Diplomacy is Not an Option News

Diplomacy is Not an Option has been in Early Access since February 2022. In other words, almost a year. During this time we've gathered a lot of stories about the development of the game. About the difficulties we encountered. About how our plans were revised. Today we will share a couple of such stories with you.

[h2]Mountains (and their refreshed models)[/h2]

Of course, everyone has seen mountains in our game. But what stands behind them? Visually, when creating mountain models, we relied on a number of principles: readability of resources (?deposits?), simplicity of form - the model should not be overloaded with details, "picturesqueness" - actually the way these mountains look on the map and how their different models fit together and suit the environment.
All of the above define the amount of work that needs to be done to make the mountain models. Or in our case, to redo them.
Over the past year, we have made several attempts. The first was in spring. At that time we tried to assemble models from prefabs (a kind of template). The process was long, with lots of torment and created versions included. But in the end, based on your feedback, we decided to focus on improving the game mechanics. Visual adjustments could have waited at that point.
We came back to the issue only in autumn. This time with a brand new approach. Mountains were to be made not by artists, but... by programmers. We hoped to come up with an algorithm for mountain generation that would solve the problem once and for all. For both, the existing biomes and those yet to be created. However, having again wasted a lot of time, we didn't get a truly satisfying result.
At the end of autumn were looking for prefabs. Again. And who might have thought - it worked! In fact, you can now see the result in Diplomacy is Not an Option's current build.
What does this mean for us in practice? Firstly, it means that we are good enough to achieve our goal. But in the other hand, it means that it will now take a lot longer to create a new biome. After all, each biome needs its own hand-assembled mountain models.

[h2]About the front line[/h2]

Surely you know that troops and buildings have attributes. You can even see them - attack, defense, health (durability), etc. However, there are also hidden properties that remain unseen for players.
For example, the mass of a troop. Or there are 10 or so other attributes that affect how different game entities interact in space, such as how much space each unit takes and how they behave when they face each other or enemies.
Depending on how you adjust these settings, their behavior can vary. For example, a heavy Trebuchet moves a light swordsman when it moves. Knights can hold the ground in battle without falling back against the enemy. It's these parameters that make it easy for cavalry units to run through enemy crowds where archers get bogged down.
During one of the experiments on the unit collision model, some of the settings accidentally "leaked" into the main version of the game. This led us to watch in amazement as the enemy squeezed through the front line, pushing the player's troop formation backward. Playing with these settings was not exactly fun, but we actually enjoyed the visual effect. So we came up with adding one more parameter - the coefficient regulating the force of squeezing. We adjusted it so that melee units would hold their position better than ranged ones.
What does that mean in practice for you? During battles against numerically superior opponents, the front line shifts back, which makes the game look more realistic. However, this improvement appeared in the game because of a leak of experimental hidden parameters. With their subsequent refinement.

This concludes the telling of 'fun facts' from the history of DiNaO development. Thank you for your time.

Thank you very much for being with us! Good luck in all your endeavors in 2023!

See you soon!
Yours, Door 407 team.

