After watching several tutorials and let's plays (Pete Complete's Ice Sheet Survival being a classic), I decided to buy Rimworld today, and thought it might be fun to keep a detailed diary of my first playthrough. I am not using any mods and I haven't bought any of the DLC, so this is going to be a vanilla run. I'm going with Cassandra Classic for the storyteller, and Adventure Story difficulty, which I imagine ought to be forgiving enough for a beginner but still challenging enough to be interesting. The only non-standard thing I've done is disabled insects, because I've been told they're more annoying than fun. For a bit of narrative flavor, I'm RP'ing this diary as belonging to Dr. Yuna "Bones" Avila, who will describe things and narrate events in the first person. I probably spent about an hour clicking random to get a good roster of colonists together, and they still have a few deficincies between them, but I think I've got them to a good balance of useful and interesting.
2nd Aprimay, 5500ce or thereabouts, sometime in the morning
Well, this sucks.
Dear posterity,
My name is Dr. Yuna Avila. I've crash landed on an alien planet in the outer rim, and this notebook I've found in the wreckage is going to be my diary now. Iam was a passenger on the starship Thetis, which seems to have experienced some kind of critical failure over Niyat Major and is now laying strewn in pieces for about as far as I can see in any direction. I've touched down safely with two other passengers, both male, one in his late fifties called Sgt. Monaghan and another in his early thirties called Zebo. We haven't talked much except to introduce ourselves. We've spent the past hour or so sifting through the wreckage to take stock of our supplies, and I'm using this bit of writing as an excuse to take a short break. To somewhat justify my vanity in keeping a diary under these circumstances, I'll also use this book to keep a running tally of our provisions, for however much longer they last. That said, I'd better get back to work.
***
It's evening now, and we've all laid down to bed. I've always been a bit of a night owl, so I'm going to stay up writing for a bit. We haven't found any other people, but Monaghan did find a red monkey of all things in another escape pod. The two seem to have bonded, and Monaghan has named the monkey Elias. The first order of business was to site a camp and build shelter. We've landed in the middle of a thick deciduous forest near a river and some small hills. Monaghan didn't have to look around for long to find a suitable place. To the southeast was a crescent shaped hill with a nearby pond and, on Zebo's apparent authority, very fertile soil nearby. They both seem quite enthusiastic about the spot. As an Urbworld gal it all looks like woods to me, but I've elected to take their word for it.
We started by setting up a lean-to in the crook of the hill, and that turned out to be the easy part. It's nothing sophisticated but it should keep the rain off our supplies. The bitch of it was hauling those supplies bit by bit all the way back from the crash site, which ended up taking the rest of the day. Still, having too many supplies isn't the worst problem to have. We're all bunked down together on the floor next to our provisions. Tomorrow the plan is we build another lean-to right next to this one to serve as our living and working space. Even now it's hard to imagine living and working here.
In the course of our toils, I've gotten to know my companions a fair bit.
Sgt. Ryan Monaghan
Biological Age 58, Chronological Age over 2,000
He's a tough old fossil, a retired space marine for some interstellar navy that hasn't existed in over a thousand years, brought up through the ranks from adolescence, back before they started literally growing 'em in vats. He hasn't known any other life. You look him in the eyes, and the lights are on but nobody's home; he's got a mind of barbed wire and bayonets, the world of the abstract concept seems completely foreign to him. He keeps busy at least, seems to like working with his hands. He's apparently got a wife out there somewhere, or used to. They were coming out here to start a ranch and live out their retirement together. I don't think she made it off the ship. Sarge seems to be taking it in stride, but who can really tell?
