On a faraway world, humanity is thriving. Across the surface of this planet, thousands of tribes have been born and most of them have fallen to the wayside in their quest to become something greater – true civilisations. Only the worthy have evolved beyond a tribal state and now they are ready, to leave their mark on the world for evermore.

We are following one such civilisation, who call themselves the <span class="mu-s">Croglatovic</span> – the <span class="mu-i">People of the Great Lake</span>, in their own tongue.

They belong to the <span class="mu-s">Scavic</span>, a race of people with soft faces, fair hair and blue-grey skin. Like the rest of their kind, they inhabit the <span class="mu-s">Grascan</span>, a vast oceanic forest filled with dangerous beasts and towering trees.
The Croglatovic have dominated the shore of the <span class="mu-s">Croglatol</span> and the banks of the <span class="mu-s">Choslitol</span>, a great lake and the river that flows from it into the sea. Here, the forest is thin and civilisation is allowed to flourish without fear of predation.

Though most of the Croglatovic still enjoy a rural lifestyle of rearing swine and tending to hives of honey bees, the city of <span class="mu-s">Ancron</span> has become increasingly important to the chiefdom. Hundreds of men and women now work as artisans, copyists and couriers. Instead of growing or butchering their own food, they pay for it with <span class="mu-s">toroc</span>, the <span class="mu-i">shell money</span> that serves as the civilisation's currency. Urbanity is taking hold.

Yet the chiefdom still clings to its faith. The Croglatovic have devoted themselves to <span class="mu-s">An</span>, the <span class="mu-i">Allmother</span> and the source of the divine energy that flows through all living things – <span class="mu-s">Drocrom</span>. Though the <span class="mu-i">sisterhood</span> of priestesses known as the <span class="mu-s">drobrac</span> oversee the worship of Allmother, the chiefdom has other gods. <span class="mu-s">Il</span>, the <span class="mu-i">Great Father</span>, the first son and first lover of An, serves as her masculine counterpart, while the <span class="mu-i">Four Winds</span> govern the natural world.

The most notable servants of Il are the <span class="mu-s">Brulicruvic</span>, the <span class="mu-i">Truthguard</span>, the warrior caste of the Croglatovic. Armed with spears and dressed in shining scales, they defend the Croglatol from <span class="mu-s">Grovic</span> thieves and foreign raiders. As the chiefdom comes to rely on bronze rather than copper, these soldiers will have to adapt and embrace new technology. Will they find success in this new age, or will they fail the civilisation that they serve?

The warriors aren't the only ones who shall be challenged by the shifting status quo. The wily merchants of the Croglatovic might have more avenues for exploitation than ever before, yet they also have to deal with more competition. The <span class="mu-s">Glalividul</span> and <span class="mu-s">Anidan</span>, the <span class="mu-i">chieftain</span> and <span class="mu-i">saint</span> who rule over the chiefdom, may struggle to manage the increasingly clever <span class="mu-s">Glavic</span>, the <span class="mu-i">council of headsmen and patriarchs</span> who serve them. Great change awaits this civilisation.

>Now with intro theme music
https://youtu.be/r7AGlW-XxKk?si=UY8ixOnnFhCxgPpn

<span class="mu-s"><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><></span>

<span class="mu-i">This is but one of the legends of which the people speak...</span>

<span class="mu-i">Long ago, the kingdom was blessed by a <span class="mu-s">Golden Power</span> handed down by the three great goddesses. It was a prosperous land of green forests, tall mountains, and many peaceful tribes of people.</span>

<span class="mu-i">But one day a terrible <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Demon</span></span> was loosed upon the realm by the mysterious <span class="mu-s">Shadow Tribe</span>. He dwelt atop an enormous <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Black Tower</span></span>, and wherever its shadow fell was consumed by impenetrable darkness...</span>

<span class="mu-i">The <span class="mu-s">Shadow Tribe's</span> sacred duty was to protect the <span class="mu-s">Golden Power</span> by guiding and defending the descendents of its chief inheritor. For their transgressions, the golden goddesses cursed them, and in their shame they repented.</span>

