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Author Topic: Museum III, adventure succession game (DF 0.47.05)  (Read 392274 times)

TheFlame52

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #345 on: July 25, 2020, 09:32:55 am »

That actually wasn't the secret that I thought you knew. I guess that means my secret stays with me.

Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #346 on: July 25, 2020, 09:59:20 am »

Go dice-hunting! Any die with twelve sides or more has a decent chance of transforming you temporarily into a beast when rolled, healing injuries in a similar manner to the were-curse. Fitting, no, for your dwarfish penitent to seek a miracle from the powers-that-be?

I aim to please. And to break upper spines, of course.

Sigged :))

He's actually a Hand of Planegifts (Human turned Necromancer Experiment). Still, I quite like that idea - think most fortresses have a shrine or three with dice, near the main ramp-stairwell-thing. Get them, get out the fort to wherever, then roll till transformation occurs. (Also, since I've not really done dice-rolling before: how/when do you know you've been werecursed/whatever?)

My thanks for the sig.
« Last Edit: July 25, 2020, 12:05:58 pm by Quantum Drop »
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I am ambushed by humans, and for a change, they do not drop dead immediately. I bash the master with my ladle, and he is propelled away. While in mid-air, he dies of old age.

tonnot98

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #347 on: July 25, 2020, 05:13:13 pm »

If you roll too many times in a week, you'll be cursed with something, not necessarily lycanthropy. Anyway, there's always necromancers to hunt! Though the biggest army abandoned most of its holdings a few years ago, plenty of others hide in camps and towers plotting their own schemes.

You could also spend some time in the Ugly Forests of the northernmost island...
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Not sure if dying of old age is an honor or a shame for weaponmasters. On the one hand, it means they never got the opportunity to die in glorious battle. On the other hand, it means nothing could beat them in glorious battle.
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Yarlig

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #348 on: July 25, 2020, 05:16:13 pm »

If Ur Urkul Tihsa is still around' you could always try to recruit him and bring him to the museum; he'd make one HFS of a submission.
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tonnot98

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #349 on: July 25, 2020, 05:35:29 pm »

Actually, has anyone seen any children on their adventures? I've seen absolutely none, but I still noticed goblin and human pops rise after my playtime.
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Not sure if dying of old age is an honor or a shame for weaponmasters. On the one hand, it means they never got the opportunity to die in glorious battle. On the other hand, it means nothing could beat them in glorious battle.
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Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #350 on: July 26, 2020, 11:44:43 am »

14th Felsite, 718.

Though my lower spine is damaged, the journey took nowhere near as long as it should have. The Mighty One, in His infinite benevolence, lent me His speed that I may travel to the Castle of Relics – or, as the inhabitants of this place call it, ‘Boltspumpkin’.

The inhabitants appear to consist mostly of Goblins, with at least one of them a Monk. He was the one to greet me; the man seemed polite enough, if a little reclusive, and was the one to explain the purpose of this place: to gather relics and artefacts from across the world.

It seems many have come here before me, bringing their own treasures as they go: I see, among other things, a bag of books and star charts, a common pig tail cap, and a simple anvil.

Much of it seems valueless at a glance, but the placards beneath each pedestal explain their names and stories: the pig tail cap was a commoner’s crown worn by a monarch who knew to remain humble, for mortal glory pales before Him; the star charts and books, the result of a long journey in the name of knowledge and exploration; the anvil, the final legacy of this place’s founder and a symbol of a dying people's resilience.

Yet one among them stands out – the skull of the slain Necromancer.

For a moment, I feared it was that of my… creator. I feared I would be denied the pleasure of tearing his black heart out with my own two hands, yet that fear alleviated as I read the placard: the skull belonged not to Ad Beltbutters, but to a creature whose horrible deeds eclipsed his a thousand times over. Privately, I thanked whoever had struck down this butcher – every dead Necromancer in the world takes the Dwarven race one step closer to expunging their shame, and ensures no others shall suffer their depredations.