Zachary "Zebo" Edson
Biological Age 30, Chronological Age 58
A fish out of water if ever there was one. Grew up as a medieval peasant on some feudal backwater planet, with no concept of space travel, germ theory, or the number zero. Then one day some spoiled teenagers from the next planet over came cruising by on a lark to beam up a cow, and ended up beaming up the cowhand by mistake. On return to the space station they found Zebo cowering in the cargo hold, bewildered and terrified. The station authorities determined that returning him to his planet might have an undue influence on the development of his home society, and that the memory-wiping department was already over budget for that quarter. So the hapless Zebo was kept aboard the station and pressganged into kitchen duty, slinging up burgers and fries for surly starpilots, day and night. Better than shoveling dung, I guess. He's got about all of the social graces that both peasants and fry-cooks are known for, but I don't think I have it in my heart to blame him. I don't think the poor guy has ever gotten over that initial shock. There's a sort of gloomy, slack-jawed, low-level horror that comes off of him, if I had to put words to the vibe I'm getting. He's healthy and a hard worker though, and that's all we can ask for out here. Not too hard on the eyes, either.
Dr. Yuna Avila
Age, none of your business.
That's me, just a simple woman making her way in the universe. Since I've done the same here for my new pals, I suppose I'll write a little about me for whoever finds this book next to my sun-bleached skeleton in a hundred years. I come from an Urbworld. When I was a kid, I had a rare illness called Chronic Osteophagia; in laymen's terms, some mutant super-germs were slowly eating away my skeleton from the inside. I probably spent more of my childhood in the hospital than out of it, as one would imagine. Between quaruntines, test batteries, and doctors screaming "Oh god, Oh God, The Horror!", I at least managed to get a fair bit of reading in. I went through a geology phase for a while, but eventually I settled on a deep and abiding love of medicine. I suppose you pick up a different perspective on the human body when you spend your formative years having your own devoured on the microbial level. About two months too late for senior prom, the eggheads finally worked out how to kill the infection and reverse the damage, and I think I got more bone back than I lost. If nothing else, I've got a mean right hook to thank them for. My folks were bankrupted by the cost of my treatments, so traditional medical school was out of the question. I picked up steady work as a mail carrier during the day, and spent nights working through a medical correspondance course. After more years than I'd care to admit in writing, I'd saved up enough money to book passage on a starship to the outer rim so I could go out and ply my vocation. Strictly speaking I'm not actually a doctor in the accredited sense, but I've studied enough to be one, and out here I'm about two dozen lightyears too far away for any snobbish diploma-jockey to tell me I haven't. I'm the closest to the real thing these fellas have got right now.
As promised, our current provisions:
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 30
Steel 266
Wood 253
Packaged Meals 44
3rd Aprimay
We've finished the second lean-to and begun furnishing it. We each finally have something like beds to sleep on and a table to eat off of. Monaghan went out ranging and saw all kinds of wildlife; Gazelles, Turkeys, Alpacas, Donkeys, Megasloths, even a couple of grizzly bears. He thinks he'll be able to shoot more than enough food for all of us. Before we could start thinking about bringing in raw meat however, we had to make some changes to our store room. I haven't come dozens of lightyears and survived a spaceship wreck to die of food poisoning. So, we've already started converting our first shack into a refrigerator. Monaghan was out ranging most of the day, so the building work was down to Zebo and I. He doesn't seem to understand on a technical level exactly how refrigeration works, but having explained it to him in simple terms, he seems to have a good enough concept of it to be getting on with. With the walls shored up and the makeshift cooling unit in place, all we need now is power. I've started sketching out plans for a generator using the components we have one hand, and it'll have to be wood-fired. We don't have the components to make batteries, so wind-power is out for the time being. With all of the building going on our wood supply is next to nil, so we'll have to spend the better part of tomorrow chopping down trees to fuel the generator.
I hope Zebo and I are working together again, I think I'm beginning to grow fond of the mopey yokel.
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 25
Steel 240
Wood 36
Packaged Meals 41
4th Aprimay
We didn't make it very far into the woodcutting. Once we had finished building the generator and connecting it to the cooling unit, Zebo was so excited that he wanted to build an electric stove right away. I couldn't help but admire his enthusiasm and oblige him.
A another chunk of space debris crashed down nearby. I wonder how much of the ship is still up there in orbit?