<span class="mu-i">One among their number rose to the challenge, and used <span class="mu-s">Shadow Magic</span> to pursue the <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Demon</span></span> to the top of his tower. This noble samurai warrior, clad all in white, was known across the land as the <span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-s">Hero of Shadows</span></span>, but his legend was forgotten by all after a short time, with only the survivors of his tribe preserving his story in secret.</span>

<span class="mu-i">When the <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Demon</span></span> was finally defeated by the <span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-s">Hero</span></span>, the <span class="mu-s">Seven Sages</span> combined their magic, and used a piece of the <span class="mu-s">Golden Power</span> to topple his tower and seal him away in a <span class="mu-s">Horned Statue</span>. The <span class="mu-s">Shadow Tribe</span> hid it inside their sacred <span class="mu-s">Temple</span>, so that he might never again endanger the realm...</span>

<span class="mu-i">Many ages passed, and the land would be imperiled by many <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Monsters</span></span> and powerful <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Demons</span></span> over time, yet always saved by other <span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">Legendary Heroes</span></span> before all could be lost...</span>

<span class="mu-i">Eventually, a cruel and ruthless <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Warlord</span></span>, one of the three inheritors of the <span class="mu-s">Golden Power</span>, would seek to claim the other pieces for himself in order to seize the kingdom. Summoning an army of monsters and mercenaries, he began a campaign of conquest across the land. Far from where his war bands gathered, his servants would wake the ancient <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Shadow Demon</span></span> from within the <span class="mu-s">Temple</span>, hoping to enlist his wicked powers. They would be interrupted by a young man from the <span class="mu-s">Shadow Tribe</span>, undertaking the <span class="mu-s">Rite of Passage</span> of his eighteenth birthday. Unable to stop them, this lone warrior would survive to see the <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Black Tower</span></span> looming high above the kingdom once more... And the tale of what followed after is its own <span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">Legend</span></span>... It is <span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">The Legend of Zuzo</span></span>...</span>

<span class="mu-s"><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><></span>

<span class="mu-b">ANTON PEAS:</span> that’s your name, don’t wear it out! Originally a mild-mannered grilljockey, a botched demonic summoning brought you to <span class="mu-b">ZORAL:</span> a fantasy world shrouded in perpetual darkness!

You get used to it!

The memory loss and everyone trying to kill you? That’s the tricky part. See, your unexpected trip landed you in one Hell of a mess: not only did you lose a huge chunk of your memories, but you also forfeit your soul to <span class="mu-r">RED</span>--you don’t know the specifics, but essentially your summoning granted you some <span class="mu-r">DEMONIC POWERS</span>, so it’s not all bad!

What <span class="mu-i">IS</span> bad is what you’re up to now: your hellish helper can restore your memories, but he won’t do it for free! The price: delivering the heads of <span class="mu-r">THE FOUR LORDS OF ZORAL:</span> tyrants and titans that rule the darklands with iron fists, claws, and… you dunno, tentacles, maybe? There’s a reason they’ve ruled for so long, however, and despite your platoon of pals and plentiful powers you can’t help but feel a little apprehensive about the whole thing!

Exhibit A: <span class="mu-r">ARCHMAGE TRIER.</span> Arriving in <span class="mu-b">UMBERAL:</span> Zoral’s very own city of tomorrow, you were swiftly introduced to the <span class="mu-r">TEKSOULS:</span> menacing magitek that follow every whim Trier can think up… and you met the guy–he thinks a <span class="mu-i">LOT!</span>

Not to be outdone, you also ran into <span class="mu-r">THE SPICE CARTEL</span>--not only is Umberal their home turf, they’re also running some kind of deal with the Archmage… as for what it is, well, you shudder to think!

Your search for leverage over the Archmage took you to <span class="mu-b">TRIMBAULT ACADEMY:</span> Zoral’s most prestigious magical academy, and whole you managed to snag some goodies and teach a surprisingly-decent class (don’t ask), you didn’t manage to find notes other mages took on their Archmage adversary! Even worse, all signs point to The Cartel snatching them up for their own perfidious plots!

Luckily you had an in: <span class="mu-b">TZAH-TZIE</span>, skilled songstress and your current beau, has an axe to grind with her musical rival <span class="mu-b">LUTZA</span>. Having saved the starlet from a kidnapping on the Umberal Skyrail, you earned your way into holding a concert in Umberal, and some of the biggest names in The Cartel just happen to be huge fans!

