Brobarian: A buddy of mine. Would eventually hook up with the girl I'd fall for. Years in the future at this point, and no hard feelings anyway.

Yellow Bastard: An on-and-off participant in our games from time to time. Seems to fear for his characters' skin as much as if they were no more capable of surviving battle with monsters than an overweight diabetic nerd (IE him).

Me: Well, yeah. Teller of these tales. I have been asked to tripfag. I guess I could take suggestions, if I didn't think I'd wind up posting under "That longwinded cocksucker".

So, again, a little backstory. Psion was off with a different group running his own game, set entirely in (his version of) Sigil. Wizard normally would have been in such a game, but I think he was using the opportunity to take a break from Psion. And honestly, I didn't want to think of the levels of Asspie that would go on in a gaming group hand-picked by Psion himself. So, without Psion, Waifu would be joining us for the game. Some of you have asked what happened between her and Psion, and I'll try to tell you that story... but I'll have to get the DM to tell the whole thing to me, first. All I understand is that it involved Psion actually yelling at Waifu, and it happened before I joined the group. This may take some time... it seems like a sensitive subject. Maybe when the DM has had a chance to read how I've written these stories and the responses to them.

Waifu was a friend of mine and actually brought me into a different group than this one when we'd all lived in another state. She was fairly quiet, and a chubby sort (the DM likes a fluffy girl), but when she gets going with talking she's bubbly and happy. She loves Nightmare Before Christmas, and whenever she games she has a tendency to mingle that same sort of cute-but-a-bit-creepy. This time she would be playing a wizard statted for necromancy, using a feat to replace her wizard familiar with an animated skeleton. Dressed in full plate with a closed-face helmet, he wasn't immediately obvious as an undead, and among townsfolk she called him her bodyguard, Mr. Skled. The rest of us knew she was actually saying "Mister Skullhead".

Yellow Bastard was a greybeard too, but a bit less mature and reasonable than our venerable Wizard. He wasn't nearly as bad as Psion, though he too had a tendency towards not being able to judge moods at the table. It just usually wasn't quite so disruptive. His most (unintentionally) dickish quality was that he had a small stable of movie quotes that he'd use at the drop of a hat. And while we all quote, he just had certain quotes he'd do again and again, as often as possible. There was one game after Hellboy came out where he couldn't cast a spell, and certainly not a fire spell, without smirking and saying "You should be running."

I also think he was probably the source of the DM's discomfort with cross-playing. He was playing a somewhat prettyboy character in this game, but I'd seen his other character sheets from other games in a folder he showed me. Most had pictures in the clear sheet with them, and they were almost all of women wearing exceptionally little.

And when I call him Yellow Bastard, it wasn't like he played actual cowards. They would still engage in combat, still go adventuring, and so on. But he'd never played a melee character in his life... range, range, and more range, and avoiding being hit was just as important as trying to strike back (if not moreso). He always took twice as long to decide to come to someone's rescue, and was always the dissenter against going and kicking someone or something's ass, because he was sure that it was much more powerful than us and we would all die. Late in the campaign, melee fighters would often take more hit point damage in a single battle than he'd taken cumulatively over the entire campaign.

And one final bit of backstory before I really get started. This will be another D&D story. Most of them are. This is in part because it was the system that most of the gamers we knew were familiar with in common, and partly because of what was against the wall behind the DM. You see, gaming was his passion. It wasn't the only thing he enjoyed, but movies, video games, it all paled in comparison to our good friend the traditional game. On the wall behind where he sat were two large antique wooden bookcases. One had numerous games like Traveller, Champions, and plenty of other stuff, including numerous systems he had no real intention of ever running, but that he'd bought because he found them interesting, or he liked the concept, or the fluff, or whatever. This bookcase also contained card games like Give Me The Brain, Munchkin, and his pride and joy... a complete set of Illuminati. He'd once had it stolen and gone through quite a bit to get it back. Another story for another time.

