No roster of characters this time, because this story's really only about the DM and one other man. A man that I will call Super Dave, who I must introduce to you at some length.

His name was indeed Dave, and I do not call him Super Dave necessarily because of any connection with Super Dave Osborne, though of course that character is the reason "Super Dave" has such a nice ring to it. And he did have a bit of that gung-ho nature by all accounts.

I also do not call him Super Dave because he was superhumanly awesome, though by all accounts he was. He was the DM's best bro before I came along, probably closer than we are now.

I call him Super Dave because no one who knew the dude can talk about him without smiling. Everyone has an awesome story about Super Dave, and remembering these stories makes them happy. If you ask me, that's all a man needs to be called Super.

I will tell you of the things that Super Dave was reputed to love.

He loved D&D. He loved Traveller. He loved Doctor Who. He loved comic books. He loved buying ragged old board games at flea markets for a quarter and rescuing the dice. He loved Star Trek II. He loved Magic: The Gathering and he loved building the most annoying decks possible and using them only once to prove they worked.

He loved beer. He loved guns. He loved porn with big ol' titties. He loved his truck.

He loved his country. He loved his momma. He loved telling people about how much he loved his country and his momma.

He loved Captain America.

He really, really loved Captain America.

He would apparently explain this to anyone that had known him for a few months: Captain America was the greatest hero ever conceived of in fiction. He was a patriot who wanted so badly to defend his country that he was willing to die before ever being able to fight for it. And then he'd gone on to serve on the front lines and put himself in danger right alongside the rest of the boys in green. He truly, absolutely believed in America.

For Super Dave, it wasn't just that Captain America believed in American ideals. It was that he lived those ideals, lived BY them, held himself to them. That was why he wasn't just a superhero, for Super Dave he was a personal hero. Sadly an accident in his childhood left his left hand unable to hold anything for long periods of time or put much weight on it, meaning that like Steve Rogers, he was out of luck until a super soldier formula came along.

He once told the DM, "If I die, man, just make sure they bury me with Captain America's shield. I'll be happy."

YAY STORY TIME!

Anyway, in 1996, the DM was living a young nerd's dream. He was in his early twenties and was working as a forklift operator. Between a strong work ethic and youthful energy, he was pulling overtime every night but game night. He had an awesome TV, awesome furniture, a ton of toys and gaming stuff, even if he was barely home to use it, and plenty of money to throw around on any occasion. Super Dave, meanwhile, was working at the video store. An independent place, back before the chain stores like Blockbuster had finished choking them completely out of existence... of course, it didn't hurt that this one had an extensive porn selection in the basement. Which is probably why Super Dave was so happy to stay working there, even if the salary wasn't quite as good as the DM's forklifting.

The DM had assembled an at-that-time complete set of Illuminati cards. As to whether he'd assembled them bit by bit or bought one of the complete collections, I couldn't say, as I only even heard of the complete collections when I was trying to see how many cards that might be for telling this story. Somehow from the way he says "complete" when he talks about it, it seems like some effort went into that.

The DM loved, and loves, those cards. He thinks they're brilliant. Politics is one of his other hobbies, and the sort of broad political commentary contained in those cards fascinates him, apparently. He can never quite seem to articulate just what it is about them, but I get the sense that more than once he's just sat there and gone through them one by one, pondering the sociopolitical ramifications of each one's crafting.

Having your home robbed is a traumatic experience for anyone. Anyone that has ever had anything like that happen to them probably knows how the DM felt when he opened the door that evening and saw his living room in a shambles that he did not leave it in, and one window smashed to pieces. His TV was gone. His stereo was gone. His VCR and Playstation, both gone of course. Some of his kitchen appliances had apparently been taken. His books and other gaming things had been thrown about as the thieves apparently just cleared the shelves to check for stuff behind them, but they all seemed to be there.

But the plastic box containing his Illuminati cards? Gone.

I love you like facebook loves cock!

>>political dermoks
Wow, okay captcha.

He called the cops, gave them as much information as he could. He was already mentally trying to make his peace with the permanent loss of his possessions even as they were telling him they'd keep an eye on pawn shops and try to track it down. Super Dave came over and started helping him put things back in order and check for anything else that was missing. It had apparently been just a quick smash and grab, rather than trying to clean the place out, as not much else had even been gone through.

