55 cycles. Pulvera.

We’ve started construction on an inn by the wharf. It’s for the guests of the road and of the sails, since we can’t accommodate everyone into the inner walls. A few even built their homes just outside. However, most of us have opted for shelters behind the walls, and some have even made living in the mine shafts more homely and comfortable with lanterns running on algal oils.

My lab now branches off into a clinic. It’s headed by the only mage here who can heal, Rujia. She grew up hating the mage college she honed her skills at, in the northernmost island of Royaume. She mentioned how the academy entrance exam issued a tournament that gave her a bad ranking. Something about losing because of a horned rabbit; a bunnicorn, if you will. Rujia later joined the cultists in the hopes of pursuing her own goals in botany, and used her healing merely as income.

It seemed that her abilities can sanitize deep wounds and speed up healing. Aside from the funky cheaper health potions, our poultices are still crude using imported Emberberries to make antiseptic cider vinegar instead of wine – a recipe Lugosi taught me. Still, I fully intend to move towards carefully standardized fermentation practices; I know there has to be a way to get propylene for alcohol even if we don’t have access to petroleum. I’m sure algae biofuels as feedstock will suffice.

We began planning out improved defenses. Anthrax organized more weapons crews to my specifications, and Kantax held regular training sessions to keep every able-body up to a minimum combat readiness. Strelya’s long recovered, but our middle-aged ranger has been drinking as much as she’s been training the others.

And speaking of drinks, we now also process and distill our own whisky too. This became easier with the help of Mateo, who mostly bought up the farms around Trezoro and largely improved the production of whisky I helped organize back then. We exported machinery and stamped stainless steel utensils to them, and they sent over even more Brila grains. Unfortunately, only Gorosi grows here easily. We’ll make do.

…

56. Dozens of cloaked ones approached.

The short and stocky bunch stood firmly in the winter snow, lined up in a column in front of our southern gate. Their leader lowered his hood to reveal bright red hair, and a long beard to go with it. Inkunzi didn’t tell me about any dwarves coming to visit, let alone such ominous ones. Rangers manned their posts.

Their leader, Jedidiah, requested an audience. We opted for our very own ShoresideTavern, ran by Nightingale. He’s a calm and collected man. But even in his heavy accent, he eyed and weighed me out. I played dumb, to the best of my ability.

He leads a contingent of the fabled “Prometheus’ Own” which is an inquisition that suppresses the use of black powder. I haven’t gotten around to making a new gun since I lost my old one – it wasn’t that good anyway. But the monk saw past my feigned ignorance, and I obliged to an inspection.

Our guards were still concerned and vigilant, but only Jedidiah went on the tour. He couldn’t find the explosive powder, here in a place called Pulvera. But the rest of it astonished him. Flamethrowers, advanced repeating crossbows, and more. All of which were legal and fair game, apparently. I did my best to shrug off his questions, and it seems that my rough politeness won him over enough to get him off my ass. I read him real good.

He then offered me a job at Ischyros.

I declined, of course.

After about two hours of investigation, he had heard enough of my prattle regarding trade partners at Rokmuro and the neighboring villages. He suspected that it was La Royaume who spurred these innovations on the northwestern Kingdom amongst what once was Marbordian lands. They were also the first to break off a century ago.

Hours later, another dwarf arrived. Inkunzi biked here as fast as he could when he heard the news. He pushed me aside and confronted the monk.

“Jed! What in Bestatzo’s name drove you here!?”

Jedidiah saluted. “Reports, sire. Devil’s dust.”

Inkunzi already found out that I’d dabbled into black powder, and so I promised him last year that I wouldn’t make any more, or any weapons that used it again. Man, the lecture he gave me was full of it, and I’ve never seen him so angry, and disappointed. Now, he quickly understood that the monk hadn’t found any incriminating evidence, and played along.

Satisfied, Jed proposed new trade routes with Ischyros directly – I said we could figure it out later on. For now, he joined the rest of his men who are now incredibly inebriated with our whisky. They’re all enamored with Nightingale’s melodies.

…

59 cycles in. Production doubled.

