Bay 12 Games Forum

What i am exited about is that if toady works on the undead again they may work in a proper way soon. Thus skelletons etc. may loose theyr "hp".

Oh yes, I forgot about this. Working out the 'how to kill a skeleton without just giving it fixed hp' problem would be ace, pretty much #1 on my list of undead improvements. Every skeleton I hit as an adventurer evaporates at the moment, and it's almost as bad in fortress mode.

Why not? I don't mean sissy modern sparkly vampires, but medieval shambling fanged, clawed, horse-frightening light-fearing OCD stakeable creatures. Maybe with partially randomised vampire traits.

Diary of a misbegotten migrant, some time, who knows

We dug and dug, hoping to to find some trace of Rockfalls remaining. Or rather, I dug. My companion Kib moped. I was the leader of our little two-man expedition, so it was my job to give the orders, and his job to ignore them.

Goblin scouts scuttled around, and we burrowed under the sand, waiting them out in extreme discomfort. Human traders appeared, and when they refused to take us on to the mountainhomes, we stole food from their caravan.

There has been sleet one day, sandstorms the next. Even now, as I write this, the -
oh god.

OH GOD.

Quicklynow,hereclosesthediaryofEturN-

Journal of Stool the Dairy Guard, adventurer of the High Tools, 4 Obsidian 202

Skink-Killer and Goden had their first child, a beautiful baby girl. She's adorable. Luckily I got there before Surray's mothering instincts homed in, so I could meet the baby properly without getting caught in a whirlwind of insane middle-aged cooing.

Billy Bob was quiet taken with the child, too, to the extent that – sigh – she took it upon herself to tell her future, predicting her personality and qualities with what I can only assume is uncanny accuracy.



Skink-Killer, beer in hand, was intent on calling the child "Ballslinger", after her hard-case grandmother. I kid you not. Fortunately, Goden had the presence of mind to suggest that, since the prophecy suggested she liked fish, they name her 'Tuna'. So Tuna it is.

So, the fortress's first baby: a good sign. Come to think of it, Squadron Leader's looking a bit rounder than usual these days. I was going to slip the word to her that I could let out some of her pants, or even dash her up a muumuu, but I might just wait and see what happens.

In other news, we have completely run out of wood. This troubles me, and it clearly troubles Dariush. That crotchety old fool is sitting in the revolting muck of the lower level, clutching an axe, and peering between our six saplings with a ferocious expression. People's routes around the room are quite circuitous, to avoid trampling any tree and thus inciting his wrath.

Personally, I'm more excited to see the dimple cups growing wild. That dimple blue dye is to, pardon the pun, die for.

Nope, university essays. I'm up to my ass in Fregean alligators and trying to drain a Meinongean swamp.
I'll try to get something up today.

Quote from: Trickysticks on April 16, 2011, 05:07:45 pm

This is a cat bone scepter. All craftsdwarfship is of the highest quality. It it encircled with bands of mango wood. On it there is an image of an elephant(WTF). The elephant is cowering.

Boatmurdered. The part where magma is involved.

To paraphrase, basically every single part of Boatmurdered.

Cook's Log [by me, Yarf], 9 Opal 202

My hands! My poor, fat-encrusted hands!



But I'm almost there.

I am swimming in tallow. The entire upper floor is so greasy that people have to walk around on their hands and knees because they can't stand upright without slipping.



Valrandir's been diligently brewing vital, vital alcohol from the first crops of our new farms, as well as hauling food around, checking on those bloody bees, and tanning hides from the kittens Karakzon has slaughtered. Valrandir works silently, right next to me, without faltering. It's easy to see how he became so skilled.



...15 Opal 202
I'm done! I'm done!!!!!!!!! Apparently it's winter now, and I missed the solstice. Months have flown by over the rendering pan and fat shovel.

Of course, you can't tell that it's winter here, surrounded on all sides by the roar and glow of magma.

Hmmm. I came out of my cooking trance and they've built a bunch of rooms and moved the furniture around and generally tidied the place up. I approve.

Now, I hope I still have that recipe for tallow waffles...

Nice storytelling.