Releases: bknie1/foundering-releases
Releases · bknie1/foundering-releases
Release list
Foundering v0.1.25-alpha
New in v0.1.25
-
Crawlspaces for the Lost Child. A ventilation trunk or a gap under a partition,
between two rooms that share a wall but no door. Only a child fits through -- stand
at the low grille and go. Anyone else is told plainly that they would not. -
Her lean bites underfoot. The player feels her heel and trim the one way a flat
floor allows: walking up the slope is slower and down it faster, and past about ten
degrees the deck sheds you, a slide you walk against to hold your place. The view
turns on [ and ] as well as the middle button. -
The hunt. Everyone aboard has three things to see about them. For the Spy, one of
the people nobody wrote down is a saboteur who stops pumps, undoes dogged doors and
sets fires after the strike, leaving a clue each time; look at people, gather the
clues, and accuse to their face. For the Saboteur, what you do to her where someone
can see it is talked about, and enough talk brings the Master-at-Arms down after you. -
Twenty-four more invented people on the Lusitania and the Britannic, with
conversations, and the site and the older release notes rewritten in the same plain
voice as the rest. -
Under the paint. Two Voyage sections in her fine ends had a ladder in the pinch
of the bow and machinery sized by the rectangle rather than the hull; both fixed. A
flight of stairs whose rooms barely overlap gets an honest ladder. The room walker's
detours run on the floor and step off a flight rather than along it.
Foundering v0.1.24-alpha
New in v0.1.24
- The water rushes. A breached room has a spout of sea off her side at the height
it stands outside, spray flying off it and a roar to go with it, and all of it harder
the deeper you are. A trickle high up; a torrent on the tank top. - The Mail Clerk's sacks. Three sacks of registered post are aboard, one near where
you begin, one midway, one in the post office. Carried, a sack slows you and you
cannot run; put down with E to do anything else; carried onto the boats it goes in
and you do not. Paid to anyone, paid better to the Clerk. - The band, all eight of them. Hume, Woodward, Clarke and Taylor at the
reception-room dais with Hartley; Brailey, Bricoux and Krins outside the restaurant.
Each will talk. They carry their instruments, and some minutes after the strike they
go up to the first-class entrance on the boat deck and play there, together for the
first time. Two new Table stories: the Bandmaster on the eight; the Purser on the
five post clerks. - The fire main. Hydrants along her alleyways and in the working spaces. Run one out
with something burning and take the hose to it; anyone following puts their hands on
it. The main dies with the deck it runs along. - Errands with things to carry. Before the strike, the Mesaba's ice warning from
Phillips to the Captain; brandy from the pantry to the trio; the baker's loaf down to
steerage; a library book back to its owner. The Lusitania and the Britannic have
their own. A person waiting on something you have not brought says so. - Word down the alleyway. One channel for the whole ship: lifebelts on, a couple
of minutes after the strike; women and children when the first boat goes. The
Voyage's ship has a loudspeaker for it, and it crackles. - What the climb left you. On a Voyage landing, three offered and one taken, or
none: Sea Legs, Second Wind, Deep Breath, Thick Coat, Strong Back, Crew's Word, and
the bargains -- a Bad Knee for forty pounds, a Weak Chest for a bolt of cloth, Known
to the Purser, Soft Hands. Friend of the Stokers and Bedside Manner for the trades. - The wounded. Anyone hurt can be seen to with a bandage or a torn bolt of cloth;
the Doctor's and the Nurse's dressings do most. Someone down can be lifted -- the
Soldier alone, anyone with a strong back or a hand from a follower -- carried across
the shoulders and handed into a boat. - The Fixer as broker. Anyone aboard will sell the Fixer what they know: the
strong-room, the lie of a deck, where the good things are. Their own kind charge half. - Twelve more who were really aboard. On the Lusitania: Sir Hugh Lane with his
pictures in the hold, Theodate Pope on her way to the psychical researchers, Marie
Depage going home to the wounded, the Laird of Foula writing a story for Avis
Dolphin, Oliver Bernard drawing the ship, Charles Lauriat with Dickens's own
Christmas Carol, and the staff captain. On the Britannic: Archie Jewell and John
Priest, who had both come off the Titanic, Dr Cropper, and Harry Dyke, who ran her
boats. - The Commercial Traveller. A twenty-first passage: a case of samples, a quarter
off buying and a quarter on selling, told what a thing is worth at a glance, and
anyone aboard will buy from him once. - Under the paint. A flight of stairs whose two rooms barely overlapped could run
into the lower room's end wall at head height; flights stay inside their room now, and
two rooms that barely overlap get an honest ladder. Hydrants keep clear of doorways.
The room walker that checks every ship reports Titanic, Britannic and Lusitania walked
end to end, every room, with no faults. - Smaller. The Lost Child is unlocked by coming off the Lusitania alive; a short
Voyage section always has a second way up; the objectives list no longer repeats
its last line once per room.
Foundering v0.1.23-alpha
Foundering — v0.1.23-alpha (Windows & Linux)
New in v0.1.23
- The ship has people in it. Calm Waters carried thirteen named people and nobody
else. It carries a few hundred now: a crowd by class in the rooms their class used,
dressed for it, and 126 people with something to say. Forty-seven of them were really
aboard the Titanic, and stand where the record puts them. Margaret Brown is in the
lounge; Thomas Andrews is in his stateroom with his notebook; Fleet goes up to the nest
at ten and will tell you about the glasses. Each has a greeting and two or three
things you can ask, true of that evening. Nothing they say is about the night, because
for them it is not a night yet. What became of a person is written only in the
purser's book, against the names you have spoken with. - Seventy-nine more you will not find on any list. A Finnish third son with an
address card, a Mayo girl going into service, a suffragette out of Holloway, a stoker's
wife in steerage, a bell-boy who has been up the crow's nest. Invented, and marked as
such. The Lusitania and the Britannic have their own. - People have bodies. You meet them as people, not as pictures, and they stand
apart from one another. - The evening first. A toggle on the Historical picker. Three errands, each a
person to find and speak with, and the clock waits on the last of them. Then she
strikes. Each ship has its own errands, its own clock and its own moment: 11:40, ten
past two, twelve minutes past eight. - The Table talks on the landing. Between levels, sometimes, two of them are
overheard, each in their own colour. Eight new exchanges. - Britannic and Lusitania, from their plans. Both were hand-laid at sixty and ninety
rooms. Both are transcribed now the way the Titanic is: Britannic as she was fitted in
1916, wards and theatres where the saloons were, 413 rooms; Lusitania 532. Her sheets
carry no frame marks, so her stations are measured off the scale rather than read off
the yard's numbers, and the file says so. - Voyage is built from her real decks. Each level is one of ten sections of the
ship, three decks drawn from the rooms really at that height and nearer their real
size. Sections get the hull shape, the door sizes, the machinery and the light
switches the historic ships have, and they lean. Boilers are in the boiler rooms.
