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This simple stand-alone mod adds a building that allows you to preserve meat. Alpha 13 made huuuge strides in allowing low-tech play styles, but the one factor missing was an alternative to freezing for food preservation. This is an attempt to add a low-impact, well balanced method for preserving meat.

This mod adds:

-RESEARCH: Food Preservation - low-tier research project that unlocks the Smokehouse building

-BUILDING: The Smokehouse. Costs 90 wood and 40 stone bricks to build. Can smoke meat with new recipes.

-RECIPE: Smoke Meat. Three bills are available at the smokehouse for smoking 10/40/75 raw meat at a time. Recipes require both raw meat and wood at a ratio of 5:1.

-RESOURCE: Smoked Meat. A form of raw meat that lasts two and a half seasons at room temperature before spoiling. It still needs to be prepared in a meal, and it gives a mood debuff if eaten directly (though less severe than eating raw meat).





DOWNLOAD:
GOOGLE DRIVE

LICENSE:
All contents of this mod are free to use for any non-commercial purposes. As a small courtesy, please contact me if you plan to include it in a modpack. Thank you to the rest of the community for being so generous with your code, art, and knowledge.

CREDITS:
*Mod by panggul_mas
*Art by Ahare
*Extra art assistance from Shinzy
*Special thanks as always to the rimworldmod Slack community



feedback is appreciated!

~

What would be the most straightforward way to add a static mote effect to a building? The existing mote-throwing effecters all seem to be tied to an activity (eating, constructing, crafting).

After 72 hours of failed attempts, I thought I'd ask for some help here.

Funerals.

Nothing stands out in Rimworld more than the death of one of your favorite colonists. Friends, lovers, leaders, when they die, it hurts. What better use for scripted social events than a funeral?

http://i.imgur.com/4T8Sqci.jpg

_

I think a game's music is a huge part of setting the playing experience. I know that when it comes to time-intensive, mechanics heavy sim games like this, many people tend to mute the music and put on their own, but I really I think the soundtrack to rimworld is fantastic and I can't play without it. From the mesmerizing opening theme, through the every day tracks and raid music, and on to the tear-jerker of a finale, it's just tops.

I'm not sure how many tracks exactly were added, but I'm loving the incremental expansion of Alistair Lindsay's music for the game through A12 and now A13, and I hope to see more. The style feels at the same time saccharine and musak-ey, while still completely appropriate with its subtle space cowboy vibe. I read a review of Stardew Valley recently that called the tone of that game "unapologetically earnest" and I think that's a fitting description to Lindsay's soundtrack as well.

Anyway, I haven't seen anybody mention the added music from A13, so I just wanted to show some love and say thanks to Tynan and Alistair.

-

When you create a world, have a drop-down menu of custom world profiles, such as:

___________________________________________________________________________________
JUDGEMENT DAY: all factions are mechtoid, permanent or near-permanent fallout

APOCALYPTO: All Jungle world / all factions are tribal / high-tech buildings, research, and gear(guns, armor) are disabled/not present

PITCH BLACK: permanent or near-permanent night, frequent manhunter scarab packs, extra bug nests
___________________________________________________________________________________

eh?

In the work tab, right clicking a job in a pawn's row brings up a drop down menu:

force job 6 hours
force job 12 hours
force job 24 hours
prioritize job 6 hours
prioritize job 12 hours
prioritize job 24 hours


force makes the pawn perform the job regardless of schedule or needs (until broken or passed out).

prioritize just sets the job priority to top for x number of hours.


This would save a ton of micromanaging job priorities when you really need all hands on deck for a particular task right now.

~

[EDIT: thanks to latta for pointing out that this is actually hardcoded in the assembly. Guess its time to go figure out what any of that means!]

Structures (walls, doors, etc) and furniture all tend to default to steel materials. Its a small but nagging issue, but I'm interested in how you'd change it to default to wood or some other material. Also, it stays put when you change it manually, but always resets on reload.

Changing the order of the <stuffCategories> in the xml doesn't do anything, and they are not in alphabetical order. Any insight would be appreciated.

thanks!


EDIT: thanks to latta for pointing out that this is actually hardcoded in the assembly. Guess its time to go figure out what any of that means!

I'm making my way through the wiki tutorials but would appreciate a bit of advice on how to get started creating a mod that does the following two things:

-push a few buildings, which are currently available at the beginning (power plants, air conditioners, etc) behind a research prerequisite.

-create 2-3 new crafting tables modeled after existing ones with slightly modified stats.

Thanks!

Its hard to describe what it feels like to be broken.