Our population reached a little over 300. Not including those too young or sick to work. More and more families are coming over, seeking either work or asylum. Anthrax and Nightingale held their marriage near a tree by Shoreside Tavern, in fact there were more Pulveran marriages recently than the past five cycles combined.

It didn’t take long for the southwestern neighboring state of Brigantii to start trying to tax us, even though Floranta itself was never under their control. The coal mine we settled upon also wasn’t, but some of our new farm fields were ‘arguably’ in theirs.

We offered them the fields to avoid trouble, but they kept pushing it. Soon, their army came marching north in the middle of winter during a critical time.

They planned their attack while our new outer walls were under construction, so we laid an ambush in the forests. We had placed some of the new and upgraded flamethrowers onto horse-drawn carriages, now hidden in the dense snow and flora.

Briganti officers forced a march with a dense convoy that spanned hundreds of meters, in the middle of winter. Our scouts reported over a thousand, but we were unsure how many were real fighters. Still, they think they can do better than Skippio.

No mounted troops, but lots of heavy infantry and war beetles marched in their ranks.

Their torches lit the unpaved path hours into the dead of night, as they finally walked into our trap. Ever since we heard of their plans for attack, I began machining out pressurized containers for portable flamethrowers.

Bolts and metal scrap showered upon them from both sides, dropping most of their unarmored soldiers in the front of the convoy faster than they could scream for help.

I had Strelya’s unit move further up ahead to deal with anyone trying to enter the forest from the rear of the caravan. When they realized what was going on, the frontal quarter of their force had become combat ineffective. With so many running for their lives, the others could barely organize themselves. They’d marched too deep into the forested path to retreat easily.

Then, what remained were the hundreds of well-armored dismounted knights that our projectiles struggled to penetrate. Many of them waded through the snow to get to the treelines, but were often greeted with clay firebomb pots of burning grease, forcing them to roll in snow where Kantax’s cohort mauled them.

Anthrax’s carriages took a long path and flanked around the enemy – the 3 combat mages we had were useful in shielding the flamethrower chariots until they got close enough to eviscerate the enemy.

It seemed as though we brought the sun to fight for us amidst the starry night sky. The fight was over in minutes, with half of them running and the other half unable to. We hauled the prisoners of war back to a small camp, to later ransom them back for wealth, the rights to our farmlands, and more.

We looted what we could from the convoy’s remains, only to find a grim horror – a gun. Luckily, it was one of those flimsy early guns that were pretty much just short metal pipes at the end of a staff. Using a lit match to fire these poorly made weapons led to more fright than actual damage. Too much powder or shot and you get a bronze pipe-bomb instead of a gun.

Yet after the one we found another in the snow, we found some more. A small cache of black powder was left unburned as it sat in the middle of the convoy where our flames hadn’t reached.

It must be from the Jade. All I know from Inkunzi and Jedidiah is that La Royaume on the northwest is a stout trade partner and ally of Ischyros, and would expedite any surviving sailors from across the ocean to Ischyros. Their kingdom also has a few mage guilds that bolster their forces, leaving little incentive to research firearms lest they wish to incur the wrath of Prometheus’ Own.

The prisoners said it was sold to them from the coastal cities – and not just from one place. These were meant to be used against armored or shielded troops. It’s fortunate that Kantax trained hers to use our lighters and firebombs.

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…

61. Rovan’s funeral.

He passed away peacefully, beloved by his kids. His daughter Edina has worked with the seamstresses under Pipra, and is scheduled for marriage in a week with a younger man from our steelworks.

Our outer wall was finally finished, topped with reinforced concrete – we’d had Jac and other captains import tons of lime and volcanic ash to improve our concrete mix. We learned to cast even cheaper steel and made enough steel wire and rebar to fortify our walls even further.

Brigantii was largely reluctant to trade with us, but Rokmuro forbade them from blockading our small port. Fortunately, the warmongering vassal lord of the nearby domain was deposed by the Brigantii council. Our settlement grew past a total population of 500, and trade is stronger than ever before.

…

64. Our first hot-air balloon takes flight.

Phaedra, Pipra’s brave daughter is the first Pulveran to take flight, and possibly the first person in Mondo to take flight without biological means.