You were just about to plot out the details at the glitzy <span class="mu-b">CRYSTALMELT HOT SPRINGS LODGE</span> when you ran smack-dab into The Cartel’s higher-ups… and the big cheese himself, <span class="mu-r">VHALE NESSURMOS</span>.

Did we mention he’s also your girlfriend’s husband? And that she freezes up like a clam on Pluto at the mere mention of his name?

Cornered by the Cartel, THIS is where your tale continues…

https://youtu.be/1lR8VLt1Xlk

>CONTD.

The world has another side, one with secret societies and hidden powers vying for control. But it is not merely humans, nay. For millennia, creatures which a modern man considers fables have been battling in the shadows, both within their own, and others.
Only the Magical Girls can slay the demons of humanity's suffering, and clean up the supernatural messes along the way!

Following next, a magical girl begins her first training session.

- - - - -

On the last Episode, our Heroine, Magical girl SugarRush, has gotten her first introduction to magical girl society. Witnessing the dark land of the Shadow Market where she met an eccentric ‘apprentice’ E, and a non-combatant Sister of the Magical Girls, the troubled Angel. Now, she has arrived on the beach to train with her Magical Girl teammate, Jacky.

- - - - -

You shake off your troubles, compartmentalization always works, thought it feels like the more you lock away, the quicker you reach your limit. But this is important, you’re here to train with Jacky. She doesn’t seem like the sort to make it too harsh anyway.

So you nod at the short girl. Much like you, clad in bikini and flip-flops, though carrying a small purse.
“Lead the way.”

Jacky widens her grin.
“Attagirl!”

As you walk on the sand, you feel the gazes taking you in. You stare ahead, while Jacky waves.
“I didn’t know when you were arriving, so I’ve been chatting for a while. There have increased drownings, it’s not part of our territory but it’s good to know, both for our own girls, and for the rest.”

You arrive at what might be generously called a bar, but it’s closer to a plastic shack in the middle of a beach, which just happens to have some booze on sale. A surfer dude is manning the counter, eagerly greeting your companion.
“Welcome back babe! This the friend you mentioned?”
He bears a grin as he scans you, one that falters when his eyes eventually reach your face. You have been told in the past that you have a resting bitch face, though you think you’re just honest with your emotions.
“Y’ alright, dudette?”
His question seems to carry a hint of genuine worry, but before you can answer, and probably tell him to fuck off, Jacky is already smoothing the situation.
“She had a real rough few days. That’s why she’s here, the sun’s out, the water’s great, and some drinks will make that even better.”

The explanation calms him, grin returning and head bobbing with nods.
“Yeah, the waves ‘ve been great.”
He turns, opening a cooler and taking out four bottles, two of some tripe named cocktail drink, and two of watermelon vodka.
“Can I count on you for the Luau?”

Jacky seems almost too smug.
“Oh I wouldn't miss it.”
She takes the bottles and turns, doing a slight flourish with her hips.

(1/3)

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_

You are Lieren of Nothing, philosopher of some renown, Hunter of some skill, Primarch of the 2nd legion of the emperor of mankind's space marines, grand architect and head of the Long-Jian ministry of development, friend of the oppressed, enemy of tyrants and husband of the living ship Kanzeon, among a great many other things, including dabbler of the secrets of the old ones and poet of some skill.

Presently, you are above an uncontacted world of a substrain of humanity, using a mixture of high technology and sheer telekinetic force to create a monument from the debris left behind by the skirmish with an ork fleet, combining together the metal hulls of the ships that were lost in the battle to form a monolith of burnt and sundered still, that Kanzeon is engraving with the names and histories of the crews of the ship. It is to honor their ultimate sacrifice for a cousin of mankind that had not even known they'd been threatened.

A cousin you shall soon meet personally, the envoys that were sent had all agreed that your presence and company would be most welcome as they traveled beneath the frozen surface of the unnamed world to meet with the representatives of the city states, that the aspirants of your legion had, while you and their senior and future astartes brothers waged war against the pirate fleet, had managed to get in contact with the abhuman race. They had taken your challenge to learn how to solve the communication barrier with a society that did not know the sky above their mines existed, yet alone of the worlds beyond their worlds with great gusto and had devised a novel means of breaking that barrier. Which they had done themselves, to prove it'd work. They'd started by sending dummy distress signals near to the surface, which allowed the abhuman miners to realize the source must be coming from beyond their world of rock and stone.

