Bay 12 Games Forum

Pretty much, I'd like to make it so that my fort consists of dwarves, deep men, rock elves, and perhaps other underground-type races. Ideally, they'd all have their individual traits (Dwarves need alcohol and go into martial trances, humans and elves... Do whatever it is they're going to do), but I'd settle for just different names and body shapes.

I'm clueless about the current modding methods, but before I take the time off to learn them, I'd like to know if it's possible, and if so, what would need to be given up to make it happen. Or would I need to settle for picking up a utility to zap some migrants into the appropriate race?

I'm designing my new fort something like a city block, with multi-Z-level structures for dwarf housing and non-work efforts. So far I've got a design that houses 12 dwarves in 2x2 rooms (for the standard hauler-migrant class builds) on one Z-level, a meal hall above, perhaps another housing layer above that one... But what else will I need?

The Council Chamber, an area for discussing the game's events and planning one's next move, can be found here.


All this being said, let's finish get the infodumping out of the way.

These are going to be important.

As a note, Holy Orders for the rest of the gods can be made on request.

These two factions have more far-reaching authorities than the rest, but also have to worry a lot more about being... Taken care of.

These guys cover the various aspects of skills and work to be done in the fort. Good to effect constructions, but also useful if you want to force an issue. Not gonna get far with the crafters on strike, after all...

More filling in the gaps than actual factions. The King and Queen are not playable, and the rest are likely to severely limit your influence. But at the same time, they are some pretty nice positions.


Now that you've waded through that mess, here's the gist of the story so far. The King and Queen have just begun settling in, and are formalizing the Council to manage the ruling of the capital city. Currently there are no active projects or great events, but for now there's just a lot of getting things organized properly and putting on a good show for the Royal Family. There's a bit of history behind the fort, but most have only ever been paying attention to their own little sectors before now.

Here are the maps of the fort, currently split into two parts because I suck at uploading.

Upper Half
Lower Half


And here are the Council Members that have been taken so far.

Mosus Vodstinthad, Mason's Guildmaster (Ricemastah)
Urdim Kurikonul, Captain of the Guard (Flintus10)
Monom Saziralnis, Metalworker's Guildmaster (Caz)
Rith Atisgongith, Master Woodcutter, Woodsdwarf's Guild (Frelock)
Besmar Atissakrith, Miner's Guildmaster (Jayfrin)
Thob Rigthmeb, Crafter's Guildmaster (Keeirby)
Vabok Kivishdural, Engraver's Guildmaster(Zaithemaster)
Ducim Essakzul, Military Commander (Splendiferous)
Zefon Thakastesh, Royal Guard Captain (Eita)

Here are the non Council members and pending Council Members.

Atir Sherikmothkat, Elder Mason (RavingManiac)
Melbil Zimkelrigoth, Farmer's Alliance (Jim Groovester)


And the sections and individual slots that aren't taken:
The Holy Families
The Power Struggle
The Nobility

And that'd be that, for the time being. Post if you'd like to join, I suppose.

In the Early Spring of 55, Ashmirrored was founded by a group of diverse dwarves from
the kingdom of The Angelic Trumpets. Tun, Kogsak, Vabik, Rimtar, Shem, Zuglar, and
Sodel. These seven dwarves formed the expedition known as the Heavenly Swords. They
were the greatest of their kind, gathered from far and wide to further the holy cause
of their kingdom, spreading the words of the pantheon to the dark and dismal southern
mountains. They went to light the way, that the rest of their kingdom would follow,
for the recent war with the humans and constant incursions by Goblins saw their
territories dwindle. Upon their shoulders lay the fate of their nation, it's
salvation or downfall.

The journey was harsh, fighting off goblin patrols and bandits eager to plunder their
supplies, but The Heavenly Swords persevered. Already legends in their own rights,
they knew that even now their new tale was being told, by dwarves gathered close
beside dying fires, children gathering their meager belongings up in rucksacks,
preparing to follow in the footsteps of their kingdom's finest. The Swords knew they
could not fail their kin, and so they pressed stoically on, coming upon the new
mountainside that they would lay claim to as their own.

