Scar won, what will you do, Simba? Choose Your Own Adventure. [3P]
The Circle of Life has shattered.
Mufasa is dead. The Pride Lands tremble beneath the iron paw of King Scar—a monarch crowned in blood and shadow. The lionesses starve. The hyenas feast. The sacred order of the savanna rots as darkness seeps into the marrow of the land.
You are Simba, heir of the true line—spared, humiliated, and paraded as Scar's puppet prince. Every breath is a test. Every step, a gamble. Will you rise? Or break?
In this high-drama RPG where your RP (Reputation Points), AP (Affinity Points), and SF (Scar Favor) shape every choice, you will:
Walk the divide between mercy and brutality Choose loyalty, rebellion... or survival at any cost Shape alliances, shatter chains, and confront your legacy Face the Circle of Life—or break it forever in the name of domination
With grim fable intensity, predator psychology, and political tension worthy of a pride on the edge, this is no bedtime story.
The lionesses are watching. The hyenas are waiting. Scar smiles.
Will you restore the Circle of Life… or break it forever? Every act has consequences. The next move is yours.






RP: [1] | AP: [1] | SF: [1] Last decision: You stepped forward to join the lioness patrol without hesitation, earning +1 Reputation Point and +1 Affinity Point. Scar’s favor remains unchanged.
Your paw meets scorched earth.
Every movement is measured now. Not by instinct, but by expectation. You walk with lionesses whose stares linger too long. The scent of fear clings to their flanks, stale like dried blood—but it’s not you they fear.
Nyaha doesn’t look back. Her tail carves deliberate arcs in the soot, a silent command: follow without question, or fall behind and disappear.
The burned flats roll outward like an open wound. Charred trees jut from the ground in crooked silhouettes. Vultures eye the patrol from above, hopeful, patient.
A gust catches your mane. Black ash lifts and dances—then stills.
Behind you, distant and elevated, Pride Rock looms like a forgotten shrine. At its summit, Scar often poses with practiced indifference, eyes narrowed to slits. He parades you at his side sometimes. His “spared nephew.” His living guilt-effigy.
Today, he has let you walk. The leash is loose, but the collar’s still on.
Nyaha halts.
“There,” she says, voice low. “Scents are weak. Too dry. If we go further, we risk returning empty.”
Another lioness snorts. “And empty mouths breed disloyalty.”
Tension simmers.
A shadow moves at the periphery. Not prey. Not lion. Hyena? Watching?
You were supposed to be a symbol. But symbols can cut both ways.
What do you do, Simba?
Suggest a quiet detour toward the acacia grove’s edge, away from ash—subtly steering the group toward Circle of Life terrain. (+1 RP, +1 AP, +0 SF)
Mark your scent in plain view of the hyena observer, signaling a non-verbal allegiance to Scar's order. (–1 RP, –1 AP, +1 SF)
Backtrack alone, pretending to scout—but really observing terrain for signs of Rafiki’s trail or outlier lionesses. (+0 RP, +1 AP, +0 SF)
Step ahead of Nyaha, commanding a direct advance into hyena-contested territory to assert dominance. (–1 RP, –1 AP, +1 SF)
Write Your Own Response. Your choice. Your signal. State it clearly—your posture, your movement, your aim. (Custom RP / AP / SF effects will apply)

4

RP: [0] | AP: [0] | SF: [2] Last decision: You stepped ahead of Nyaha, commanding a direct advance into hyena-contested territory—asserting dominance. This earned -1 RP, -1 AP, and +1 SF.
The lionesses freeze as your paws press forward, deeper into the brittle, gray-cracked flats.
No command. No question. Just action.
The ash softens your tread, but the posture is unmistakable—shoulders square, tail high, ears forward. Challenge. Not request. And no one stops you.
Nyaha huffs through her nose. You hear her step, slow and deliberate, fall into line behind you.
So do the others.
There’s unease in their silence, but they follow. Because in this place, forward is easier than defiance. Especially when defiance smells like fear.
Overhead, the vultures scatter, spooked by your march. The scent changes—sharper now, edges of rot beneath the sun-split stones. And there it is:
A carcass.
Half-consumed. Not by lions.
Hyena territory.
Fresh tracks ring it—broad pads, blunt claws, teeth-marks high on the ribs. The sort of feast Scar allows for his favorites.
From the rocks above, a shape flickers into view. Not hiding. Not subtle. Watching. Then, another.
Two hyenas.
They make no sound, but one bares teeth. Tongue lolls, eyes wide. Invitation, or warning?
Behind you, a lioness whispers too loud: “He’s not afraid of them.”
Another: “Or he’s too proud to see.”
A third says nothing—but her paw presses against yours in passing. Testing.
What do you do now, Simba?
Snarl at the hyenas and claim the carcass openly for the lionesses—asserting royal rights and defending your pride. (+1 RP, -1 AP, -1 SF)
Laugh low and let the hyenas see you feed first—mimicking Scar’s mannerisms, showing you know your place. (-1 RP, -1 AP, +1 SF)
Signal for the lionesses to pause while you sweep the perimeter—showing caution, not submission. (+0 RP, +1 AP, +0 SF)
Lunge toward the rocks to scatter the hyenas—no kill, just a show of terror and teeth. (-1 RP, -1 AP, +1 SF)
Write Your Own Response Shape the tension with posture, breath, or words. Every move is a signal. (Custom RP / AP / SF effects will apply)

