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markus_cz posted:Oh by the way, Nvining, you should probably press F12 to turn off the open-type mode and switch back to the original text. It prevents those horrible black spaces. I k p forg tting.
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Apr 16, 2013 18:37
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Oh, I think I told him it was F11, but it turns out that's for toggling fullscreen. Sorry nvining!
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Apr 16, 2013 18:58
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I thought he was just spoilering it.
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Apr 16, 2013 19:26
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Leperflesh posted:Oh, I think I told him it was F11, but it turns out that's for toggling fullscreen. Sorry nvining! That's a 
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Apr 16, 2013 19:29
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Welp, I hope I still have those adamantine textures saved...
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Apr 17, 2013 01:58
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Remember: The dwarf you want to model it on looks like this.
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Apr 17, 2013 02:54
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Switching monitors also helps if you have a dual monitor setup. It's how I got most of my non-blacked shots. So much water Necromancy.
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Apr 17, 2013 10:22
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Veloxyll posted:Switching monitors also helps if you have a dual monitor setup. It's how I got most of my non-blacked shots. I think our historian is rather focused on that period of Bronzestabbed's history, yes. I'm spotting some bias in this etiology!
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Apr 17, 2013 14:49
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Spermy Smurf posted:Remember: The dwarf you want to model it on looks like this. I was hoping to have it on a wooden armor rack...
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Apr 18, 2013 01:44
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 The Fifteenth Histories of Bronzestabbed a chronicle of unknown provenance, but probably by somebody who's really drunk right now CHAPTER SIX A Cruel, Hard Winter; Two Parties Scheme; Tantrum of a Gem Seer; Murk; The Iguanadont; The Ballista Question; A Statue for Parties; The Unseemly Behaviour of Leperfish at Parties (with apologies to Jerome K. Jerome); Possession; The Ghostly Overseer; The Ghostly Overseer's Father; A Lucky Sword It was a cruel, hard winter in Bronzestabbed, dear reader. The cruelest, hardest, winter. The booze stocks gradually replenished themselves. The clothing situation slowly became less dire. But all throughout the Fortress, dwarf stared at dwarf with suspicion and rage. Any one of them could be a traitor. Any one of them could be the enemy.  The Queen knew who the enemy was. She had a coffin ready.  So did Leperfish, the bookkeeper. Quietly, throughout the winter, they schemed and plotted. Each of them would do what was right for the Rare Ship, and each of them would do right by Bronzestabbed. How wrong they were, dear reader. How wrong they both were.  The Gem Setter 'life_force' Kubukmeb had decided that he had enough of this. He was unhappy. He was very, very unhappy. He was thirsty, and tired, and his clothes were falling apart, and he had suffered enough, dear reader, that he decided a meeting was called for. Sadly, he was unable to find anybody to talk to. This may have been because he had lost both of his legs and had lost his ability to stand, of course, but perhaps this is simply symptomatic of the Dwarven bureaucratic process.  Failing that, he decided to throw a tantrum.  Sankis, the Queen of all Dwarves, decided that there was only one thing for it. A ballista accident. Make it look like a problem with a *malachite trigger mechanism* or something. Yes. No dissent. The dwarves would be judged by their actions. And judgement was swift.  Fortunately, life_source went mad at this point and avoided creating some sort of political incident. Crawling on his bloodied stumps, he lurched off in a screaming, mewling heap, screaming of Water Necromancers.  Who knows, dear reader? Perhaps he was not as mad as we think. Perhaps he was trying to warn us of a threat. We shall never know.  Out in the fields, clouds of fiendish murk swelled. Larger clouds than ever before, dear reader. Ominous, green clouds.  Let us illustrate the sheer... size of the murk. Its terrible, awful, majesty threatened to destroy everything that the dwarves of the Rare Ship had hoped for. The dwarves of Bronzestabbed, without a leader, panicked and huddled inside as the cloud of murk swept over the battlefield. Thankfully, it dissipated harmlessly. Shortly thereafter, a second cloud of murk showed up further down, towards the fortress. Again, the Dwarves huddled inside the fortress. Meanwhile, some dogs went and investigated.  