The other bookcase was full an equal amount simply with D&D stuff, the vast majority of which was 3.5. There was some other stuff, certainly, including a battered Red Box. But most of it was a truly impressive collection of 3.x stuff. This was probably part of the reason we had certain overpowered rules, like our house rule about Time Stop. He was very permissive about letting us use stuff from these books, so our campaigns tended to run to high-powered, so nerfing Time Stop didn't make much sense. Well, that and he'd been playing the version since the start, had every WotC book with monsters in it, and could do rather interesting things with templates.

So we we had gathered again for D&D, in the middle levels of a long and rather strange game. As mentioned, Waifu was playing a necromancer wizard, with having Mr. Skullhead doing most of her fighting. Wizard was actually playing a cleric. Brobarian was a fighter. I was a paladin. Yellow Bastard was a ranger, and sitting in Psion's usual spot. We had a group of five that included one female... an exact mix that wouldn't actually be replicated so exactly until Rogue joined the group later.

Lately we'd been chasing down a number of chaos artifacts, items that were very strong with the chaotic effects. You'd figure I'd have been having the time of my life, with what I said in the last thread about never meeting a Deck of Many Things I didn't like. In reality, I was in hell. I'd decided to play a responsible, upright, levelheaded champion of good rather than a more impulsive hero this time. Every time my fingers itched to grab one of these artifacts and shake vigorously to see what came out, I not only had to restrain myself, but -in character- I had to urge everyone else to avoid it too. It was torture. The DM was loving every minute.

I love you OP

We were fighting our way through a somewhat random-seeming sampler of monsters at the start of the session. And when I say somewhat random-seeming, I don't just mean the slightly strange collection of monsters every dungeon crawl has in defiance of all matters of ecology and sense. When I say "somewhat random-seeming", I mean "completely goddamn random". This was a mix of monsters that could only have been created by dumping the names of monsters in a hat, shuffling them, and drawing them out one-by-one. Which is, I highly suspect, what the DM was doing. Hey, think about what I've told you already and it'll make sense.

We finished off the orc priest and what was apparently his pet owl bear and githyanki life partner, and looked upon our goal. A Planar Gate that had the capability of taking you anywhere. Our contact had made it clear that when he said "anywhere", he meant it. It didn't just take you to the Elemental Plane of Fire or Limbo or wherever. It could take you to alternate Prime Material planes, or to other worlds. All we had to do was attach the contact's magical sigils to it, and he'd be able to summon it back to his keep. We were all pretty excited, since we had a good feeling that the thing wouldn't just wind up dismissed and forgotten once it was obtained, like just another quest flag. Oh no, we knew DM better than that. Somehow that thing was our ticket to awesomeness. Assuming we could overcome the small problem that you never knew WHERE it would send you every time you activated it.

>>11720685

I love you too, or I wouldn't have spent all night writing this up ahead of time instead of playing the new City of Heroes expansion. Ahem. Anyway...

Wizard said we should check the thing for traps, first, since there had been plenty of wily magical types among the monsters we'd slain. Yellow Bastard shrugged and stepped up to the plate. Yes, despite the name, he was our rogue equivalent, having put what points he could spare from any skills he thought he could use to avoid damage into search and disable device. GM had houseruled he could spend a feat to get Trapfinding, which he had. It made life easier on all of us. He searches, seems decent. The DM tells us the gate is indeed magically trapped, but it's not a kind of trap Yellow Bastard has ever seen before.

We discuss this briefly as a party. There's some thought to just going ahead and attaching the sigils and sending it back to our contact. Not in a "let's fuck him over" way, mind. (Well, at least not from most of us, I don't think Yellow Bastard cared that much what happened to the man who was financing our endeavors. Just one of those things.) The argument was more that he was a high-level character and employed several high-level rogues as personal servants. Surely they'd check the thing over and disable it much better than we could. Eventually, though, we decided this would be a bad idea. Not simply because sending an item we KNEW was trapped back to our contact was rather bad form, but because we realized it was entirely possible that attempting to attach and activate the sigils might set it off.

