The Friday magical samurai serial continues! 

Continued from:  http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2012/04/13/the-burning-throne-episode-23-shinjo-braga-and-the-golden-scarab-of-al-qatat/ 

These game journals come from what we called “B Team”. Basically, Dan Wells is the GM of this campaign, and he had a tough week so wasn’t able to have anything ready for game night. So I threw together and ran a quick game, set in the same campaign, at the same time, but everybody just grabbed one of the minor NPCs. In this case, it was a few of the Paper Lanterns, and they got to rescue a caravan and defend a village from bandits.

You also may notice that Ide Todo is getting rather famous. That’s what happens when you’ve got a hyperbolic bard following you around.

#

Two letters for Ide Todo

To the most noble and legendary son of the Unicorn, brilliant magistrate and bold commander of the Order of the Paper Lanterns, Ide Todo the Great, whose honor and bravery knows no bounds, from the humble monk, Michiba.  

Oh, mighty Paper Champion, I have dared to write this poor letter to you in gratitude for the recent actions of four of your courageous samurai; Yoritomo Buwa, Daidoji Fujo, Tamori Fubatsu, and Matsu Barbosa. These four warriors were on the way to join your side, when they saved a caravan of the Jolly Crab Trading Company from villainous bandits in the service of the foul Dark Oracle of Fire, and in the process rescued my useless and unworthy life, as well as a young Yasuki caravan guard.

However, rescuing a poor monk was not nearly enough heroism for one day for such stalwart souls and they were hungry for more. When I told them that the village of Red Falls could be in danger from the villains, and the Yasuki reported that his father, the caravan master, had been kidnapped, they immediately set out to defeat all the bandits. There was a minor setback while some of us were set on fire, but that is only because the noble Matsu seemed to relish living life to the fullest at all times. Inspired by their bravery, I eagerly accompanied your men.

Upon discovery of the isolated village, Yoritomo Buwa volunteered to scout ahead while the rest of us meditated peacefully on the nature of heroes such as yourself. During his search, he found that the village’s women and children were being held hostage in the granary, and that the men were counted every night and morning to make sure no peasants fled for help. Most of the bandits were out on a raid. The cunning and stealth of the Mantis was astounding, and I can only thank the Fortunes that he is such a kind and honorable soul (surely inspired by your greatness, Todo-sama) and he taught many of the bandits lessons in humility and sacrifice. (mostly by beating them with rocks and sticks)

We charged the village and your noble samurai easily routed the bandits there, saved the children, saved the peasants, saved the Yasuki hostage, and even saved the livestock. That act alone would have been enough to ensure that from now on, the peasants of Red Falls will speak of the Paper Lanterns in hushed and reverential tones (as they well should anyway!) but oh no, that wasn’t enough for your mighty men (and one terrifying woman). They decided that they would stay, fortify the village, and defeat all the bandits. Truly, such courage is only possible when inspired by Goemon, Fortune of Courage, or perhaps the example set by men such as Ide Todo.

(by the way, I was blessed enough to watch the very first showing of the new kabuki play about you, performed by a group of travelling actors and based upon the writings of Ikoma Katsu. It was riveting)

Needless to say, your Lanterns were not only brave, they were clever as well. The Matsu and the Daidoji came up with a defensive plan, while the Tamori and the Yoritomo turned the villagers into an effective fighting force. (though I’m certain the peasants were quick to return to their proper place in the celestial order as soon as their services were no longer needed by their betters). Matsu Barbosa hid herself in the fields, so that she would be in a position to attack the powerful bandit leader, while the others prepared to hold the bridge.

Wisely, the first horsemen of the returning bandits were allowed to enter the village before being set upon and destroyed.

There were forty bandits! Yet your Paper Lanterns held firm. An enemy duelist, a man so terrible in reputation and visage that he struck fear into the hearts of all the villagers, challenged the Tamori to a duel. Tamori Fubatsu disemboweled the duelist and let him fall in the river. Normally Red Falls gets its name from the iron ore in the mountainside, but tonight it would flow red with blood! (if Ikoma Katsu chooses to use that line in his narrative, I would be so extremely humbled and honored. I am a huge fan of his work)

The enemy charged the bridge, but your Lanterns held them back until the bodies were stacked knee deep. Distracted, the enemy leader was struck down by Matsu Barbosa! Yet, the leader was unbelievably strong, surely blighted by the power of the Dark Oracle, and she turned and slashed the brave Matsu with a lethal blow. Now this next part you might think I’m exaggerating, but I am as truthful as Ikoma Katsu when I say that I believe I saw the very Thunder Dragon form in the clouds to bless the heroism and sacrifice of the Lion Deathseeker. Nearly dead, but inspired by the void, she ignored her wounds and cut down the enemy leader. Who luckily exploded like a Yobanjin, right in the middle of the enemy archers, scattering them!