What was this new thing, the dogs asked themselves. Was it fun? Would it play with them? For a short time, it seemed like there was going to be trouble, dear reader. However, the murk stopped just short of the dogs, and the dogs stopped just short of the murk. It seemed like a stalemate, with dogs facing murk and murk facing dogs, until finally the second cloud of murk disappeared harmlessly.  In the mean time, dear reader, the fortress was invaded by an Iguanadont. This, zoologists say, is very much like an Iguanado, but - dear reader, let me assure you that if there is no such thing as a nematode, there is certainly no such thing as an Iguanadont. Who knows why the Dwarves of Bronzestabbed thought that this was a real thing? It's not like it ever went anywhere near the fortress anyway. It was probably just some sort of cave swallow. And, as always, the fortress remained Perfectly Safe.  Dear Reader, let us pause to give praise to the miracle of childbirth. The boy Nailclippins was born unto the manager Tiny Turtle, who laid him gently upon a stack of 'construct bronze ballista bolt' orders and got back to dealing with important paperwork. When asked how she was going to balance the problems of her job with the joys of rearing an infant, Tiny Turtle is alleged to have responded, "I'll manage."  Artistic themes in Bronzestabbed followed two key themes this winter:  1. The striking down of a Vile Woman Groom, Erush Firelanterns, in the early spring of the year 33. Such motifs in art were undergoing a popular resurgence at this time, although many dwarves felt that Erush Firelanterns was overdone as a motif.  2. A large section of work condemning the work of previous dwarves as militia commanders. Here, dear reader, we see the dwarf Bad Munki being mocked in the form of a scathing editorial engraving.  "You know what?" said Weaponboy. "What?" said the Queen. "Let's sell the stupid ballistas. They're absolutely useless." "No," said the Queen. "We will create a newer, better ballista. The only problem is that we've been wasting our time with all this bronze." Together, the two dwarves drafted a new production order for a newer, deadlier, ballista bolt, and dropped it with the dwarf Samuel L. Jackson for production.  "What shall we call it?" asked the Queen. "I know," said Weaponboy. "How do you feel about.... Death Cock?" Samuel L. Jackson sighed. "I do not feel," he said patiently, "that in the Winter of the year 247, the dwarven public is ready for this kind of naming convention. Even if it is a pretty bad-rear end ballista bolt."  "Meanwhile," said Weaponboy, "How do you feel about gauntlets? I think they're the new ballista, myself." "Quite," said the Queen. "Now shut up."  The dwarf Rurik, dear reader, had a plan to bring winter cheer to Bronzestabbed's inhabitants. He had recently discovered an artifact statue of Queen Sankis, lying about in some sort of stockpile next to a bunch of mosquito statues. It had engravings of some guy named Steve on it, which Rurik thought was odd. Who was Steve? Some kind of gigolo, perhaps? Well, thought Rurik, this statue could be the new social hub of Bronzestabbed. He planned to erect it in a room, perhaps somewhere near the Queen's tomb. Wouldn't that be jolly! And then they could have parties! True parties, like in the old days. Dear reader, let me digress for a moment on the subject of parties. There are two reasons that parties are not held at Bronzestabbed. The first is that it is a terrible place, covered in vomit, and it is hard to feel like you want to to throw a party when you are lurching about in ragged clothes and are covered in some other dwarf's recycled alcohol. The second, more dire reason, is the actions of the bookkeeper Leperfish. Dwarven parties, dear reader, are subject to the dwarves of the fortress providing entertainment. Everybody gets together, and brings some sewer brew and horse tripe. A miasma-spurting dog is provided for the children. And then, the Entertainment begins. All dwarves are required to be able to provide Entertainment at a dwarven party, dear reader, on pain of death. Prodigious talents such as sparring, sticking an axe up ones nostril, and being stung by a honeybee are displayed for the wonder and merriment of all people. The dwarf Leperfish, dear reader, was not much of one for social gatherings, and at every party at Bronzestabbed to date has found himself called upon to provide An Entertainment. Each time, Leperfish has considered the problem thoughtfully. "Well," he said, "I suppose I could RECITE FROM THE ANCIENT LORE." Dear reader, it is a fixed idea in the brain of Leperfish that he can recite from the Ancient Lore upon demand; it is a fixed idea in his listeners' heads that he jolly well can't, and should probably stop trying before he is killed by a Water Necromancer. The tone in which Leperfish suggested that he could recite from the Ancient Lore indicated, dear reader, that this is a thing that all dwarves ought to hear. Once. Then they should run into battle, clad in nothing but an axe and a smile, for in having heard