Stairs on the passenger decks, ladders below. The last level ends at the boats; the
others end at a stair or an escape trunk, and the objective says which. - Every choice is a grid. Mode, ship, narrator and class are tiles with a picture,
and a panel beside them shows what you are looking at before you lock it in. Twenty
classes now, each with its own sound when you pick it out: coal into the firebox, the
whistle, the set tapping CQ, a jig for steerage, a waltz for first. Ships play what
happened to them. The hotbar and your kit have pictures. - Nine classes that were only names have a tile and a trade. The Messenger runs
on half the breath. The Fixer buys past a puzzle door for fifteen pounds. The Thief
picks locks. The Lost Child cannot fight and is never fought. The Musician's calm goes
with him. The Soldier hits harder and takes it better. Second Class, the Steward, the
Spy and the Saboteur have their starts; their larger mechanics are still to come. - Three faults in how a ship is dressed, found by walking the new ones. An alleyway
narrower than the hull no longer takes the hull's taper. A machinery room too narrow
for a turbine gets none. A boiler is sized to its room and kept clear of the doors in
its wall.
Foundering v0.1.22-alpha
Foundering — v0.1.22-alpha (Windows & Linux)
New in v0.1.22
- Nothing hangs over her side. This one kept coming back, and it was never a room in
the wrong place: the plating was drawn from the rooms of one deck and nothing else, so
a thinly-modelled deck got a thin hull — and the perfectly ordinary staterooms above it
appeared to float over the sea. Above the waterline the ship's side now carries the
widest extent of its own deck and every deck above it, so the hull is continuous and
nothing can overhang whatever the rooms do. - You cannot walk through a boiler. They were drawn and nothing more. They were also
sitting half outside the shell, because the spot the game knew about is the stokehold
face where the stoker stands, not the middle of thirty tons of iron. - The lights stop being fairy lights. Her passenger spaces really were on a regular
scheme, so alleyways and saloons keep theirs — but a boiler room was lit where the work
was, and a hold got a few lamps and a lot of dark between them. Down below the lamps
come off the grid, spread out, and roughly one in five simply is not fitted. And the
portholes are no longer all lit: the spacing stays (they followed her frames), but most
cabins have nobody in them and no lamp burning. - The water stops shimmering. She floats with F deck at the waterline, and F deck's
floor sat at exactly that height — two surfaces in one plane, with the depth buffer
unable to choose between them. - The mouse is yours unless you are aiming. It was taken whenever a crowbar or a torch
was in the slot, and the torch is the first slot, so every run began with a captured
pointer before you had a torch to aim. Now it is only taken for a torch you actually
carry or something you are about to throw — a crowbar swings at what you are facing. - Tab hands the pointer back, so the map can be hovered and the inventory picked
through. It was being treated as though you were still walking around. - A thrown thing lands like a thrown thing. The sound it made was a hatch closing. It
is now a hatch closing, on the hatches.
Foundering — v0.1.21-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.21
- She goes down by the head. Water forward now puts her bow down and lifts her
stern, and the list across her is a separate thing that can happen at the same time.
The sea stays level while she leans, which is the way round it actually was. Titanic
was very nearly upright all night and it is the trim you will feel; Lusitania rolls
until her port boats are over the deck; Britannic does both, inside the hour. - What is loose aboard her slides. Once she is over more than a couple of degrees,
furniture stops being scenery: a chair against one bulkhead ends up against the one
downhill of it, and a flooded room's contents gather at the low end. - The sea moves. It was a flat colour, and you almost never saw it — it only drew
once your whole deck stood clear of the water. There is swell on it now, and it rises
into view as it comes up to meet you. - She has a house on her. Every room on the upper decks reached her side, so her
superstructure read as hull with windows cut in it. The deckhouses are inset now and
the promenade runs outboard of them — with a rail on the sea side to look over and a
wall on the side that backs onto the house. - Nothing hangs over the side any more. Cabins were being cut to her widest beam
and planted on it wherever they were, so the ones forward stood out over a hull that
had already drawn in toward the stem. - Doors are the width of what they are for. Every door aboard was 2.2 m — a barn
door. A cabin door is 0.9 m now, a watertight door wider because it has to pass a
stretcher, and the public rooms get double doors, which is what was really there. - Heavy things are heavy. A made-up berth is eighty kilos and you are not moving it
alone. Anyone following will lend a hand; past that, the way is blocked and you go
round. - The lights are not all one lamp. An alleyway gets a plain bulkhead lamp, a cabin
one fitting, the public rooms chandeliers — all of it warm, and dim in the way 1912
filaments were. Cabins nobody is in start dark: there is a brass switch inside the
door where your hand goes, and it throws. If her power has gone it still clicks and
tells you nothing came on. - The boilers are the size boilers were. Six metres end to end, fed from both ends,
with the uptakes climbing away to the funnels. The engine rooms sound like engine
rooms now, too, instead of like everywhere else below the waterline. - The working parts of the ship are aboard her. The bridge has the wheel, both
engine-room telegraphs, the binnacle and the chart table; the engine room has its
triple-expansion engines and the turbine that drove the centre screw; the dynamo room
its sets and switchboard. You cannot move them. You can look at them, and they tell
you what they were and what they did. - Somebody is playing. The band stand had music stands and nobody at them, and a
bare capsule on the deck that was meant to be a cello. There are men behind the stands
with violins up, and the cello is a cello. - The dining rooms are laid, not stamped. Tables were on a perfect grid, every room
the same. They sit off their marks now, turned a few degrees, some set for two, and
here and there one cleared away. The Café Parisien is laid as itself — small round
tables, close together — instead of as a saloon. - Tables stand where they were put. They were landing half a table away from their
own chairs. - Steerage is a dormitory. Third-class berthing and the crew's quarters were being
drawn as bedrooms with one bed in them. They are open rooms of bunks down both sides
with an aisle between, which is how she carried most of the people aboard her. - Ladder wells have railings, on three sides, with the ladder stubbed up above the
deck so a hole in the floor reads as a way down rather than a mistake. And deck chairs
are no longer stacked under the lifeboats. - Inspect. Q looks at whatever you are in front of — the ship's machinery, a person,
an item, something too heavy to lift — and when it is nothing in particular, at the
room you are standing in. It never waits on a cooldown. - Tab is one dashboard: her decks on the left, what you are carrying on the right.
M still opens the map on its own. - The mouse is yours. It was captured the whole time you were playing, which gave
you a cursor you could not use and hid the one you could. Now it is taken only when
you are actually aiming something — a torch, a crowbar, something you can throw. - You can tell which way you are facing, on the player and on the minimap.
- Room notices stopped nagging. Half a minute between them and long enough on screen
to read. Settings can silence notification sounds without silencing the notices, and
silence her entirely while the window is behind something else. - Sound. She has a whistle, and it is Olympic's — same builder, same specification,
and Olympic's survived where hers did not. Doors sound like doors and hatches like
hatches, a light switch sounds like a switch instead of a menu, stoking sounds like
coal going into a firebox, and water underfoot is its own sound rather than a dry
footstep turned up — which is how you will know the sea has reached you before you
can see it. There are people audible where there are people. - Fixed: a stray crate could stand in the middle of the Grand Staircase; two doors
outside the Purser's Office swung into each other and sealed the passage; deck chairs
at the ends faced a wall; and the walker now gets all 451 rooms of her with no faults.