And then followed by sending transmission to the groups that had figured it out, and providing proof of a world beyond their mines. Somehow, this was not met with skepticism or derision by the rest of their societies, but rather a rush to be the first to make contact with the "Uplanders" as the underground dwellers called the aspirants and you supposed everyone else

There was some grumbling, when an Astartes that had been left on the planet to watch over and run the boys through drills had happened upon and discovered what the aspirants were getting up to, but the response from the rulers of the four blocs, which were formed by councils of elders that represented the interests and vendettas of various clans and families, had been one of intrigue and praise for such "Clever little beardlings".
Cont

The radiant summer sun shone down upon the verdant sylvan landscape; these fair meadows and groves had an ethereal quality that was, of course, a vestige of the faewild of old. The sight of its remnant had been among the most enchanting things you had ever seen.

And yet, you couldn't help escape the burden that was so heavily laden upon your head; the crown may be kept safely in the vaults under the Albrechtsburg, but its weight never quite left your head. It was among the elder days of the 13th century, the year 1275 to be exact. And the kingdom of Greifswald was at peace. Still, as far as realms were concerned, yours was still young, for it had been but thirteen years since the formal proclamation of the kingdom, though in truth, it has existed as a polity since 1241, though only as a dukedom. 34 years of an Adlershorst upon the throne, though the lineage stretched back further; by the standards of the continent, the royal bloodline was virtually new money.

Now, in the waning years of the 13th century, the king and court are engaged upon a tour of the northern fiefs, solidifying alliances and ensuring the loyalty of vassals. Yet things are not as they should be; monks travel and do not greet their king, and nobles leave their estates and disappear, only for them to resurface in strange and secretive gatherings. It wasn't rebellion, or at least, it hadn't been able to coalesce into one, but your suspicions were brewing.

War you knew; compared to the soldierly simplicity of that life, dealing with the two-faced members of the aristocracy was something you had grown into, but you still perceived the practice with distaste.

It is not that you don't enjoy the pleasure of conversation with some wine and roasted pork, but you would prefer it without the threat of walking yourself into a verbal trap, where you would need to extricate yourself with utmost courtesy.

All in all, the tour has had mixed results; the count of Hoenstein had provided you with some useful information regarding one Oskar von Schmallhausen and a Hedwig von Merckhayn, though what they were up to is a bit of a puzzle. On the other hand, your visit with the burgrave of Dornheim was nothing short of an unmitigated disaster. You said a few things were maybe a tad bit high-handed, he retorted in kind, and you left as soon as you had come, before he would tear up his contract of vassalage to you or do something worse.

The matter left a bitter, though perhaps sour, taste in your mouth, and you didn't really feel like continuing this tour, or at least wanted to speed it up for your sake. If anything, the nobles should come to you; if all of them were in Ritterbach, there would be no more of this. But what was started should be seen through...

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Your name is Vincent Cruz. You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. By all accounts, you are a complete and total nobody to the Powers That Be.

You've managed to survive the last 7 days at your job. Your job, of course, involves studying and researching dangerous anomalous entities in order to make money for the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC).

In fact, you survived long enough to get promoted from Level 0 to Level 1. You're no longer on the bottom of the totem pole but you're still so, so far away from the top. Five more ranks to go and who's to say you'll survive long enough to reach the top?

If you're going to die here, at least you're going to die at the top. You've climbed dozens upon dozens of corporate ladders, what's one more, after all? It's the only life you've known so you might as well get comfortable with it.

As for a recap of some notable things that happened recently?

You accidently stumbled across Liz getting herself involved in office politics. While you don't care about getting yourself entangled in them, you decided to keep an eye on Liz to make sure she won't do something she'll regret.

You also learnt that one of your coworkers, Ashton, is an aberrant cannibalistic human called a 'Harvester'. For a while you thought her unconditional kindness to you was a mask for something but no, apparently she really see you as a friend. Instead of a meal, thankfully.

A dream you had last night still lingers in the back of your mind. It was the only decision you could've made, it was the only right decision, you had to leave that house.

