I'm Melkorp Goldthunder: one happy camper, and that's a fact. Thirsty and miserable from wrestling the same rotting elk for five months straight? No, I'm ecstatic: had a decadent drink once. Openly weeping because my wife Id's just been trampled to death by rotting horses? 'Mok no, friend, I'm all smiles: admired another Trade Depot.
Now, some dwarves might tell you Melkorp's a few pieces short of a puzzlebox, or a little slow, but I've always felt right at home in Battlefailed.
Until now. Today, something's...off.
Hey, what am I doing out here past the gate anyway?
Ash, bones, junk, blood. Nothing wrong here! Well: more severed monkey hands than usual, but.
All these pillars I never got around to engraving. Hmm. Wait, where is
everybody? Creiyd? Kagus?
The Overseer's room, it's been ransacked or something...empty. Coffins lining the Deep Road.
At the second turning I stop, compelled to move towards a shale casket...
Something about it...reach out to lift the lid
All of a sudden I don't feel so good
Hmm. I guess that explains all these.
(Twangs a ghostly goblin arrow embedded in ghostly neck, thinks)
How do I feel about this?