Just after dusk, we met our first new human in several days; decades, really, if one counts the time in chryosleep. She wasn't Mrs. Monaghan, sadly, she was a native from a nearby tribe. Her name was Breiabebailer. She was in her late forties with a shaven head, dressed in a sheepskin that only went over one shoulder, carrying a shortbow and a bag of pemmican. Her people are called the Brio Union and it seems we crashed down in the land between two of their villages. The spacewreck itself was seen in the sky from miles around, and the debris has continued to shower much of the continent.
She was kind enough to tell us of our surroundings. This region is called the Binhenera Forest by the locals, and lies between three mounted ranges: the tropical Leora Range to the west, the desert-like Endless Wormleg to the east, and the arid shrub Baasica's End to the south. The woman assured us that her tribe are a peaceful people, but warned that there are a few nearby tribes who aren't; the nearest are a group of infamous raiders called the Raven Men. After some discussion, we thanked the kind visitor and invited her to stay the night with us before she returns to her village.
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 22
Steel 119
Wood 49
Packaged Meals 35
Postscript:
Zebo kissed me today. I wasn't expecting it, but I did kiss him back...after all, why not? He's not exactly sophisticated, but I didn't come out here for sophistication. He's sweet, and sad, and he adores me. I can't help but find it romantic how we've found eachother like this, out here at the end of the universe.
We're still sharing the second shack with Sgt. Monaghan and the local woman, otherwise things might have gone farther than that. I'll see if we have time to start planning out some proper, private, sleeping quarters tomorrow.
5th Aprimay
The visitor was on her way again by dawn.
Talk of the nearby raiders has put Monaghan on edge, so all of our other projects are being put on hold until we can set up some preliminary defenses. We're down to two-thirds the food we landed with, but as Monaghan says it won't matter how much food we'll have in two days if we're dead by tomorrow.
No sooner had he said this than a rabid hare came charging at the old space marine from out of the forest. Monaghan unslung the bolt action rifle from his shoulder, took aim, and fired. The first shot missed. The hare kept running. Monaghan cycled the rifle, aimed and fired again. The bullet whizzed by and the hare kept running. The grey-bearded soldier prepared another shot, took careful aim until the animal was almost on top of him, and fired a third time, killing the little furry beast. With the menace dealt with, we were all able to return safely to our work.
The acquisition of the rabbit meat gave us an excuse to fire up our generator and refrigerator, and before long, Zebo was frying up some fresh rabbit chops.
We got in a good start at fencing off the perimeter, I imagine it'll be finished tomorrow. The plan is not to enclose our entire camp, but to block off every approach but one and funnel any would-be attackers through a heavily defensible bottleneck where we can shoot them like fish in a barrel. Or rather I should say, while Zepo and the Sargeant shoot them like fish in a barrel. We only landed with two guns, and I'm the medic, so it makes sense to keep me behind the line of fire. I've got a plasteel knife, so the plan is I can at least defend myself if the pirates make it past the boys.
Speaking of the boys, Monaghan made a pass at me today while we were alone working on the fence. I let him down easy, of course, the man's old enough to be my father. I didn't tell him that Zebo was also part of the reason I said no, but I didn't have to because he didn't ask. He just nodded and went back to his work. Now that I've had a few hours to mull it over, I think he must still be processing the loss of his wife. He has barely stopped working and fidgeting since we landed without her, I wonder if he's always been like that or if he's been trying to distract himself. Grief does strange things to people, maybe he was emotionally confronting that loss of intimacy and I was the only woman at hand he could try to replace it with. Then again, psychology was never a strong subject of mine. Maybe he just thought I looked smokin'.
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 22
Steel 119
Wood 208
Lightleather 11
Packaged Meals 30
6th Aprimay
We've finally finished our defences, or the first round of them anyway as Monaghan would have it. As we lay down our hammers and axes to look out over what we had wrought, the old soldier got the idea in his head that since we were going to be here a while, our little group ought to have a name, and so should our couple of lean-to's with the fence around them. He managed to convince me that it wasn't as silly as it sounded at first, since we would need something to call ourselves if we were going to be trading with other tribes. I suggested Fort Shipwreck or Fort Stranded for the name of our new home, but we ended up settling on the nicer sounding Fort Traveller. As for our group, since we've landed in the Binhenera Forest and we're all looking out for each other in common, we're henceforth to be known as the Binheneran Commonwealth. I still think it's a bit silly.