"With this underdo... I beg you pardon, 'Master Alchemist'?" - Mrak set the wine in front of his guest and leaned against the wall. The Ambassador's sense of smell was sharper than Garben's, and she immediately set the goblet aside. - "I haven't yet decided. But we have a... situation here. On the one hand, he should be sent quietly to the rack."
"Mmmmmmmm," Count firmly disagreed.
"On the other hand, if you and I are to talk about business, he is a third wheel," Mrak thought out loud, "By the way, I can deal with him not worse than the Inverland Executioner."
"Mmmmmmmmm," Parabalsamico protested even more loudly.
"Still, I have some doubts," Mrak suddenly fell silent, as he had no intention of informing Ambassador of the Count's 'key to the tricky cipher', "I may yet need him," the Garben concluded.
"Mmmmmm," the Count nodded, emphasizing his willingness to cooperate with the Spymaster.
"Do you have any water, Ser Garben?" Ambassador asked, "I'm not quite in the mood for wine tonight." Mrak looked around. Water, as well as food, was stored on the ground floor of the cottage on the moors. There was also her majesty's cloak and Lord Nero's gift scabbard. And a lot of other stuff that would be better to keep off Aida Saigaqh, the Gorgoth Empire's representative in Samreignia. "Should have bought a house with a cellar. Putting a torture chamber on the second floor was a bad idea!" - Mrak scolded himself. He would have looked from prisoner to door and back again for a long time if not for Ambassador.
"Ser Garben, I can go down for water myself..." - Saigaqh suggested. "The damned Gorgothian witch is reading my mind," thought Mrak obligingly smiling.
"You need not trouble yourself, Mistress Ambassador. I'll bring you whatever you want. Appreciate it if you'd read out the full list, though. So I don't have to leave you and my prisoner again"
"Chocolate," Aida nodded, "I would very much like chocolate." "So off you go to your beloved Za'Thras," Garben wanted to reply. But, of course, he knew the importance of etiquette.
"I'm afraid I don't have any," he lied.
"Indeed, Ser Graben?" - Aida pulled out a hairpin and put it on the table, "From what I know, your men requisitioned a cargo bound for Abberlore from Za'Thras," She parted her hair, "Are you trying to convince me that you've consumed all eight kilos of excellent Gorgothian chocolate in just two days?"
"I know nothing of the requisition. But I'll take a look through my private stock," Mrak grudgingly muttered and left the room, leaving the door open.
"Mmmmmmm?" - The Count pleaded.
"Silence!" - shouted Garben from the first floor.
When Mrak returned to the second floor a few minutes later with a mug of water and a slice of excellent Gorgothian chocolate, he caught the following picture. Parabalsamico, still gagged was standing by the window and trying to untie the knot in the rope binding his legs. Madam Ambassador was lying on the floor, apparently stunned. Or even worse.
Parabalsamico's eyes bulged with horror. Without hesitation he leaped through the window, ramming the glass with his head. Garben heard a distinctive crack and splash of water - it was the sound of Count's landing in the frozen swamp. Mrak wanted to rush after him. But before he did, he noticed that the ropes left by Parabalsamico near the fireplace were on fire. When he sorted that problem out and went in pursuit, Aida Saigaqh regained consciousness. She moved her leg so unluckily that the head of the Inverland spies sprawled out on the floor beside her. Outside the window, the Earl was flopping swiftly down the pathю The moment was gone as well as the prisoner. Mrak had no choice but to cheer himself up by the fact that he had after all regained her majesty's cloak (one unit) and the gift scabbard (one unit). "May the dragon devour him, choke with him, spit him out and devour him again!" - This time Garben did not hesitate to speak rudely in the presence of the noble lady.
Mrak could not get out from Aida what had happened while he was gone for water and chocolate. She was vague and confused, constantly clutching at the back of her head and complaining of a headache. When it came to business, however, she showed impressive poise and sobriety of thought.
At first, Garben thought he would be asked to "find" the cargo, which was "mistakenly" considered requisitioned. But matters were far more serious. According to Madame Ambassador, it was time to review the state borders of the Gorgoth Empire, Inverland, and Samreignia. The Emperor, she said, was tired of wasting money on maintaining the defenses of New Hardarm. He even agreed to hand it over to Inverland in the nearest future. Furthermore, the Gorgoth raids on the northern frontiers of her majesty's lands would also cease. For all these things to become reality Ser Garben just had to go along and accept Madame Ambassador's offer. Mrak, of course, asked if the Emperor was in good mental health and if his highness' appetite was alright. For returning all his hard-won gains to Inverland so easily didn't match up with the Emperor's former intentions. It turned out that the Emperor's mind was doing just fine. As well as his appetite. Because in exchange for his generosity he wanted to grab both, Cutthroat Castle and Aetherford.
"How's he going to do that? Last time I checked Gorgoth Empire had a peace treaty with Samreignia. As for Cutthroats and Aetherford they are under the protectorate of Samreignia" - Mrak inquired.
"I have a couple of ideas," Aida replied and took a bite of chocolate.

The event, which remains in Samreignia's history as the "Swamp Meeting," passed quickly and without significant bartering. Ambassador Saigaqh took her hairpin from the table, went down to the street, saddled her horse, and let it trot in the direction of Abberlore.
She was exceptionally pleased with the evening. Confused by this Parabalsamico, Ser Garben hadn't even noticed that the Gorgoth Empire was putting all the dirty work on him. If anything went wrong - the culprit could easily be handed over to Ferdinand II as a gift. Cutting Count's bonds was also easier than she had expected - a miniature dagger disguised as a hairpin was more than enough for this task. In addition, she took possession of Master Physalis' map. King Ferdinand II, with whom Aida has scheduled an audience in two months, was addicted to booze, gambling, feminine beauty and ...freebies.

It was the middle of the night. The bittern was howling all over the place as if it was complaining about its bitter fate. "What a fool I was to stay here for winter! Why did I refuse to move to warm countries like all decent birds normally do? Here I am in the middle of these freezing swamps. Standing with one paw in the cold water, with not a fishy nor a frog nearby."