The seven set to work carving a home from the rock, hefting picks and axes to hollow
out a place for them and those behind. The work passed quickly, and in a season's
time they had created a solid home, hewn of the mountain itself. They began to fashion
small luxuries, beds of wood, tables and chairs of stone, forges for their kin to
create metal goods of great value. It was then, when they found themselves at ease,
that they encountered the curse.

The supplies of meat had run low, and when a thick white pack of mountain goats made
it's lazy way over the horizon, plans were swiftly made for their inclusion in the
evening meal. Together the seven stalked along the mountainside, approaching
carefully, picks and axes at the ready to strike down a meal. It seemed something had
alerted the pack, however, as the goats rushed away from the mountain, toward the
stalking party of dwarves. Realization struck them as the goats approached, and they
saw the coats were patched at best, and through them the skin was drawn over an empty
body, bones pressing through to the open air.

The undead attacked with a silent fury, as the Swords fought now for their own
preservation. Bones and rotting flesh flew high into the air, as the dead were
rendered into scattered bones and skin. The seven stood, untouched by dead horn or
tooth, and wondered at the dark that surrounded them, where the dead were to rise in
hate and pain, to lash out at the living in the night. Each looked to their own deity
as they made their way back to their home, thankful that they would not join in the
fate of the animals they had sought to hunt.

The darkness lay heavy over them as the Heavenly Swords labored through the next
season, awaiting the vanguard that would be sent to them by midautumn. They felt
confident that the place they had created would be a safe harbor to their fellow
dwarves, and their hopes went out, that the vanguard would not fall foul of the
darkness that seemed to pervade the mountainside.

One fateful day of the early autumn, the seven had fallen to mining away a fresh area
to store their grown foods, for the stores they had first dug out found themselves
both too far from the dining area, and filled to bursting with the harvest. As they
dug, they came across a strange and fascinating stone. Blue veins of ore traced
through strange rock, reflecting the light from the torch back at them with an
strange azure tint. The seven realized what it was, fabled metal only heard in
childhood tales... And it always carried that cautionary fable about getting too
greedy with it...

One by one they came around to discussing it, pulling away around the corner and
speaking in hushed tones, as though the ore might hear their words. Slowly they all
came to the choice they knew they would have to make. The mason set about replacing
the stone, smoothing it away until the spot looked like just another part of the wall
within a small recess. The seven hoped it would suffice to hide the stone away until
the fortress was better set to deal with the issue, but as they turned to mine
elsewhere, the dark that the curse had brought seemed doubley heavy...

It was a bright autumn day when the vanguard arrived. They made their way through the
thick marble walls and into the courtyard with awe in their eyes, marveling at how
quickly the Heavenly Swords had worked. The guard were even more amazed to see the
Sword themselves, laboring away in the courtyard at a second tunnel, by a freshly
built marble depot. The supply wagon rolled to a halt at the pillar, and the
representative of the Angelic Trumpets stepped down to speak with the seven.

Olin Walledlucky, he was called. His legend was comprable to any of the Sword, having
survived his many battles with Elo Glimmeredtin, a Cyclops from the dawn of time
itself. Olin had been battled back by the thing for some time, but he was a follower
of Urist, the God of Revenge, and one set high in the pantheon of the Angelic
Trumpets. Olin set his trap, and when Elo arrived, Olin brought him down, loosing an
arm in the process. He was a hero of the court, sent forward where no other dwarf
would dare to go, and commanded respect from every noble of the kingdom.

The dwarves convened for a time, taking much-needed and heavy supplies from the
caravan in exchange for their surplus food and idly-made crafts, readily accepted to
aid the coming refugees. Olin sent the caravan back to the supply line, where dwarves
waited eagerly to know if the road ahead was safe for their passage, and for news of
the Heavenly Sword's latest exploits. They would be cheered, for a time, to hear the
tales of the marble fortress carved into the mountainside, of the skirmishes with
kobolds and the driving back of the dead beasts, and of the deadly trap that lay in
wait at the entrance, to safeguard the dwarves within. It was, however, fated to be
the last happy news of the Heavenly Sword to come for some time after.

