else," he says.](else-if: $speakday is 7)[The worst of it is, you still have your ambition. You can't tell your beloved that it's not part of your attraction to him. But you love him for his other qualities, in him you see a reflection of your own self.
And because of this, you know he wouldn't believe you. ](put: $speak+1 into $speak)(put: $day+1 into $day)(put: $speakday+1 into $speakday)
[[Return to the throne|throne room]](if: $strikeday is 0)[War is announced on the southern border. Criers ride through the streets of the cities, across the roads of the empire. A draft is announced. Mothers hug their children goodbye.
The war is a curiosity for the court, more than any sort of crisis. The court is abuzz with //gossip// over it. There's no draft for the courtiers, to enter the war would be choice and not a mandate. You would be officer, not infantryman.
You toss your name into the hat. You let the ladies fawn over you. You talk of subduing the southern border and let them call you brave.
Many generals in your empires glorious history have ascended the throne.
](else-if: $strikeday is 1)[If you were an infantryman, you would already be in battle. As it is, you have //training// first, your status affording you a choice of positions according to your skills. The officer penciling your appointment in is grudgingly approving of your background. Impressive combat scores, crackshot aim, you've had the best training money can buy ever since you could walk.
"You took yourself seriously, huh?" she grunts. "Surprising, for one of your set."
You keep yourself from rolling your eyes. You don't deny that your compatriots, the other flitting things in the court, have a reputation for //flightiness//. But she wouldn't understand the political games they play, she ought not to //judge//.
"I'm wanting an appointment in the Black Advance," you say. She blinks at you. She's surprised. Of course she is. The Black Advance is the elite of the elite. A strike force straight out of legend. They singlehandedly ended the last war.
"No," she says. "You don't ask for the Black Advance."
"Why not?" you ask, channeling all your court-bred indignity. The officer is unimpressed.
"They'll ask for you," she says, and writes in //Specialized Combat Support// into your division.](else-if: $strikeday is 2)[War is a series of small rooms that you argue with other officers in, dense with cigar smoke. War is sending your troops out and riding at their head because you're not the sort of commander who sits at the back of the advance. War is holding your compatriot's body as he bleeds out, and if this were a movie he would clutch your collar and tell you not to leave any of the bastards alive, but instead he just gasps, and if this were a movie you would know what to tell him, but instead you just press harder on his wound and your hankerchief is stained red and your hands are stained red and you're screaming for a medic.
Thoughts of the throne are far from your head, these nights.
War is washing blood off your hands in a washbasin, meticulously scrubbing at your cuticles, when a man approaches you.
"What?" you ask, not in the mood.
"How'd you like a promotion?" the man asks, genially, like he's asking about the weather. "You did well, re-taking the pass."
Your friends died due to your maneuver. Three-fourths of your command died. You snort, ignore the stranger.
"Really," the man says, undeterred. "It was supposed to be impossible. We like that sort of initiative."
"Who's //we?//" you ask, and of course the man smiles and says "The Black Advance." ](else-if: $strikeday is 3)[The Black Advance thinks of more sophisticated things than battlefields. The Black Advance thinks of political assassination. Why drag out a war when a few deaths would suffice?
Well, simply put, the war is good for the economy. And it provides a point of interest for the papers. It thins out the young courtiers who are politically difficult, as one of your coworkers puts it.
You suppose that means you. It makes your blood boil.
But the war has dragged on long enough, the Emperor's advisors, his mages and generals, have suggested that it's high time everyone comes home.
You are charged with compiling a strategy to make this happen. To kill the opposition's generals and the royal family, all without making a — to put it delicately — //mess.//
"It'll be a real feather in your cap," one of your coworkers says.
"Mm," you say.](else-if: $strikeday is 4)[Upon your return to court, you're the golden boy. You're the newest delight. You're a war hero. You're given awards and accolades, slaps on the back and pats on the shoulder, and everyone ignores the melted mess of your left eye and cheek except to suggest, delicately, //a mask, perhaps?//
You grin. You bear it. Smiling hurts with your new visage.
The Emperor himself gives you a medal and a promotion and a desk job. You smile and thank him. You've killed one king. You suppose he wants to keep you close.](else-if: $strikeday is 5)[You quietly go about your new job. You oversee high-level troop movements on the Southern and Western borders. You go to dinners with diplomats and courtiers and generals.
You are at one of these dinners when the news breaks. The Emperess has fallen ill. The Emperor is headed to the Summer Palace.
You express the necessary distress. You excuse yourself from dinner early. You have half an hour to intercept, according to your calculations.](else-if: $strikeday is 6)[The Empress-Regent rules listlessly. The death of her husband has softened her. Her eldest daughter is still too young to ascend the throne. The eldest son died in the war.
You express the appropriate condolences. You offer suggestions to the Empress-Regent, who takes them gratefully. She remarks that your current mask is particularly fine.
