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Once upon a time...

…long, long ago in the deepest mists of time, the Zasmieca tribe moved to a new part of the world. There they were met by the local natives, the Busadi, who were very friendly. The Busadi welcomed them to Mjesto Odmara, which was their name of the land they lived on. The Busadi were very welcoming to the Zasmieca. They had never seen people like them before and we happy to help them. The Busadi helped the Zasmieca by showing them how to hunt and fish and build homes. The Zasmieca happily accepted all the help they could get. Not because they were grateful but because according to their legends they were a chosen people and according to the Great God Gunga, his chosen people were extra special and the whole world could either join in and celebrate that or go fuck themselves.  

The Zasmieca took this quite literally so the moment the opportunity arose to take advantage of the Busadi they jumped at it. Pretty soon the Busadi peoples were beginning to look like a shit stain on the world and the Zasmieca were happy. Any Busadi survivors were either made to work in the mines, or if they were particularly uncooperative, were summarily murdered. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy. The Great God Gunga was right on the money. He had not led them wrong yet.  


As time went on, the Zasmieca started to occupy more of the land and as they occupied, they also cleared the land of those pesky Busadi. While the Busadi had taught them how to survive, the Zasmieca introduced the Busadi to fermented drink which eventually caused a general collapse of Busadi traditions, culture and family life throughout the land. This made the takeover less taxing on the Zasmieca as they didn’t have to go to war and risk losing men. Some wise Zasmieca once said “What’s better than a drunk Busadi? A dead one!” Zasmieca people had a strange fucking sense of humour.  

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