Bay 12 Games Forum

Quote from: YAHG on March 18, 2015, 09:31:38 pm

I am very proud that we have managed to make a nice argument out of nothing. On that note I feel it is important to remind you all that you are wrong and not only that but you are bad people because you are wrong. 

Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries. The fetus (you) gestated in a cardboard box.

well at least now I know  .

As long as we can slap some nps across the face and then tell them "No punk it was NOT inevitable, I made it happen!", I shall be satisfied .

I hadn't thought of that part. I'd hate it if the surface was constantly covered in poop because of gigantic creatures.

Poop will have to decompose rather quickly on soil, either on the surface or in the caves. Maybe it can work like water does now where a small amount of it will disappear after a while but as the amount grows it becomes more permanent and unwieldy.

He had made it, he was sure of it now. The last echo of the slavers horn was almost a whisper, and that had been 2 days ago. His mother had taught him all he knew of herb lore and he would not go hungry for fruits and berries, yet he knew without some fat he would perish.

At least the horns were gone, he didn't miss the horns of course or the people who blew them but Daylen was a deeply social man and greatly missed the bustle and the noise of his old life. It wasn't enough to go back of course, but the calm stillness of the savanna gnawed at him as he plodded over each shallow crest of the rolling hills.

There has to be something here, something to catch, something to cook in a low flame till it crackled and crisped in the steady heat, he thought to himself. He looked up to the skies and on the horizon a large ominous cloud was coming in, it would be here by nightfall. He would need shelter.

At the crest of the next hill, at least his newest need seemed answered, off in the distance was a larger crest and atop it was a massive gnarled old tree. There were never really any trees of consequence back in the camps. He could make it there by nightfall surely, at least he would be dry.

He trudged onward chuckling to himself as he walked through an array of spices perfect for the meat he could nowhere seem to find in this oddly empty land. He plucked what he wanted thinking that he would find some game eventually and that it would make that meal only the more enjoyable when he did, smiling to himself.

The sky was growing dimmer as he arrived at the base of the hillock. Up ahead at the crest a massive tree loomed. He grinned as he heard the approaching rumble of thunder, at least he would be dry, at least he would be dry and the slavers would never come this far, not for just him. As he walked he ran into a lump of fur, matted and pressed, still and silent.

Curious he poked it with his staff, then his knife. It was dry and compact, unlike any corpse he had ever seen. He peeled back mats of the dried hair and then he saw it. It was a large skull, from the shape of it it must've been a horse. What could have done this? He found a few more bones inside the pile but it was nothing but bones and hair, nothing for him, at least not now.

He shook the clumped hair from his hands and brushed himself off shaking his head in frustration as he continued his ascent. There were more of those mounds as he went. The whole hill seemed to be covered in them. Most were mounds about up to his waist but some had cracked and opened in the sun the white bones jutting out. Oddly none had been broken.

He smiled to himself as he finally approached the tree, but his throat caught as he noticed it. There were so many of them. So many mounds here all around the tree, more than he had seen on the whole hill combined. He ran.

He ran down the hill away from this place, he had no idea what was happening here but it disturbed him greatly. The thunder boomed overhead and the sky darkened suddenly. He turned up and back at the great whooshing sound. It was as big as the sky. A giant shadow in the shape of a bird, growing as it swooped down. A massive beak larger than even himself opened as it flew down to greet him, and then he knew he was only going to end up another little mound on a hill.

As the darkness closed around him a grim smile drew across his lips, at least he was well seasoned .

Quote from: Urist Tilaturist on March 16, 2015, 06:12:04 am

A blow can be lethal without caving in the skull. Given that the roc dung would completely entomb the victim, with only some of it hitting his head,  it seems more likely that he would be knocked out and suffocated inside the heap.

I suspect that rocs cough up pellets like hawks and owls. Bird poop tends to be less solid than that of other animals. I'm not sure it could entomb somebody out in the open.

My (short) research into bird pellets suggests that the pellet size is more a function of the size of the prey than the size of the bird. Obviously smaller bird means smaller prey overall.

This would suggest Roc pellets would be much smaller than I was projecting. The other thing is since pellets would be made of the indegestibles like hair and bone (research said owl pellets often have intact skulls in them) they ironically may be much more likely to pulp a skull or at least fracture it since it could be being hit with another skull. 

A blow can be lethal without caving in the skull. Given that the roc dung would completely entomb the victim, with only some of it hitting his head,  it seems more likely that he would be knocked out and suffocated inside the heap.

If only it would dry and Urist would be like Han Solo in Carbonite  ...

Quote from: Naryar on March 12, 2015, 08:14:38 pm

The duck needs indeed to have better quacking.

Duck men also need to have prone to rage and speak incoherently when raging.

They should also get into arguments with rabbit men, especially over what season it is

 

Obviously the real problem is when the duck recruits end up become entity rulers. With thier larger than mammal clutch sizes you are liable to end up with a [DUCK_DYNASTY].