Foundering — v0.1.7-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.7
- You can get out of a starboard cabin. Every stateroom on the starboard side had
its bed and washstand laid straight across the doorway (the port side was right — the
same rule put the bed against the hull there). Step in and you were wedged. The bed
now goes to the wall away from the door, and nothing aboard — in any room — is placed
in a doorway any more. - A stateroom has one door. The A-deck rooms had grown a second door straight out
onto the promenade; twenty-two such doors are gone. The parlour suites and the
purser's and enquiry offices, which were only reachable through a cabin, now front
onto the alleyway they always did. - The decks have their names. The HUD called A deck the boat deck; each deck is now
named from the plans. - Calm Waters shows the whole ship on the map. A passenger four days out has seen
the plan on every landing. Fog of war is for the night she goes down. - Stairs carry you. Every flight has a real ramp under its treads, the deck above
is cut open where your head needs the room, and the stairs themselves keep your
feet on the flight, up or down. You climbed into the bottom step and stopped before;
now you climb. Steep flights that no one could walk are honest ladders. - The Grand Staircase is the Grand Staircase. One broad flight up to the landing,
two flights returning either side to the deck above, stacked in one well from D deck
to the boat deck — and the glass dome on its iron rim over the top of it, with
daylight under it. - You can see into the room you are in. The wall between the camera and your room
steps aside while you are there, whoever it belongs to. The mouse wheel zooms (Shift
and the wheel cycle your kit); − and = still work, and you can get closer than before. - What you point at is what E does. The thing under your cursor wins over whatever
merely happens to be nearest, a ring on the deck marks it, and a dot marks the cursor. - Health bars are red. They were drawn behind their own backing from most angles.
Yours, and anyone...
Foundering v0.1.21-alpha
Foundering — v0.1.21-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.21
- She goes down by the head. Water forward now puts her bow down and lifts her
stern, and the list across her is a separate thing that can happen at the same time.
The sea stays level while she leans, which is the way round it actually was. Titanic
was very nearly upright all night and it is the trim you will feel; Lusitania rolls
until her port boats are over the deck; Britannic does both, inside the hour. - What is loose aboard her slides. Once she is over more than a couple of degrees,
furniture stops being scenery: a chair against one bulkhead ends up against the one
downhill of it, and a flooded room's contents gather at the low end. - The sea moves. It was a flat colour, and you almost never saw it — it only drew
once your whole deck stood clear of the water. There is swell on it now, and it rises
into view as it comes up to meet you. - She has a house on her. Every room on the upper decks reached her side, so her
superstructure read as hull with windows cut in it. The deckhouses are inset now and
the promenade runs outboard of them — with a rail on the sea side to look over and a
wall on the side that backs onto the house. - Nothing hangs over the side any more. Cabins were being cut to her widest beam
and planted on it wherever they were, so the ones forward stood out over a hull that
had already drawn in toward the stem. - Doors are the width of what they are for. Every door aboard was 2.2 m — a barn
door. A cabin door is 0.9 m now, a watertight door wider because it has to pass a
stretcher, and the public rooms get double doors, which is what was really there. - Heavy things are heavy. A made-up berth is eighty kilos and you are not moving it
alone. Anyone following will lend a hand; past that, the way is blocked and you go
round. - The lights are not all one lamp. An alleyway gets a plain bulkhead lamp, a cabin
one fitting, the public rooms chandeliers — all of it warm, and dim in the way 1912
filaments were. Cabins nobody is in start dark: there is a brass switch inside the
door where your hand goes, and it throws. If her power has gone it still clicks and
tells you nothing came on. - The boilers are the size boilers were. Six metres end to end, fed from both ends,
with the uptakes climbing away to the funnels. The engine rooms sound like engine
rooms now, too, instead of like everywhere else below the waterline. - The working parts of the ship are aboard her. The bridge has the wheel, both
engine-room telegraphs, the binnacle and the chart table; the engine room has its
triple-expansion engines and the turbine that drove the centre screw; the dynamo room
its sets and switchboard. You cannot move them. You can look at them, and they tell
you what they were and what they did. - Somebody is playing. The band stand had music stands and nobody at them, and a
bare capsule on the deck that was meant to be a cello. There are men behind the stands
with violins up, and the cello is a cello. - The dining rooms are laid, not stamped. Tables were on a perfect grid, every room
the same. They sit off their marks now, turned a few degrees, some set for two, and
here and there one cleared away. The Café Parisien is laid as itself — small round
tables, close together — instead of as a saloon. - Tables stand where they were put. They were landing half a table away from their
own chairs. - Steerage is a dormitory. Third-class berthing and the crew's quarters were being
drawn as bedrooms with one bed in them. They are open rooms of bunks down both sides
with an aisle between, which is how she carried most of the people aboard her. - Ladder wells have railings, on three sides, with the ladder stubbed up above the
deck so a hole in the floor reads as a way down rather than a mistake. And deck chairs
are no longer stacked under the lifeboats. - Inspect. Q looks at whatever you are in front of — the ship's machinery, a person,
an item, something too heavy to lift — and when it is nothing in particular, at the
room you are standing in. It never waits on a cooldown. - Tab is one dashboard: her decks on the left, what you are carrying on the right.
M still opens the map on its own. - The mouse is yours. It was captured the whole time you were playing, which gave
you a cursor you could not use and hid the one you could. Now it is taken only when
you are actually aiming something — a torch, a crowbar, something you can throw. - You can tell which way you are facing, on the player and on the minimap.
- Room notices stopped nagging. Half a minute between them and long enough on screen
to read. Settings can silence notification sounds without silencing the notices, and
silence her entirely while the window is behind something else. - Sound. She has a whistle, and it is Olympic's — same builder, same specification,
and Olympic's survived where hers did not. Doors sound like doors and hatches like
hatches, a light switch sounds like a switch instead of a menu, stoking sounds like
coal going into a firebox, and water underfoot is its own sound rather than a dry
footstep turned up — which is how you will know the sea has reached you before you
can see it. There are people audible where there are people. - Fixed: a stray crate could stand in the middle of the Grand Staircase; two doors
outside the Purser's Office swung into each other and sealed the passage; deck chairs
at the ends faced a wall; and the walker now gets all 451 rooms of her with no faults.