Leperfish recite the Ancient Lore they would know what it truly, truly meant to be a Dwarf - and after that, dear reader, there is nothing left. "How nice!" clamour the dwarves. Children gather around, the miasma-spewing dogs are temporarily plugged with corks, and the Queen commands silence. Leperfish is to speak of the ANCIENT LORE. Leperfish clears his throat and begins. "I shall now recite Christmas at Gemclod," he intones. What a treat, dear readers! Christmas at Gemclod. A classic. The dwarfpipes are brought forward, and Spermy Smurf (no, dear readers, we shall not explain the origin of his secret name) is prevailed upon to play. Leperfish ambles forward to the front of the (Well/Statue/party site) and smiles with the pleasant look of a dwarf who is about to bestow upon other dwarves a Special Treat. The drone is struck, and it is brilliant. Masterful, even. That Spermy, he sure can drone on and on and on. Leperfish clears his throat, and begins as all the Dwarves lean forward, piously, in anticipation. Then Leperfish opens his mouth. You don't look for too much in a recitation of the Ancient Lore, dear readers. Perhaps some violence, perhaps some death. You don't mind when the dates get a bit jumbled, or somebody's name gets forgotten, because after all one of the characteristics of the Ancient Lore is that, in fact, it is ancient. You do sort of expect, however, for the bookkeeper of the fortress to get the name of the Ancient Lore right. Spermy Smurf finds himself halfway through the Drone of Introductoring that indicates the start of Christmas at Gemclod, and notes that Leperfish has missed his cue to begin the recitation. Spermy Smurf plays the Drone of Introductoring for "Christmas at Gemclod" again, and immediately Leperfish commences the recitation of "Let's All Get Killed and Eaten." Cue 200 dwarves all moaning and groaning. Spermy Smurf desperately tries to switch drones to get himself half way through "Let's All Get Killed And Eaten", and finds his fingers in the wrong places on the dwarfpipes. He gives up, throws the instrument to the ground, and goes off to make a nice earring or something. Possibly out of Leperfish. "It's alright," says Leperfish kindly, "You were doing wonderfully! Would anyone else care to assist?" And on the evening proceeds, dear readers. Leperfish reciting the Ancient Lore has driven more than one fortress to madness. The dwarf Rurik, of course, knows none of this. He missed the last two parties on account of his being in a cult at the time, and was not paying attention when the Queen banned all forms of Entertainment. Thus, he trundled down the great halls of Bronzestabbed with the magnificent artifact statue, looking forward to a couple of pleasant evenings and maybe some cheerful sing-a-longs. Perhaps that catchy new song about hiho.  Halfway down the hall, he found himself possessed by a spirit and babbling in tongues. He dashed for the nearest workshop faster than you can say Erush Firelanterns.  Meanwhile, some other dwarf installed the statue of the Queen. Soon, dear reader, it was crawling with children and animals making a mess and expelling all sorts of bodily fluids all over the delicate engravings of Steve. In the process of scheming, dear readers, the aforementioned Leperfish found himself blearily poring over the books, looking for a few spare mechanisms that wouldn't be missed.  By Armok! Only sixty-eight drinks left?!  ... whew, that's better. A close shave, thought Leperfish. Perhaps he was going mad.  Meanwhile, dear reader, here is The Saddest Thing. No, perhaps the saddest thing is that none of the other dwarves could see the child overseer. There he floated, in his lava coffin, unable to rest until his work was done. At least, he mused, his Daddy was there to comfort him in the afterlife. Where was his daddy?  Oh right, there he is, frightening the little children! What fun, dear reader. Children's hearts are full of such joy and wonder that they can, occasionally, explode due to the magic of childhood. It's either that or the dwarf Qword was as horrible a father and as mean a child-hating, fear-mongering sadist in death as he was in life. You may decide, dear reader, but I prefer to cling to the last shreds of hope that childhood for a dwarf is magical.  The Dwarf Tarox was, perhaps, the luckiest dwarf in the world. He decided that the adamantium short sword he had so recently deployed in combat would be his, forevermore.  He would fear nothing, dear reader. Nothing at all. nvining fucked around with this message at 19:21 on Apr 18, 2013 |
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Apr 18, 2013 08:03
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That is a dangerous cloud of murk. It's a good thing the Goblin Jeering Squad had left, we haven't faced any Murkgoblins yet
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Apr 18, 2013 08:27
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I just had a horrible thought..can a Forgotten Beast get murked? Good thing those clouds don't come too close to the fortress and that the monsters come from below.