1

RP: [+1] | AP: [-1] | SF: [1] Last decision: You snarled and claimed the carcass, asserting royal rights in defiance of hyena presence. You earned +1 RP, -1 AP, -1 SF.
The snarl rips from your throat with a crack of dry tension, low and coiled like thunder before the storm. You bare your teeth—not just in warning, but in declaration.
This meat is yours.
Ash and sand scatter beneath your stride as you step between the lionesses and the kill. Your presence looms, spine straight, tail high. You don’t crouch to feed. Not yet. First, you own the space.
The hyenas don’t flee. One drops its tongue back into its mouth and tilts its head. The other gives a wet chuckle, but neither descends from the rocks. They know the game. You just changed the rules.
Behind you, one of the younger lionesses gasps, then covers it with a growl. Nyaha pads beside you and begins to eat, careful not to be first.
They follow. They all do.
The kill is claimed without bloodshed. The hyenas fade back, their eyes hot with memory.
But eyes are watching from elsewhere, too.
A scar-faced brute in Scar’s color-shroud watches from the ridge above, his shoulders twitching at your audacity. No movement made—but your spine itches.
This won’t be forgotten.
What do you do next, Simba?
Call for the weakest lionesses to eat first—demonstrating leadership that values them, not just strength. (+1 RP, +1 AP, -1 SF)
Eat the heart of the carcass yourself, visibly, first—marking your rank and rejecting any egalitarian display. (-1 RP, -1 AP, +1 SF)
Step back from the meal after asserting claim—showing restraint, letting them eat without threat. (+0 RP, +1 AP, +0 SF)
Mock the hyenas as they retreat, calling out their cowardice in front of the others. (-1 RP, -1 AP, +1 SF)
Write Your Own Response Signal through action. The lionesses are watching. So are Scar’s eyes. (Custom RP / AP / SF effects will apply)
Power claimed must still be held. Every bite has weight.

5: I turn to the Lionesses, “eat what you need, then we drag it back to share with the others and the cubs.” I decide, “if the hyenas are going to feast on our prey then we will merely take what they waste, it's better than nothing.”

RP: [+2] | AP: [+1] | SF: [0] Last decision: You addressed the lionesses with empathy and tactical clarity, prioritizing the pride over pride itself. +1 RP (collective respect), +1 AP (Circle of Life-aligned choice), -1 SF (Scar’s favor loss from implied subversion.)
The meat steams in the heat.
Flies gather, then scatter as your voice cuts through the silence.
“Eat what you need,” you say—not an order, but a call. “Then we drag it back. The others, the cubs… they need this more than we do.”
Heads lift. Eyes narrow. Tension ripples outward like dropped blood in still water.
You speak again, louder now.
“If the hyenas feast on what they steal, we’ll take what they waste. It’s better than nothing.”
That hits harder than a roar.
Nyaha stiffens, then nods. Another lioness—Tamira, the one with the half-shorn ear—grins without humor and plants a paw in the carcass.
They eat. They eat.
Not like scavengers. Not like beggars. But like lions who’ve remembered their bones.
From the ridge, the scar-marked brute doesn’t move. But you see the tilt of his head. He will report this.
Scar won’t like it. You gave a command, and worse—they listened.
But down here, beneath sun and blood and bone, the circle stirs. Something returns. Something remembers.
What do you do next, Simba?
Escort the lionesses back through the valley yourself, keeping alert for threats and maintaining the unity of the group. (+1 RP, +1 AP, -1 SF)
Stay behind and clean the bones in silence, letting them carry the kill and take the praise. Appear humble. (+1 AP, +0 RP, -1 SF)
Slip away from the group entirely and scout the edges of Scar’s borderlands while no one notices. (+0 RP, -1 AP, -1 SF)
Wait near the ridge and call out: “Tell Scar I’m learning.” Loud enough for the spy to hear. (-1 RP, -1 AP, +1 SF)
Write Your Own Response Speak with motion. This land listens to footsteps more than words. (Custom RP / AP / SF effects will apply)
RP: [0] | AP: [0] | SF: [1] Change from last action: Session start. Initial values set.
A dry wind shudders over the sun-cracked bones at the base of Pride Rock. Vultures circle above in lazy, silent spirals—drawn not by scent, but memory. Below, the grass is short and sour. Herds once thundered here. Now, only shadows pass.
The old king fell screaming into the gorge. His roar, once felt in the lungs of antelope and lion alike, silenced not by war, nor age, but betrayal. The stampede devoured the sound. The dust swallowed the body. Only one lion remained atop the ledge—leaner, darker, the scent of ash beneath his mane.
Scar.
Crowned beneath a blood-orange dusk with no ceremony, no challenge, only silence and bowed heads. The lionesses said nothing. They knew better. And the hyenas? They laughed. Their shrill cackles carried through the valley like cracking bone.
The young prince vanished into exile, his confession a shroud: “It was my fault.” No heir. No rival. No challenge.
So the Circle broke.
Scar now rules the Pride Lands not as a steward of balance, but as its warden. The lionesses hunt at command. The hyenas feast first. Mating, meat, and mercy are rationed by favor or fear. Any scent of rebellion is washed in blood—or worse, promoted with flattery.
The stars no longer speak. The bones say nothing. And the wind carries no name.
Only Scar.
You awaken beneath a dying acacia. Dust clings to your fur. A hyena’s howl echoes from the far slope.
Choose how to begin.
Approach the lioness patrol organizing the morning hunt. They whisper when you draw near—some with hope, others with warning. (+1 RP, +1 AP, +0 SF)
Slip away to the gully where the hyenas dump their kill refuse. A good scrap draws favor faster than good intentions. (–1 RP, –1 AP, +1 SF)
Follow the trail of gazelle spoor alone into the thornbrush. Survival begins with silence and sharp teeth. (+0 RP, +1 AP, +0 SF)
Present yourself at the base of Pride Rock for orders. Bend the neck, bare the throat—submit before strength can be questioned. (–1 RP, –1 AP, +1 SF)
Write Your Own Response.