The enemy was routed and fled like the cowards they are.

The peasants of Red Falls are building a shrine on the very spot where the noble Lioness died. I will personally return to Red Falls every year on the anniversary of the battle to leave offerings to the memory of your brave servant.

Oh, thank you noble, Ide Todo, for in these dark times, the empire needs heroes such as you to inspire us all.

–          As always, your humble servant, Michiba, monk of the Shrine of the Blaze.

 

#

To Magistrate Ide Todo,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am Yasuki Murato, Caravan Master of the Jolly Crab Trading Company, which as you are certainly aware, is one of the more prosperous and profitable merchant companies in the Empire. Recently one of my personal caravans, bearing valuable goods to the warfront at Shiro Tamori, was betrayed by our guide, and assaulted by a bandit group known as the Purity of Fire. My drivers were killed, and my son proved to be a lackluster caravan guard and allowed me to be taken hostage.

Four of the samurai under your command rescued me from the Purity of Fire, and then battled the bandit group. One of your troops was killed, as were several villagers, and one of my favorite oxen was struck by a stray arrow, but most horrifically a large portion of my valuable merchandise was damaged in the battle. This was very upsetting to me, but as a loyal Crab, I am aware that sometimes a pragmatic sacrifice must be made in order to survive. I thought about including an invoice with this letter for the fine Kaiu forged armor that one of your men decided to use as a club, as the kabuto is now hopelessly dented and thus must be sold as used, but my son begged me not to and pointed out that if I were to have been murdered by bandits, I would not be able to sell any of our remaining merchandise at all. Every now and then young people will manage to come up with something wise.

So instead of billing you, I am writing to thank your men for rescuing me. In the future, I would hope to be able to repay the favor, and I would hope that the resources of the Jolly Crab Trading Company may be able to somehow assist the Order of the Paper Lanterns.

To demonstrate my thanks and willingness to ally myself with you, as a token of my friendship, I have sent one wagon of goods with this messenger. You may keep both the wagon and the messenger. I have included much of the armor and weaponry damaged in the battle, as I would lose face for trying to sell goods with such obvious cosmetic blemishes to the Dragon, the local smiths would rob me blind for repairs, and by the time I purchase new oxen and hire new guards and drivers, it would be unprofitable to ship them anywhere else… but the equipment is still in good working order and I hope it will prove useful to your order.

The messenger is my youngest son, Yasuki Boketsu, who has no head for commerce, is a terrible salesmen, but was a student of the Hida bushi school and possesses a passable ability at hitting things with a dai-tsuchi. He was “inspired” by the show your samurai put on, and has requested that I allow him to join the Paper Lanterns for the duration of this conflict. Being able to say that one of my fourteen children is bravely fighting in the War of Dark Fire will only help boost sales, so I have granted him my permission. If he should die in battle, I will not hold that against you, especially if it is while doing something heroic that would help the image of the Jolly Crab Trading Company.

I look forward to a long and happy friendship. Should you need any deals on anything, I’m your Crab.

-Yasuki Murato

Caravan Master

Jolly Crab Trading Company

#

To be continued next week with NIGHT OF ASSASSINS  http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2012/04/27/the-burning-throne-episode-25-night-of-assassins/ 

http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=monshuntnati-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=1451638248

Give the gift of Correia this week with a paperback copy of Hard Magic. They fit in your pocket of your enormous cargo pants! Mass market paperbacks are the perfect present for your loved ones this Administrative Professionals Day (April 25th, or so my calender says…)

Cheaper than exotic cheese, capable of propping up even the wobbliest of table legs, use Hard Magic to change your oil, mow your lawn, mine for Bering Sea gold, or wrestle endangered pandas. Buy ten dozen copies today. Tell your friends! Tell your mom! Tell your parole officer!

And if you order now, we’ll throw in good feelings and world peace. Operators are standing by to take your order.

Testimonials!

“The mass market paperback of Hard Magic changed my life.” 

“Honey, why is there a porcupine in the dishwasher?”

“I had to put it somewhere, okay. Quit judging me.”

“Oh crap. It’s still alive?”

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Hard Magic is warmer than a Snuggly, funner than Floam, stickier than Mighty Putty, tastier than a puppy, and made it around the Top Gear track in one minute thirty seven seconds! The mass market paperback edition of Hard Magic chops, slices, waxes, buffes, stitches, cleans, steams, and picks up all of your pet hair and dander.

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But wait, there’s more!

MORE?!?

