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"Huh," I say to myself, and begin experimenting. Whenever something bad happens, I hurl a prisoner from the temple, and the results are usually favorable. Pretty soon the nobles start mandating hematite and ruby idols, the engravers churn out such works as "The Bloody Fist of Sacrifice," and the underground is washed with sanguine rivulets as gore splatters through the newly-installed grates.
Its beautiful, glorious even, until one day, a particularly popular undergrounder gets a fell mood and slaughters a particularly important dude. I'm pissed, because I don't care if I have a legendary leatherworker, but the one he killed was a weaponmaker and fuck if I'm going to let that stand. So, like a fool, I devise a way to drop him into the volcano and watch him crisp.
Suddenly, everyone is fucking pissed as hell. Nothing could satiate them as they boil out from the depths, picks clutched in their fists and armed with masterwork weapons looted from the foundries. The nobles, of course, are soft from their lives of luxury and slaughtered, and when the mayor dies the entire fortress goes into convulsions as marskdwarves are sniped by their brothers-in-arms and speardwarves skewer passing peasants and pets. The entire fort is stained bloody, and only the philosopher, content within his temple home, is spared from the massacre.
So yeah. Don't get too complacent when it comes to Armok, friend. He's out there, despite what worldgen might say.