With His approval, I added my own Relics to the collection, choosing a Cryolite pedestal, third to the right of the entrance. Upon it is the slab from the Slade structure, the artefact that binds Ur Urkul Tihsa to this world, atop a bed of the skulls claimed from around sixteen Warrior-Angels. The Curator stated they will take care of the labelling and cataloguing of the items.

For now, I shall travel further afield, perhaps to the shrines or monasteries where His power is at its greatest. With luck, He or one of His creations shall answer my prayers and gift me with a mended spine, that I may further serve the Mighty One and His pantheon. If not, then I shall not question them – for if they do not answer me, perhaps this wounding is part of their divine plan.


Circa 25th Felsite - 1st Hematite, 718

I found multiple shrines to the gods in a fortress, Bodiceblunted, and performed the necessary prayers and offerings at each one in turn. The first drew no response; the second, one of anger – by the third, I expected either of the two to repeat themselves. Yet He showed fortune to my unworthy form once again: all went black as I felt His power seep into my unworthy form, and by the time I awoke, sensation (however dulled) had returned to my legs.
 
His will continued to guide me: first to the south of this abandoned fortress, to the perch of a Roc. It  offended Him in some way, and for that, He had commanded its death – the first of my thankful offerings for His most recent act of aid.

It never stood a chance against me.


Spoiler (click to show/hide)

It was the work of moments to crawl through the brush and slam my hammer against its lower leg. The creature staggered for the barest of moments before lunging for me with its beak, only for it to foul against the bulk of the shield He saw fit to grant me.

The battle continued for some time after that – I kept my strikes measured, refusing to let the beast loose as I struck again and again at its leg, and then at its chest, blocking and dodging whenever hooked beak or curving talon came too close.


Spoiler (click to show/hide)

As with the one I slew weeks ago, its end came with a blow to the head: a strike from the hammer knocked it deep into unconsciousness, and I ensured it would never wake again.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Nonetheless, Rocs are a resilient breed. It took several continuous minutes of slashing and hacking away at its thick neck, chopping away with that crude iron axe until His hand guided the blade to its throat. The beast died by inches, bleeding to death over the course of nearly ten minutes and staining the grey soil red with the blood from its severed arteries.

No sooner had I finished this butchery, however, did I feel Him command me once more – to go south, into the Tundra of Heroes, and strike down a coven of Necromancers dwelling within those bleak wastes. They had defied His divine edicts, mocked His will, and for that, they had been marked for death.

My blood boils at the mere knowledge that such vile creatures live. They may not count among their number my creator, but no doubt that they have inflicted the same degradation and horrors on many innocent lives. Even if they have not, their defiance of Him is reason enough to kill every member of this abhorrent coven.

I can see their tower from here, a black blight upon the lands around. The broken corpses of numerous Kobolds lie about the grounds of this pit, no doubt to act as emergency guards and sword-fodder for their masters; a few already walk the entrance to the main building, with the shuddering, stiff-limbed gait of the walking dead.

But there remains one final question: what to do with the slab, from which their dark knowledge springs?

My instincts tell me to destroy it, and rid the world of its blight: letting it survive will spawn more of these twisted madmen, and both His proclamations and my nature prevent me from using their secrets against my foes. They slip out of my mind as soon as I read them, gone as swiftly as water before a Dragon’s fire. Yet part of me thinks that if I could find it, give it to one of the truly righteous or to a true believer in Him, it could be put to good use. That it could be used to guard against the threat of others who would defy Him, and to fulfil His commands even more efficiently.

I must meditate upon this further.


1st Hematite, 718.

The Tower of Combined Insight was a solitary place. Few visited there without invitation – the harsh cold of the tundra and lack of edible plants was enough to drive many away, with the fell reputation of the region doing the rest. Few, after all, wanted to provoke the ire of the murderous spirits said to haunt the barren tundra.

“So why,” Upu Coņelaslem growled, “Am I freezing my arse off out in the cold as a lookout?”