Hard Magic is perfect for building forts! Hard Magic makes a great safety flotation device (briefly). The mass market edition of Hard Magic doesn’t leave a sticky residue. And for only $7.99 is cheap enough to be used as a surgical implement! (do not use the mass market paperback of Hard Magic as a surgical implement).

MORE TESTIMONIALS!!!!

“As a Navy SEAL Astronaut Lawyer, I use the mass market edition of Hard Magic every day.” *

* paid actor is not actually a Navy SEAL Astronaut Lawyer.**

** by “paid” we mean with beer, and “actor” is actually a code word for street hobo***

***No street hobos were harmed in the making of this commercial. ****

**** okay, maybe one hobo. But we got the fire put out fairly quickly. Quit your crying. Walk it off.

Bored? Looking for something to do? Stuck in a third world country? You’re a Secret Service Agent? Well… If you had thought to purchase a copy of Hard Magic to read, you wouldn’t be going through a sex scandal over stiffing a Colombian hooker for $47, now would you?

“Yo soy una prostituta Colombiana, y apruebo este mensaje! Donde esta mi 47 dolares?”   

Act now and we will throw in one free week of free Stranger & Stranger Interdimensional Insurance (void in most realities).

Party like the GSA! It’s Hard Magic mass market paperback release week!

I only just caught wind of this (because I suck at reading my email), but my friend, Super Author Eric James Stone, is doing a Book Bomb for a charity anthology today. The Gruff Variations are stories based around the three billy goats gruff written by a bunch of badass sci-fi and fantasy writers.

http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=monshuntnati-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B007OBR1BO

For more details, this is what Eric had to say: http://www.ericjamesstone.com/blog/2012/04/19/buy-the-gruff-variations-today/ 

It is for charity, and it has a ton of short stories by some really amazing writers, including other friends of mine like Hogo-Nebula-Campbell-Motortrend Car of the Year nominated Super Author Brad Torgersen.

Paul Genesse’s Crimson Pact series is a collection of stories about demons and the various people that fight them across a whole bunch of alternative universes. I’ve got another short story in the new third Crimson Pact anthology. Volume 2 had Son of Fire, Son of Thunder, which was a blast to write with Steve Diamond. I got to tell the story of a Marine that knows exactly how and when (down to the minute) he is going to die, and in the meantime spends his remaining free time fighting demons for God. Here is a sample from the first one: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2011/09/26/son-of-fire-son-of-thunder/

People really liked SoFSoT, so we wrote another short story to follow up with the story. However, I have a really hard time writing “short” so both of them are really more novelettes than short stories. That Which We Fear is in volume 3 of the Crimson Pact, which is available now.

Amazon Link: http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=monshuntnati-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B007SAPNA2 (and this is to my affiliates store, so I get an extra % when you buy anything off of Amazon through one of my links. Consider it a tip jar. Woot!)

So here is a sample from the intro. (warning language and violence, sorry Mom):

“That Which We Fear” by Larry Correia and Steven Diamond is the direct sequel to “Son of Fire, Son of Thunder” featured in The Crimson Pact Volume 2. 

That Which We Fear

by Larry Correia and Steven Diamond

 

Diego Santos

Los Angeles, California

When you know you’ve only got two years, thirty days, one hour, and five minutes left before you get ripped apart by a demon prince at the beginning of the apocalypse, you try to make the best of your remaining time.

And what better way to do that than to spend it with family?

Grandma sat on a bench, sipping a lemonade, watching me dig. I was knee deep in a hole, shoveling, finishing the last project started by my grandfather before he’d passed away. He’d gotten the hole half dug, gone to bed that night, and died peacefully in his sleep. I’d been in Afghanistan and hadn’t even been able to come to the funeral.

“Oh, Diego, thank you for doing this. Your sister’s kids will love to come over and play with the fish. I wish you would’ve told me you were going to be in town. I would’ve told everyone to come over to see you. I would’ve cooked a good supper.”

“It was a surprise trip, abuelita.” I stopped to wipe the sweat off of my face with the back of my arm. Digging holes was hot work . . . Nicer than humping a ruck and body armor on foot patrol in the mountains, but my grandfather had done this sort of work for fifty years and never once complained. “I would’ve called if I’d known.”

“We see you so little, mi nieto. Now that you won’t be a soldier anymore—”

“Marine,” I corrected as I went back to digging. Medically retired, which was a nice way of saying that they really didn’t know what to do with me after a bunch of supposedly imaginary demons fucked up Quantico. But once a Marine, always a Marine.

“Ay, Diego. Tan serio.” She said it with that smile that wrinkled her whole face. It was a face that the sun had darkened year after year. “Maybe you will be around more? Maybe you’ll stay for a bit?”

