A recurring source of fun in my fortresses, I've come to notice, usually has something to do with the well. Whether it's the lack, misplacement or misuse of, it somehow always relates to the fortress' final fate.
Not so with Machinekindled, I decided. We would build an unprecedented project, this time. First, we would divert the river, as we always did, but then we would build a lever-controlled floodgate to be able to manually stem the flow of water into the fortress. Second, we would build a vertical shaft down which the water would plummet into a reservoir many levels beneath. When the reservoir was full, we would stop the flow of water with the floodgate, and all would be good. Third and final, the well would be many levels above the reservoir, in case it did flood, to allow the dwarves enough time to gtfo.
In the end, the project worked beautifully, and I owe most of that to Shorast, the most dedicated little miner in all of Machinekindled. You see, while we were building the vertical shaft, we had to dig down, obviously, but since I wanted to finish the project quickly I would dig out several levels at once.
What this did was cause a cave-in. As Shorast diligently struck away at the earth beneath his feet, the floor suddenly collapsed and he fell. He landed gracelessly and managed to break both his legs. Another dwarf, this one studying to be a doctor, dragged Shorast away from the mining operation, stuck him in bed, and began to clean his wounds, bring him food and water as he lay bedridden, and suture his wounds.
The project continued without Shorast, but slower. He wasn't the only miner, but definitely one of the best, and one of the problems with my project was that while we were busy building this shaft, there weren't any farms or irrigation being built and the other dwarves were slowly starving.
Shorast would have none of it. The moment he had splints attached to each leg, he was right back up on his feet, pick in hand, charging back to work. No hesitation, no complaints, no ability to bend his knees until the splints come off.
Well, thanks to him, we got the project done in time, and it worked perfectly. The farms were up and running soon after that, and Machinekindled thrived like I'd never seen a fortress thrive before. To commemorate his efforts, I built a special lavish tomb for Shorast so that he'd be remembered in the ages to come.
Unfortunately, the tomb lies empty since goblins came and murdered everyone.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Dwarf Fortress III: The Ironic Fate Of Stafftufts
So it turns out that when winter comes, rivers freeze, and dwarves can't get any water to drink.
Such was what happened with Stafftufts. The residents there were doing fine, farming and hunting regularly, drinking water and enjoying their lives. Then the river froze. But it froze solid.
With all the nearby ponds equally frozen, no one was able to get at the rich, life-giving water beneath. They started dying of thirst. Worse yet, the fishermen could no longer fish, and our crops weren't enough for everyone to last.
Well, not everyone lasted. Most died of thirst, several more died of hunger near the end, and those that survived were struck with melancholia. Well, not all of them. Enough survived in a hale mental state to embark on a project that would save the fortress (or so I thought): divert the river with an underground passage to a well.
The project started out remarkably well. The tunnel diverting the river was dug and the well built over it. Unfortunately, we'd built the tunnel too shallow; there was barely a sheet of water beneath and the well's bucket just hit the ground and came up with mud.
Fine, I thought. We can fix this.
In theory, certainly, we could have fixed it. But we didn't. We made things much, much worse.
We built a hole that went down several layers into a reservoir and then built a well on top of that. The idea was that the water would flow down, fill the reservoir and be enough for the dwarves to enjoy. It worked for a little bit. What I had underestimated was the water's pressure.
The well sat there, peaceful, as one or two dwarves had a drink. Then water suddenly shot out and began to fill the dining area. The dwarves panicked, running to-and-fro, some trying to erect walls to contain the water but finding the current too strong to work in. The less bright ones ran to their rooms to wait for the disaster to pass, but it didn't. The water didn't leak through the doors, but it filled the corridors, trapping them in there.
In the end, there was just no stopping the flow. And so it was that in trying to save themselves from dying of thirst, the dwarves of Stafftufts drowned.
Such was what happened with Stafftufts. The residents there were doing fine, farming and hunting regularly, drinking water and enjoying their lives. Then the river froze. But it froze solid.
With all the nearby ponds equally frozen, no one was able to get at the rich, life-giving water beneath. They started dying of thirst. Worse yet, the fishermen could no longer fish, and our crops weren't enough for everyone to last.
Well, not everyone lasted. Most died of thirst, several more died of hunger near the end, and those that survived were struck with melancholia. Well, not all of them. Enough survived in a hale mental state to embark on a project that would save the fortress (or so I thought): divert the river with an underground passage to a well.
The project started out remarkably well. The tunnel diverting the river was dug and the well built over it. Unfortunately, we'd built the tunnel too shallow; there was barely a sheet of water beneath and the well's bucket just hit the ground and came up with mud.
Fine, I thought. We can fix this.
In theory, certainly, we could have fixed it. But we didn't. We made things much, much worse.
We built a hole that went down several layers into a reservoir and then built a well on top of that. The idea was that the water would flow down, fill the reservoir and be enough for the dwarves to enjoy. It worked for a little bit. What I had underestimated was the water's pressure.
The well sat there, peaceful, as one or two dwarves had a drink. Then water suddenly shot out and began to fill the dining area. The dwarves panicked, running to-and-fro, some trying to erect walls to contain the water but finding the current too strong to work in. The less bright ones ran to their rooms to wait for the disaster to pass, but it didn't. The water didn't leak through the doors, but it filled the corridors, trapping them in there.
In the end, there was just no stopping the flow. And so it was that in trying to save themselves from dying of thirst, the dwarves of Stafftufts drowned.
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