dinosaur ranching

The hubs and I recently started playing ARK: Survival Evolved, a survival crafting adventure game where you tame dinosaurs. It is unforgiving, but, you know, in a fun way.

Highlights of our first session include:

  • A small army of tamed dodos!
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Two of the dodos are named Dodger and two of them are named Mogs because I thought the first of each had died when they hadn’t. In my defense, all the previous ones got eaten. …which doesn’t sound like much of a defense now that I say it.

  • …that were quickly eaten by wild wandering dilophosaurs. (Womp womp.)
  • Taming a pair of parasaurs!
  • …that also quickly met their end. RIP Hellyeah and Ruby. Hellyeah died trying to defend Adam against a school of piranhas when he overzealously jumped into some water chasing after an oviraptor he wanted to tame. Ruby died trying to protect me against titanoboas (Fuck you, titanoboas.)
  • Taming a triceratops!
  • …that died trying to defend us against another trike we were trying to tame and who was mad at our efforts.
  • I got chased up a mountain by two titanoboas (seriously, fuck you, titanoboas), ran out of stamina, and threw myself off a cliff to escape. And then died from falling, obvs. (Adam talks about this on episode 217 of Coffee with Butterscotch, starting at about 18 minutes in.)

I feel like there’s a pattern in there…

ARK is primarily billed as an online multiplayer game.* You can form up tribes and go to war against each other or try to carve out a peaceful settlement for yourself, though good luck going that route if you’re playing on open servers. Hubs and I play on our own private server so that we can hang out and game together without having to worry about randoms intruding into our space and fucking up all our shit. (As though dinosaurs fucking up all our shit wasn’t enough to begin with.)

Here’s what we learned so far after we muddled through our first few sessions on dino island.

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This seems effective.

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