The Kobold Corpse beside him, unsurprisingly, did not reply. It lacked a head or neck, after all, kept animated only by his magics. The pitiful creature had attempted to steal from their tower, sneaking in through the tundra and using the outer buildings as cover. It was half-dead by the time it got there, frost-bitten to the bone and easy prey for their main guards.

A pity they’d taken the head off directly. He’d hoped it would be suitable for his experiments, but, well, he couldn’t have everything.

Grumbling, he shook his head and returned his gaze to the tundra. 

There was a tiny rustle in the snow behind him. Most normal people wouldn’t have reacted to such a small thing, he knew better. If it was capable of evading their Undead guards, intelligent or otherwise…
Upu began to turn around, raising his hand as he went, already calling upon the power of his deathly god.

He wasn’t nearly fast enough.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

A black-scaled demon leapt from concealment beneath the snow, vestigial wings of stretched skin flaring wide and a furious hiss issuing from beneath its scarred throat. In one hand it carried a thin pike of blistered metal, a bulky slab of the same in the other; a massive, jagged hammer upon its bronze-mailed back completed the ensemble.

Upu didn’t have time to scream before the pike tore through the back of his skull, driving deep into the brain within. His body hit the ground with a muffled thump, life rapidly fleeing his body. The Necromancer had just enough life left in him to see the monster draw a crude battle axe, advancing towards his broken body with murder in its eyes.

Evening, 1st Hematite 718

He willed the death of this blasphemous Necromancer coven, and His will has been carried out. Their crude knives and cloth robes were no match for the strength of the righteous, nor the weapons He gave me – though their resilience proved a great frustration. Even so, He does not make us strong by giving us easy tasks.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

A frontal assault would have been suicide: with the many Kobold corpses laying around, the Necromancers could simply overrun me with a tide of rotting flesh until one got a lucky blow in. Taking them down one by one was the only option, bloody as it was. Though they fell as mortal men do, their unholy pacts allowed them to revive each other’s broken bodies from even the most grievous wounds.

Cutting off the hands of each Necromancer while they still lived was no solution – their infernal powers allowed them to animate even their severed hands, though they thankfully lacked their progenitor’s resilience. After killing several and mutilating others, I began to grow frustrated. He would not have sent me on an impossible task, that much I was and remain certain of. In my rage, the beast came forth once again; in madness, I drew a battle axe and hacked at one of the corpses of the fallen Necromancers.

By the time I had regained control, the corpse was in pieces no larger than a man’s thumb. Despite my horror at such a loss of control, my revulsion at the control the monster still had over me, I had found my solution. From that moment on, I ensured every Necromancer I fought was either hacked into a dozen pieces, or otherwise mangled and pulped so badly that nothing short of their vile deity itself could raise them again.

It was dark outside by the time I had finished my bloody work, but the main Tower was cleansed at last. Every Kobold corpse, every Necromancer’s stilled body, every one of the body parts severed during the fighting had been hacked apart or pulped into uselessness. The slab itself is within my backpack, and yet I find I have come no further on resolving my dilemma from earlier.

I can feel the temptation of the accursed slab even now, the aching desire to read it and learn the secrets of life and death. The desire to discover more about the means of my creation, perhaps even to find some way of reversing it or preventing more of my kind coming into being. And while my faith in Him protects me from its temptations, I must ask myself: should I choose to place it in the Castle of Relics?  Can I trust it to be safe there?

As before, I will meditate on this. Maybe the sting of branch or blade shall focus my mind, or perhaps He shall guide me once more.


Mountains, 10th Hematite 718.

His call draws me to the very edge of the world, where mountains jut into the sky and form a nigh-impenetrable wall. The going has been slow, so far; I could not swim, forcing me to cross first to the far west of the world, and then through rugged mountain after rugged mountain.

Though the journey has been long, the end seems to comes close – His whispers grow louder as I approach a particularly foreboding peak, upon which my map informs me a Dwarven Fortress was founded.