“Yeah. Si Dios quiera.” I hadn’t expected to be in my hometown at all, but sometimes you just had to follow your instincts. I’d found what I was looking for here, so now God needed me somewhere else. “But I’ve got to run down to San Diego tonight.”

“What for?”

I hated making her sad. “Some volunteer work . . . For the church.” Sort of. “Charity stuff.”

“Oh, Diego. I’m so proud of you. You always were tan religioso . . . I remember when you were little. You used to have the worst nightmares—”

I still did. Every. Single. Night. The same dream my entire life. Every time I’d slept since I was eight years old I’d seen the vision. It had terrified me at first, knowing the exact time and manner of my horribly violent death, but once I’d come to understand that the vision was a gift from God, giving me a chance to prepare, the terror had gradually subsided. That faith had made me strong. As time had gone on, the details had become increasingly clear, until now it was liberating.

“You scared so many people with your ways and your talk, but I always knew you were a good boy. Then you went away, so brave, and fought it so many wars. I tell all the ladies at the church what a hero you are.”

“Thank you, abuelita.”

She talked for a time about the interesting things in her life, friends, activities, hobbies, TV shows, all things that I would never understand. She spoke of family and people I never had, and never would, bother spending the time with to get to know. Those things were all beyond my grasp. My purpose was to hone myself into a weapon for the Lord. It didn’t leave much room for anything else. Sometimes that made me a little sad.

The sun had been down for a couple of hours by the time the hole was nice and deep. Grandma didn’t notice that it was much deeper than it needed to be for the koi pond. “It’s so late. I need to go to bed. Are you sure you don’t want any supper, Diego? There are tamales in the fridge.”

“That’s okay. You get some sleep. I’m going to finish up here before I head out.”

“Fine, fine. But you make sure you take some tamales with you. There’s more than I can eat and I don’t want to throw them out. You always loved my tamales. You take them.”

“I will, abuelita. Te prometo.” I got out of the hole, came over and gave her a hug. Grandma didn’t even reach my chest, but the hug she gave me was fierce and strong. She may not have even been five feet tall—and truth be told a bit more round than tall—and her age showed in her short, age-whitened hair, but she had a spirit made of faith and steel. She was a Santos after all. I think some of my strength must have come from her. Abuelita took her cane and went back into the house. She always fell asleep fast, but I’d give her a few minutes. Besides, I still needed to get the bags of cement and the koi pond liner out of the shed where Grandpa had left them.

The neighborhood was mostly quiet. Grandpa had put up a sturdy fence, and there were rose bushes all along the interior, so the neighbors wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything. Besides, they were all old people who went to bed early anyway. My car was already parked around back. I took my .45 out of the glove box and stuck it in the waistband of my pants. Before I opened the trunk, I took one last look at the house. Grandma’s light was out, her curtains were closed, so she was probably asleep, and if she wasn’t, she was mostly deaf, so I was probably safe. I popped the trunk.

The man was right where I’d left him, which wasn’t surprising since I’d hogtied him with paracord and put tape over his mouth. He was staring at me with wide, fearful eyes. I leaned over, grabbed him by his tie, dragged him out of the trunk, and tossed him on the ground. He whimpered, so I kicked him in the stomach. I don’t tolerate whiners. “Stand up.” His legs were probably hopelessly cramped from being in the trunk of my car for the last few hours, but I really didn’t give a damn about his comfort. I kicked him again, harder this time. “Up, asshole. I don’t got all night.” I hauled him up by his tie, which probably choked the shit out of him. It was a nice tie. Silk. Nice suit too. Beautiful watch. Big gold thing with lots of extra dials. I’d have been tempted to keep it if it hadn’t had demon stink all over it. “You raise your voice, I kill you. Got it?” I waited for him to nod in understanding, before I ripped the tape off of his mouth.

“Please, please don’t—”

I smacked him upside his head. “No whining. Tell me what I want to know.”

“You’ve made a mistake. I don’t know what you—”

I slugged him just below the sternum. He went back to his knees as all of the air was forced out of his lungs. “If there’s one thing I can’t tolerate, it’s people wasting my time.” I caught his tie and yanked until he staggered back up. Ties sure are handy for prisoner control, sort of like handles. “I know who you are, and more important, I know what you pray to.”

“You’ve got the wrong guy! Please. Pray? I’m a Presbyterian! I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please. I’ve got a wife and kid. I don’t know what this is about!”