On the second floor of the cottage on the moors, Count Parabalsamico was strapped to a chair. Opposite him sat Mrak Garben, the head of the Inverland spies. The logs in the fireplace crackled cozily. Usually grim, Mrak was glowing with pride. If his pride could shine it would be brighter than the full moon outside the window. Garben was reading some paper, playing with a serrated dagger and smiling into his beard at the same time.

"So..." - pale but undaunted Parabalsamico gulped.

"So, what?" - Mrak jabbed the dagger into the table with a swing.

"What is this all about?" - Count would have shrugged his shoulders if not for the rope.

"Theft. Her majesty's cloak (one unit). Lord Nero's name sword (one unit) in gift scabbard (one unit)," Garben read out his paper, set it aside, and crossed his hairy arms over his chest, "The cloak and scabbard are safe now. What did you do with the sword, you scoundrel?"

"You've got it all wrong!" - Count protested, "This property was taken in payment for my services! Anyways, I demand some respect!"

"Respect..." - Mrak protruded his lip and nodded, "I can do that," he rose from his chair and grabbed Parabalsamico by the ear so that Count whimpered loudly.

"My dear lord. Can you even imagine how many mountains have been razed to the ground in Inverland in two years of searching for your fields of 'stone ore'? 'Stone ore', seriously? It doesn't even make sense! An endless source of stone! Ugh!" Garben spat over his shoulder and released Count's ear, as red as an overripe tomato. "Yet once there appeared doubts of the existence of this source of yours, master alchemist fled from the palace. Whisking away everything his greedy little hands could reach. Not to mention the expense of your so-called research!"

"Wrong, I admit," Parabalsamico responded, "But I can make it up to you!"

"Oh, you will. You'll make it up, no doubts," Grim took a sip of a fly agaric brew from his flask, "You'll be in Inverland the day after tomorrow. There, you'll be publicly flogged and your head chopped off. We'll make an example of you to the rest of the rogues, thieves, and crooks. After that, consider you're even with the Inverland crown. But before that, you are going to tell me where is now Lord Nero's bloody sword."

"For the money I have..." Parabalsamico has no intentions to give up easily, "...you can make thousands of gift swords."

"How come that I didn't notice a sack of gold with you," Garben sat down at the table and dipped his quill in ink.

"It's not a sack. It's much, much better! It's a map showing the way to the fields of..." - at this word the count paused, catching the evil glance of Mrak, "...I meant, the way to the untold riches. It's in my inner pocket."
"In fact, I risk nothing here" Garben sighed. Distracted from writing his report he revealed Master Physalis' map. "You either kidding me or lost your mind?" - Mrak turned to Parabalsamico, "Skulls, and bones, and other danger marks. Not a hint of treasure."

"The head of spies, and such a fool," said Count with undisguised scorn, "It's a tricky cipher! I've been looking for the key to it for four years! That's the actual reason why I left Inverland in the first place. As for your sword..."

"Lord Nero's name sword," Garben corrected Parabalsamico.

"Yes, that one," Count agreed, "I traded it for this very key, all right? I'm telling you, this is a big deal!"
"And where is the key to that 'tricky' cipher, I wonder?" - asked the head of the Inverland spies.

"In my head, naturally. I can draw it, if you promise to let me go," Parabalsamico made an offer.

"You know what I think of all this bullsh..." - A horse's neighing sounded outside the window. Garben jumped up like he was stung, grabbed the dagger, gagged the Count, and dashed for the doorjamb.

The logs in the fireplace crackled cozily. A miserable bittern was complaining about its bird life. Someone was coming up the stairs to the second floor of the cottage. A door hinge that had not been greased properly creaked.

"Count Parabalsamico, it is my pleasure to see you in good health," the face of the unexpected visitor was concealed by a hood. She was in no hurry to go inside.

"MMMMMMMMM," Parabalsamico goggled his eyes at Mrak who was hiding behind the door.

"Ser Garben, show some respect for the lady and reveal yourself to my sight."

Mrak looked out from behind the door.

"Madam Ambassador? What winds brought here that late?" - he asked suspiciously.

"Matters of national importance," the Ambassador walked to the table and sat down where the head of Inverland spies has been sitting, "My oh my. Where did you get this map, Ser Garben?" - she asked in response.