You smile. You thank her. You imagine driving a sword through her heart. You think you will, eventually. ](else-if: $strikeday is 7)[Time passes. People die. Your temper is legendary in the court. You've stopped wearing the mask. ](put: $strike+1 into $strike)(put: $day+1 into $day) (put: $strikeday+1 into $strikeday)
[[Return to the throne|throne room]]=><=
CORONATION
THIS IS A STORY ABOUT [[AMBITION|throne room]]
(set: $speak to 0)
(set: $study to 0)
(set: $strike to 0)
(set: $glass to 0)
(set: $knife to 0)
(set: $voice to 0)
(set: $total to 0)
(set: $day to 0)
(set: $speakday to 0)
(set: $studyday to 0)
(set: $strikeday to 0)(if: $knife is 0)[GIVE UP THE [[KNIFE]]](else:)[You have already given up your knife.]
(if: $glass is 0)[GIVE UP THE [[GLASS]]](else:)[You have already given up your glass.]
(if: $voice is 0)[GIVE UP THE [[VOICE]]](else:)[You have already given up your voice.]
You give up the knife. Your violence in your blood like a physical ache, your pulse pulling you forward. Your rage that is a comfort, your vindication. Your ardent desire. The satisfaction of a bone crunched under your fist. The beautiful lust for battle. The chambers of your heart a flood. You lose the fire that warms you from the inside out.
You give up the knife.
[[Return to the throne|throne room]]
(set: $knife to 1)
(put: $speak+2 into $speak)
(put: $study+2 into $study)
(put: $total + $knife into $total)
(put: $day+1 into $day) You give up the glass. Your foresight, your ability to think like the world is but a grand game of chess. Your Chinese Room. Your focus, the sharpened point of your mind. Your ability to understand the pattern of the world and play your pieces accordingly. The ability to see. The satisfaction of knowing.
You give up the glass.
[[Return to the throne|throne room]]
(set: $glass to 3)
(put: $strike+2 into $strike)
(put: $speak+2 into $speak)
(put: $total + $glass into $total)
(put: $day+1 into $day) You give up the voice. Your confidence like an iron rod in your spine, your tongue dripping silver. You talk, and people listen. Your command, your articulation, the way heads turn when you open your mouth. You lay down the smiling nods, the handshakes, your confidence, your //conviction//.
You give up the voice.
[[Return to the throne|throne room]]
(set: $voice to 5)
(put: $study+2 into $study)
(put: $strike+2 into $strike)
(put: $total + $voice into $total)
(put: $day+1 into $day) You have given everything you have to offer. You remember when you had desire. You look at the throne and you no longer want — its gleam is tarnished, it has no appeal. You would not know what to do with it anymore.
Why did you want the throne? It would bring you nothing of value. The power it holds is like ash. You feel as if you are waking from a dream.
You have no throne. You have no talents.
[[Try again?|beginning]]
[[Credits]]
<center><iframe src="/html/departureContent.html" style="width:150px;height:150px;padding:0;margin:0;display:block;border:none;overflow:hidden;"></iframe></center>
(if: $study >= 7)[They say the emperex is a hollow husk. They say the emperex is controlled by the elder gods. They say the emperex has no heart.
They don't say this too loudly though. Accidents tend to happen, and the kingdom runs like a beautiful clockwork machine.](if: $strike >= 7)[Later they talk of your reign as a coup. Were you alive to hear this, you would froth at the mouth to hear them discuss you such. They talk about your scar, your warmongering, the death of the previous imperial family.
You would rage. //They should thank me!// you would scream. //I made our empire great!//
It's true. Your military might was unmatched. But your court was rife with deaths. You encouraged this.
They do not write about the Southern War, the death of most of your company. It is a footnote in your biographies.](if: $speak >= 7)[You marry the prince on a fine spring day. He kisses you perfunctory on the lips, a close-mouthed peck, and you miss the way he used to kiss you.
"Better the devil you know," he murmurs against your lips.]
You sometimes wonder how things could have been [[different.|beginning]]
[[Credits]]
<center><iframe src="/html/departureContent.html" style="width:150px;height:150px;padding:0;margin:0;display:block;border:none;overflow:hidden;"></iframe></center>
You never ascend the throne. Your life is painfully pedestrian. And you can't help but wonder whether, if you had been a different sort of person, a different sort of soul, had you cracked open your head and poured someone else in, if you would have had more conviction, less flight, been more sure of yourself, more charming, more hardworking, more vicious, more cruel, had you beat the clay of your body into a new form, //whether you would have won.//
[[Try again?|beginning]]
[[Credits]]
<center><iframe src="/html/departureContent.html" style="width:150px;height:150px;padding:0;margin:0;display:block;border:none;overflow:hidden;"></iframe></center>
Kingmaker is by Isabel J. Kim. It is a story about ambition.
Kingmaker is about getting exactly what you want and realizing that failure and success are similar states. It's a game about what you choose to give up in search of your goals, about irrationality and desperation. It's about the arbitrary nature of what choices are offered to you, about time's inescapable march.
Or, you know, it's just about desire. Don't read too much into it.
[[Try again?|beginning]]Double-click this passage to edit it.(if: $study >= 7)[We all get what we [[deserve|coronationgood]]](else-if: $strike >= 7)[We all get what we [[deserve|coronationgood]]](else-if: $speak >= 7)[We all get what we [[deserve|coronationgood]]](else:)[We all get what we [[deserve|darkcoronation]] ]