They sat down to have some Guinness together (the DM likes that stuff, calls it the beer you chew). Apparently the DM just couldn't get over the Illuminati cards, more than anything. They'd probably been taken because, being in a plastic box with a clasp, the thieves must have assumed it held something valuable, like money or jewelry. But finally the DM told Super Dave that the other stuff was just stuff. It was the same appliances anyone could have taken from them and then replace. Everyone had a TV. Everyone had a microwave. And so on. But those Illuminati cards were -his-. There was something vastly more personal about losing them, he said, than in losing the same old crap that could just be hawked in any garage sale.

"Well shit man, let's go find your stuff, then."

This isn't to say Super Dave was suggesting they go running out the door right then and into the night, roving the streets in search of the evildoers. Well probably not.

Instead the next day they checked back with the police, and then started asking around some of the DM's neighbors. See anybody last night? Anyone running around? Carrying a TV, or a Playstation, or a gray plastic box? No, hadn't really noticed anything, sorry.

The next day they went around to the pawn shops themselves. And the day after that, the local flea market type places, an even better place to sell stolen goods without worrying that the pawn broker might actually follow the law and check the serial numbers. But nothing turned up.

After their fruitless few days of searching, the two of them turned their feet towards their preferred LGS. Basically they'd spent the whole morning not seeing a damn thing familiar at a dusty little flea market, they were tired and a bit disillusioned. Super Dave said they might have new dice in. The shiny would cheer them up.

They get to the LGS and say hi to Genial Store Guy. They look around for awhile, eye the shiny new dice. The DM looks a bit morosely at some of the loose Illuminati cards. Super Dave looks at them too, and that's when he tilts his head and looks behind the counter.

"Hey, Genial Store Guy, anyone been in lately to sell any Illuminati cards?"

It hadn't previously occurred to either of them that common thieves would even know what the hell a LGS was or that it existed. They hadn't taken any of the books, after all.

But yes, it turned out that someone had been in. Someone Genial Store Guy actually hadn't liked having in his place that much. Apparently he was always loitering around in the general area, and occasionally needed to have the cops called on him when he was intimidating customers or looking towards the frequenters of the LGS and the pizza place on the opposite end of the strip mall to sell his weed. Genial Store Guy ran a clean shop, didn't like seeing this dude slipping his younger customers nickel bags.

Genial Store Guy had once or twice talked with the cops that had come along to shoo this dude away, so he actually had a fair bit of info for the DM and Super Dave.

Our suspect was a tall guy with a shaved head and the number twelve tattooed on the back of his neck. Wore loose pants and a white tanktop. Not really built, but bit of muscle in the arms and shoulders. I guess the kind of muscle you get from carrying stolen TVs.

You know how the Joker in The Dark Knight liked to bullshit about how he got his scars? This dude was apparently like that about what the twelve meant. He'd say it meant whatever he thought would impress someone or that he could get away with saying. At various times it had stood for how many men he'd killed, how many -cops- he'd killed, how many cars he'd stolen, how many girls he'd raped, how many illegitimate kids he had, or how many bags of coke he'd snorted in one night. The only one he'd claimed once or twice that apparently had any authenticity to it was that twelve was the age at which he'd first done time. Sent to juvie for hitting a Toys-R-Us employee with a bat and stealing a Nintendo or something.

Having established that our villain defined himself by that number, we'll go ahead and call the suspect Twelve.

Genial Store Guy had been surprised (unpleasantly) to see Twelve actually come into his store. Twelve was not the kind of guy who was interested in seeing what latest Magic booster pack was out this week. Which made it even more surprising when he sat a box on the counter and asked if it was worth anything.

Genial Store Guy had looked through the Illuminati cards within, mostly just to see what was there, partly to make it seem he was considering it so as not to piss Twelve off and cause a scene. A man didn't go from trying to convince people to not spend their money on "that nerd shit" and spend it on weed instead to having a complete set of Illuminati cards. Not unless he stole them.

So finally Genial Store Guy says sorry, he just doesn't have the room for them or demand for them right now. Maybe check back later. Twelve snorts, grabs the box back, glares at Genial Store Guy, and leaves.

The DM and Super Dave had their thief.

Of course, knowing who it was and actually doing something about it were two different things.

The DM decided that he should do the legally upright thing and give the cop assigned to his case a call. Genial Store Guy lets him call right from the store, and the DM tells the cop the whole thing. The cop says he'll see about talking to Twelve, and agrees it was probably him, but that even Twelve still needs a search warrant issued on him if they want to look in his car or house or whatever. And with such circumstantial evidence... even though the boxes matched... they're not likely to get one. There had recently been a minor kerfluffle over a local judge issuing a search warrant on his ex-mistress and at the moment search warrants were harder to come by than a thread on /tg/ that doesn't contain tits.

