Bay 12 Games Forum

I say no to Valkyries.

Valkyries basically escort dead heroes to Valhalla, where they train and drink and fuck until Ragnarok. Valkyries are basically Viking receptionists. In fact, the name Valkyrie means "chooser of the slain".

I don't see the point in Valkyries. Your interpretation of Valkyries is also very undesirable. Even if we change your "Valkyries" to something else, it's still pretty specific. Your idea, sans Valkyries, reminds me of one of Toady's plans for artifacts. Maybe, there's an artifact that when you use, there's a chance of some non-Valkyrie entity appearing to help you. Let's say this non-Valkyrie-appearance event happens like, once every hundred, and the rest of the time Urist dies. That could be plausible, Valkyrie or no Valkyrie. Your Valkyrie elixir idea could be like that, but that's already a planned feature. Talking about Valkyries in that capacity is therefore a useless endeavor, since Toady's already got that on his mind. Beyond that, I say no to Valkyries.

I hope you notice that all my sentences have "Valkyrie" in them. I hope you're sick of the word "Valkyrie" and you will never use them again. Valkyrie Valkyrie Valkyrie.

Quote from: Nyan Thousand on July 12, 2012, 06:49:24 am

Tangentially related: I really hope Toady changes it so that when a new mayor is elected, he also inherits the mayor's room and so on. i.e., you assign the room and the table and the racks to the MAYOR position and not to the mayor dwarf. Same for other electable noble positions, actually.

Why only mayor and only electable nobles? With complicated system of burrows, bedrooms near workshops, training squads for specialists with barracs and dining rooms near production sites. Someone's death is a real problem and makes a lot of bad thoughts.

Mostly because barons don't need such a provision, since you don't get another one in event of a "permanent leave". Brokers, mayors, managers, and the like, however, can theoretically have no vacancies over multiple "administrations" (mayors especially, since apparently elections are done telepathically and instantaneously) and thus would benefit.

I don't really know what you're trying to say with your post. I just want to not have to worry about reassigning the same room every time the mayor dies.

Now I can't stop picturing goblins as emos. When they're not raiding forts, they spend their precious spare time listening to Coheed and Alkaline Trio, slitting their wrists, making sad poems and talking about how post-rock is the greatest genre ever. In fact, goblin hierarchy is determined by how hipster your music tastes are. Goblin neophytes listen to My Chemical Romance, then as you go along you find goblins who listen to Godspeed You! Black Emperor, The Microphones, My Bloody Valentine, and eventually, you meet their General, a stalwart and really sad goblin who listens to exclusively


tl;dr:

I remember that, back in .28 I think? I made the mistake of minting coins, lots of coins. My fort ended up stopping because everybody was busy hauling their coins. It was crazy.

[POP_RATIO:0] sounds counter-intuitive in the first place, anyway. Why would you add a caste if there's no way of it appearing anyway?

The thing is, all modern high fantasy is based on Tolkien. Tolkien basically wrote, named and codified the whole trope. Here's the great thing about DF though. DF mythos doesn't end in taking a page from Tolkien, but instead, is alive and changes with the times. This is because it's open ended to a point, and the community provides this impetus that allows the canon to change. I mean, if we disregard the community's views on elves, they turn out to be pretty reasonable people (save for the cannibalism). Instead, we get tree-hugging face eating self-important pricks. Dwarves went from masters of industry to pretty dumb guys. I think the only sane race in DF are the Humans.

Wait, no, scratch that. Human towns get their shit taken over by tables. There are no sane races in DF, as far as the community is concerned. And this is what makes it so beautiful. We've taken a base concept and bastardized it so much that it's beautiful.

This game breeds nice people.

This game breeds people who think making mittens out of kittens is sound advice. This game breeds Ted Bundys and Ed Geins by the dozen.

But yeah, I guess Ted was a pretty nice guy.

DF pasta? DF pasta.

Monday.

I can hear the people outside. I saw the flash on the television, the ominous line of the Dwarf Fortress computer. At first I thought it was a joke. I was going to log in to the forums, but suddenly my computer ran Dwarf Fortress and wouldn't stop. I took out my laptop. My laptop didn't have Dwarf Fortress. As soon as I connected to the internet, though, it started downloading DF1.0 and ran it. I give up. I can't use my computers now. I'm writing this on my notebook. Can't trust computers.

