DATALOG 007
CALENDAR OF THE DESOLATION

A Chronicle by Master Marek,
Senior Cartographer of the Handelstaat Guild

Foreword

In my travels across the broken world, I've learned that time, like everything else, adapted to survive the Great Collapse. The names I've recorded here emerged from the mud lands, born from the struggles and observations of countless survivors. They've found common usage in Kush as well, where similar seasonal patterns hold sway.

But step into the endless dunes of Sand, and you'll hear very different markers of time. The nomads there speak of the Month of Burning Winds, when sand-laden gales scour flesh from bone. They whisper of the Time of Thirsting, when even the hardiest water recyclers struggle to maintain life. Most feared is the Season of the Devil's Dance, when swarms of burrowing horrors rise from the depths, drawn by the vibrations of passing caravans.

In the perpetual green hell of the southeast, the Jade Domain measures months by the ebb and flow of spore blooms and mutation cycles. They name periods for the colors of toxic mist that roll through the jungle - the Time of Red Mist brings madness, while the Green Mist births new horrors. The Neo-Cong, I'm told, simply count their attacks and ambushes throughout the year, marking time in waves of blood.

The calendar I present here serves well enough in the mud lands and Kush, though I've met Praga merchants who insist on maintaining some bastardized version of the Pre-Collapse world's months. Let them cling to their antiquated notions - in the wastelands, time is measured in survival, and each region has learned to mark its passing by the unique horrors it must endure.

The Dead Moon (January)

In the depths of winter, even the mutants grow sluggish and withdrawn. I've seen entire packs of wendigos huddled in the ruins, their haunting cries silenced by the bitter cold. The wisest scavengers know to stay in their shelters during this time - those who venture out rarely return.

The Hunger (February)

The cruelest month, when food stores run low and desperation drives people to terrible acts. I once witnessed an entire settlement turn to cannibalism during The Hunger. The screams still haunt my dreams. Even the rats in Praga's streets grow bold enough to attack humans during this time.

The Thaw (March)

When the toxic ice retreats, it reveals both treasure and terror frozen in its grip. Smart scavengers wait until midday to venture out - the morning melt often releases hibernating horrors. I lost a finger to a partially thawed razorworm during my early years of mapping.

The Blooming Death (April)

The most beautiful and lethal time of year, when mutant flowers paint small patches of the wastes in colours that shouldn't exist. Their spores ride the wind like rainbow clouds, mesmerizing to watch but fatal to inhale. I've seen entire tribes succumb to the blooms' siren call, losing their minds and doing unspeakable things to each other.

The Green Fever (May)

Named for the madness that takes hold as hallucinogenic spores fill the air. The plant life in some areas grows with terrifying speed around this time - I once saw a spiked vine burrow through a scavenger’s chest so fast she didn’t even have time to scream. Many settlements post double guards during this month, as much to watch their own people as external threats.

The Burning (June)

When the sun bakes the mud lands into cracked clay and water becomes more precious than ammunition. Even the mud kraken retreat to deeper pools, making them especially dangerous as they concentrate in the few remaining water sources. The desperate who drink from contaminated sources soon regret their choice, as their bodies dissolve from within.

The Madness (July)

Peak heat drives both humans and mutants to frenzied violence. The Geneticists say something in the radiation peaks during this time, though I care less for the why and more for survival. I've seen lifelong friends turn on each other for a single drop of clean water.

The Red Haze (August)

Named for the copper-colored dust storms that sweep across the wastes. The storms strip paint from vehicles and flesh from bone if you're foolish enough to be caught outside. The dust gets everywhere - in your lungs, your eyes, your food. It turns everything a sickly shade of red.

The Harvest Moon (September)

The last chance to gather resources before winter's embrace. The most dangerous month for cartographers - we compete with desperate scavengers and hungry mutants alike. The Agridomes work at triple capacity, their clone workers dying by the hundreds to secure the food supply.

The Mist (October)

When thick, poisonous fog blankets the mud lands, turning familiar paths into deadly mazes. The fog has a mind of its own - it flows against the wind and seems drawn to body heat. I've seen it curl through the smallest cracks to reach prey. The screams of the lost echo for days.

The Long Rain (November)

Endless toxic rainfall that eats through inadequate shelter and turns the ground into a soupy death trap. The rain carries mutations - three of my mapping expeditions have watched their pack animals dissolve during this month. Only the best-maintained settlements can fully protect their inhabitants.

The Howling (December)

Named not just for the bitter winds, but for the increased mutant activity in the darkness. They grow bolder as the nights lengthen, and their howls carry messages we're probably fortunate not to understand. The wind itself seems to hunger, finding every gap in clothing and shelter.

These observations are compiled from decades of survival in the wastes. May they serve to keep you alive, though I suspect each generation will add their own bitter lessons to this calendar.

Marek