I have heard rumours of this place: Deepvaulted the Tower of Stars, a pretentiously-named, isolated Dwarven colony. Rumours abound as to why they remain so isolationist: some claim them to be an enclave of loyalists to the bloody-handed Necromancer that almost butchered the world, others claim some terrible disaster – perhaps the result of their overt arrogance – befell the colony, such that they can spare no citizen to act as liaison to the outside world.

Whatever the cause, it does not matter. He calls me here, and I must answer – whatever His purpose for me here is, I must fulfil it.


« Last Edit: August 08, 2020, 05:48:13 pm by Quantum Drop »
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I am ambushed by humans, and for a change, they do not drop dead immediately. I bash the master with my ladle, and he is propelled away. While in mid-air, he dies of old age.

Superdorf

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #351 on: July 26, 2020, 12:41:40 pm »

Butchery to prevent reanimation-- delightful! I'll remember that trick.
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Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #352 on: July 26, 2020, 01:10:56 pm »

Butchery to prevent reanimation-- delightful! I'll remember that trick.
Can't reanimate a corpse if they're in more pieces than that Roc's head, after all. :P

TBH, the only real danger there was one of the Necromancers: he had some really nasty interaction that caused his target's entire spine to rot to (at minimum) yellow damage, which he thankfully demonstrated on some poor animal. None of the others showed that trick, and the dozen-odd heads, necks, and other assorted body bits were more annoyance than anything else.
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I am ambushed by humans, and for a change, they do not drop dead immediately. I bash the master with my ladle, and he is propelled away. While in mid-air, he dies of old age.

tonnot98

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #353 on: July 26, 2020, 05:11:53 pm »

I don't think you could force companions to read anything, especially if they can't read. But you can train yourself to swim if you can't in the first place by jumping in and out of a river constantly, which is what I did until I was novice. Just make sure you're not cursed with bad luck when you try...
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Not sure if dying of old age is an honor or a shame for weaponmasters. On the one hand, it means they never got the opportunity to die in glorious battle. On the other hand, it means nothing could beat them in glorious battle.
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Bralbaard

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #354 on: July 27, 2020, 07:08:09 am »

Butchery to prevent reanimation-- delightful! I'll remember that trick.

Be careful. Butchering can be a good way to multiply your problems. 
I think skin, hair and skulls still reanimate after butchering, or at least I remember having issues with those in fortress mode. It can go very quickly from "delightful!" to "why are my cats being murdered by undead yak hair? "
« Last Edit: July 27, 2020, 07:12:00 am by Bralbaard »
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Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #355 on: July 27, 2020, 07:27:04 am »

Be careful. Butchering can be a good way to multiply your problems. 
I think skin, hair and skulls still reanimate after butchering, or at least I remember having issues with those in fortress mode. It can go very quickly from "delightful!" to "why are my cats being murdered by undead yak hair? "

IIRC, skin and hair can reanimate in fortress mode - not sure about skulls, though. I've only seen skin reanimate in adventurer mode.
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I am ambushed by humans, and for a change, they do not drop dead immediately. I bash the master with my ladle, and he is propelled away. While in mid-air, he dies of old age.

Quantum Drop

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #356 on: July 27, 2020, 09:52:34 am »

Circa 26th Hematite

In an effort of preparation to face that pit of evil that lies in Deepvaulted, I communed with the Mighty One again several days ago. Perhaps it was due to the blood I shed, perhaps a result of my most recent penance before Him, but He showed no disappointment in me for fleeing, but rather gave me purpose anew – a list of names and locations, of beasts born before the world itself was forged upon His anvil. He commanded me to go forth to these benighted places, and to strike down the beasts that dwell there that I may hone my skills further.

Their images flare in my mind even now, as I cross the plains and grassy hills: a vast vulture carved from precious gem; a massive humanoid forged of burnished bronze, its fists dripping with fresh, crimson blood; a pair of bestial creatures, dwelling deep within burrows. Others, too – their forms are ever-shifting and impossible to pin down, changing in my mind’s eye from one second to the next. He shall lead me to hunt them in time.