So Yellow Bastard cracks his knuckles, gets out a fresh d20, and rolls.

To use one of Yellow Bastard's own favorite overused movie quotes, he rolled... poorly.

The planar gate shimmered to life, and the DM described as the brief flash of an image we saw through it ballooned out and bulged, and then spread out over us. Apparently this wasn't actually a trap set by the monsters, but one more innate to the gate itself... setting off the trap had not only activated it, but caused it to pull everything around it through the portal to wherever it went. The DM pulled out a printout and rolled while looking at it.

As the bubble passed over us, we found ourselves in new surroundings. Luckily, his description neither started with how the constant blowing sound of enormous horns was driving us insane, or that we were currently crisping alive. Instead he began describing that we were in an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar architecture. He started describing cobblestones under our feet, and towering buildings, some of which we could see going up and up as if into the sky further off. He paused here and added that as we were looking around, Mister Skullhead collapsed into a pile of bones and armor. Then he went back to saying how we were seeing such strange things, and we'd seen gnomish clocks, hadn't we? Well here they had an ENORMOUS clock, up on an enormous tower, and at this point it clicked and I snorted.

"C'mon man, just say it. We're in London."

So we're in the "real" world, in London, meaning we're all effectively inside an antimagic field. Except, y'know, moreso, because there's actually no magic. We all look around and try to figure out what to do. How the hell are we going to get back to our own world if we can't use any kind of planar shift spells? We're standing there discussing it, and Wizard bemusedly asks whether he can do a knowledge religion check to see whether he knows a solution that his god might grant him. DM grins and says to give it a try. He rolls well, and the DM tells him that there are rumors of such places where magic has been drained dry. But that if the faithful can reach the temple of a powerful enough god, they might be able to make an appeal to be granted enough power to function.

At this point I clear my throat and point out that we are a bunch of heavily armed people standing around with a pile of bones and armor, and maybe we should do something about blending in. Someone digs out their nonmagic backpack and opens it up, and we begin shoveling in armor and pieces of Waifu's beloved Mr. Skullhead. While we're doing this and jokingly discussing whether to put the skull in inside the helmet or separately, the DM rolls again. Then he describes a man in a big blue coat and a strange blue helmet coming around the corner, staring at us, then yelling "Stop! Stop! Murder! It's the ripper!" and blowing his whistle.

Um. Shit.

We book it. We can hear more whistling behind us as we race through alleys and down side streets. Along the way we were screamed at by fishwives, paper boys, and I think a crazy-eyed dude with a white streak in his hair offered us a shave. (I know what you're thinking. "Anachronism!" What, you think the DM has never been to a play?) Yes, this was not the most historically-accurate London ever. A fact that would soon reveal exactly how this is a Wizard story.

Eventually we manage to lose the bobbies and hide. Yellow Bastard sneaks out and returns with some clothes for us, and we change out of our armor and into those. And then we began our wandering around, looking for a suitable holy place for Wizard to try his hand at appealing to a higher authority for tickets back home. (Preferably exactly back to where we'd left from, so that we wouldn't have to go all the way back to the dungeon to get the gate.)

Every so often, Wizard would stop the DM and correct him about this or that. He'd been to Europe himself, and spent a few weeks in London, as well as reading up quite a bit on the history of the city, whereas the DM's approach to it was, as they say on the timesink site, the Theme Park Version. Eventually the DM got a little annoyed with him. Not angry, just a bit annoyed. The DM looks at Wizard and says, with light exasperation, "I'm sorry, would YOU like to run this session?"

Wizard raised his eyebrows. Then he pushed himself to his feet, and spent a moment brushing off his shirt. Then he walked around the side of the table, edging past me and Yellow Bastard, and came to stand beside the DM's chair, hands resting on his belly, looking over the top of his bifocals at the DM expectantly.