Foundering — v0.1.7-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.7
- You can get out of a starboard cabin. Every stateroom on the starboard side had
its bed and washstand laid straight across the doorway (the port side was right — the
same rule put the bed against the hull there). Step in and you were wedged. The bed
now goes to the wall away from the door, and nothing aboard — in any room — is placed
in a doorway any more. - A stateroom has one door. The A-deck rooms had grown a second door straight out
onto the promenade; twenty-two such doors are gone. The parlour suites and the
purser's and enquiry offices, which were only reachable through a cabin, now front
onto the alleyway they always did. - The decks have their names. The HUD called A deck the boat deck; each deck is now
named from the plans. - Calm Waters shows the whole ship on the map. A passenger four days out has seen
the plan on every landing. Fog of war is for the night she goes down. - Stairs carry you. Every flight has a real ramp under its treads, the deck above
is cut open where your head needs the room, and the stairs themselves keep your
feet on the flight, up or down. You climbed into the bottom step and stopped before;
now you climb. Steep flights that no one could walk are honest ladders. - The Grand Staircase is the Grand Staircase. One broad flight up to the landing,
two flights returning either side to the deck above, stacked in one well from D deck
to the boat deck — and the glass dome on its iron rim over the top of it, with
daylight under it. - You can see into the room you are in. The wall between the camera and your room
steps aside while you are there, whoever it belongs to. The mouse wheel zooms (Shift
and the wheel cycle your kit); − and = still work, and you can get closer than before. - What you point at is what E does. The thing under your cursor wins over whatever
merely happens to be nearest, a ring on the deck marks it, and a dot marks the cursor. - Health bars are red. They were drawn behind their own backing from most angles.
Yours, and anyone's you have hurt. - Cabin doors stand shut and open as you reach them, swinging into the room, not
across the alleyway. Lifeboats hang at the ship's side, not in the officers'
quarters. The dead lie down. - Balance. Throwing at full wind-up is eased. Hostiles take four or five blows;
you take twice as many. The lock-picking pick is judged in the same pixels as the
green you are shown — the old test was stricter than the picture. - The Table. The storytellers have a name for what they are together, and their
words: every one of them speaks from a pool now, so the card at the start of a run
is a remark about the night and never the same twice, and their conditions are put
as riddles. One passenger a level may carry a line of theirs, and the people who
hear it steady or falter. At the end of a run, in the black, the Table talks, to
each other, not to you. Usually one line. Sometimes more. Two new seats: one who
wants to see it burn, and one who wants every one of them home. - Nobody raises a hand to a child. Not you, not anyone.
- The purser's record shows what you have found, and nothing about what you
haven't. - The games are with people. Cards are the card-room steward's, in the smoking room
after dinner. There is a man with a chessboard under the ivy in the Verandah Café who
plays anyone, and a man in the third-class general room with draughts, the mill and a
chessboard, because down there a game is everyone's. A table on its own is a table. - The band plays four lanes now. Arrows rise to their marks, StepMania-fashion —
arrows, WASD or the D-pad — and the room hears it if the tune falls apart. - The squash court has an opponent. You take turns off the front wall; he puts the
ball where you are not, and harder as the game goes on. - Outside. From the boat deck you see her side falling to the sea — plating and lit
portholes for every deck below you — and the water at her waterline, rising as she
goes. Each ship has the hour she went: Titanic a moonless night, Britannic a morning,
Lusitania a bright afternoon, and the light, the sky and...
Foundering v0.1.20-alpha
Titanic at her true scale: 36-inch frames, not 24 -- the whole midship had been a third too tight.
The Grand Staircase laid from its transcribed well: a fanned central flight, a landing, two side flights, on every deck from E up to the dome.
A body standing in a doorway seam no longer falls through the deck.
Furniture keeps out of corridors, doorways and stair heads.
The headless walker crosses all 453 rooms of Titanic with no faults.
Windows, Linux and macOS builds attached.
Foundering v0.1.18-alpha
Foundering — v0.1.7-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.7
- You can get out of a starboard cabin. Every stateroom on the starboard side had
its bed and washstand laid straight across the doorway (the port side was right — the
same rule put the bed against the hull there). Step in and you were wedged. The bed
now goes to the wall away from the door, and nothing aboard — in any room — is placed
in a doorway any more. - A stateroom has one door. The A-deck rooms had grown a second door straight out
onto the promenade; twenty-two such doors are gone. The parlour suites and the
purser's and enquiry offices, which were only reachable through a cabin, now front
onto the alleyway they always did. - The decks have their names. The HUD called A deck the boat deck; each deck is now
named from the plans. - Calm Waters shows the whole ship on the map. A passenger four days out has seen
the plan on every landing. Fog of war is for the night she goes down. - Stairs carry you. Every flight has a real ramp under its treads, the deck above
is cut open where your head needs the room, and the stairs themselves keep your
feet on the flight, up or down. You climbed into the bottom step and stopped before;
now you climb. Steep flights that no one could walk are honest ladders. - The Grand Staircase is the Grand Staircase. One broad flight up to the landing,
two flights returning either side to the deck above, stacked in one well from D deck
to the boat deck — and the glass dome on its iron rim over the top of it, with
daylight under it. - You can see into the room you are in. The wall between the camera and your room
steps aside while you are there, whoever it belongs to. The mouse wheel zooms (Shift
and the wheel cycle your kit); − and = still work, and you can get closer than before. - What you point at is what E does. The thing under your cursor wins over whatever
merely happens to be nearest, a ring on the deck marks it, and a dot marks the cursor. - Health bars are red. They were drawn behind their own backing from most angles.
Yours, and anyone's you have hurt. - Cabin doors stand shut and open as you reach them, swinging into the room, not
across the alleyway. Lifeboats hang at the ship's side, not in the officers'
quarters. The dead lie down. - Balance. Throwing at full wind-up is eased. Hostiles take four or five blows;
you take twice as many. The lock-picking pick is judged in the same pixels as the
green you are shown — the old test was stricter than the picture. - The Table. The storytellers have a name for what they are together, and their
words: every one of them speaks from a pool now, so the card at the start of a run
is a remark about the night and never the same twice, and their conditions are put
as riddles. One passenger a level may carry a line of theirs, and the people who
hear it steady or falter. At the end of a run, in the black, the Table talks, to
each other, not to you. Usually one line. Sometimes more. Two new seats: one who
wants to see it burn, and one who wants every one of them home. - Nobody raises a hand to a child. Not you, not anyone.
- The purser's record shows what you have found, and nothing about what you
haven't. - The games are with people. Cards are the card-room steward's, in the smoking room
after dinner. There is a man with a chessboard under the ivy in the Verandah Café who
plays anyone, and a man in the third-class general room with draughts, the mill and a
chessboard, because down there a game is everyone's. A table on its own is a table. - The band plays four lanes now. Arrows rise to their marks, StepMania-fashion —
arrows, WASD or the D-pad — and the room hears it if the tune falls apart. - The squash court has an opponent. You take turns off the front wall; he puts the
ball where you are not, and harder as the game goes on. - Outside. From the boat deck you see her side falling to the sea — plating and lit
portholes for every deck below you — and the water at her waterline, rising as she
goes. Each ship has the hour she went: Titanic a moonless night, Britannic a morning,
Lusitania a bright afternoon, and the light, the sky and the portholes say so. - Lit like a ship. A lamp every few metres, each dim, so rooms are lit rather than
spotted; chandeliers in the grand rooms. - A live landing costs you, it doesn't kill you. The stairwell hazards (a live main
in the water, a burning well) were taking a whole life in a twentieth of a second —
numbers written for a different scale. Now they cost about a quarter of your health
a second: four to six seconds standing in one, which is the argument they were meant
to make. A ladder's well is only just wider than the ladder, so you can't fall back
down it from the top; nothing is placed on the exit pad. - The flood carries over. Between levels the water never stands lower than where
you left it unless you climbed; pressing aft or going deeper used to recompute it
from scratch, and a run could see the ship un-sink for a level. - Rebind anything. Settings › Controls: every action with its key and its pad
button; press a cap, then the key or button you want there. The prompt over the
hotbar shows the actual key on a keycap — or the pad's coloured button — and the
controls card reads your bindings, not a list. - First class is earned by getting out still believing, not by one calm moment.