That, I must trust in, for I see the form of that first great beast upon the horizon.


Spoiler (click to show/hide)



Titans, it is said, were among the very first creatures to be forged upon His anvil of creation. Mighty and of countless different forms, from warped mockeries of His form to birds and even shapeless blobs, they are known for their power, their resilience, and their bloodthirsty rampages across the course of history. Many lived in fear of their lust for murder, paying tribute to the great beasts in hope that their settlements would be spared their depredations.

Before him was the form of one such Titan – an enormous vulture formed entirely from roughly-textured rose quartz, a long, scorpion-like stinger tail arising from its rear. Its great beak was open in a defiant caw of anger, its great, smooth wings spread wide as though about to dive. Countless little coins and scraps of metal from previous adventurers lay about on the floor, the trophies of the monster’s past triumphs.

It would have been a fierce sight, were it not quite unmistakably dead.

This, Lonelythrall silently remarked to himself, was just embarrassing.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The Titan had barely put up a fight against him, even with his normal hammer sheathed. Its knee had buckled at a single stab from his pike, a strike which barely chipped the gemstone of the leg. Its wings of smoothed gems were as paper against his second strike – a single chip in the right wing mid-flight had sent it spiralling out of control, to crash in an undignified heap upon the sandy ground.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

With its mobility lost, it had tried to sting him, push him, grab him with its remaining foot – every blow was telegraphed, every one avoided or blocked with contemptuous ease. He had almost been bored by the time he struck the beast down, driving his pike into its chest and letting its massive frame collapse in a cloud of dust and shattered quartz. The last pack of half-starved Giant Dingoes had put up more of a fight than this!

Shaking his head, Lonelythrall turned away from the Titan’s fallen form and began to trek into the plains once again.

Privately, he hoped whatever beast He directed him to next would be a greater challenge – a thought He seemed to share, going by the faint pulse of disappointment at the back of his mind.

(Illegible date), Hematite 718

Killed two more Night Trolls that made the mistake of ambushing His champion. One was missing its right arm from the elbow down. Easy prey, even with its resilience.

The other was more dangerous. It forced me into a corner – kept me incapable of wielding such a large weapon properly. Managed to punch me in the stomach, knocking the wind right out of my lungs.
That was enough for me. I forced it back with a swipe from the pike, then drew Angelbane; damned thing didn’t last long after that, not with its upper spine in several pieces. For all that it raged and roared as I broke its arm and skull apart with my hammer, the damage has not lasted.

But that it was able to land a strike on me at all is… troubling.

Perhaps it was merely chance. More likely was my own foolishness, fighting like a pleasure-hunter rather than as a man dedicated to His edicts.

Penance for that must wait, however. I draw closer to the lair of another beast He has commanded me to hunt – a Bronze Colossus, killer of several dozen adventurers, and a weapon of war crafted by some deranged sorcerer in ages past.

I will write more should I survive this battle. My hammer will be all but useless against it, and thus I must rely on the unfamiliar blade of my pike.

The Mighty One protects.



Lonelythrall crawled through the mud and sand around the Colossus’ shrine, shield in one hand and pike in the other. Unlike the Roc, though, he had no fear of this beast.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The massive brute waited near the centre, still as the stone of a mountain and completely unaware of his presence. It was all muscle and no intellect – even with his scales blending into the night, the Colossus should have been able to see him coming from a mile off.

As he drew back to land the first blow, however, he stopped. There was something coming down from above, something massive –

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Lonelythrall leapt out of the way of an immense, descending fist of bronze, letting it speed past him to slam hard into the ground. He charged forwards as soon as it hit the ground, driving his pike deep into the bronze tower of its leg – the divine metal cut through the bronze like it was made of paper, penetrating deep into the metal of the leg. The Colossus gave a great groaning sound, the damaged leg beginning to buckle as its weight was placed upon it.