I think the other four of us were much more tense than the situation really warranted. We'd just never seen anything like this happen before, even as a joke. The DM was staring at him. Not angrily, but more as if to say 'Seriously?' Like he kept expecting that Wizard was going to continue on past him and into the kitchen, or had simply taken the odd way around the table to get to the bathroom and needed the DM to get up and let him by. But Wizard was just standing there, smiling at him like 'Well?'

Finally, the DM smiles. Then he laughs. He pushes his chair back, steps to the side, and waves Wizard in. Wizard gives a nod of thanks, and sits down in the DM's chair.

>>11720808
>braceforawesome.jpg

The DM edges back around behind Yellow Bastard and me and sits down in Wizard's seat, picking up Wizard's character sheet and shuffling it prominently. The nonverbal equivalent of 'Fair's fair.' Wizard scoots his chair in, does only a passing glance over what's in front of him, and turns over most of it. I'm guessing most of it was just random tables and such, but he was making it clear he was just taking over the narrative, not trying to peek at things he shouldn't.

And then he began.

I had never been in one of Wizard's campaigns before. He'd mostly given up GMing before I had joined the group, apparently, having become a bit burned out on it due to various happenings in his personal life. I don't know if he had missed it and was plunging back in, or just picking up where he'd left off, but let's just say his style was a bit more... grand... than the DM's.

What it really reminded me of (at the time) was the commercials that had been on in I think the late nineties, where Stan Lee was trying to shill some online comic thing he was doing. Basically, if you've seen any of his more recent animated movie efforts, you'll have a good idea of just how bad those things obviously were, because he hasn't gotten any better. It wasn't exactly like Stan the Man's delivery, but it reminded me of that fearlessness of being cheesy, that unashamed around-the-campfire storytelling style. Like Stan Lee, Wizard was apparently the sort of fellow, while being GM anyway, that could say something like "Greetings, true believers!" and mean it. You wouldn't think it of him, he was a staunch atheist bordering on nihilist as an intellectual. And yet here he was, waving his hands and explaining with gusto, like some medicine man around a fire telling of the creation of the world.

I don't necessarily like that description, it's imperfect. It makes him sound like he was doing cheesy purple prose. But it's the best way to get across the exuberance with which he was telling us this story. Some GMs tend to hold back. They become afraid of embarrassing themselves, of saying something stupid or seeming silly. Wizard would sweep his hand out through the air and let his voice soar for no other reason than to explain how a bunch of sparks were flying up from an oven fire. Where the DM's style was great because we always had fun, got to do amazing stuff, and interacted with fascinating characters, Wizard was weaving us right into the tapestry of historic London.

Barely two hours into the session, it had become something a little less like D&D and more like some strange variation of film noir. Though Wizard had earlier snorted a bit at the gratuitous reference to Jack the Ripper, now we stumbled across a recent victim of the man himself, and had it explained to us in grim, historically accurate detail. Disgusted and angry, our heroes followed a spattering of blood, racing off minutes after the murderer had left and hoping to somehow catch him. Though we had been reduced to nothing more than cotton clothing and blades now made of purely nonmagical steel, even Yellow Bastard didn't stop to complain that Jack might kill us all. We were on the hunt.

Eventually the session's established break for a snack run came and went unnoticed as we made our mad dash after history's most infamous serial killer. Wizard was clearly well into his role as temporary GM, and the DM seemed to be enjoying playing, something he usually only did once every few years, or in groups other than ours for brief periods. We were ducking the police in our impassioned mission to catch a criminal, and it was amazing.

Our chase led us through a brothel after rumors of a possible survivor who might be able to give us some pointers as to the killer's identity. The brothel owners weren't exactly happy at a bunch of weirdos barging in and asking a lot of questions, and a fight broke out. There we were, longswords clashing with brass knuckles, elven dagger fighting against Irish boxing. I think the high point was where we had this big tough flat-nosed guy down to two hit points, and Waifu pulled out Mr. Skullhead's cranium and bonked him unconscious with it.