Classes you have not opened stay unnamed in the record. And the purser will take a
word, in Settings, if you know it.
Foundering — v0.1.6-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.6
- She runs smooth. The whole eleven-deck ship was costing the frame even when you
could see one deck of it. Every wall on every deck was a body the physics engine had
to keep in mind, and a barricade check, five times a second, was asking every loose
thing aboard where it was — once for every doorway. Now only the deck you are on and
the ones above and below exist at all. The next deck out comes into being a room at a
time while you are still on the stairs, and what you leave behind is written down and
rebuilt when you come back: a chair that floated out of a doorway is where it floated.
The flood is untouched — all three hundred and forty-two rooms keep filling whether or
not you can see them. Measured on the Calm Waters ship: where there were five long
frames a second, there are none. - Fifty-five rooms found their voice. Boiler casings, holds, stairways and stores
that read as one flat line now say what they are — which boilers are under that
casing, which funnel is the real one, where the mail clerks were when the water came.
Foundering — v0.1.5-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.5
- Solid floors and walls throughout. The eleven-deck ship has more collision
surfaces than the physics engine's default budget allowed, so on the largest hull
some floors and walls silently had no collision — you could fall through a deck or
walk out through a bulkhead. The budget is raised to cover the whole ship. If you
played v0.1.4 and dropped through the world, this is why, and it's fixed.
Foundering — v0.1.4-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.4
- Every doorway is a real doorway. The rebuilt 1912 ship had forty places where a
door was drawn between two rooms that didn't quite share a wall — you'd see a door
and meet a bulkhead. Doorways are now derived from the ship's own geometry: one
exists only where two rooms genuinely share a wall. Every room aboard is reachable
on foot, boiler room to boat deck, and the ship you can see is the ship you can
walk. Scotland Road opens onto the staircases, the forecastle and poop are walkable,
and the staterooms all open onto their alleyways.
Foundering — v0.1.3-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.3
- She is the ship on the plans now. The 1912 hull has been rebuilt from the
original arrangement drawings: eleven decks and over three hundred rooms, her
full 269 metres, bow to a point and a rounded counter aft. Alleyways with cabins
down both sides and numbers on the doors. Scotland Road. The Turkish baths, the
swimming bath, the squash court, the post office, the parlour suites, the
à la carte restaurant and the Café Parisien — where they were, at their size. - The boats have their numbers. Odd to starboard, even to port, the collapsibles
lettered among them — and they go when they went. Your objective names your
boat. Arrive late and the davits are swung out and empty, and you are directed to
the nearest one still at her chocks. Nothing tells you the timetable; you find
out the way everyone found out. - The band takes requests. Find them — the quintet plays before dinner, the trio
aft — and ask for a number from the White Star music book. Over fifty pieces of
their repertoire are aboard as period recordings. Some numbers mean more than
others. - The Marconi room's book only holds what you have found. The traffic of that
night is scattered through the ship as paper — a form on the chart-room spike, a
message down the side of an armchair. What you find stays found, across runs. - Calm Waters is a calm ship. No weapons, no kit, nothing to loot — you are a
passenger, four days out. Every door opens; the cabins behind them are real, and
occupied ones say so. Ask at a door and you may be told someone is dressing for
dinner. - Thrown things throw. With your hands full, the mouse winds up and lets fly —
held longer is harder, mass is the honest limit. - A pocket watch. The clock is gone from the screen; press T and the hour is in
your hand, on a face, the way 1912 read it. - One objectives list, centre right, and nothing saying it twice. The map names
an...
Foundering v0.1.17-alpha
Foundering — v0.1.7-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.7
- You can get out of a starboard cabin. Every stateroom on the starboard side had
its bed and washstand laid straight across the doorway (the port side was right — the
same rule put the bed against the hull there). Step in and you were wedged. The bed
now goes to the wall away from the door, and nothing aboard — in any room — is placed
in a doorway any more. - A stateroom has one door. The A-deck rooms had grown a second door straight out
onto the promenade; twenty-two such doors are gone. The parlour suites and the
purser's and enquiry offices, which were only reachable through a cabin, now front
onto the alleyway they always did. - The decks have their names. The HUD called A deck the boat deck; each deck is now
named from the plans. - Calm Waters shows the whole ship on the map. A passenger four days out has seen
the plan on every landing. Fog of war is for the night she goes down. - Stairs carry you. Every flight has a real ramp under its treads, the deck above
is cut open where your head needs the room, and the stairs themselves keep your
feet on the flight, up or down. You climbed into the bottom step and stopped before;
now you climb. Steep flights that no one could walk are honest ladders. - The Grand Staircase is the Grand Staircase. One broad flight up to the landing,
two flights returning either side to the deck above, stacked in one well from D deck
to the boat deck — and the glass dome on its iron rim over the top of it, with
daylight under it. - You can see into the room you are in. The wall between the camera and your room
steps aside while you are there, whoever it belongs to. The mouse wheel zooms (Shift
and the wheel cycle your kit); − and = still work, and you can get closer than before. - What you point at is what E does. The thing under your cursor wins over whatever
merely happens to be nearest, a ring on the deck marks it, and a dot marks the cursor. - Health bars are red. They were drawn behind their own backing from most angles.
Yours, and anyone's you have hurt. - Cabin doors stand shut and open as you reach them, swinging into the room, not
across the alleyway. Lifeboats hang at the ship's side, not in the officers'
quarters. The dead lie down. - Balance. Throwing at full wind-up is eased. Hostiles take four or five blows;
you take twice as many. The lock-picking pick is judged in the same pixels as the
green you are shown — the old test was stricter than the picture. - The Table. The storytellers have a name for what they are together, and their
words: every one of them speaks from a pool now, so the card at the start of a run
is a remark about the night and never the same twice, and their conditions are put
as riddles. One passenger a level may carry a line of theirs, and the people who
hear it steady or falter. At the end of a run, in the black, the Table talks, to
each other, not to you. Usually one line. Sometimes more. Two new seats: one who
wants to see it burn, and one who wants every one of them home. - Nobody raises a hand to a child. Not you, not anyone.