Because, when you're broken, there's no one left to observe the experience. Whatever part of the psyche that we associate as the self takes a vacation, and what's left is something between an infant, and a wild animal with none of its instincts. It starts with a slow buildup, rising to a point of insurmountable stress. It's like climbing a steep mountain, and upon reaching the peak, realizing that the other side is a sheer cliff dropping into an endless void, just as you lose your footing.

Hunger, exhaustion, climbing, climbing. Discomfort, sadness, climbing, climbing. Cruelty, death, climbing, climbing. It's all very formulaic. The only part that is unique to each person is the breaking point, something seemingly tailor-made to be incomprehensibly horrible to them.

For Bren, it was looking down at the woman they had just killed, and realizing, as the men around him began laughing and abusing her corpse, that she looked just like his mother.



It was the first thing he thought of as he slowly began to come back from the void, before the more pressing realities began to sink in. How much time had passed? Minutes? Hours? Days? He was wet, freezing, exhausted, and so, so hungry. Oh God, he had abandoned the attack. On their weeks-long trek across the plains, the mayor had said many times that anyone retreating or showing fear would get a bullet in their head from him personally. But if he stayed where he was, he'd die anyway. He had to do something.

With great effort, Bren pulled himself out of the crevasse that he had found himself in, and took in his surroundings. He hadn't made it too far from the siege camp; he could see it about 200 meters further down the ridge. And in the valley below was the settlement they had come for, smoke rising from half a dozen spots around the compound, surprising, considering how wet everything was.

He would just have to talk his way out of it. Sure, he'd be beaten, that was a given. They'd cut off his hand or pull out one of his eyes, but maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't kill him. Defending himself against the brothers was out of the question; violence just wasn't in his nature, one of the many reasons for his torment. They called him retarded kid, said he had brain damage, but Bren's only real problem was a learning disability, in that he never could learn to love rape and murder, the two most cherished activities of his people, the Claymore.





In the hazy light of the overcast morning, he slowly walked along the ridge towards the camp, oscillating back and forth between rehearsing what he was going to say and mentally preparing for death. As he got closer and the camp appeared relatively deserted, he hoped for the chance of running into one of the less malicious brothers alone, getting a chance to explain himself, taking his beating and having it end with that. His pace slowed as he reached the perimeter of the camp, listening for voices, but was met by nothing but silence. There wasn't a soul around. Everyone must have gone down to the settlement.


Food. Nothing had ever looked so enticing as the stack of soggy survival meals he saw next to the fire pit. After looking around once more to make sure the coast was clear, he fell to his knees and tore into them, devouring the colorless nutrient paste like it was prime seasoned muffalo steak, hardly stopping to breathe. Sating his hunger felt so good, but odd; he couldn't remember feeling anything but dread for so long. Just as the warm feeling began washing over him, he looked to his left, and laying not five feet away was the woman.

He instantly recoiled in horror, first crawling then running away, but didn't make it three steps before tripping over a crate of mortar shells and falling face first into the mud. He almost broke again, but managed to keep it together this time. He turned around and sat there wheezing, staring at the half naked corpse, white as snow, eyes still open as if she were looking right at him.

She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, on her way to visit the settlement when she stumbled upon the forward team setting up the siege camp. Once they cornered her she put up a good fight. She kicked in one of the brothers' teeth, shouted, cursed, before they pinned her down.

It was all too familiar.




He was only eight years old, more than half his life ago, when they killed his mother. She fought too. Bren had tried to help her, but the brothers who came that night threw him out of the tent. He came back again and again until one of them broke his collar bone and he blacked out from the pain. The old scar still hurt when he woke up every morning. It was hurting now, as he sat there in the empty siege camp.

He sat there for a very, very long time, shivering, looking at the woman, and letting himself feel what he was feeling. It helped. It desensitized him enough to move on to the next major problem he was facing. He found a tattered parka and some foul smelling leather pants in one of the tents, and changed out of his wet clothes. I'll just lay down here for a second, he thought to himself, get warm.






He woke up with a start, into a pitch black night. He knew where he was, he could feel the pants chafing him, could smell the hides he was laying on, but all else was darkness and silence. Bren listened for any sound of life, but only heard a muffalo baying in the distance and the soft hum of the wind. In that moment he was safe. Nobody was there to torment him, to boss him around, to kill him. He was warm and fed. It was too much for him, and he started to cry. He had forgotten what it felt like. He cried long, and loud, and hard, he cried until no more sound came out, he cried until he was exhausted, and again drifted back to sleep.






