I really enjoy your writing Duck, clever plot device you have there. These recurring-BSODs cause some concern though. Are they still happening or were you able to pass the trouble spots?
I seem to have made it through the trouble spot. More at the end of this (long) post.
"I don't know, maybe we were all just imagining it," Cerol said, as he and Duck emerged from a meeting with the miners to draw up new construction plans. Cerol was finishing his notes on the meeting as they walked.
It had been a day since the odd events of their meeting with the Quartermaster.
"I suppose so -- things seem normal enough," Duck admitted. "I guess it was just a synchronized bout of
deja vu. What's next on our agenda?"
"We've got a meeting with the officers at 1500. There've been some complaints from the rank and file."
"Alright. In preparation, I'd like you to put together a list of all active soldiers, along with their current training schedules."
"Right. I'll see you at 1500."
Elsewhere in the fortress...Obok Gasolshem wiped the sweat from his eyes. For the first time in weeks, he fully realized what he was looking at.
Perfection.
Laboring deep in the bowels of the earth, he had produced a masterpiece, the likes of which had never been seen before. Taking it in his arms, he ran up to the dining hall, where he hoisted it triumphantly above his head.
"Behold, the fruit of my labors," he shouted, "Enol Mafol!"
The assembled dwarves clapped awkwardly. They didn't
feel much like clapping: Enol Mafol just didn't seem very... novel. But, when they thought about it, it
was novel, and, really, it did deserve applause. So the clapped, but only because they felt they had to.
Their ambivalence showed.
"Philistines," Obok muttered to himself, putting the anvil under his arm and walking off to get a drink.
"I suppose so," Duck said. "Things seem... normal..." she trailed off. "No, I'm pretty sure something is up. This is not just a synchronized bout of
deja vu."
Cerol nodded. "Yeah, I think you're right," he said. "What are we going to do about it?"
"We should probably start by interviewing people," Duck replied. "We've got to have more information."
"Alright," said Cerol. "Shall I cancel your appointment with the officers?"
"Have I scheduled it yet?" Duck asked.
Cerol consulted his notes. "Yes, it looks like you have. Right here: 'Meet with officers Re: complaints, 1500.'"
"Okay, go ahead and cancel it. This is more important than a few disgruntled privates."
Elsewhere in the fortress...Obok Gasolshem wiped the sweat from his eyes. For the first time in weeks, he fully realized what he was looking at.
Perfection.
Laboring deep in the bowels of the earth, he had produced a masterpiece, the likes of which had never been seen before. Taking it in his arms, he ran up to the dining hall, where he hoisted it triumphantly above his head.
"Behold, the fruit of my labors," he shouted, "Enol Mafol!"
There was no applause. Most of the dwarves barely even looked up from their drinks.
"Meh," someone said. "It's been done."
"No it hasn't!" Obok insisted. "I've only just now completed it! How could it have been done before?"
The other dwarf shrugged and turned back to her drink.
Obok had to hold back tears as he left the room, his unappreciated masterpiece tucked under his arm.
Later that day, Duck and Cerol went over their notes in the dining hall.
"It sure looks like this isn't an isolated phenomenon," Cerol said. Nearly everyone they had talked to had reported the odd,
deja vu-like experiences.
"You've got that right," Duck agreed. "Did you notice any patterns in what people told us?"
"A lot of people talked about feeling strange about Obok's new anvil, but it probably just sticks in their minds because it was such a big deal. Or should have been," he added.
"And he came out of the forges at around 1030 -- just about the time we finished talking to the miners," Duck said.
"You think the anvil has something to do with it?" asked Cerol.
"Maybe, but... it doesn't feel right. After all, the anvil was incomplete yesterday during our meeting with the Quartermaster." She thought for a moment. "Regardless, we need to talk with the Commandant about this. Schedule a meeting."
"Yes ma'am," Cerol said, making a note of it on his notepad.
"Duck!" someone cried. Looking around as everyone dived to the floor, Duck saw that the speaker was Mayor Zonkubuk.
"Yes, Mr. Mayor?" she said.
"I hear ye're going to dig out some new workshops!" he said.
"That's right," Duck replied. "We finalized the plans this morning."
"Good on ye, lass," said the Mayor. "Just make sure ye've got enough tools for the job. We don't want any scuffles breaking out oe'r who gets the best equipment." He handed her a form.
"Uh, will do, Mr. Mayor," Duck said.
"Good, good," the mayor responded, wandering off in search of a drink. Sighing, Duck passed the form to Cerol.
"I'll go post the work orders at the forges," he said.
"Leave your notes with me," Duck said. "I want to go ov--"
"Duck!" someone cried. Duck dived to the floor along with everyone else.