- The purser's record shows what you have found, and nothing about what you
haven't. - The games are with people. Cards are the card-room steward's, in the smoking room
after dinner. There is a man with a chessboard under the ivy in the Verandah Café who
plays anyone, and a man in the third-class general room with draughts, the mill and a
chessboard, because down there a game is everyone's. A table on its own is a table. - The band plays four lanes now. Arrows rise to their marks, StepMania-fashion —
arrows, WASD or the D-pad — and the room hears it if the tune falls apart. - The squash court has an opponent. You take turns off the front wall; he puts the
ball where you are not, and harder as the game goes on. - Outside. From the boat deck you see her side falling to the sea — plating and lit
portholes for every deck below you — and the water at her waterline, rising as she
goes. Each ship has the hour she went: Titanic a moonless night, Britannic a morning,
Lusitania a bright afternoon, and the light, the sky and the portholes say so. - Lit like a ship. A lamp every few metres, each dim, so rooms are lit rather than
spotted; chandeliers in the grand rooms. - A live landing costs you, it doesn't kill you. The stairwell hazards (a live main
in the water, a burning well) were taking a whole life in a twentieth of a second —
numbers written for a different scale. Now they cost about a quarter of your health
a second: four to six seconds standing in one, which is the argument they were meant
to make. A ladder's well is only just wider than the ladder, so you can't fall back
down it from the top; nothing is placed on the exit pad. - The flood carries over. Between levels the water never stands lower than where
you left it unless you climbed; pressing aft or going deeper used to recompute it
from scratch, and a run could see the ship un-sink for a level. - Rebind anything. Settings › Controls: every action with its key and its pad
button; press a cap, then the key or button you want there. The prompt over the
hotbar shows the actual key on a keycap — or the pad's coloured button — and the
controls card reads your bindings, not a list. - First class is earned by getting out still believing, not by one calm moment.
Classes you have not opened stay unnamed in the record. And the purser will take a
word, in Settings, if you know it.
Foundering — v0.1.6-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.6
- She runs smooth. The whole eleven-deck ship was costing the frame even when you
could see one deck of it. Every wall on every deck was a body the physics engine had
to keep in mind, and a barricade check, five times a second, was asking every loose
thing aboard where it was — once for every doorway. Now only the deck you are on and
the ones above and below exist at all. The next deck out comes into being a room at a
time while you are still on the stairs, and what you leave behind is written down and
rebuilt when you come back: a chair that floated out of a doorway is where it floated.
The flood is untouched — all three hundred and forty-two rooms keep filling whether or
not you can see them. Measured on the Calm Waters ship: where there were five long
frames a second, there are none. - Fifty-five rooms found their voice. Boiler casings, holds, stairways and stores
that read as one flat line now say what they are — which boilers are under that
casing, which funnel is the real one, where the mail clerks were when the water came.
Foundering — v0.1.5-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.5
- Solid floors and walls throughout. The eleven-deck ship has more collision
surfaces than the physics engine's default budget allowed, so on the largest hull
some floors and walls silently had no collision — you could fall through a deck or
walk out through a bulkhead. The budget is raised to cover the whole ship. If you
played v0.1.4 and dropped through the world, this is why, and it's fixed.
Foundering — v0.1.4-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.4
- Every doorway is a real doorway. The rebuilt 1912 ship had forty places where a
door was drawn between two rooms that didn't quite share a wall — you'd see a door
and meet a bulkhead. Doorways are now derived from the ship's own geometry: one
exists only where two rooms genuinely share a wall. Every room aboard is reachable
on foot, boiler room to boat deck, and the ship you can see is the ship you can
walk. Scotland Road opens onto the staircases, the forecastle and poop are walkable,
and the staterooms all open onto their alleyways.
Foundering — v0.1.3-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.3
- She is the ship on the plans now. The 1912 hull has been rebuilt from the
original arrangement drawings: eleven decks and over three hundred rooms, her
full 269 metres, bow to a point and a rounded counter aft. Alleyways with cabins
down both sides and numbers on the doors. Scotland Road. The Turkish baths, the
swimming bath, the squash court, the post office, the parlour suites, the
à la carte restaurant and the Café Parisien — where they were, at their size. - The boats have their numbers. Odd to starboard, even to port, the collapsibles
lettered among them — and they go when they went. Your objective names your
boat. Arrive late and the davits are swung out and empty, and you are directed to
the nearest one still at her chocks. Nothing tells you the timetable; you find
out the way everyone found out. - The band takes requests. Find them — the quintet plays before dinner, the trio
aft — and ask for a number from the White Star music book. Over fifty pieces of
their repertoire are aboard as period recordings. Some numbers mean more than
others. - The Marconi room's book only holds what you have found. The traffic of that
night is scattered through the ship as paper — a form on the chart-room spike, a
message down the side of an armchair. What you find stays found, across runs. - Calm Waters is a calm ship. No weapons, no kit, nothing to loot — you are a
passenger, four days out. Every door opens; the cabins behind them are real, and
occupied ones say so. Ask at a door and you may be told someone is dressing for
dinner. - Thrown things throw. With your hands full, the mouse winds up and lets fly —
held longer is harder, mass is the honest limit. - A pocket watch. The clock is gone from the screen; press T and the hour is in
your hand, on a face, the way 1912 read it. - One objectives list, centre right, and nothing saying it twice. The map names
an...
Foundering v0.1.16-alpha
Foundering — v0.1.7-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.7
- You can get out of a starboard cabin. Every stateroom on the starboard side had
its bed and washstand laid straight across the doorway (the port side was right — the
same rule put the bed against the hull there). Step in and you were wedged. The bed
now goes to the wall away from the door, and nothing aboard — in any room — is placed
in a doorway any more. - A stateroom has one door. The A-deck rooms had grown a second door straight out
onto the promenade; twenty-two such doors are gone. The parlour suites and the
purser's and enquiry offices, which were only reachable through a cabin, now front
onto the alleyway they always did. - The decks have their names. The HUD called A deck the boat deck; each deck is now
named from the plans. - Calm Waters shows the whole ship on the map. A passenger four days out has seen
the plan on every landing. Fog of war is for the night she goes down. - Stairs carry you. Every flight has a real ramp under its treads, the deck above
is cut open where your head needs the room, and the stairs themselves keep your
feet on the flight, up or down. You climbed into the bottom step and stopped before;
now you climb. Steep flights that no one could walk are honest ladders. - The Grand Staircase is the Grand Staircase. One broad flight up to the landing,
two flights returning either side to the deck above, stacked in one well from D deck
to the boat deck — and the glass dome on its iron rim over the top of it, with
daylight under it. - You can see into the room you are in. The wall between the camera and your room
steps aside while you are there, whoever it belongs to. The mouse wheel zooms (Shift
and the wheel cycle your kit); − and = still work, and you can get closer than before. - What you point at is what E does. The thing under your cursor wins over whatever
merely happens to be nearest, a ring on the deck marks it, and a dot marks the cursor. - Health bars are red. They were drawn behind their own backing from most angles.