One of your anomalies, IN LIMBO, has finally kicked the bucket. It decided that the best thing to do would be to move on. All that's left of it now is an ARTIFACT, a remnant of its anomalous power. Rest in peace, Rolle.

And lastly, an old and presumably anomalous phone you bought a while ago has been ringing non-stop during your shift. You're currently trying to negotiate a deal with a mysterious man who's offering you something that 'doesn't cost you money', whatever that means.

Your life is a surreal mess but what can you do about it? The only path you can see for yourself is doing your job to the best of your ability. You're a <span class="mu-s">wageslave</span>, born and raised to torture yourself by doing obtuse and obscene tasks all so a line goes up.

For the line must always go up.

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It is the chirping of the birds which first jolts you from your stupor, proudly sitting upon their trees, singing jollies to and fro of the merry morning lights. You, who had found no rest, no shut eyes throughout the night, take it simply as an ringing pain on your head. For though you had momentarily found yourself lacking in cognition, it was not rest which you had felt, but a lapse in concentration, a departure of your thinking to some state of sickly torpor.

You had not slept for the entire night, and certainly, it hath given no benefit to your condition. But then again, how could you, with the challenges that you faced?

You are <span class="mu-s">Alessandro Galliota</span>, the Viscount of Portblanc. That much you can be sure of, even in your sorry state...you, who had been brought here to this land of Nera, this distant land from your own, by your great liege <span class="mu-s">Don Carles IV Brascarams</span>. You had come here to wage war in the name of the Spisa family, allied to your country, against the forces of the Fortelli, friendly to your foe. You had launched a campaign throughout their borderlands, partaken in a siege, and most of all, you had faced a force far mightier than yours, many times greater in both number and capability, aided by scores of Himmmerian Giants, those most fearful of enemies of the human race. For a whole day, you had succesfully fought them of, and, shattering the bridge which they sought to take in an pivotal moment, you had sunk to the depths of the river hundreds of their men.

You escaped death, too, by a hair's breadth, when the infamous <span class="mu-i">Famiglia</span>, those mighty knights of Nera, armed with beastly amazonian mounts, had been able to momentarily breach your formation. It was only by bidding your musketeers to fire upon them even as they fought your own men that you had survived, though at the cost of your entire retinue. All those things and much many others had happened yesterday, in this battle upon the Vessena. This battle, you are certain, has not ended yet, and it is this which brings you trouble. For today you must <span class="mu-s">seek out victory</span> and find a way to hold your foes at bay until the city of Montechia falls!

For now, however, breakfast will have to do. Shaking yourself out of this stasis, you raise yourself from the piece of wood that you had used as a seat for the night. <span class="mu-i">Because you had fled into the grove to make your camp</span>, you did not have the amenities of your lordly tent. Of course, compared to those amongst the soldiery who did not have any tent at all, you were not in a poor state. You order one of your servants to gather up whatever is available for you. What you receive, after some time, is...some bread, and some of the cheap rum that was served to the soldiery. Though it be enough to fill you, you cannot help but feel some manner of bitterness in the knowledge that you stand but a few minutes of travel away from your supply wagons.

"To Truth and Justice!"

The toast, accompanied by sound of glass striking against glass, has been echoed by a diverse array of voices.

You were not paying much mind to your own, but you've gotten quite appreciative of those of your crew:

The calm barytone of Tufferson Kris, your krogan friend and colleague.

The enthusiastic lilt veiled by synthetic buzz of envirosuit electronics belonging to Lea'Fari, a quarian pilgrim.

Deceptively natural voice that Eve, your synthetic comrade, had chosen as her default one.

And then there was a chorus of voices that you were only recently beginning to familiarize yourself with: those of the O'Riley family and their closest friends, with whom you were currently sharing a celebration in a homely little tavern at the edge of the freshly cleared green zone of the gradually reconstructed city of Klondike.

"...and to memory of those, whose souls may now rest free." One of those voices, an older, more subdued, continued, sobering the mood of the gathering somewhat as the cheer gave way to a moment of reverent silence.

You observed the moment of quiet as the family took this time to reminisce over the loss that had cast a blanket of bitterness over jubilant mood they had shared with rest of the sapient people of the galaxy following defeat of the Reapers. And while the gathered clan members contemplated on their personal memories, your own thoughts drifted towards your own recent hectic past.