Anyway, now that Monaghan is satisfied we won't be murdered by pirates in the night, we can get back to the main task of growing our food stocks. The mad hare was gone almost as soon as it hit the fridge, and we're now down to almost half our original supply of survival meals. Tomorrow Zebo is going to start a rice patch, Monaghan is going hunting, and I'm going out to scavenge whatever more spare parts I can find.
In other news, a wild raccoon has taken a liking to us (or at least our rubbish heap). We haven't decided what to do with him yet.
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 22
Berries 1
Steel 119
Wood 545
Lightleather 11
Packaged Meals 28
2nd Aprimay, 5500ce or thereabouts, sometime in the morning
Well, this sucks.
Dear posterity,
My name is Dr. Yuna Avila. I've crash landed on an alien planet in the outer rim, and this notebook I've found in the wreckage is going to be my diary now. I
***
It's evening now, and we've all laid down to bed. I've always been a bit of a night owl, so I'm going to stay up writing for a bit. We haven't found any other people, but Monaghan did find a red monkey of all things in another escape pod. The two seem to have bonded, and Monaghan has named the monkey Elias. The first order of business was to site a camp and build shelter. We've landed in the middle of a thick deciduous forest near a river and some small hills. Monaghan didn't have to look around for long to find a suitable place. To the southeast was a crescent shaped hill with a nearby pond and, on Zebo's apparent authority, very fertile soil nearby. They both seem quite enthusiastic about the spot. As an Urbworld gal it all looks like woods to me, but I've elected to take their word for it.
We started by setting up a lean-to in the crook of the hill, and that turned out to be the easy part. It's nothing sophisticated but it should keep the rain off our supplies. The bitch of it was hauling those supplies bit by bit all the way back from the crash site, which ended up taking the rest of the day. Still, having too many supplies isn't the worst problem to have. We're all bunked down together on the floor next to our provisions. Tomorrow the plan is we build another lean-to right next to this one to serve as our living and working space. Even now it's hard to imagine living and working here.
In the course of our toils, I've gotten to know my companions a fair bit.
Sgt. Ryan Monaghan
Biological Age 58, Chronological Age over 2,000
He's a tough old fossil, a retired space marine for some interstellar navy that hasn't existed in over a thousand years, brought up through the ranks from adolescence, back before they started literally growing 'em in vats. He hasn't known any other life. You look him in the eyes, and the lights are on but nobody's home; he's got a mind of barbed wire and bayonets, the world of the abstract concept seems completely foreign to him. He keeps busy at least, seems to like working with his hands. He's apparently got a wife out there somewhere, or used to. They were coming out here to start a ranch and live out their retirement together. I don't think she made it off the ship. Sarge seems to be taking it in stride, but who can really tell?
Zachary "Zebo" Edson
Biological Age 30, Chronological Age 58
A fish out of water if ever there was one. Grew up as a medieval peasant on some feudal backwater planet, with no concept of space travel, germ theory, or the number zero. Then one day some spoiled teenagers from the next planet over came cruising by on a lark to beam up a cow, and ended up beaming up the cowhand by mistake. On return to the space station they found Zebo cowering in the cargo hold, bewildered and terrified. The station authorities determined that returning him to his planet might have an undue influence on the development of his home society, and that the memory-wiping department was already over budget for that quarter. So the hapless Zebo was kept aboard the station and pressganged into kitchen duty, slinging up burgers and fries for surly starpilots, day and night. Better than shoveling dung, I guess. He's got about all of the social graces that both peasants and fry-cooks are known for, but I don't think I have it in my heart to blame him. I don't think the poor guy has ever gotten over that initial shock. There's a sort of gloomy, slack-jawed, low-level horror that comes off of him, if I had to put words to the vibe I'm getting. He's healthy and a hard worker though, and that's all we can ask for out here. Not too hard on the eyes, either.
Dr. Yuna Avila
Age, none of your business.
