Final Log, Urist McMayor
This will be my final message I write in stone in a sealed room. Lately, the fortress has began to slow. We had such great harvests, and such a bountiful trade the past few months!
But, aye, things changed today. We angered something. Someone. Armok maybe? The slowing of the fortress was just a start, as our fields stopped producing anything at all, going from so fertile to barren so fast, its like... Magic.
The elves came and traded with us, we thought it might be them causing us the harm. So we gave them free products, by the thousands even; we hoped this would fix things.
We were wrong. Oh so wrong.
Thats when it happened. We walked out, children in our arms to embrace the new day with hope; so many new mothers this year, such a shame. Thats when we saw it. the skies darkened red, and then, in a blink of an eye... Magma. The sky, as far as the eye could see, was now a ceiling entirely of magma. As if to taunt us, this mad, mad diety broke the very laws of physics; the magma falling slowly, as if dripping down the edge of a wall. We looked up, and we shut the upper hatches. The religious began to say prayers, and others began to say things along the lines of "Thou art a cruel, and ANGRY god!", but nothings going to save us.
Fire sparks from the hatches, the magma is flowing down into here as I write this. We can hear it sloshing around above us, solidiying our moats, and removing the beauty of our fair river. we're trapped in here, destined to die a slow death, squeezed against a corner, hoping the magma won't come closer.
What did we do to deserve this? If only we hadn't of placed the booze stockpiles so close to the main stairway... We could of drank our selves to death. What a cruel fate, by a even crueler god.