We’ve finally built several working internal combustion engine prototypes. We mounted two of these to carriages, and secured a high-volume way to gather and transport partially processed algae from Qistina’s lake. I joined each expedition to the secluded lake to meet the forest witch and give her treats.

But this time, the lake had grown silent. A soft wind blew a stench of stillness. The greenery seemed less vibrant, and the trees no longer seemed to dance. Qistina was missing.

Long, fair hair littered the floor. The ground was heavily disturbed where she usually sat. I sought for more signs of struggle, and found her smashed lute – whose strands splayed all over like a horrifying mess. The crate of snacks I left behind was missing, with some paper wrappers littered around.

There was evidence of destruction magic, something Qistina had never really been capable of. The blasts also seemed purposefully aimed to knock her out of the branches. My last visit was a week ago, and the burn marks seem to never have been wet. The nearest locals claim it last rained two days ago.

I hurried home with whatever evidence I could get. I gathered the mages and they explained that it might have been the cult – and you can bet your ass that I had them guide my fully armed contingent to the nearest hideout they remember. Kantax stayed home, and I personally instructed the militia on how to best breach a building with potential adversaries.

“It seems bigger than before,” said Rujia, twirling her brown hair. “I don’t recall it being so tall?”

I ordered my forces to carefully surround the cultist tower. It was roughly three to four storeys tall. I grappled up and peeked into the windows as Strelya’s troops stood guard.

Inside were several bookshelves, jars, beds, and a spiral staircase where a chained furry demi-human was being dragged upstairs. We saw wolf headdresses similar to the cultists from before – but ours now wear the standard-issue black vinylon coveralls and ponchos, and use the same weapons as the rest.

Anthrax carefully picked the front door and disabled the locks. I gave the go, and we flooded in. We tried to keep it as quiet as possible. It was either compliance, or death. One managed to scream for help, and was put down immediately.

The rest of us ran upstairs to apprehend the rest of them. Some began incantations and readying up their spellcasting, but I made short work of them.

At the top floor, a loud blast was made – someone fired a blast at some of my pointmen. One was launched through a window, and two others sustained burns. Two of our mages had readied up a shield spell and managed to bring it up in time to protect us.

After the blast was over, I ran up and emptied my repeater into the elder cultist of the tower. There were documents and jars everywhere. We gathered our wounded, and I interrogated the captive enemies and prisoners.

The demi-human, ‘Katerina Katczinski’, had short messy silver hair and fur that barely concealed her feline-esque ears. I made sure that my wig was on properly and covered my own ears.

She thanked us for saving her from ‘yet another day of submission’ and led us to the basement. There, I found Qistina – bloodied and bruised, chained to a wall. Her long hair was shaved, and though she was blind, the cruel bastards had plucked her eyes anyway. I had never seen her eyes before, but I knew she had them.

Rage boiled through my veins, but I was expecting worse. She’s alive, and she’s here. That’s what mattered more.

I embraced her, and had her tended. She would be going home with us. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m here for you. Stop crying dear, you’re safe with me now.”

We rounded up the cultists, and by interrogation I was able to tell who was new, and who had been in the cult for much longer. But it did seem that they were all malnourished. All except the elder who survived my initial volley of bolts, but I gutted him after forcing shattered window glass down his throat.

Most of the ones who resisted were actually veterans from Skippio’s siege. We’ll process the survivors further after we imprison them in our new cells. Most of them weren’t actually mages, and were willing to cooperate after a hot meal and drink. The rest, we dragged off somewhere to kill.

We looted the tower. I skimmed all the tomes. I purged the ones I deemed too risky to our cause. No corruption magic, psychic spells, decay voodoo, and certainly no necromancy. There were other interesting items, like a jar containing a rare black slime creature, alchemical ingredients, and detailed maps.

For the suspicious tomes, I can’t personally use them and I’m not sure if the others should study them. The ambiguous ones written in foreign languages, I’ll process later on.

A missive on the elder’s desk clarified a few things for me. Maybe I was way in over my head.

“Dear Gaston, the master wishes to have all required ingredients sent over as soon as possible. Your incompetence drives his impatience to its limits. You will lose not only your position but also your head if you fail to deliver the resources at the location we discussed, you fat incompetent bastard. -Z”

Amongst a pile of crumpled replies, one was in the middle of completion.