He sounded really sincere. His lies might be enough to make a lesser man doubt, but God had led me to this man, and I could smell the demon on him. He was consorting with evil, and thus he deserved to die. “Nice try.” I dragged him over to the edge of the hole, kicked him in the back of the knees, and let him tumble in. He landed on his face, but the dirt was soft. Mostly. The gradual realization set in that he was at the bottom of a grave, and he squealed in fear. I squatted at the edge of the hole. “You can’t shake my faith. I can smell their stink all over you. You reek of it.”

The man got to his knees. He was terrified. I couldn’t understand terror myself, but I’d seen that look before. “I’ll do anything. Just let me live.”

“Here’s the thing. Your GPS was already set and I found the piece of paper in your wallet with the same address on it. I know a demon wrote that because their fingertips always leave those little scorch marks on paper. I’m going there regardless. Way I see it, if you tell me what you know, that’s a good way to confess your sins. Now’s your chance to get right with the Lord and beg for his mercy. Think of this as confession. This is your last chance to repent.”

He knew the game was up. Demon worshippers were all the same. Push hard and they roll right over. It showed a real lack of moral character. He lowered his gaze, afraid to make eye contact. “We’ve got the photo.”

“What photo?”

“Of the child of destiny . . . ”

I scowled. There was only one thing I could think of that fit that description. Lazarus Tombs’ son had been imprisoned in a photo. According to what Tombs had told me, his kid was some sort of portal, captured by the forces of the Rusted Vale. There was something special about Tombs’ bloodline, which was pretty obvious since Tombs literally couldn’t seem to die. His kid was special too somehow, and as far as we knew, should he ever be released, his body would be possessed by a powerful demon. The photo hadn’t been seen since the attack on Quantico. “The photo’s in San Diego?”

He nodded. I could see now that he was crying, fat tears rolling down his stupid face. “You’ve got to understand. They showed me paradise. It’s so beautiful. It’s everything you could ever want.”

“Uh huh,” I stood up, grasped the shovel handle, and pulled it from the ground where I’d stuck it before. I raised the shovel overhead.

“What’re you doing?” he shrieked.

“Killing you.”

“But you said I could repent! I—”

“You needed to get right with God, man, not me. I’m just the messenger.” And then I brained him with the shovel.

He collapsed, limp, into the hole. The clang had been louder than expected. I looked to the house, but the curtains were still closed. Judging from all the blood pumping out of his cracked skull I was fairly certain he’d be dead in a minute or two, and I could just cover him up, but this guy was a demon cultist . . . In the movies people like that come back from the dead all the time. Though in real life the only person I’d ever seen come back from the dead was Lazarus Tombs . . .

Five minutes after I’d first met Tombs, the dude had been eviscerated by a demon. I knew dead, and Tombs was dead as fuck, but I’d also seen him in my holy vision, so I knew it would all work out. Being a man of faith, I’d kept everyone from screwing with his body. Sure enough, he’d woken up a few hours later, fine as could be. Neat trick, that.

But since this demon worshipping asshole was going to be buried under my grandmother’s new fish pond, coming back to life as a zombie or something like that would be completely unacceptable. Better safe than sorry. Grandpa had kept it sharp, but the shovel’s edge had dulled from my night’s digging, so it took a good five or six jabs to get halfway through his neck, and after that I just stood on it and leveraged it back and forth until his head popped off and rolled away. I tried not to get blood on my boots.

Figuring that decapitation should do, I started covering him back up with dirt, but then I noticed something in the dim light interesting enough for me to go get my flashlight to examine it better. There was a strange mark on the back of his head, like an odd, circular scab. I had no idea what it was though—some weird cultist shit probably—so I went back to shoveling. I packed the dirt down hard, then put the plastic pond liner from Home Depot in place on top. It took me another hour to mix the cement, pour it, and get it nice and smooth. Every minute of my remaining time was precious, but family projects deserve your best effort, and I figured this would make up for missing the funeral.

Work done, I put the tools back in the shed, got in my car, and headed for the freeway. This time of night I could make it to San Diego fast. I’d made that trip many times back when I’d been stationed there. I’d go down, check out this address, hopefully kill some demons, and maybe get my buddy’s son back. I was on the freeway when I realized I’d made a horrible mistake.

“Fuck. I forgot the tamales.”

You can get the rest, and a whole bunch of other stories here: http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=monshuntnati-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B007SAPNA2

I started painting minis last year. This link is to my first ones:  http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2011/09/28/my-geeky-hobbies-3-5/ 

I’ve gotten a bit better. These photos were just taken on my desk using my iPhone, which makes them kind of grainy. I really need to build a light box.

These are from various companies, mostly from Valiant, and all of them are for my Legend of the Five Rings campaigns. Painting minis is what I need to do when I need to just unwind my brain.