That's me, just a simple woman making her way in the universe. Since I've done the same here for my new pals, I suppose I'll write a little about me for whoever finds this book next to my sun-bleached skeleton in a hundred years. I come from an Urbworld. When I was a kid, I had a rare illness called Chronic Osteophagia; in laymen's terms, some mutant super-germs were slowly eating away my skeleton from the inside. I probably spent more of my childhood in the hospital than out of it, as one would imagine. Between quaruntines, test batteries, and doctors screaming "Oh god, Oh God, The Horror!", I at least managed to get a fair bit of reading in. I went through a geology phase for a while, but eventually I settled on a deep and abiding love of medicine. I suppose you pick up a different perspective on the human body when you spend your formative years having your own devoured on the microbial level. About two months too late for senior prom, the eggheads finally worked out how to kill the infection and reverse the damage, and I think I got more bone back than I lost. If nothing else, I've got a mean right hook to thank them for. My folks were bankrupted by the cost of my treatments, so traditional medical school was out of the question. I picked up steady work as a mail carrier during the day, and spent nights working through a medical correspondance course. After more years than I'd care to admit in writing, I'd saved up enough money to book passage on a starship to the outer rim so I could go out and ply my vocation. Strictly speaking I'm not actually a doctor in the accredited sense, but I've studied enough to be one, and out here I'm about two dozen lightyears too far away for any snobbish diploma-jockey to tell me I haven't. I'm the closest to the real thing these fellas have got right now.
As promised, our current provisions:
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 30
Steel 266
Wood 253
Packaged Meals 44
3rd Aprimay
We've finished the second lean-to and begun furnishing it. We each finally have something like beds to sleep on and a table to eat off of. Monaghan went out ranging and saw all kinds of wildlife; Gazelles, Turkeys, Alpacas, Donkeys, Megasloths, even a couple of grizzly bears. He thinks he'll be able to shoot more than enough food for all of us. Before we could start thinking about bringing in raw meat however, we had to make some changes to our store room. I haven't come dozens of lightyears and survived a spaceship wreck to die of food poisoning. So, we've already started converting our first shack into a refrigerator. Monaghan was out ranging most of the day, so the building work was down to Zebo and I. He doesn't seem to understand on a technical level exactly how refrigeration works, but having explained it to him in simple terms, he seems to have a good enough concept of it to be getting on with. With the walls shored up and the makeshift cooling unit in place, all we need now is power. I've started sketching out plans for a generator using the components we have one hand, and it'll have to be wood-fired. We don't have the components to make batteries, so wind-power is out for the time being. With all of the building going on our wood supply is next to nil, so we'll have to spend the better part of tomorrow chopping down trees to fuel the generator.
I hope Zebo and I are working together again, I think I'm beginning to grow fond of the mopey yokel.
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 25
Steel 240
Wood 36
Packaged Meals 41
4th Aprimay
We didn't make it very far into the woodcutting. Once we had finished building the generator and connecting it to the cooling unit, Zebo was so excited that he wanted to build an electric stove right away. I couldn't help but admire his enthusiasm and oblige him.
A another chunk of space debris crashed down nearby. I wonder how much of the ship is still up there in orbit?
Just after dusk, we met our first new human in several days; decades, really, if one counts the time in chryosleep. She wasn't Mrs. Monaghan, sadly, she was a native from a nearby tribe. Her name was Breiabebailer. She was in her late forties with a shaven head, dressed in a sheepskin that only went over one shoulder, carrying a shortbow and a bag of pemmican. Her people are called the Brio Union and it seems we crashed down in the land between two of their villages. The spacewreck itself was seen in the sky from miles around, and the debris has continued to shower much of the continent.
She was kind enough to tell us of our surroundings. This region is called the Binhenera Forest by the locals, and lies between three mounted ranges: the tropical Leora Range to the west, the desert-like Endless Wormleg to the east, and the arid shrub Baasica's End to the south. The woman assured us that her tribe are a peaceful people, but warned that there are a few nearby tribes who aren't; the nearest are a group of infamous raiders called the Raven Men. After some discussion, we thanked the kind visitor and invited her to stay the night with us before she returns to her village.
