Big worlds run far faster: a world of twelve thousand people used to crawl at four frames per second and now runs at sixty seven

The reason was a crush, not the numbers. Villagers piled into one spot until thousands of them stood inside each other, and every single one kept checking hundreds of neighbours around him, every tick, forever

Now a packed tile simply turns people away, a crush scatters everyone instead of only the idle, and villagers wander across the whole land their village owns

A crowded village finally lets settlers go, even while the kingdom still has small villages elsewhere

The capital can rise up too: a kingdom that had swallowed the world was a single loyal capital where nobody could ever revolt, so the late game had no unrest at all

Rebels wear their own colour now: a rioter drops the banner of the crown he rose against and turns red, head to toe, so an uprising can be read off the map at a glance instead of looking like an ordinary crowd

An uprising is a real one: a riot used to raise fifteen people no matter the size of the city, which in a town of fifteen hundred souls meant one percent rising up, invisible. Now it is a fifth of the town, up to three hundred

A village left with no ruler at all now elects one of its own after a year or two. Before, a leader was only handed out along with the crafts and only to someone with no work yet, so a large village never got one: everybody there already had a job. The biggest village of a measured world, ten thousand souls, had no ruler and therefore could never riot, because there was nobody to riot against

A city that has just been through a riot stays quiet for the next twenty years, so an uprising reads as an event instead of background noise

Hunger for homes is felt properly: a village where most people sleep outside is now truly angry, where before it shrugged the same way whether one man or a thousand had no roof

Repair crews also level stray rock and odd patches of bare ground left by old blasts