A Mojo Vision from an Ole Piney Woods Coon
Recently returned to my mountain cottage from the Summer Palace (Lord Ishmael's place ), I began cautiously peering out into the Mojo. The Prince had seemed worn, but recovering: a man gradually cutting the ties from his domain for awhile, notching the throttle back in stages. He was still edgy for the sudden disaster that could occur due to his absence.
Lord Ismael lolled in the shade favoring past wounds, surrounded by beautiful women and grandchildren. I offered him a potion given to me by Tennessee spirits blenders, then confronted the Prince and passed to him the True Sword: a berserker's sword, as my instructions had read.
We yodeled bullshit into the night, praying in our ways to the void, all knowing our lands had fallen beneath the sway of evil necromancers who at this very moment were terrorizing women with banana skins. Lord Ishmael and I fell into undoubtedly holy swoons soon, but the Prince traveled onward, even unto the dawn!
Stolen as a babe and spirited away from his potential domain to a foreign one, where those of his clan were unknown, he had slowly come to sense his difference, and handled it poorly and then by instinct perfectly: returning to his source. He found his lands blasted battlefields, well into the grasp of the necromancers and falling farther daily. He began his crusade.
I could go on and on, but, what happens in Deer camp stays in Deer camp...so to speak.
As for the Mojo? Japan will receive an atomic bomb kit with an inletted stock, ready to go with limited effort. India will receive goodies too. The United States of Amusements will stand back and watch.
-The Checkered Demon
(c) 2017 James LaFond
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