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Apr 18, 2013 09:27
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Hey! Leperfish is awesome at reciting Lore.  The fact that something like 80% of every dwarf who has ever heard him recite Lore has died doesn't mean anything.
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Apr 18, 2013 09:28
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Hahaha, Iguanadont. Close the LP. Nothing will ever top this turn. Vadoc, I've wondered that exact thing. And so glad the fort is making up for the Global Forgottenbeast Crisis of 237-wheneverthefuck.
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Apr 18, 2013 13:23
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This is still awesome and I shall be sad when the year is over. Although - nvining posted:the Ripe Ship The Rare Ship, my good
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Apr 18, 2013 13:45
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I'm getting a mental image of an Iguanadont. It's something like an iguanadon, except so horrible, vile, and twisted, that every dwarf who sees it says 'NOPE.' If only I could draw...
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Apr 18, 2013 17:17
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I hope I am not the only one who said are you an iguanadon or an iguanadont in their head.
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Apr 18, 2013 17:38
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Maugrim posted:The Rare Ship, my good I actually figured this was intentional. 
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Apr 18, 2013 17:48
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An iguanodont is any species of the Clade Iguanodontia. So, the term is an adjective which broadly describes the forgotten beast's physiology, without identifying a specific species. Makes sense, since Forgotten Beasts basically are their own species (they are each unique).
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Apr 18, 2013 18:29
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Iron Leg posted:I actually figured this was intentional. Whoops! Fixed.
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Apr 18, 2013 18:33
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Leperflesh posted:An iguanodont is any species of the Clade Iguanodontia. So, the term is an adjective which broadly describes the forgotten beast's physiology, without identifying a specific species. Makes sense, since Forgotten Beasts basically are their own species (they are each unique). ^^^^^^^ ancient lore.
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Apr 18, 2013 18:56
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You missed a tag around a "Leperfish" too. You have two [/b] tags.
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Apr 18, 2013 19:16
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 Late Winter - Early Spring, 248 I feel as though I'm invincible... I've talked a tyrant toddler out of sending me to the muck, I was right about Bad Munki rolling in his grave, I've survived being in the middle of two raids with no combat experience, and somehow in the process of not dying of dehydration I found this awesome sword just laying around just waiting to be used. Ghosts, insanity, murk, goblins, children... All the things that plague this fortress mean nothing to me! I fear nothing, nothing at all! -Tarox
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Apr 18, 2013 20:11
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^^^^^ Challenge accepted.
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Apr 18, 2013 20:32
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Drone on and on, huh? You just made the list.
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Apr 18, 2013 21:27
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Spermy Smurf posted:Drone on and on, huh? You just made the list. Nobody spotted this? 
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Apr 18, 2013 22:07
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So is ghost-TildeaTH just as stuck in the prison as he was in life?
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Apr 19, 2013 00:36
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nvining posted:Nobody spotted this? I thought you were calling me a whiney thread poster. You're off the list.
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Apr 19, 2013 00:37
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SirPhoebos posted:So is ghost-TildeaTH just as stuck in the prison as he was in life? I think he's either what the Dwarf Fortress wiki classifies as a restless or a forlorn haunt, both of whom stay anchored to the locations of their deaths. But I'll let you know. We also have a ghostly fishery worker haunting the fields, but I haven't written about him yet. He's not doing anything nearly as fun as child-killing through Sheer Terror.