The next morning, Bren took a walk along the ridge while planning what to do next. He couldn't just run, could he? This was only the third time he'd ever left town, and they'd traveled so far he'd never be able to find his way back. There wasn't anything left there anyway; this was a mass migration. Every single Claymore had made the journey to this settlement to take it as their new home. Its the only reason Bren would ever had been brought on a raid. If he couldn't swing a gladius, at least he could haul supplies and clean the latrines.

Could he just strike out on his own? Into the wilderness? Winter was approaching, and while he might be able to gather some wild berries, he was no hunter, and would probably starve before he froze to death. He needed people. Even if it was the monsters he was forced to call brothers. So his mind fell back to reconciliation.

While playing out ideal beating scenarios in his head, he walked back into camp and saw the woman again. He was slowly getting used to the sight of her. The simmering horror her appearance had instilled in him had developed an odd touch of comfort. For all she was put through, her face looked peaceful now, as she stared off at some unknown point. He decided to cover her exposed parts with a blanket, and even moved her a bit so that she was leaning up against a crate, appearing to sit upright.

He couldn't go down there, to the settlement. The brothers would kill him, he knew it. And he couldn't run, there was nowhere to go. Maybe he could just stay here for a while? With her?









It was seventeen days before the survival meals ran out. Each day, Bren would wake up and walk along the ridge, watching the settlement for signs of activity. He watched the fires go out one by one, and then nothing. This settlement was supposed to be very advanced; he imagined the brothers had no need for campfires, instead sitting around electric heaters on golden chairs, eating chocolate and drinking beer. But even though it was a few kilometers away, he thought he'd be able to see people walking around outside the walls. They were probably so content in there that nobody wanted to leave.

After his morning recon, he would then walk the perimeter of the empty siege camp, tidy up, move around and sort the munitions and supplies into orderly stockpiles, wipe down and lubricate the mortars, and then have his meals by the fire pit with the woman. He didn't dare light a fire, in case someone in the settlement below saw the smoke and came looking for him. One day, without thinking about it, he walked by and said "Good morning" to the woman. He laughed it off, but by the end of his time at the camp, he was talking to her every day. He knew how crazy it was, but it still made him feel better. He'd talk to her about the settlement. He'd talk to her about his plans, about his work around the camp, about his life at the old town.

Even though it was cold out, she had started to decompose, and he had to sit further and further away from her each day to avoid the smell.

On the morning of the third day without eating, Bren realized it was time. If he could, he'd have just stayed with her in the camp. But he had to go down there, to the settlement. He had to move forward, and/or die. He didn't know what else to do. He went to see the woman one last time, and brought the nicest synthread blanket he could find and laid it over her head.

"Bye mom. I love you."





During his slow march down into the valley, his mind raced among all his possible futures. He could be shot on sight, he could run into the mayor drunk and in a good mood and be welcomed back with a slap on the wrist, soon to be enjoying chocolate bars and feather beds and something he'd heard of called "television". Or maybe he'll just get the beating of his life and go back to being retard kid hauling rocks around.

The morning fog hadn't burned off yet, so before he saw the settlement he smelled it, and was soon walking through a sea of rotting corpses. It took him a moment to recognize each bloated face, but they were all brothers. With each he had a memory of how they had tormented or ignored him, or that one occasion where in a moment of weakness they treated him like a human being. Why were they all left out like this?

After passing the threshold of the gate, he heard a strange whzzzzzzz- click-click-click click-click-click sound, and spun around to see a lone surviving turret trying to murder him, its ammunition reserves long since exhausted. A bit shaken up, he continued forward to a collection of what must have been sleeping quarters, burned down to their frames. The brothers must not have gotten to repairing this yet.


Pressing on, he saw more of the same, around every corner in the sprawling complex were more bodies, more burned out and collapsed buildings.

Bren started to panic. He was running now, desperately searching for anyone. He ran out into the vast enclosed fields, and saw dozens of shield brothers burned to a crisp, as if cooked by some massive fire from above. He found a largely intact cooler building full of shelves and shelves of putrid rotting food. He ran to the east of the compound and found a strange "V" shaped courtyard facing an opening in the outer wall, and there, circled by piles of shredded steel and machine parts, were the bodies of more than half of the people he had ever met in his life.

Everywhere it was the same. They were all dead. There was no food, no electric heaters, no chocolate, no television. Worst of all, there were no people; no brothers, no settlers, no friends/tormentors, no enemies. In that moment, Bren realized that he was completely, utterly alone. Maybe for hundreds of kilometers, maybe on the whole planet, it was just him.


And then Bren broke again.

The last thing I remember?

I remember Kel.


_______________________________________________________________________

"WE DO IT NOW GODDAMNIT."

_______________________________________________________________________



She was once so beautiful.