Once more he ran, skidding out of the way as the statue collapsed to the floor. It was still fighting, though, a massive fist speeding past him as the Colossus attempted to squash the bug biting its ankle. Though its face was no more than an expressionless mask, Lonelythrall was certain he could see it frown as its blow reduced the tree behind him to splinters.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The massive statue, for all its size and durability, was clumsy; its flailing blows were painfully telegraphed and easily avoided, Lonelythrall weaving in between its punches and sweeping legs to strike at its head or its massive lower body. Small chips of bronze broke away with every strike, the pike’s blade not designed to cut through such thick limbs.

A massive fist hammered into the ground a good foot away from him, the fallen statue once more failing to swat the irritating bug that kept striking it. This time, however, Lonelythrall didn’t dart in towards its head. He could see its other fist waiting in reserve, cocked back and ready to strike the moment he moved in.

Instead, he leapt onto the statue’s broad hand itself, running with all his might up the Colossus’ arm. It slapped at itself with its remaining hand, but its blows met only its own bronze, or thin air. Lonelythrall heaved himself up onto the giant’s massive back, cursing under his breath as the bronze beast began to buck and shudder violently, trying to hurl the ant off of its form. Tiny pits provided handholds when he fell, crawling his way up the Colossus’ spine to the massive dome of its head.

Atop the Colossus’ head, he raised his pike high, snarling beneath his helmet as the beast made another spirited attempt to dislodge him.

“For Armok!” He spat, hefting the pike and driving it deep into the metal. The Colossus’ entire form shuddered violently at the blow, so violently that he was forced to cling to the embedded pike to prevent himself being thrown off. His weight only drove it deeper into the head, drawing fresh tremors from the vast golem as its animating magic began to leave it.

Lonelythrall retrieved his pike, sliding down the doomed Colossus’ smooth back as its form began to glow. The metal seemed to be heating up, glowing a dulled red and shifting, collapsing in on itself and slowly reforming into something else entirely. By the time he stood again, leaning slightly on his pike for support, there was nothing left of the Colossus beyond a statue, still glowing a dull orange-red with the heat of its supernatural forging.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

He didn’t bother trying to pick it up. Instead, he turned from the purified shrine towards the mountains in the east, eyes narrowing to slits as dawn began to break. The gnawing desire he had come to recognise as His will was returning, and it came from within those mountains.

Without a backwards glance or a moment of rest, he set off once again.

OOC: Yeah, divine metal plus legendary ambusher tends to make fights a bit of a cakewalk, even with a comparatively low pike skill. Embellishing the fights was the only way to make it interesting, as the combat logs were pretty short and consisted mostly of the two Megabeasts missing my adventurer, then dying to a few hits to the head or chest.

Since I seem to be having trouble getting swimmer skill (doesn't show up, even as dabbling, after several attempts to swim in the river) and narrowly escaped getting encased in ice, I'll be taking a peek at Mossdeep. I wonder what we’ll find?
« Last Edit: July 27, 2020, 02:00:55 pm by Quantum Drop »
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I am ambushed by humans, and for a change, they do not drop dead immediately. I bash the master with my ladle, and he is propelled away. While in mid-air, he dies of old age.

TheFlame52

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #357 on: July 27, 2020, 03:31:58 pm »

Jeez man, leave some megabeasts for the rest of us!

Unraveller

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #358 on: July 27, 2020, 04:57:12 pm »

Are we in the Age of Legends? If not, we might be soon. Haha.
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tonnot98

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Re: The Museum III: Adventure mode succession game.
« Reply #359 on: July 27, 2020, 05:06:26 pm »

Are we in the Age of Legends? If not, we might be soon. Haha.
3rd age of legends actually. Probably switched back and forth a lot because of all the night trolls running around.
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Not sure if dying of old age is an honor or a shame for weaponmasters. On the one hand, it means they never got the opportunity to die in glorious battle. On the other hand, it means nothing could beat them in glorious battle.
Meow.
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