"That imbecile... Pardon me, I meant 'gentleman' is trying to buy his freedom for it. Wine?" - Mrak took a brass goblet and the dusty bottle he kept for occasional guests from the fireplace. He himself preferred a fly agaric brew. "An empty shell, if you need my opinion. Or fake."

"Since you think so, perhaps I should keep it? As for our conversation, we may postpone it to another..." - she looked expressively at the bound Count "More convenient time, perhaps?"

"Hold on a minute. Are you saying this map is actually worth something?" - he asked, sniffing the wine. The smell of vinegar hit Garben's nose, so Mrak cringed.

“In capable hands,” Ambassador took off her hood and gloves, “Still, what are you going to do with the poor count, If I may ask?”

"...with this Eggs, a fisherman from Cutthroat Island. He watched the ships sailing far, far away"... Master Physalis began his story. Hearing that the old man had started from afar, Count became gloomy. For what had he been riding in creaky wagons through the bumps of Samreignia? For what had he staked his precious face in arguments with the dockers? To spend hours listening to a tedious lecture? Parabalsamico had had enough lectures at the University, and for the most time, he had been napping at them. The old man talked nonsense about the horizon and masts, as proof that the world was round.
A miracle with the face of a pretty maiden saved Count from boring hypotheses. She walked out of the Sea Serpent, carrying a tray, on which was arranged a sterlet baked with truffles. There also were pickles and potatoes under aromatic garlic butter, sprinkled with herbs. The maiden set two goblets of the finest wine from the southern Samreignian slopes before the guests. Master Physalis pounced on the sterlet. Parabalsamiсo took a moment to steer the sluggish ship of discussion on the course he desperately wished.
"Master Physalis, this Eggs of yours certainly deserves to be remembered, but..."
"To Eggs!" Physalis exclaimed mournfully, "The best captain I ever sailed with," "Damn you!" cursed Count to himself. He supported the toast, though, and sipped from his goblet in grave silence.
"Master Physalis, the fact that they've deprived you of your professorial title is a colossal disgrace to the entire scientific community! Mark my word, I will use all my influence to restore your reputation. I will personally cross the Halimatian Sea and get the proof of the truth you've brought back then. But before that, I need to know what awaits me on my journey, and what reward can I promise to the brave men who will set off by my side."
"Great dangers lurk in the depths of the sea..." - Physalis, again, started from afar. "Bloodthirsty sharks, giant octopuses, scary hogfishes..." "Damn you!" thought Parabalsamico once again.
"Master Physalis, sailors like you and I could use some specifics," Count interrupted the lecture on zoology.
"Young man, who knows what you'll come across. I got seasick one night, and I went aft and leaned over the side, and there was black on black, a shadow of terrifying proportions..." "Well, yes, a shadow at night. The old man must have had a lot of seasickness medicine," Count said to himself.
"Master Physalis," he interrupted the old man again, counting on the inebriated Master wouldn't notice his impoliteness. "Let us set aside the inhabitants of the seas and move ourselves to the land. It's essential for naturalists like you and I to learn about animals. I wonder if there are any elephants with long tusks or unicorns with branching horns on the land you've discovered."
"Tusks and horns? I'm afraid not." - the old man talked slowly. "But there are enormous beasts there! Rest assured they will trample you once you lose your vigilance. And there are preys with wings thi-i-i-is big," said Physalis, spreading his arms wide as if he wanted to embrace the world. Only Count's reflexes saved the old man's goblet from being knocked off the table.
"Ah, butterflies!" - the master exclaimed dreamily, "Young man, what beautiful black butterflies there are... Their black color allows them to be invisible near the volcanic soil so that birds..." "Volcanic soil!" - Count was struck by a memory from a university lecture.
"Tell me, Master Physalis, don't cinnamon, chocolate beans, or coffee trees grow on that mineral-rich soil? As botanists by learning, I am extremely curious if these rare plants exist anywhere else but in the Gorgoth Empire..."
The old man drained the goblet.
"It is a dead and wicked land, young man," he said pathetically, "The people there live wild. They survive in harsh conditions, fighting death every day. And if they lose, they become undead. Here you are!" With these words, Master Physalis laid out a map on the table. "I have marked everything. The habitats of the beasts, the main settlements, and the places where no living soul should ever step."
Master Physalis's head fell on the table.
Count finished his wine and looked closely at the map in the light of the torches burning in the inner yard. "Just to paint over all the excess details, and to draw the necessary ones," he decided. Then he put the map in his inner pocket, took off the cloak from the snoring Physalis, and wore it himself. Count was about to leave, naturally without paying, when pity for the old man stopped him from acting low.
Parabalsamico went inside the tavern and proceeded through the refectory to the innkeeper, who was standing behind the counter and wiping a mug with a towel.
"Look here, my dear fellow," Parabalsamico said to the innkeeper, "My father is nestled outside. Would you be so kind to take him to his room, and in the morning he'll pay you everything to the last..."
"I be damned if it is not my favorite alchemist!" - Parabalsamico recognized the voice that echoed from a dark corner of the room. He had been hiding from Inverland spies for the past five months and had especially avoided meeting their head. Until now.
"Whsoo? Ou've got me mishtaken with shomebordy!" - Count mimicked a Gorgothian accent, taking advantage of the fact that Spy was now sitting at a distance. But before he could figure out which card to play next, someone sneaked up on Parabalsamico from behind, put a bag over his head, and stunned him with a painful blow...

