Dwarf Fortress

In the Dwarven Year 250, the stubby reach of dwarfkind had touched every procedurally generated rock in Ruspsmata, from The Problematic Steppe to The Dune of Hermits, from The Prairie of Pregnancy to the Jungle of Conflagration. Not an inch of stone had not known dwarven steel, yet one dark depth had so far eluded colonisation. “Leave the skies to the birds,” sang the Dwarven king – probably, we’re making this bit up – “the Underworld shall be ours.”

is several things at once. It’s and and and . It’s a vast, simulated fantasy world, generated just for you, with races and religions and history and wars and dwarves whose fingernails grow. It’s also infamously difficult, featuring only ASCII visuals and labyrinthine menus. Yet reluctance to expend even a joule of energy in prettying itself results