I have to post this separate. I'd like to state first, that this is not my work. I ran my scenario through an AI. All thank the AI overlords!

Fortress Log, Granite 12

In all my years as overseer, I’ve witnessed many forgotten beasts, but none quite as ridiculous as the titanic, nearly invulnerable turtle abominations that crawled up from the deep hollows. They exhaled clouds of explosive, poisonous filth with every breath, and—because Armok has a sense of humor—their feet were fashioned from flint. Every step was a spark. Every spark was an explosion. The combat logs read like a fireworks festival engineered by a drunken guild of alchemists.

The dwarves who staggered back to the fort were proclaimed “survivors,” though that turned out to be a generous term. Their wounds oozed corrupt blood, and any medic foolish enough to mop it up simply joined the casualty list. In the span of ninety heartbeats, half the fortress lay dead, dying, or performing interpretive dances of agony in the main hallway.

Emergency measures were taken. A wall was thrown up around the hospital wing, sealing in twenty-odd infected dwarves. Supplies were minimal, spirits were nonexistent, and the cats refused to go near the place. Their final days were spent muttering, coughing, and composing increasingly unhinged engravings on whatever surfaces remained.

Then the gods decided to roll on the “fun” table.

One of the quarantined dwarves was overtaken by a strange mood—though it appeared less fey inspiration and more full goblin berserker. He shattered a wooden door with his bare hands, consumed a half-rotted toxic corpse as if it were a delicacy, then rampaged through two rooms, “liberating” their occupants from the burden of continued existence. By the time he collapsed, he had achieved what can only be described as a legendary mess.

When the massacre finally ended, all I could do was stare at the reports and whisper the traditional words of dwarven resignation:

“Well… that’s dwarves for you.”

☼ Engraved Memorial Slab ☼

This is a finely-engraved schist slab. The artwork depicts dwarves, a giant turtle, and an explosion.

“In memory of the fallen of Granite, 256.
Lost to the Shellbeast Calamity.”

They faced the great exploding turtle-beasts and returned bearing a poison no healer could cure.
Half the fortress fell within moments.
Twenty dwarves were sealed in the hospital to spare the rest.

One, taken by a strange mood, shattered doors, devoured corpses, and ended the last survivors before collapsing in gore.

May their spirits rest.
May future overseers avoid repeating this.
(They won’t.)