It is not yet known what caused the strange and sad event that followed, when Olin
made his way to join the council of heroes, eager to aid in the expansion of his
beloved kingdom, or what fell happening came upon Vabik, the mechanic, crafter of the
great wonders of the mountainhome. But as Olin made his way into the marble halls
leading to his new home, the last fearsome Construction of Vabik the mechanic came to
life. Made from the materials at hand, the whirling force came to as Olin stepped
across the threshold. A shining, serrated blade of bismuth bronze swung forward from
the ceiling, slicing through his path and cutting the intrepid dwarf apart, leaving
his dying form strewn across the hall.

Olin was buried in a schepluture on the outside of the entrance hall, dug into the
eastern face, looking homeward. The Heavenly Sword had little time to do his grave
any great justice, for it would be soon that Olin's absence would be found, with the
caravan not far ahead of him. It would be soon that they would find that his body had
never left the fortress, and soon that it would be decided that the curse had finally
overtaken the Heavenly Swords. When next the dwarves visited, it would be under the
banners of Urist, crying out for revenge for the fallen hero.

The dwarves were grim about their work. The mechanism had been set, loaded to spring
in ways only a mechanic could understand, and Olin had been the target. The
responsibility fell on Vabik. The remaining Swords could not bear to think their
comrade a willing murderer, but rather concluded that some nature of the curse they
had uncovered somehow took him, sensed the influx of aid, and sabotaged it with
Vabik's hands. It was decided that for such a fell fate, Vabik could not be held
alone responsible, and thus they did not kill him. All he plead was that he not be
removed from the living stone of the mountain, so that, when he was to die, his
spirit would be received by his own deity.

The remaining dwarves of the Heavenly Swords dug out a prison, steadfast in stone,
holding a pit for the delivery of food and water, and a monolith door, thicker than
three others, set into the rock entrance. The six Swords still held their hope that
someday they would find reason to free their comrade from his prison, but how or when
they did not know. No stone was smoothed, or mineral spur pulled away, that Vabik
would live out his sentence in his god's hands.

This day, the remaining six prepare grimly for the fight, carving bolts from the
bones of the undead to fit to the bismuth bronze crossbows brought from the
mountainhomes. Fortifications are half-built across the top of the marble walls, and
reluctant training is undertaken in the ways of marksdwarfship. Grim preparations
made for a war, legends against the kin they helped inspire, hoped to lead from
constant war only to bring them into another, deep in the land of the cursed dead,
where below lies what could only be the domain of dreaming demons...



(So yeah. Diplomat boy staggers his way a good way before deciding he would really rather meet in my leader's bedroom, as opposed to the nice office by the trade depot. Given that there's about 15 tiles between his armless staggering self and the row of weapon traps, I tell me mechanic to deconstruct the things so we can save him, aaaaaand... She goes on break. It was this or lock her outside when the seige came, but that would be too short.)

I'm not entirely sure what happened here. It's likely not even something the code itself is doing. But it's killing my DF. And this is bad. I get a constant 0 FPS, the screen updates every few seconds, and it happens everywhere, including the menu, and on all recent available versions. Tests of non-bugfix priors is pending, but meantime, I'm getting the word out to try and figure out of anyone knows what it is.


(Edit - The system restart fixed it second time around... I think this is a hardware issue, so don't stress about it.)

You know how there are group names, like your civ and your expedition names? Well, what if you could make your own groups and assign dwarves to them?

I imagine putting them into history as a group would be a pretty low priority, but being able to see who's in X group could be a major boon. Military Rotation (Summer), Luskalites, Family 1...

In short, how would I go about finding them? Any way besides popping DFC open and hunting down a member of your civ's choice? Asking for the furtherance of Project Civil War.

As side notes, it would be handy to know how they're assigned, as well as if I'd be better suited to just make a dwarf race that is at war with the standard dwarf race only (and if so, how).