... In the meantime, the stranger showed no signs of confusion. On the contrary, he placed his hands on his hips, standing there in the fur cloak with some gilded emblem on the clasp. The noble manners of this piece of work made it clear that a fight with two burly men hides no more danger to him than some public oratorical contest. Dockers, however, did not seem impressed. Broad-shouldered and Toothless flanked the pouting gentleman on both sides.
"Whoa!" the stranger raised abruptly his left hand. Meanwhile, his right hand was stroking the long scabbard, surprisingly presented to the audience as a decisive argument. "Do you donkeys even know who you are careless to mess with?" Not one Rothglenian of a couple of dozen assembled in anticipation of the upcoming show had even a rough answer to that question. "And what did I expect from an audience from the Backwoods?" lamented the stranger. "I am none other than count Parabalsamico, alchemist, demonologist, doctor, and, importantly, an outstanding swordsman! So you two ding-dongs..." he said to the dockers "...You'd better get lost!" The last ray of sunset highlighted, in a heroic way, the gilded emblem of Inverland's royal dynasty on the clasp of the count's cloak.
"Wait a minute," Broad-shouldered said, struck by the fact that his drunk eyes saw no sword sticking out of his scabbard.
"Thi-i-ief!" - Toothless, who had his doubts about the upcoming fight, suddenly found his purse gone. With the last coins he had been saving for liquor.
"Gua-a-a-ards!" - shouted someone from the assembled audience.
Twilight was embracing the city of Rothglen. The portly thief's heels were flashing in the dark, taking the most unpredictable routes. Behind him, skidding wildly in the corners, was Toothless who had lost any interest in count's existence. Fishermen were leaping from the pier, having suddenly remembered the need to collect crayfish at low tide. Broad-shouldered was lying on the harbor planks, surrounded by a patrol of city guards. As for count Parabalsamico, having carefully covered Master Physalis with his warm cloak, he was leading the old man to the Sea Serpent inn.
The inn was known throughout Samreinia as the only one in Rothglen where the food was good, where the wine didn't make your throat ache, and where there was a featherbed on the couches. In other words, it was a highly respectable place, and its rules even banned fights.
Master Physalis, touched by the care, kept trying to thank his savior heartily, but the count only nodded in response. It was only when Parabalsamico opened the heavy gate of the inn, and when he and the old man sat down together at the table in the inner yard, that the count broke the silence.
"Well, Master Physalis," said the count, staring at a handwritten notice on the front door of the inn. It said in the notice that until ten o'clock the Sea Serpent would only serve visitors outside. Which was a bit inconvenient for the count's impeccable plan for the evening. The theatrical gesture of care, as a result of which Parabalsamico had lost a warm cloak, put him in danger of getting cold. Yet he still had to pretend that the old man's health mattered at all to him.
Parabalsamico shivered. "Would you do me the honor of dining with me?" he asked the old man.
"Young man, you are being so kind to an old, nearly forgotten discoverer," Master Physalis said, "Tell me, how can I repay you for your kindness?"
"To begin with..." - the count rang the bell left on the Sea Serpent's table, alerting the inn's servants to the arrival of new guests, "To begin with, tell me of your travel across the Halimatian Sea."
"Young man," the old man huffed regretfully, "My stories have never done anyone any good. Frankly, from this knowledge, only misfortune came."
"That's because no one can think big like me!" - Parabalsamico thought to himself, but aloud he said: "Master Physalis, I have come a long way just to talk to you" ("And to get my hands on your map," thought the count, but of course, he did not voice that either) "You do not mean to say that everything we have experienced together today has been for nothing?"
"Since you insist. It all started with..."