Finally we've smashed up most of the brothel and talked to our witness. As she described what she'd seen, we realized that the description matched a man Wizard had told us we'd seen in a carriage in passing. We had thought he was just indulging in his grand, sweeping, and detailed description. He'd actually been giving us a plot clue. We roused the flatnosed guy and slapped him around a bit until he agreed to answer some questions. We asked him who the symbol we'd seen on the carriage belonged to, and he informed us it was Lord Croft.

Time to storm the castle.

THIS PLEASES ME.
PROCEED.

No. Not, y'know. Windsor Castle. Just Lord Croft's estate. We considered a subtle approach, sneaking in to confront him, but it was at that point we realized we were actually fifteen minutes past our usual wrapup time. We all looked around at each other. It was me who finally spoke up, looking at Wizard and saying, "Are we certain it must be him?" Wizard rubbed his chin for a moment, clearly aware that we could do a brash, quick full frontal assault with a satisfying end to a monster that had, in real life, never been brought to justice, or that we could take it slow, do more investigation, come up with a plan, confront and interrogate Croft to determine his guilt or innocence, and find a way to turn him in or whatnot. But that would almost certainly necessitate ending it at some point, as we couldn't just keep going forever, no matter how much we wanted to. Some of us had work tomorrow. Well, the DM and I had work tomorrow. And while taking over the game for one session as a lark was fun, he likely had no desire to usurp the DM, or to make a real return to the GM's seat. Finally, he nodded, grinning.

"You're sure."

"Then justice it is," I said, smiling. Despite not being able to Smite Evil to save my life, somehow I definitely felt more like a paladin than ever.

We smashed the gate and rushed the grounds. With no armor penalties to dex, we were at least agile enough not to be hit by every bullet that came our way, and they were coming our way. Defenders with rifles fired, the night was filled with flashes and thick puffs of gunpowder smoke. Yellow Bastard stood right amidst the flying bullets and did feats of archery Legolas would have been proud of. Waifu, previously not having even bloodied her knife, stood toe-to-toe with a guard and sliced him up with a fervor that wasn't exactly backed by the dice, but we were impressed anyway.

The defenders routed, the sound of bobbies' whistles trilling in the night air beyond the gates, Brobarian and I topped off one of the best roleplaying sessions the group had had in a long time with the combat crunch player's favorite tactic. We kicked in the door, roaring and with swords at the ready.

F5, MOTHERFUCKIN F5, WHY ISNT IT WORKING

We caught Lord Croft cornered in his den, gritting his teeth and holding a scalpel in one hand and a pistol in the other. This wasn't going to be an epic boss fight. It probably wasn't going to last more than two rounds. It certainly wasn't going to be an amazing exchange of bullets, blades, and blood like the fight outside. But damn if it wasn't going to be satisfying.

Croft, alias Jack, died with a flair and a teeth-gritting penache for hatred and evil that would have done any Tim Curry villain proud. Our deed done and a world not our own made a little bit safer, we crashed out the back door and made a mad dash up and over the walls, police again hot on our heels.

It was two in the morning.

The story was becoming a bit compressed, clearly, in deference to the hour and to all of our energy waning. We made our way to Westminster Abbey, following a tip we'd gotten earlier, and managed to get inside. We encountered a Reverend, who was shocked at our injuries, our being covered in blood, and our wielding midevil weapons. At that point we saw no reason to lie, so we explained to him that we were from another world, and that we needed to pray to his god for help to send us back home.

With some diplomacy checks, the Reverend believed us, and even helped us by providing a relic of St. George, of course a heroic dragon-slayer of myth (much like us), but also the patron saint of soldiers. Using Wizard's knowledge religion roll, the DM manages to perform a ceremony of appeal, pleading with Jehovah. I suppose if we hadn't been doing a bit of a D&D perspective, our prayer was unlikely to be answered... take that as you will, either in saying that prayers are never answered, or simply that "thou shalt have no other gods before Me".

