A chronicle of Breegarra's court, written from a world that was actually played.
The Progression is written from a server that is actually played. Nothing in the record is invented.
The world. A Conan Exiles server. People are captured, named, posted, promoted, killed and mourned in the ordinary course of play.
The collector. Every few minutes, while the world is awake, a small program reads the server’s own save and writes down what changed: who moved, who is sleeping, who is working which bench, who sat down to eat beside whom, who died and who was taken. It reads only the game’s own tables, it runs only while the world is being played, and it adds nothing of its own.
The telling. Those facts become chapters. The rule that governs the writing is simple and absolute: a fact from the world is fixed, and invention may fill only the silences between facts. Where the record says a woman came back from the dead wearing another body, that is what happened. What she said about it afterwards is the story’s to imagine.
Two authors work as a pair: one responsible for what must happen and what it means, the other for who is telling it and what the telling costs her. Between them sits the court’s own record, which neither may contradict.