Had a raid of about 20 tribals today. They split into 2 groups and attacked at both the north and southern entrances of the compound.
I sent two militamen with charge rifles to each entrance, as well as one demolitions each. I put the last militawoman on the incendiary mortar that a squad of pirates helpfully delivered.
In about two minutes, the map was on fire, the tribals were fleeing, and the thud of mortar rounds was replaced by the explosions of burning boomalope in the distance.
In three minutes, the stench of burning native filled the air, the boomalope were all dead, as were everything else nearby. No human escaped that day. Two lived, taken prisoner to bolster my workforce. One was consigned to the burning and the winter, to die in fire and ice. The rest were dead or dying, the healthiest tribesman almost making it off the map before making the questionable decision to hug a burning boomrat.
In four minutes, a heavy snow had come, dousing the fires that were encroaching on the walls.
In one day, the cold snap ended, and the snow melted. The rlgrass returned, green and vibrant. The ash was gone. The bodies burned. The grass was all that remained.
Except for the settlement, a wooden palisade in the plain, and a small group of hovels and workshops. In Fartown, the night is stopped by the lights of man. Fartown preserveres. Fartown endures.
So that was my second Autumn.