But a glowing portal opened. Wizard said we couldn't see through it... leaving it up to the DM whether we'd find ourselves home, back in the chamber we left from, or somewhere else entirely... but that we were now free to go home.

The DM picked up Wizard's character sheet and tapped it even with the spell list, apparently preparing to surrender it. "So, we're ready to go?"

"Indeed," Wizard intoned, nodding.

"Good. I should thank the Reverend for his help." The DM laid the papers back down, folded one arm on the table, propped his chin up on one hand, and smiled like the magnificent bastard he was. "So I'll give him a big, passionate kiss."

>>11721099
Oh.
My.
God.

Wizard's face slowly turned an absolutely angry brick red behind his glasses and beard. You could actually see more of his skin than usual because of it.

See, Wizard was an intellectual. He was a staunch atheist, a staunch Democrat, and of course an advocate of equality and tolerance. On paper, anyway. But most of us knew that he actually was a little bit of a homophobe. Not in a dick way, and man you should have heard some of the things he's said about Prop. 8 since it passed. People of alternate sexualities just made him sort of uncomfortable and edgy. He never brought it up, he never said anything to anyone that was like that. I only knew because the DM, who had known him longer and was closer to him, had passed it along, in a tone of wry bemusement at just how much it clashed with Wizard's politics.

The DM was having his revenge for his hijacked session. And now we were all waiting to see if it would blow up in his face.

no more?

These are a treat

Bra-fucking-vo

goddamn why isn't this time machine working?

I'm sure there's more, based off of the last sentence.

Wizard stared at him, still brick red. I think his beard actually bristled a little. The DM just kept grinning at him, waiting.

And then Wizard laughed. It was a short bark at first, then he literally threw his head back and laughed. It was, as the man once said, "a good, deep, Klingon belly laugh". He actually had both hands on his stomach as he sat there laughing. Then he slapped the table and roared exuberantly, "Well-played, good sir!"

They bro-fisted from across the table.

>>11721282
>good end

>>11721251
what movie is that from?

And that was how Wizard Went to Whitechapel, and amazingly brought the rest of us along for the ride. While the DM will always be the DM in my head, Wizard exposed me to a whole new style. As for if he ever ran a game again, well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. I can't tell all these stories at once.

That game had plenty of other stories, too, ones that wound up carrying over into other games, and even into real life outside of the game. I'm starting to feel like I'm telling The Neverending Story here. (The novel, not the movie. The movie is awesome, but the novel is... uh... the one I'm referencing here.) Every time I tell a story, everything keeps turning into the starting point of some other story.

I guess you guys need to decide which one, if any, I'll tell next.

>>11721334
Citizen Kane

>>11721334
Citizen Kane.

>>11721282
A...a good end?

>>11721251
Is that guy pissed or really proud?

>>11720537
> Hello, all. I return again to tell you stories, for I am the OP of the thread about how a girl (who I called Rogue)...

Fuck sleep, let's start reading.

OP, your apartment/house must smell of mahogany, port and Cuban cigars.

Thanks guys. Tell you what, instead of just opening it up to choosing any old story, I'll instead ask you guys to suggest a name for me to use when I post these, and for my part I'll just offer a choice between some of the best stories.

Now, some of the best stories are much more unbelievable. Mostly because even I don't believe we got away with some of this shit. The very, very best Wizard story of them all involves, like some of the epic stories from /tg/'s past, a LARP.

The other story is so over-the-top that I must qualify that even I don't believe all of it. That's the story of how the DM got his stolen Illuminati cards back. That story occurred before I ever joined the group, and Waifu told it to me, and the DM told it to her. So there's a layer of that the DM was dating her at the time and probably exaggerating at least a little, and a layer of Waifu thinking her husband is a bit of a superhero. But if I tell it as she told me, it will be, I think, epic.

Or there's the story of the Leadership Feat Game. That one's more about the in-game stuff and how odd it was, so it won't feature the group's dynamic so heavily, but it really was an awesome game.