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Apr 19, 2013 01:18
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Spermy Smurf posted:I thought you were calling me a whiney thread poster. You're off the list. I believe you can still keep him on. It read like a double entendre to me.
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Apr 19, 2013 04:45
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SirPhoebos posted:So is ghost-TildeaTH just as stuck in the prison as he was in life? When I entomb a dwarf in magma, he stays entombed. Sorry for not being around, I was probated a month.
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Apr 19, 2013 15:25
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LeJackal posted:When I entomb a dwarf in magma, he stays entombed. How did you manage-  Well, um, I'm glad Toady hasn't added gunpowder to DW yet (though I hope it is added at some point  )
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Apr 20, 2013 02:29
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Leperflesh posted:An iguanodont is any species of the Clade Iguanodontia. So, the term is an adjective which broadly describes the forgotten beast's physiology, without identifying a specific species. Makes sense, since Forgotten Beasts basically are their own species (they are each unique). I prefer the explanation that.. Oh, never mind. Either you iguana-do or you iguana-don't. There is no in between when it comes to iguana doings.
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Apr 20, 2013 15:25
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nvining posted:
Yay, I got mentioned!  Of course it would be nice to have parties. What does a little vomit here and there matter?
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Apr 20, 2013 17:58
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Dear reader, some migrants have arrived. I couldn't stop them.  The humble Qvark, an Animal Caretaker.  Tectonics, a Blacksmith.  Rabbity Thing, an Extractor of the Strands who came to Bronzestabbed looking for work. It turns out it's often hard to find work in strand extraction.  Cyan Dag, a woodcrafter.  Murg the Milker! It has a nice ring to it, dear reader.  H1KE, husband of Qvark and a bone doctor.  Elth, a trader.  and Darth Various, also a trader. With that in mind, we shall resume our normal programming shortly. Thank you for your cooperation in the Migrating.
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Apr 21, 2013 06:01
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The Fifteenth Histories of Bronzestabbed a chronicle of unknown provenance, but probably by the author of 'A Stone Slab Containing The Secrets of Life And Death', a stone slab containing the secrets of life and death CHAPTER SEVEN Migrants have Arrived; Another Migrant has Arrived; Leperfish goes to Dig; Ushulazin Nakaseggut, the Sheep Wool Mask; HONK HONK HONK makes some barrels; Viola the Mad Goes to Bed; Forgotten Beasts; Ill-Advised Bravery of a Ranger; Violence in Vomit Stockpile #3; The Queen Rages  Dear reader, some Migrants have shown up in the late spring. (Their names shall be found in Appendix B.)  Their first sight, upon entering the Fortress of Bronzestabbed, was a ghostly fishery worker. Their second site was the vomit.  Dear reader, the vomit situation in Bronzestabbed has now gotten so bad that the Dwarves decided to deal with the problem. In Dwarven style, they simply started putting it in stockpiles, where it could be later used for crafting and possibly biological weaponry. (We have illustrated stockpile #2, dear reader, for your consideration; every single tile here is caked with vomit, some with multiple piles of vomit.)  In comparison to vomit stockpile #3, dear reader, vomit stockpile #2 was nothing. For one thing, vomit stockpile #3 also had rocks in it.  Another migrant arrived at this point, but ... well, at this point the Fortress of Bronzestabbed was home to no less than six forgotten beasts, so we'll just let it hang out with the others.  Despite news of the latest Shambling Horror from the caverns, the dwarf Leperfish was in a good mood. He decided to indulge himself in a little digging. It was time for a few little side projects; after all, a man needed hobbies.  Deep within the fortress, the Reformed Cultist Rurik was also cheerfully puttering away, gabbling in tongues about Erush Firelanterns and various other horrifying entities from the Age of Myth. Surely he wouldn't create anything weird, would he, dear readers? Surely not; after all, he was refo...  ... oh. Well, surely that's pretty harmless? ...  You know what they say, dear reader. Once a cultist, another reformed cultist. General opinion amongst the fortress on the subject of Ushulazin Nakaseggut, the Sheep Wool Mask, was that it was really quite incredibly creepy. The malachite was pretty fetching, however.  