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 22
Steel 119
Wood 49
Packaged Meals 35
Postscript:
Zebo kissed me today. I wasn't expecting it, but I did kiss him back...after all, why not? He's not exactly sophisticated, but I didn't come out here for sophistication. He's sweet, and sad, and he adores me. I can't help but find it romantic how we've found eachother like this, out here at the end of the universe.
We're still sharing the second shack with Sgt. Monaghan and the local woman, otherwise things might have gone farther than that. I'll see if we have time to start planning out some proper, private, sleeping quarters tomorrow.
5th Aprimay
The visitor was on her way again by dawn.
Talk of the nearby raiders has put Monaghan on edge, so all of our other projects are being put on hold until we can set up some preliminary defenses. We're down to two-thirds the food we landed with, but as Monaghan says it won't matter how much food we'll have in two days if we're dead by tomorrow.
No sooner had he said this than a rabid hare came charging at the old space marine from out of the forest. Monaghan unslung the bolt action rifle from his shoulder, took aim, and fired. The first shot missed. The hare kept running. Monaghan cycled the rifle, aimed and fired again. The bullet whizzed by and the hare kept running. The grey-bearded soldier prepared another shot, took careful aim until the animal was almost on top of him, and fired a third time, killing the little furry beast. With the menace dealt with, we were all able to return safely to our work.
The acquisition of the rabbit meat gave us an excuse to fire up our generator and refrigerator, and before long, Zebo was frying up some fresh rabbit chops.
We got in a good start at fencing off the perimeter, I imagine it'll be finished tomorrow. The plan is not to enclose our entire camp, but to block off every approach but one and funnel any would-be attackers through a heavily defensible bottleneck where we can shoot them like fish in a barrel. Or rather I should say, while Zepo and the Sargeant shoot them like fish in a barrel. We only landed with two guns, and I'm the medic, so it makes sense to keep me behind the line of fire. I've got a plasteel knife, so the plan is I can at least defend myself if the pirates make it past the boys.
Speaking of the boys, Monaghan made a pass at me today while we were alone working on the fence. I let him down easy, of course, the man's old enough to be my father. I didn't tell him that Zebo was also part of the reason I said no, but I didn't have to because he didn't ask. He just nodded and went back to his work. Now that I've had a few hours to mull it over, I think he must still be processing the loss of his wife. He has barely stopped working and fidgeting since we landed without her, I wonder if he's always been like that or if he's been trying to distract himself. Grief does strange things to people, maybe he was emotionally confronting that loss of intimacy and I was the only woman at hand he could try to replace it with. Then again, psychology was never a strong subject of mine. Maybe he just thought I looked smokin'.
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 22
Steel 119
Wood 208
Lightleather 11
Packaged Meals 30
6th Aprimay
We've finally finished our defences, or the first round of them anyway as Monaghan would have it. As we lay down our hammers and axes to look out over what we had wrought, the old soldier got the idea in his head that since we were going to be here a while, our little group ought to have a name, and so should our couple of lean-to's with the fence around them. He managed to convince me that it wasn't as silly as it sounded at first, since we would need something to call ourselves if we were going to be trading with other tribes. I suggested Fort Shipwreck or Fort Stranded for the name of our new home, but we ended up settling on the nicer sounding Fort Traveller. As for our group, since we've landed in the Binhenera Forest and we're all looking out for each other in common, we're henceforth to be known as the Binheneran Commonwealth. I still think it's a bit silly.
Anyway, now that Monaghan is satisfied we won't be murdered by pirates in the night, we can get back to the main task of growing our food stocks. The mad hare was gone almost as soon as it hit the fridge, and we're now down to almost half our original supply of survival meals. Tomorrow Zebo is going to start a rice patch, Monaghan is going hunting, and I'm going out to scavenge whatever more spare parts I can find.
In other news, a wild raccoon has taken a liking to us (or at least our rubbish heap). We haven't decided what to do with him yet.
Silver 800
Medkits 30
Components 22
Berries 1
Steel 119
Wood 545
Lightleather 11
Packaged Meals 28