Your answer is right here:
>>11721483

Mahogany, Port and Cuban cigars.

>>11721587
Captcha says "Rambling Detroit"

That sounds good.

I second Mahogany, Port and Cuban Cigars

and here I was dreadin that I had missed storytime

>>11721599

Very tempting. I mean that, it is. It's just the sort of odd, strange sort of thing that would make people go "huh" and be unmistakable.

But I'm sorry, dude, I'm gonna have to go with

>>11721601

Can't argue with captcha, and that name just sounds cool. Makes me feel like I'm some card shark, out cruising the strip with my caravan shotgun and armored coveralls.

... Oh, wait, that's Fallout: New Vegas.

But, since this isn't New Vegas, I shall bow to the majority.

So! Wizard Goes to LARP, The DM's Illuminati Cards, or The Leadership Feat Game for tomorrow's story?

>>11721669
The DM's Illuminati Cards, please. As fun as it is to hear about Wizard, I want to save some of the pure awesome for later. My friend who's screensharing with me agrees.

The great tale of Illuminati

Oh yes mighty MP&CC

Illuminati. I like me some real-life awesomeness coming from gamers.

And to everyone reading these threads, you better archive everything 'cause I won't always be around to read them live!

All three of those stories sound incredible and I hope to read all of them at some point, but I believe I shall vote for the Wizard's LARP because I cannot imagine such a scenario that is not hilarious.

You are a gentleman and a scholar, Rambling Detroit, thank you for some very fun times.

Alright, since there's two votes and I myself require sleep, I'm going to go ahead and make the next story about how the DM retrieved his Illuminati cards.

Luckily, as this involves no calling anyone to ask advice, or trying to remember particular actions (trust me, I could never forget THIS story, even told second hand), I should be able to actually start writing it up tomorrow at work if I have some free time. Thumbdrives are a wonderful thing. That way you can have the story a bit earlier in the evening.

I hope you'll all look forward to it.

>>11721801
> I hope you'll all look forward to it.

You bet. I've archived tonight's thread as "MP&CC's third tale", so it'll be easier to track them when there's a bunch. Night, /tg/.

>>11721801

You sir, are the personification of an Elegan/tg/entleman.

>>11721801
You're my new /tg/ Hero.

Mahogany, Port and Cuban Cigars/Rambling Detroit, you are one of the best story tellers around. I look forward to the next one.

I liked Rambling Detroit better, but I guess MP&CC works too. You're a nice person.

Status of the haters from last night

[ ] Fine
[ ] Told
[X] Fucking Told

By the Emperor's Monocled gaze! THIS IS GLORIOUS!

;_;

Please, stay here forever. Tell us of these stories so we may better our lives.

>Captcha: called broslawf

Right you are Captcha.

Aku approves and so do I.

I feel sorry for my F5 key; it's gonna take a lot of punishment tomorrow. Godspeed, Mahogany.

I FUCKING LOVE STORIES

Seriously though, you're excellent at this.

>>11721629
Rambling Detroit with (or and) Cuban Cigars!

>read story last night
>find thread tonight, see that I don't even need to f5
>putting on some tea
>aww'right

"Grapes? What would a bang tail doing with grapes."

A riveting tale my good sir, you and your friends are Gentlemen, (in waifus case Woman.) and Scholars. I tip my hat to you.

if somebody doesn't archive these stories on 1d4chan I'll slaughter a kitten.

>>11721099

what Titles are the previous two stories under? the ones about Rogue. I didn't get a chance to read them.

Man the captcha on these threads can be good.

>>crouncit people's

... I'm not sure what that means, but it still somehow seems appropriate.

>>11724139
Story Hour feat. Wizard, Psion, Brobarian And Rogue

or

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/11700384/

I wonder when he'll report in?

>>11726350

First one was sometime in the late afternoon. Second one was fairly late at night. Maybe somewhere in between?

>>11730759