(The extra-damatic and semi-coherent prelude to what I hope to be the bloodiest DF story around will be here. If I'm doin' it wrong, let me know please.)

Mebzuth sat, bound to the wall of the dark prison cell with heavy Copper chains. He was almost as hungry as he was parched, and he hadn't gotten any sleep for some time. Day and night were indistinguishable in the uniform obsidian black of the prision.

The Orthoclase door slid open, and Mebzuth looked up when the light fell across the passageway, bleeding into his cell and dazzling his eyes. As he cleared his head, a stout figure stood silhouetted against the entry.

"Hello Mebzuth." He didn't need to hear her voice to know. It was Cerol Zulbantulon, Mayor, and the reason he was in chains now. He had 'failed' a mandate for Zinc, primarily because there was no Zinc in the entirety of the fortress. He'd checked with Cog, the recordkeeper, who knew every item in the stores. Cerol had proclaimed that Meb stole the Zinc that had been traded from a human caravan, and sentanced him to confinement. Lokum the Clerk had backed Cerol up, for reasons Mebzuth had yet to understand...

"Hope you've been enjoying your stay." Meb could make out a smile on the dwarf's face. "Alright Cerol, you've had your way. What was the point of all this, what do you want?" The mayor turned around, her voice echoing as she spoke. "It's simple really. You stole from us." Mebzuth's eyes narrowed. "You know I didn't touch any Zinc. As far as I know, there never was any to begin with. We both-" Cerol cut him off quickly, turning back. "No, no, not Zinc. People need justification that they understand, of course, but it's much different, much worse than that. You see, you stole our jobs."

Mebzuth stared, nonplussed, as Cerol leaned in a bit, looking slightly unhinged. "Yes. You took our jobs. Our glory, if you would, when you signed onto this ambitious little trek and put your ideas forward. The moulding for the craft. You know about it- Of course you do, you practicaly invented it. Or explained it at least. Anyhow, quite frankly that put our old methods out the window. We could do more work with unskilled labor, it could get done faster, and all was well for everyone. Except, of course, for us. We were reduced to drudge work. Building little toys and crafts, furniture, mundanities not even worth mention! Now, others would be happy to do whatever needed doing, anything to help the project. Well, most may have that insane little drive in them, but we... We are entrepenurs, visionaries, leaders and guides into the future." Cerol made a sweeping gesture, then clamped her hand into a fist. "And we will not have that future taken away from us! Oh, no, we will now allow it!"

Mebzuth blinked slowly, trying to comprehend the entireity of the mayor's speech. There was no way that could be right. There had to be some kind of insane mistake... Meb felt shaken, but he steadied himself. "You're mad. Insane. Mafol and Tobul won't have this. They'll know I haven't been getting any food or water, and they'll put you in your place."

Cerol turned away again, making his way back to the cell entry. "Oh, you won't be getting any help. As far as everyone is concerned, you're being taken care of in here, as well as could be for a prison inmate here. But, of course, you're angry about being caught. Downright violent, even. Nobody is allowed in to visit you until you've calmed down, and right now you're such a berzerk you simply refuse to take any food or drinks." Cerol turned his head to face him once more. "But don't worry, you might not die. In which case, I suppose it would be redundant to tell you to keep this secret. Lunatics and thieves aren't to be trusted, after all. Just remember this little vacation once you're free, remember to stay out of our way, and I'm sure we'll be able to work together just famously. Which is, after all, what we're after. Goodbye, Mebzuth."

The mayor finally strode off, away from the cell, and through the Orthoclase door, taking the dim light from the outside with her. Meb sighed, slumping down against the wall and dazedly trying to puzzle together Cerol's words. He had suggested the moulding, shown them all how it'd worked. But how did that warrent this kind of vengance? Had the mayor finally snapped? He'd known Cerol to be impulsive, and admittedly given to fits and lashing out, but this was too far... And also, she hadn't just been talking about himself. Cerol said he'd stolen 'their' glory, to stay out of 'their' way... Just how far did this go? Meb pulled a chained hand dazedly. Would any of this matter if nobody beleived him. Or if he'd survive his stay in prison...