The Year of the Forks 410
Vile glacier-mists spread anew through the halls of Zaskidet, seeping into empty rooms, permeating the empty workshops. Blood and Dwarven viscera stain the walls and floors, drip from the ceilings. A tribe of Troglodytes fight Goblins for loot, scavenge what they can, and return to their cavern homes. Doors kilter off their hinges, rats run rampant, and the last Dwarf of Zaskidet throws himself from the Shrine and into the molten core of the Scintillating Ash.
The Cult of Forks is no more. The pilgrimage is over.
As Austin Jones drowns in magma, he thinks back on what he has done and laughs a mad laugh. After five years of torture, death and disease, it is over. No more will friends suffer and die under the mismanagement of ill-trained medical staff, or from the assault of giant maggots wreathed in flame. No more will the terrifying visage of Ishashstumäm haunt the sleep of family. They sleep their eternal sleep now.
DEATH COUNT: 61
All the Dwarves of Zaskidet. That long balancing act on the edge of insanity finally wore the Dwarves of the Cult down. When Austin snapped, he took with him the entire fortress. When the dust settled and the blood pooled, only he remained standing – missing an arm, and an eye, and a tooth, but he lived.
Then I abandoned what has been the most exciting, !!FUN!! fortress I have ever had the honour of playing.
Smells Like Dwarf Fortress.