I'm looking at two instances of Dwarf Fortress, one in my PC and one in my laptop. They're both genning a world. The largest one I've ever seen, simply called "The World". I couldn't pause the world gen. I couldn't do anything, actually, but from the short glimpses, I realized something: "The World" is our world. There's Australia. The Pyrenees. The Philippines. "The Human Fortress of New York". The computer is genning the Earth.

I look out from the window and I see that the streets are lined up with confused masses. Dumpsters on fire. Riot police trying to contain them in vain. NWA blaring on trunk audio. Why NWA? Why couldn't it be Radiohead?

I'll sleep this through. I need to think. Sleep helps me think.


Tuesday.

I woke up to the sound of thunder. The clock says it's 10AM, but the sky is dark and gloomy. The noise outside is getting louder. The two computers have finished worldgen and it looks like the computer is playing a simultaenous game. Suddenly the game in the PC changed. It zoomed in to somewhere. Lots of dwarves. They're idling, I think, or they're running, I don't know. It looks like a street. Lots of aboveground constructions. Some dwarves are inside the building. Military dwarves lining up at the end  of the streets.

The streets form blocks, a maze of a town. Why is the computer focusing here? Then it dawned on me. These aren't just streets. That's my street.

Oh god, that's my street. That's my house and my room, over there, near the corner. I run around my room. Little Urist runs around in his room. Yep, that's me.

I look at my neighbor. In the computer. He's there too. Suddenly three dwarves barge in and kill him. Good god. I saw the same thing happen to my other neighbors. So far I count three. They're coming for me next.

I took the bed and I propped it in front of the door. They won't be getting in now. Later I'm going to get all the furniture and put it in front of the door. I can see my room change. I see on the screen, three dwarves trying to get in, but can't. They leave shortly.

I realized something.

How can the computer know I'm here? It knows. I unplug the PC and the laptop immediately. What if it was sending signals? I can't have that.

Wednesday.

It's been two days. Good thing I bought this month's groceries on Sunday. The people get louder and the sky gets darker. It looks like perpetual night now. On my part, I'm not moving much, only writing. Gotta keep a low profile. I hear people outside yelling, "Is there anybody out there?" but I think it's a trap to get us out. The world has descended to chaos.

But can it? The computer controls all it can control. Chaos is certainly not out of its reach. Maybe this isn't chaos. Maybe it's structured to look like a riot.

I'm going paranoid. Gotta stop being so paranoid.

I wonder what happened to Toady anyway?

Thursday.

Shit. I remembered Dwarves had memory. People have memory. They can see me and they'll remember I'm here. I blocked up the windows now and I'm not making any noise. I turned off all the lights, save for a desk lamp. I sleep on the floor. I try not to consume water or electricity. Nothing that will give me away. I can't be found. Not now. Not ever.

People still there. I hear the cackling of flame. Gunshot. Screams. "Is there anybody in here?" "Help me! My baby!" "Son, this is your father."

"Son, this is your father."

Wait, this is your father? Dad? No. Can't be. Dad's probably dead. Stop lying to me, computer. I defy you.

Thursday.

A week since I went incognito. Noises have died down somewhat. I think I can live like this. Food will run out though, but I think I can manage for a few months. When there is no more food, I'll scavenge at night. I must train. No time to write. Must train. Train. Train.


Saturday.

Found some quartz under the table. If I modulate the resonant frequency to 150GHz and feed it a current of say, 15mA, that should be enough. Yes. I have devised an infallible plan. I need to generate a signal equal to the Earth's resonant frequency. I think it's 150. Then, with careful adjustments to the current, I can break the timestream and I can warn the past. I must get out of here.

No. This is crazy. I'm going crazy.

But it just might work...

Wednesday.

Food is running out quicker than expected. Can't cook the vegetables. If I cook they'll find out somebody is using the water. They'll find me out. Everything is quiet. I can only hear the sound of my thoughts transcribing itself into paper. Must hunt soon. Must get out.

Wednesday.

By my count I have been here for 88 days. No more food at all. No more clothes to feed on. No more time.

Time. Yes. Time. That's not true. I have all the time in the world. So much time. I just need to tap into the time well.

Monday.

I have finished my machine. I worked tirelessly and it works flawlessly. The quartz hums like the Earth mother. The time. Once I flip the switch, I will go back. I have set the date. August 2013. This is when it all began. August 2013. I have to stop them. I have to warn them. Warn Toady of what's happening. I'm going to flip the switch. I'll bring this with me, so that they will read and see. August 2013. This will work. I hope.

Good bye.