Dear reader, a project was complete. In celebration, HONK HONK HONK made a series of masterful Tower-Cap Barrels.  How masterful they are! See how nice they will be once they are filled with booze.  Truly, life was good. It was so good that the mason Peas suddenly found himself adopted by a tiny kitten. See how adorable it is, dear reader! See how beautifully it mews and curls up in a little ball, chasing after him. It is so very warm and fuzzy. Think about this kitten after it all goes to hell, dear reader. You will need the mental picture of this kitten to get you through what is about to befall us. The potter Viola the Mad, who most recently had been doing a little mining, had decided to give up for the night and head to bed. She was rather surprised when a... thing... ambled out of the stairwell and cheerfully started spitting frozen beast extract at her.  Where the heck did that come from? Seriously. The fortress was supposed to be Perfectly Safe!  Still, Viola the Mad was not named so for nothing, dear reader. She grabbed the first weapon she could find - a copper pick that she had taken to the mines earlier in the day - and started bashing away at the creature. From the steady stream of profanity emanating from her mouth, dear reader, we can conclude that she thought the creature was some sort of elf. At first, things seemed to be going well for her.  Then *another* Forgotten Beast charged up the stairs and started breathing fire everywhere. Viola the Mad's leg was blown clean off, and she collapsed in a heap yelling "gently caress THE loving ELVES..."   Professor Bling charged down the stairwell, but suddenly discovered that he had neglected to obtain a hammer. Unimpeded, he started bashing away at Forgotten Beast #1 with his fists, but soon discovered that Forgotten Beast #2 had him in his sights. Fwooooosh, dear reader.  It is the sound of ignition. Remember that sound. Fwooooosh.  With that, the two Beasts charged up the stairs, huffing and puffing. "I say I say," said 'Enfield', "What is all thi-AAAAAAAAAGH!" His confusion turned to scorn as his right arm was torn off.  'Dauntasa' Eraldebben was in much the same state, having tried to get a bead on the the creature but soon found it impossible to breathe through the smoke and Forgotten Beast Extract. Then... everything went black.   "It's by the vomit stockpile!" yelled volmarias, who was busy adding his sizeable contribution to the pile. "Which one?" Gnu Sheriff in Town yelled back. "Number three! Hurry!" Gnu Sheriff in Town and the axedwarf salttotart hurried into the stockpile. Both beasts were there, looking for something to destroy. "Steady," cautioned Gnu Sheriff. "Let them come to you---"  "STAND BACK!" interrupted 'Rumda' Tathtaklogen. "I'm a RANGER!" With that he leapt into the stray and a Forgotten Beast swatted him against a wall. ".... I'm a ranger..." he protested weakly. "Armok curse it," muttered Gnu Sheriff, "it's amateur hour." The axedwarf salttotart leapt on the Forgotten Beast Neca Fefuapa Gifevimara with bloodlust in his eyes, while the good Sheriff calmly pegged Nomar Usobora with a crossbow bolt. Weakened from its previous encounter with Viola the Mad, it soon collapsed in a heap.  The Queen was not amused by events. The fortress was supposed to be perfectly safe, after all. This was the Mountainhome, and if you couldn't be safe in the Mountainhome where were you going to be safe? Dear reader, I ask you. "Find out what happened," she yelled to anybody who could hear. WeaponBoy pulled her aside. "I know what happened, your majesty," he said calmly. "We have a traitor in our midst." nvining fucked around with this message at 08:22 on Apr 21, 2013 |
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Apr 21, 2013 08:18
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Oh my. The beasts marched into the fortress two by two. Even though Viola nearly picked one to death.
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Apr 21, 2013 08:32
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I'm glad to see we're recycling not just booze, but plotlines.
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Apr 21, 2013 08:39
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Stockpiling vomit. Now that is some peak Dwarf Fortressing!
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Apr 21, 2013 08:44
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Deadmeat5150 posted:Stockpiling vomit. Now that is some peak Dwarf Fortressing! Oh, seriously, you have no idea. I keep finding all these green hallways and thinking, 'oh, that's a lovely hallway of malachite.' Nope. It's not malachite. ALSO: Readers are invited to give their suggestions for who is the traitor! Please offer your theories in this thread. All will be revealed shortly.
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Apr 21, 2013 09:02
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