You know, I've ran a fortress like an Aztec cult before.
I don't know how it all got started. Maybe it was when I noticed how fun it was to drop an elf invader 20 Z-levels and watch the explosion paint the walls red, sending little peasants scurrying to clean up the gore. Maybe it was when I renamed my philosopher's profession to "Priest" and then "High Priest."
I definitely know where it went. Some urge made me create a sort of sacrificial pyramid that stretched fourteen Z-levels to the heavens over the rest of my fortress. Each section was engraved with all sorts of horrific events, as the local legends seemed to revolve around the wounding of some dwarf when he tried to fight a cyclops and got his arm ripped off or something, not to mention all the inhumane atrocities committed by the little buggers. Needless to say, when the temple was finished, it was covered from top to bottom in pictures to rival any glowing pit. I was quite content with my little megaproject.

I had a fort saved by what can only be described as the dark knight from monty python ("It's only a flesh wound!"). You see, I was carving out a hall deep underground, when all of a sudden my digging was interrupted when I stumbled across an underground river. As these things tend to be, it was full of all sorts of nasty creatures who promptly swarmed out. They killed all but 2, who managed to seal off that area by building walls. Of those 2, one was generally in good health, while the other had lost both arms and a leg. He somehow managed to not bleed out and make it to a bed, where he promptly went unconscious due to his injuries. The dwarf who was in decent heath meanwhile became extremely depressed due to watching nearly all his friends being ripped apart by the creatures from the river. This lead him to commit suicide, leaving only the single, unconscious dwarf lying in his bed without arms and only 1 leg. That dwarf managed to survive for an entire year all by himself, unconscious the entire time, with no food or drink until a wave of migrants came and took over management of the fort. He eventually succumbed to his wounds about half a year later, although the parts of his limbs not completely severed had almost healed. By lasting longer than I had ever seen a lone unconscious dwarf last before, he singlehandedly saved an entire fortress from its otherwise certain demise. He was buried with honor in a room carved specifically as his tomb, surrounded by statues and objects of wealth fit for a king.

So there's this goblin, right? He's all alone. He's under attack. By 2612 dwarves, 2 humans and 1 goblin. They attack him. The attackers suffer 1391 losses. The defender(s) suffers none.
Most. Epic. Goblin. Ever.

OH this is FUN! Sitting down?
Two especially strong romantically involved immigrants, whom I dubbed Batman and Catwoman, became two of my finest warriors... along with a couple of their children (they ended up having a very large family). So we survived a horrible archer siege but lost one of the kids. This sent one of their many siblings on a rampage deep within the town of "Pointedinks" (I wish I could make this up!) and they murdered a sibling of another family I was not following so closely.
ANYWAY, that family was apparently just as large and also members of another squad! This spawned a hilarious rash of murders which has escalated to... 4 convictions and a number of cold-cases.
That didn't stop Batman! True to his name he began punching EVERYONE in the face until he went full insane and in a state of melancholy...
Currently a full 15 dwarves are insane from the murder-times, which means I will have to begin construction on Arkham immediately if I'm to stem the tides of MAAAAAAADNEEEESSSSSSSS!