"Duck! Are ye here lass?" the mayor asked. "Eh, well, it'll have to wait." He walked back out of the room.
"I suppose this isn't
all bad," Duck said to Cerol.
"It
does have it's upsides," he agreed. "Honestly, we have plenty of picks alrea--"
He was interrupted by screams. "It sounds like it's coming from the hospital!" said Duck. They rushed out of the room, gathering a handful of soldiers as they ran towards the hospital. When they arrived they found a soldier huddled in the corner, and a surgeon standing over a dwarf in one of the beds, shaking his head.
"What happened here?" Duck demanded.
"That fellow," the surgeon said, indicating the huddled soldier, "appears to have snapped and bashed this poor dwarf's head in."
"He was crippled," the surgeon went on. "He never had a chance."
"Take him to the dungeons," Duck told the soldiers, pointing to the murderer.
"Um, we don't, strictly speaking, have any dungeons," Cerol said.
"What?!"
"We have no officially-designated dungeons, ma'am, and no police force to carry out arrests." Cerol explained.
"Fine. But at least get him out of the hospital," Duck said. The soldiers dragged the dwarf out. "Cerol," Duck continued, "Make a note that we need to bring this up with the Commandant, too. A dwarf is dead, and we have no official way to punish the culprit."
Cerol nodded and began writing in his notepad.
The next day, they met with the Commandant.
"So you think," he said to Duck, "that we are somehow being forced to re-live certain periods of time. Am I correct?"
"Yes, sir," she said. "Our investigation suggests that it is not just a synchronized bout of
deja vu."
"Well then we need to do someth--" he paused. "Hold on, where's my scepter?"
"Your scepter, sir?" an aide asked.
"Yes, my bloody scepter. I'm a baron now, and people need to
know that I'm a baron. A scepter tells them that, and," he paused for a breath, "I
distinctly remember issuing orders for a scepter and several backups!"
Cerol and the Commandant's aide quickly went over their notes. "Sir," Cerol said, nervously, "there's no record here of you ever issuing those orders."
"Well I'm bloody well issuing some now!" the Commandant yelled.
"And write it down, so you don't forget!" he shouted to Cerol. Cerol began making a note of it while the Commandant turned back to Duck.
"Anyway," he said, "we need to do something about this. It may be some plot by the humans and goblins to unbalance us. Continue your investigations until you figure out what's going on and how we stop it."
"Yes sir," said Duck. "Now, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Some of the soldiers are showing signs of excessive stress and--" She stopped as a commotion came from the hall. Two soldiers came in, hauling a third between them.
"Sir," one of them said, "this dwarf has committed murder. Again."
"Who's the victim?" asked the Commandant.
"Some stoneworker," the soldier replied. "Witnesses report that this guy had it in for him. They say he ran halfway across the fortress, with murder in his eyes, to confront the victim"
He ran all over the fortress with the "Starting Fist Fight" task, past dozens of dwarves, to kill a random stoneworker."Well, put him under guard. We'll have a court-martial tomo--"
"Anyway," said the Commandant, "we need to do something about this. It may be some... plot... did I already say this?"
"Maybe?" said Duck.
"Regardless: Duck, you are to figure out what's causing these disruptions and how to kill it."
"Yes sir," she said. "Now, as you might recall, there I wanted to talk to you about the stress on our soldiers--" She was interrupted as a glum-looking dwarf walked through the door.
"Sir, I need to talk to you," said Olon Berdakas.
"Who are you, soldier?" the Commandant demanded. "Why aren't you at your post? Or did you kill someone?"
"No, sir, not since yesterday in the hospital. I've come to inform you that I'm resigning," Olon said.
"What? You don't get to resign!" the Commandant shouted, "Here in Bellwaxed, we serve in the military for life!"
"Well then I'm resigning from life," Olon said, quietly. "It's too much for me." He turned and walked slowly from the room.
"Don't bother going after him," the Commandant told his guards. "I've seen that look before -- he's already dead on the inside."
"Excuse me, sir," said Duck, "but this is exactly the sort of thing I was worried about. Our soldiers are never allowed to time off. They're under a great deal of stress."
"If they can't take the constant training, they shouldn't be soldiers!" the Commandant said.
"Maybe... but, well, you
have asked me to modernize the military, and I think that's going to involve fielding a lot more soldiers. We can't have them all working all the time."
"Fine, fine," said the Commandant. "They can take one month in five off. That should be enough for any dwarf."
Duck held back her argument. There were more important things to deal with.
"You there," the Commandant said, pointing to Cerol. "Have that dwarf's name stricken from the personnel roster. He's no good to anyone any longer."
