I embarked on a pretty awesome looking map. In search of bronze (as I had pledged not to use steel) and bismuth, i had chosen a map rich in granite and limestone - things were shaping up quite well. There was one small problem, namely the huge 19 z-level waterfall that was slowing my fps right to a crawling 40 fps.
Of course, I haven't learned the lesson that water is deadly just yet.
I decide to stop the river by damming it where the waterfall began, and building my fort by carving it into the base. The plan was to dig a stairway down next to the river, and a walkway across, then dam the river with a wall.
'Dig here,' I told the miner. She looked at me with a knowing glance, and heaved the weight of her pickaxe onto her back. She hit the ground with rapid strokes, chipping away large chunks of limestone with ease. Surely enough, the stairway formed before my eyes in mere moments, an almost awe inspiring feat.
'Deep enough?' she called, up from the little pit she had dug herself at the side. I stared out across the waterfall, noticing a slight error in my judgement of where the stairwell should have been placed.
'Deep enough!?' she repeated, jolting me awake from my daydreaming. I called out to her in response.
'Aye, deep enough.'
There was a sigh of relief. 'Can I get back to my mining now?'
'Not yet. I need that tunnel widened slightly - could you tunnel this section slightly towards the south?'
She gave me a look. 'Sure... why?'
'I just misjudged the position a bit, that's all.'
There was a strained grunt as the pickaxe was hauled back into the miner's huge arms. It was swung rapidly, tapping out a rhythmic pattern against the limestone wall beneath. Almost hypnotising.
I stood, watching the water of the brook trickle off the cliff. In a few minutes, the entire stream downriver would be robbed of water. Combined with the hypnotic tapping of the miner's pick, I suppose I phased out.
I was awoken by screaming.
In a flash, I saw the hulking body of the miner wrenched from beneath me in a twisted gait, slamming her upper body into the sharp limestone crevasse that overhung the cascading water. I leapt forward, arms outstretched, but to no avail.
Helplessly, I watched the body tumble into the abyss. I stood, mortified, until the echoing scream had died away, leaving the silence of the mountain to embrace me.
Hurriedly, I dashed down the cliff edge, in search of the body. There had been no 'crunch', no sound of any impact with the ground, merely the resonating scream that had torn apart my eardrums, and scattered the goats who had been grazing nearby.
I got no further than the entryway to the gorge. Here, the waters of the brook trickled through, once a pure, crystal spring that reflected the morning sunlight.
Now, the crystal water was contaminated with a red stream that flowed through it, twisting this way and that, like blood red tendrils. Something lay in the current, not too far away, disturbing the flow.
Entirely out of curiosity, I picked it up to examine it closer. It was heavy, and wooden - it felt quite stiff, though, and felt as if it hadn't been long. I hauled it up to get a closer look.
It was the pickaxe.
Dangling from the handle, was the late miner's hand, torn off at the wrist.
I hadn't even gotten her name.
I facepalmed with such ferocity from that one I gave myself a headache.
Stands to reason I abandoned the fort on reflex.
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Topic: Face Palm moments you had in Dwarf Fortress (Read 2135967 times)