Yours, and anyone's you have hurt. - Cabin doors stand shut and open as you reach them, swinging into the room, not
across the alleyway. Lifeboats hang at the ship's side, not in the officers'
quarters. The dead lie down. - Balance. Throwing at full wind-up is eased. Hostiles take four or five blows;
you take twice as many. The lock-picking pick is judged in the same pixels as the
green you are shown — the old test was stricter than the picture. - The Table. The storytellers have a name for what they are together, and their
words: every one of them speaks from a pool now, so the card at the start of a run
is a remark about the night and never the same twice, and their conditions are put
as riddles. One passenger a level may carry a line of theirs, and the people who
hear it steady or falter. At the end of a run, in the black, the Table talks, to
each other, not to you. Usually one line. Sometimes more. Two new seats: one who
wants to see it burn, and one who wants every one of them home. - Nobody raises a hand to a child. Not you, not anyone.
- The purser's record shows what you have found, and nothing about what you
haven't. - The games are with people. Cards are the card-room steward's, in the smoking room
after dinner. There is a man with a chessboard under the ivy in the Verandah Café who
plays anyone, and a man in the third-class general room with draughts, the mill and a
chessboard, because down there a game is everyone's. A table on its own is a table. - The band plays four lanes now. Arrows rise to their marks, StepMania-fashion —
arrows, WASD or the D-pad — and the room hears it if the tune falls apart. - The squash court has an opponent. You take turns off the front wall; he puts the
ball where you are not, and harder as the game goes on. - Outside. From the boat deck you see her side falling to the sea — plating and lit
portholes for every deck below you — and the water at her waterline, rising as she
goes. Each ship has the hour she went: Titanic a moonless night, Britannic a morning,
Lusitania a bright afternoon, and the light, the sky and the portholes say so. - Lit like a ship. A lamp every few metres, each dim, so rooms are lit rather than
spotted; chandeliers in the grand rooms. - A live landing costs you, it doesn't kill you. The stairwell hazards (a live main
in the water, a burning well) were taking a whole life in a twentieth of a second —
numbers written for a different scale. Now they cost about a quarter of your health
a second: four to six seconds standing in one, which is the argument they were meant
to make. A ladder's well is only just wider than the ladder, so you can't fall back
down it from the top; nothing is placed on the exit pad. - The flood carries over. Between levels the water never stands lower than where
you left it unless you climbed; pressing aft or going deeper used to recompute it
from scratch, and a run could see the ship un-sink for a level. - Rebind anything. Settings › Controls: every action with its key and its pad
button; press a cap, then the key or button you want there. The prompt over the
hotbar shows the actual key on a keycap — or the pad's coloured button — and the
controls card reads your bindings, not a list. - First class is earned by getting out still believing, not by one calm moment.
Classes you have not opened stay unnamed in the record. And the purser will take a
word, in Settings, if you know it.
Foundering — v0.1.6-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.6
- She runs smooth. The whole eleven-deck ship was costing the frame even when you
could see one deck of it. Every wall on every deck was a body the physics engine had
to keep in mind, and a barricade check, five times a second, was asking every loose
thing aboard where it was — once for every doorway. Now only the deck you are on and
the ones above and below exist at all. The next deck out comes into being a room at a
time while you are still on the stairs, and what you leave behind is written down and
rebuilt when you come back: a chair that floated out of a doorway is where it floated.
The flood is untouched — all three hundred and forty-two rooms keep filling whether or
not you can see them. Measured on the Calm Waters ship: where there were five long
frames a second, there are none. - Fifty-five rooms found their voice. Boiler casings, holds, stairways and stores
that read as one flat line now say what they are — which boilers are under that
casing, which funnel is the real one, where the mail clerks were when the water came.
Foundering — v0.1.5-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.5
- Solid floors and walls throughout. The eleven-deck ship has more collision
surfaces than the physics engine's default budget allowed, so on the largest hull
some floors and walls silently had no collision — you could fall through a deck or
walk out through a bulkhead. The budget is raised to cover the whole ship. If you
played v0.1.4 and dropped through the world, this is why, and it's fixed.
Foundering — v0.1.4-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.4
- Every doorway is a real doorway. The rebuilt 1912 ship had forty places where a
door was drawn between two rooms that didn't quite share a wall — you'd see a door
and meet a bulkhead. Doorways are now derived from the ship's own geometry: one
exists only where two rooms genuinely share a wall. Every room aboard is reachable
on foot, boiler room to boat deck, and the ship you can see is the ship you can
walk. Scotland Road opens onto the staircases, the forecastle and poop are walkable,
and the staterooms all open onto their alleyways.
Foundering — v0.1.3-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.3
- She is the ship on the plans now. The 1912 hull has been rebuilt from the
original arrangement drawings: eleven decks and over three hundred rooms, her
full 269 metres, bow to a point and a rounded counter aft. Alleyways with cabins
down both sides and numbers on the doors. Scotland Road. The Turkish baths, the
swimming bath, the squash court, the post office, the parlour suites, the
à la carte restaurant and the Café Parisien — where they were, at their size. - The boats have their numbers. Odd to starboard, even to port, the collapsibles
lettered among them — and they go when they went. Your objective names your
boat. Arrive late and the davits are swung out and empty, and you are directed to
the nearest one still at her chocks. Nothing tells you the timetable; you find
out the way everyone found out. - The band takes requests. Find them — the quintet plays before dinner, the trio
aft — and ask for a number from the White Star music book. Over fifty pieces of
their repertoire are aboard as period recordings. Some numbers mean more than
others. - The Marconi room's book only holds what you have found. The traffic of that
night is scattered through the ship as paper — a form on the chart-room spike, a
message down the side of an armchair. What you find stays found, across runs. - Calm Waters is a calm ship. No weapons, no kit, nothing to loot — you are a
passenger, four days out. Every door opens; the cabins behind them are real, and
occupied ones say so. Ask at a door and you may be told someone is dressing for
dinner. - Thrown things throw. With your hands full, the mouse winds up and lets fly —
held longer is harder, mass is the honest limit. - A pocket watch. The clock is gone from the screen; press T and the hour is in
your hand, on a face, the way 1912 read it. - One objectives list, centre right, and nothing saying it twice. The map names
an...
Foundering v0.1.15-alpha
Foundering — v0.1.7-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.7
- You can get out of a starboard cabin. Every stateroom on the starboard side had
its bed and washstand laid straight across the doorway (the port side was right — the
same rule put the bed against the hull there). Step in and you were wedged. The bed
now goes to the wall away from the door, and nothing aboard — in any room — is placed
in a doorway any more. - A stateroom has one door. The A-deck rooms had grown a second door straight out
onto the promenade; twenty-two such doors are gone. The parlour suites and the
purser's and enquiry offices, which were only reachable through a cabin, now front
onto the alleyway they always did. - The decks have their names. The HUD called A deck the boat deck; each deck is now
named from the plans. - Calm Waters shows the whole ship on the map. A passenger four days out has seen
the plan on every landing. Fog of war is for the night she goes down. - Stairs carry you. Every flight has a real ramp under its treads, the deck above
is cut open where your head needs the room, and the stairs themselves keep your
feet on the flight, up or down. You climbed into the bottom step and stopped before;
now you climb. Steep flights that no one could walk are honest ladders. - The Grand Staircase is the Grand Staircase. One broad flight up to the landing,
two flights returning either side to the deck above, stacked in one well from D deck
to the boat deck — and the glass dome on its iron rim over the top of it, with
daylight under it. - You can see into the room you are in. The wall between the camera and your room
steps aside while you are there, whoever it belongs to. The mouse wheel zooms (Shift
and the wheel cycle your kit); − and = still work, and you can get closer than before. - What you point at is what E does. The thing under your cursor wins over whatever
merely happens to be nearest, a ring on the deck marks it, and a dot marks the cursor. - Health bars are red. They were drawn behind their own backing from most angles.