During the good old days I used to fantasize about us ending up together. She was young, intelligent, funny. When it was just the three of us it felt so good, just me, her, and Shae, crash landed on a new world full of possibility. We'd sit around the fire talking about our old lives, make plans for the settlement, tell jokes. That was after the realization that we weren't going to starve to death, but before the raids. But then the raids.

They took their toll on all of us, but it showed on Kel the most. Struggling to stay upright on her peg leg, leaning against the table with her bargain basement prosthetic arm, the arm I insisted we buy from that trader, even though it cost us the season's cotton yield. And her face...her sweet face.
She pretends not to be vain, but you can tell the effort she put into that strand of hyperweave covering the gaping hole in her face where her eye used to be. The stitching on the seams. How she arranges it just so. She cared. She wanted to be pretty. The scars still peeked out though, from when she dug the bionic eye out with a shiv in a panic one night. I told the doc it was a bad idea.



_______________________________________________________________________

"Half the settlement is at the mines, they'll never make it back before the shelling starts."

"TO HELL WITH THE SHELLING, GET THOSE PEOPLE BACK HERE NOW."

_______________________________________________________________________



The passion she was showing that night, it reminded me so much of the carefree spirit she used to be. If there wasn't so much on the line I might've broken down into tears right then and there at the thought of it.



_______________________________________________________________________

"There's only about a dozen of them, if me and the boys swing around the back and pull the bait and switch we can take them down without-"

"WE'RE NOT LOSING ONE MORE. NOT ONE MORE. WE LEAVE TONIGHT."

_______________________________________________________________________



Launch had been delayed twice in as many months. The first time it was the Claymores again. We chased them off without any casualties but we got banged up bad. Nelson lost an arm, and Butterfly, our "resident artist extraordinaire", will probably never walk again. That lazy tub of lard never lifted a finger to help anyway, just sat there all day carving his "figurines." Between them and a few other injuries, medbay was full for weeks, and "no cryosleep with open wounds", doctor's orders. That cut down on the labor pool too, and we had the mines going 24/7 to haul enough plasteel for the last few pods.



_______________________________________________________________________

"If this is about Redfield, then honestly I don't want to get shot out of the sky just because your boyfr-"

"REDFIELD. SHAE. BRIANNE. BANZO. SUPPY. COOPER. GNU. PORTHOS....NOT. ONE. MORE."

_______________________________________________________________________



When we were just about back on our feet after the Claymore pirate raid, the Mechtoids came. It wasn't the first time we fought them, but it was Redfield's last.

He was the first stranger to join us, honestly the first human we saw in those first few months that didn't try to kill us. He survived the crash like us, but had been on his own all that time. He was a soldier from some long forgotten war, so he took to the survival setting effortlessly. And he was so confident. No wonder she loved him. And he loved her too. Probably better than I ever could have. After that syther nearly tore her apart, he never left her side in the medbay, and never stopped calling her his treasure. He was everything to her. I think she just couldn't spend one more day on the planet without him.


_______________________________________________________________________

"SHIELD TEAM B, YOU'RE ON ESCORT DUTY FOR THE MINERS, EVERYBODY ELSE GET TO THE PODS. THIS IS NOT A DEBATE."

_______________________________________________________________________



The ship was her baby. Besides leading town hall meetings and recruiting prisoners, she spent the better part of the last four years in her research shed, reverse engineering pieces of wreckage from our transport, trying to get us off this rock. We all thought it was a pipe dream, but then, here we all were, standing in front of her dream, ready for launch.

The rain that had just been a sprinkle a few minutes earlier turned into a deluge, and with it the intense lightning we'd all grown so accustomed to. If it wasn't for the ground shaking, we might have confused the first shell for another lightning strike. It landed in the fields, wiping out the devilstrand we'd spent years cultivating. They aimed better on the second one, and landed square on the communal barracks, the first structure we built. That we built together, me and Kel. We didn't really panic though until the next shell landed 20 feet from the launch pad.


_______________________________________________________________________

"This piece of junk is never going to take off! I'd rather go back to the Claymores then-"

"YOU HAVE TO TRUST ME. THIS IS OUR CHANCE. THIS IS YOUR CHANCE."

_______________________________________________________________________



She had such a way with words. She'd convinced pirates, tribals, wanderers, such a bizarre collection of humanity inhabiting this rock, to not only join us, but to join together. At first she charmed us with talks of building a utopia. And once things got bad enough, she convinced us salvation was back among the stars. Our faith in her all came down to that moment, when it was all on the line. I didn't dare mention what only I knew. That the ship wasn't finished yet.