"Yes sir," Cerol said, writing it down on his notepad. The Commandant turned to Duck.
"Now then, Bombardier, you have work to attend to," the Commandant said. "Find a way to stop the disturbances we've been having."
"Yes sir," Duck replied. "Cerol, come with me. We'll go over the--"
As Cerol finished writing on his notepad, the Commandant turned to Duck.
"Now then, Bombardier, you have work to attend to," the Commandant said. "Find a way to stop the disturbances we've been having."
"Yes sir," Duck replied. "Cerol, I want to take a look at--"
As Cerol finished writing on his notepad, the Commandant turned to Duck.
"Now then, Bombardier, you have work to attend to," the Commandant said. "Find a way to -- you know."
"Yes sir," Duck replied. "Cerol... Cerol, write down everything we're doing!"
"What?" Cerol asked.
"What?" the Commandant asked.
"Make a note of what we're doing Cerol, now!" Duck demanded. Cerol began scribbling.
"What in Armok's name are you thinking?" demanded the Commandant.
"What in Armok's name are you thinking?" demanded the Commandant.
"Sir, I have a theory," said Duck. "When we... skip backwards in time... we go back to the last time we wrote something down!"
"Which 'we' is writing stuff down?" asked the Commandant. "And what qualifies as 'stuff'?"
"I don't know, sir," replied Duck. "But with your permission, I think I could figure that out."
"Granted."
"Come with me, then, Cerol." said Duck. "There's Science to do."
Two days later, they were back in the Commandant's office.
"It seems, sir, that it doesn't particularly matter
who writes something down, as long as it is written in some sort of official capacity," Duck explained. "As for what needs to be written down, it appears that, once an event is entered into official notes or logs, we never 'skip' back past it."
"I see," said the Commandant. "So you've figured out an effective, if tedious, way to mitigate this."
"Yes sir."
"But you haven't stopped it outright."
"No, but perhaps whoever is responsible will give up when they see that it is no longer causing us problems."
"Perhaps," said the Commandant, "though that depends on how well they can tell whether we're having problems or not. Still, I don't want to focus on this any longer. There are other things to be done."
"Indeed, sir. In fact, I believe the lookouts spotted some new arrivals. With your permission, I'd like to go process them."
"Granted."
Duck and Cerol went up to the gates, where they began interviewing the arriving dwarves.
"Profession?" Duck asked the first.
"Planter," he replied. Cerol wrote it down.
"Prof-"
"Profession?" Duck asked the second migrant. The skip had been almost imperceptible.
"Furnace operator," she replied.
"This works remarkably well," Duck said to Cerol, as he wrote on his notepad. "We've almost completely... alleviated... the..." she stopped for a moment. "Cerol," she said abruptly, "continue to process these migrants. I have to speak with the Commandant."
She burst into the Commandant's office as he was holding a meeting with the senior officers.
"Bombardier!" he shouted "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"
"Sir!" she said, "I've had an idea!"
"It had better be a damned good one for you to interrupt this meeting."
"Sir, we can
use it!" Duck said.
"Use what?" the Commandant asked.
"The disturbance! We go back to the last time we wrote something down, but we can sort of
remember what happened! We only have to log favorable events! If bad things happen, we just don't write anything down, and the next skip gives us a second chance! We could refight a battle until we won! We'd be unstoppable!"
"An interesting idea, Bombardier," the Commandant mused.
"Shall I go get Cerol and the other Designated Loggers and start working out a protocol?"
"No."
"He's up there with the migr-- wait, what?"
"No, do not set up a protocol," said the Commandant.
"Are you serious, sir?" asked Duck. Based on their faces, several of the officers in the room were just as shocked at the Commandant's pronouncement.
"Yes, Bombardier, I am serious," he said. "We are not going to do this."
"But we would never lose!" said Duck. "Why shouldn't seize this advantage?"
"Because," said the Commandant, "that would be cheating."
So, as I said, I appear to be through the troublesome spot. I've gone a whole in-game month without a crash now, and have not seen any full-on Blue Screens of Death since the very first one. After close to eight hours of play, I'm
almost through the first season.
Now, my girlfriend will be visiting me this weekend (I haven't seen her in months), so I won't be playing DF at all Friday through Monday. If you would rather not wait, I can finish up the first season tomorrow, write a short report for the rest of the season (not much has happened; it is mostly progress on things mentioned in this one), and post the save for the next person to take over before the weekend. If, on the other hand, you don't mind waiting, I'd be happy to take up the fort again next week after my girlfriend has left.
Also, advice on how to space dialog is welcome. Everything I do ends up looking awkward.
Author
Topic: Bellwaxed: Humans and Harpies (Succession Fort) (Read 40208 times)