Yours, and anyone's you have hurt. - Cabin doors stand shut and open as you reach them, swinging into the room, not
across the alleyway. Lifeboats hang at the ship's side, not in the officers'
quarters. The dead lie down. - Balance. Throwing at full wind-up is eased. Hostiles take four or five blows;
you take twice as many. The lock-picking pick is judged in the same pixels as the
green you are shown — the old test was stricter than the picture. - The Table. The storytellers have a name for what they are together, and their
words: every one of them speaks from a pool now, so the card at the start of a run
is a remark about the night and never the same twice, and their conditions are put
as riddles. One passenger a level may carry a line of theirs, and the people who
hear it steady or falter. At the end of a run, in the black, the Table talks, to
each other, not to you. Usually one line. Sometimes more. Two new seats: one who
wants to see it burn, and one who wants every one of them home. - Nobody raises a hand to a child. Not you, not anyone.
- The purser's record shows what you have found, and nothing about what you
haven't. - The games are with people. Cards are the card-room steward's, in the smoking room
after dinner. There is a man with a chessboard under the ivy in the Verandah Café who
plays anyone, and a man in the third-class general room with draughts, the mill and a
chessboard, because down there a game is everyone's. A table on its own is a table. - The band plays four lanes now. Arrows rise to their marks, StepMania-fashion —
arrows, WASD or the D-pad — and the room hears it if the tune falls apart. - The squash court has an opponent. You take turns off the front wall; he puts the
ball where you are not, and harder as the game goes on. - Outside. From the boat deck you see her side falling to the sea — plating and lit
portholes for every deck below you — and the water at her waterline, rising as she
goes. Each ship has the hour she went: Titanic a moonless night, Britannic a morning,
Lusitania a bright afternoon, and the light, the sky and the portholes say so. - Lit like a ship. A lamp every few metres, each dim, so rooms are lit rather than
spotted; chandeliers in the grand rooms. - A live landing costs you, it doesn't kill you. The stairwell hazards (a live main
in the water, a burning well) were taking a whole life in a twentieth of a second —
numbers written for a different scale. Now they cost about a quarter of your health
a second: four to six seconds standing in one, which is the argument they were meant
to make. A ladder's well is only just wider than the ladder, so you can't fall back
down it from the top; nothing is placed on the exit pad. - The flood carries over. Between levels the water never stands lower than where
you left it unless you climbed; pressing aft or going deeper used to recompute it
from scratch, and a run could see the ship un-sink for a level. - Rebind anything. Settings › Controls: every action with its key and its pad
button; press a cap, then the key or button you want there. The prompt over the
hotbar shows the actual key on a keycap — or the pad's coloured button — and the
controls card reads your bindings, not a list. - First class is earned by getting out still believing, not by one calm moment.
Classes you have not opened stay unnamed in the record. And the purser will take a
word, in Settings, if you know it.
Foundering — v0.1.6-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.6
- She runs smooth. The whole eleven-deck ship was costing the frame even when you
could see one deck of it. Every wall on every deck was a body the physics engine had
to keep in mind, and a barricade check, five times a second, was asking every loose
thing aboard where it was — once for every doorway. Now only the deck you are on and
the ones above and below exist at all. The next deck out comes into being a room at a
time while you are still on the stairs, and what you leave behind is written down and
rebuilt when you come back: a chair that floated out of a doorway is where it floated.
The flood is untouched — all three hundred and forty-two rooms keep filling whether or
not you can see them. Measured on the Calm Waters ship: where there were five long
frames a second, there are none. - Fifty-five rooms found their voice. Boiler casings, holds, stairways and stores
that read as one flat line now say what they are — which boilers are under that
casing, which funnel is the real one, where the mail clerks were when the water came.
Foundering — v0.1.5-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.5
- Solid floors and walls throughout. The eleven-deck ship has more collision
surfaces than the physics engine's default budget allowed, so on the largest hull
some floors and walls silently had no collision — you could fall through a deck or
walk out through a bulkhead. The budget is raised to cover the whole ship. If you
played v0.1.4 and dropped through the world, this is why, and it's fixed.
Foundering — v0.1.4-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.4
- Every doorway is a real doorway. The rebuilt 1912 ship had forty places where a
door was drawn between two rooms that didn't quite share a wall — you'd see a door
and meet a bulkhead. Doorways are now derived from the ship's own geometry: one
exists only where two rooms genuinely share a wall. Every room aboard is reachable
on foot, boiler room to boat deck, and the ship you can see is the ship you can
walk. Scotland Road opens onto the staircases, the forecastle and poop are walkable,
and the staterooms all open onto their alleyways.
Foundering — v0.1.3-alpha (Windows, macOS & Linux)
New in v0.1.3
- She is the ship on the plans now. The 1912 hull has been rebuilt from the
original arrangement drawings: eleven decks and over three hundred rooms, her
full 269 metres, bow to a point and a rounded counter aft. Alleyways with cabins
down both sides and numbers on the doors. Scotland Road. The Turkish baths, the
swimming bath, the squash court, the post office, the parlour suites, the
à la carte restaurant and the Café Parisien — where they were, at their size. - The boats have their numbers. Odd to starboard, even to port, the collapsibles
lettered among them — and they go when they went. Your objective names your
boat. Arrive late and the davits are swung out and empty, and you are directed to
the nearest one still at her chocks. Nothing tells you the timetable; you find
out the way everyone found out. - The band takes requests. Find them — the quintet plays before dinner, the trio
aft — and ask for a number from the White Star music book. Over fifty pieces of
their repertoire are aboard as period recordings. Some numbers mean more than
others. - The Marconi room's book only holds what you have found. The traffic of that
night is scattered through the ship as paper — a form on the chart-room spike, a
message down the side of an armchair. What you find stays found, across runs. - Calm Waters is a calm ship. No weapons, no kit, nothing to loot — you are a
passenger, four days out. Every door opens; the cabins behind them are real, and
occupied ones say so. Ask at a door and you may be told someone is dressing for
dinner. - Thrown things throw. With your hands full, the mouse winds up and lets fly —
held longer is harder, mass is the honest limit. - A pocket watch. The clock is gone from the screen; press T and the hour is in
your hand, on a face, the way 1912 read it. - One objectives list, centre right, and nothing saying it twice. The map names
an...