The last ten, fifteen minutes were all a blur. The mortars were coming faster now as the last few stragglers from the mines came running through the northern gates. Only two of us stayed behind on the battlements, just me and the housewife-turned-sniper Jenz, as the rest of our community crowded around the launchpad, at various stages of the cryosleep initiation sequence. When I heard a commotion I knew what must be happening; some of the pods weren't working.

I left Jenz behind and ran towards them just as Grogar was pulling a gun on Kel.



_______________________________________________________________________

"This crazy bitch is trying to kill us, I knew it! This piece of garbage is a tomb! You're all fools!"

_______________________________________________________________________


I knew if I killed him Kel would never forgive me. So I landed square in the back of his neck with the butt of my charge rifle. I never did learn to shoot straight with that thing, at least it did me some good for once. Two of his buddies came after me with their hulking sandstone clubs, they'd have crushed my head like a melon, but Lancaster had my back. With one of them knocked out and the other two tied up, we threw them in the closest working pods we could find (took a few tries) and started the initiation sequence. I never did like them. It felt odd to be saving their lives.

I shouted for Jenz but she couldn't hear me in the storm. I bolted for the battlements, and as I got closer, I realized she had stopped shooting and was just frozen, staring out over the walls. I shouted again, but it wasn't until I climbed up to grab her that I realized what she was staring at. It wasn't just a Claymore siege party; it was their whole goddamn civilization, and they were sprinting towards us. This wasn't a raid. They had come to destroy us once and for all. Even with all our turrets functional and our best marksmen out and in ideal conditions we couldn't have held them off. In that moment I felt the fear that had paralyzed Jenz, but I snapped her out of it and we ran for the ship.

Only Kel was left on the launch pad. How did she know? Was it a coincidence? Intuition? Or did she gleam some hints of this plan from all her time with our Claymore prisoners? Whatever the reason, I knew in that moment that she had saved us. Well, almost.

Jenz jumped into the nearest open pod which luckily seemed to be in working order. As I got closer to Kel, I couldn't believe what she was doing. She was still building the ship. While shouting commands at the AI to initiate launch sequence, she was putting all her weight into tightening a bolt on the aft support beam. Jesus.


_______________________________________________________________________

"GET TO YOUR POD!"

"What about you!? Kel, they're coming. Right now."

"ALMOST THERE, JUST GET IN YOUR POD. DON'T WORRY, EVERY ONE OF US IS GOING TO MAKE IT, I PROMISE."

_______________________________________________________________________




My gut instinct was to trust her, it always had been. And when she said "I promise" her expression had softened, and that look melted my resolve as it had so many times before.



_______________________________________________________________________

"NOT THAT ONE! THIS ONE!"

_______________________________________________________________________




As I ran for what was seemingly the last functional cryosleep pod, the AI narrated the launch sequence subroutines in a cheerful valley-girl voice. Kel had programmed the voice as a joke, she always had a sense of humor, but in the moment it felt grotesquely out of place.



_______________________________________________________________________

*totally initializing antigrav thrusters!*

"I'm not sleeping until I see you in your pod!"

*like, releasing landing clamps, or whatever*

"THAT'S IT! WE'RE READY!"
_______________________________________________________________________


I could hear the first wave of Claymores facing off with our south gate turrets, and the familiar *fzzzzz POP* sound as the turrets blew, in rapid sequence. Once the raiders learned to avoid our kill room off east gate, they always went for the south gate, less well defended. Their shielded strike team ran right past the turrets though, and there were dozens of them, running right for us, almost close enough for me to see the bloodlust in their eyes.


As soon as Kel grabbed the railing on her pod, the ship lifted off with a jolt. She almost lost her grip, but the prosthetic hand locked on, and she pulled herself in. As the lid of my cryosleep pod closed, and the familiar stink of the preservative gasses filled the chamber, I could see her staring down at the raiders, laughing maniacally. And just before I blacked out, I swear I saw her hold up her prosthetic middle finger at them, and shout in a voice I could hear through the translucent plasteel of the pod, "FUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOUUUUUU!"



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




You asked me what's the last thing I remember? She's the last thing I remember. Kel. I remember so well its like it was just last week. And do you know why? Because to me, it literally was last week, I haven't even been awake for ten days. And if what you tell me is true, then that was what, eleven? twelve hundred years ago?

So as I continue to rot in this cell, and you come by for these little "friendly chats", I want you to remember that everyone I ever knew or loved is dead. I've done the colony thing before, and I'm done with that game. Everybody dies eventually anyway. So quit dragging it out and harvest my organs, or let me go, because I'm not joining your little community. I'm done talking now.

recruitment failed, 2% chance