“My love! Please! I have gone through great lengths to procure such a rare and delightful specimen for our master. I have found a healthy elf, but she does not need her eyes. Those precious jewels are already jarred for transport. And considering what the master has planned, perhaps her chastity is not of importance either, no?”

A jar sat alone on a separate desk, featuring two dead eyes of silver. The sick fuck’s letter continued.

“Now, my precious succubus, you know I would do anything for you. Yet why must you take so long to respond to my letters? When shall I ever draw your attention? Please, surely your defeat back at–”

The letter ended, but my rage didn’t.

After we looted the place, I had the fire carriage park in front of the tower. I manned the turret and burned the pile of books I deemed detrimental – then I turned the nozzle to the rest of the dilapidated tower.

This den of evil has been cleansed. Time to move.

We marched home, with the wounded in the carriage. I held Qist the entire trip. Her hair was mostly shaven off, and she was shaking as I coddled her. She had no appetite.

I put her under Nightingale’s care, who initially objected. But, she folded when I threatened to slash funding for the tavern. Anthrax however, was delighted. It’s all good company, there.

…

67. A peaceful winter.

The cultist prisoners have been through lengthened rehabilitation and integrated into our society, or later sent away by ship. Decent food always helped reduce resistance.

Our total population reached 700 last summer, and we’re officially a small town like Floranta was. The accounting for Pulvera’s finances have gotten a bit difficult, so I’ve decided to offload accountancy to a small department headed by a young but skilled public servant named Euryas, who was sent away from La Royaume’s capital up north on the mainland, Aurore.

I asked him for honesty over a cup of tea, and he described his account so vividly in the interview. It’s likely that he lost his last position because he was “actually doing his job” and someone wanted him gone. Bureaucracy. He appreciated the questions I had for him, as his last employers didn’t give two shits.

“Just the past few weeks of working here have been hellish. But, I have yet to run into someone who made me feel undignified. I see what you are trying to build here, and I wish to be of use in the political aspects that even you might overlook.” he said.

We imported new materials as we developed better land-based trade routes. Bulk orders like special materials for cement came by ship, however. Speaking of, Jac was not only able to acquire even more volcanic ash but also other useful substances like borax which we’ve now used to increase the fireproofing of our uniforms. Although I’m worried about enemies getting the hang of gunpowder, it’s probably worth knowing the sources for its components.

I was able to refocus on my research on polymers excluding rubber, and I finally made a newer kind of celluloid – from a cellulose base treated with nitric acid, and some talc to make it safer and stronger.

…

I’m 69, nice. Kantax turns 100 next season.

Katerina, the demi-human, once served in an apothecary and has grown in skill to complement Rujia’s. Her deft and agile hands have proved useful in surgery. She’s much more human than cat, but I’m still worried about the possibility of her shedding hair and infecting a wound that way.

I’ve built several microscopes over the past several years for my own use, but they’re curious about my shared concepts of germ theory. The occasional cadaver helped our medical specialists learn, but once I saw a junior physician enter the maternity ward with hands not only reeking of corpses but also STILL faintly smeared with blood – you bet I instated harsher disinfecting routines after that.

I wasn’t excluded of course, since I enjoyed midwifery by helping the mothers deliver babies. If Kat can’t smell death from the hands of those who participated in autopsies, we’re good.

Except Kat, she hated it. “Ma’am, if I don’t hurl from death’s scent, then the ethanol-based antiseptics you’ve made will. Can’t you come up with a better way of doing this?” she asked.

“Then find someone else with a decent nose.” I said.

…

Seriously? In a few months, she trained several dogs to recognize the scent of corpses to do the initial filtering. We built an inspection booth by the morgue for her, expanding the clinic.

We’re getting by. Euryas also streamlined our finances ever since I delegated management of various industries to different specialists; Nora being one of them. The Shoreside tavern’s booming; Qistina’s playing songs again with a new lute, this time with Nightingale. We have no pianos or guitars yet, but we’d occasionally play my own renditions of some 80’s and 90’s songs that I could beatbox for them. Qist’s smile has returned, and perhaps a bit of me has too.

I hope this peace persists. It needs to.