The DM hung up the phone, scowling. He and Genial Store Guy were pretty annoyed, but there wasn't anything they could really do. Super Dave wasn't so sure.

Impending beatdown? Hope so. I'd blow a gasket if someone stole my games.

dude, no one is reading the thread. just go away.

"He around here today?"

At first Genial Store Guy didn't seem to realize what he meant. Then he realized and cleared his throat before continuing. No, Twelve hadn't been around since coming in with the cards. He was either pissed and off sulking somewhere over being denied, or worried that he'd been made and was keeping his head down. Super Dave was not to be deterred.

"He got anyone he hangs out with?"

Come to think of it, yeah. He usually had a couple of people that would hang out with him in ones or twos. The one most often with him tended to hang around the area anyway. Skinny teenage guy, dressed a lot like Twelve, had a buzzcut, sort of a mini-Twelve if you will. So we'll call him Six.

F5-ing like the goddamn button'll give me an orgasm

>>11731094
stfu faggot, I am reading this thread.

it's the only thing good on /tg/ right now.

Six apparently liked to hang out in the pizza place, previously mentioned at the other end of the strip mall. So Super Dave and the DM head out of the LGS and down the sidewalk, into the pizza place.

You know those places in strip malls you go where it's always just sort of dim? That the peeling tint on the insides of the windows seems to have somehow affected all of the light in the entire place? I've been in this pizza place, and many other establishments like it. No matter how they try and update it, add new arcade cabinets, whatever, it's like it's got some sort of stasis keeping in an atmosphere of an earlier time. Maybe the late seventies... the air certainly seems that old. If you do deep breathing exercises in there, you could probably eventually get a second hand high.

The DM and Super Dave look around. Eventually they spot what could only be Six playing Mortal Kombat 2, and they head over.

The DM walks up beside Six, and Super Dave's standing a bit behind the DM. Six tosses them a quick look, sees that they don't seem to be cops or any sort of authority figure, and ignores them with a snort as he continues his fight.

"Hey. I need to talk to you for a minute."

Six flicks eyes at him for a moment, but he's got that arrogance. These aren't "grown ups", they're only a couple of years older than him. He's in a public place. He's in better shape than them. What are they gonna do, anyway?

"Fuck off, man, I'm playin'."

The DM scowls. He reaches over, smacks Six's hands off the controls. Kintaro basically insta-fucks him.

"I'm not."

Six is ticked. He whirls around, acts like he's about to get in the DM's face, tells him he needs to back off.

The DM and Super Dave do not back off. Instead they close in. They're not touching Six, but they've basically got him cornered up against the game cabinet. They've both got their Serious Business faces on.

Six begins to feel that maybe bluster is not the wisest tactic.

"Man what the hell? What's your problem?"

"My problem is that I had a lot of my things stolen, and I want them back. We know Twelve took my shit. Where is he?"

"Man, fuck off, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

While they've had Six cornered, Super Dave has been looking him over. His Serious face had turned curious. Suddenly, he smiled.

"Hey! I know you!"

"You're (the little punk's name)! Yeah, man, you come into the store all the time!"

Six looks at Super Dave, face wrinkled in confusion and disgust.

Then comprehension begins to dawn. The wrinkles smooth out as his eyes widen. Then his whole face goes slack as it fully hits him.

Super Dave works at the video store. Super Dave knows his full name. Super Dave knows his phone number and driver's license number.

Super Dave knows where he -lives-.

rolled 13 = 13

>>11731094
I've had enough of your disingenuous assertions.

Super Dave is smiling like the magnificent bastard that he is now. The DM is starting to comprehend, and get the same smile.

Six is not smiling. Six is very not smiling. He's looking back and forth and wondering what these two know. Besides all of his important details. Are they gonna turn him into the cops? Are they going to follow him home? Burn his house down? What the hell are this fat bearded man and this grinning redneck going to do to him?

"So. Did you enjoy Dixie Dynamite And The All-star Tit Queens?"

>/*right click up+down*/ Nngh.
>/*right click up+down*/
>/*right click up+down*/
>/*right click up+down*/

Moar. Nnngh.

>/*right click up+down*/
>/*right click up+down*/

God only knows what Six thought at that very moment. See, turns out that ever since he turned eighteen, he'd been hitting the porn room at the video store pretty hard. (Hurr hurr hurr.) In the last eight years he'd apparently been renting at least once a week. Probably why he hooked up with Twelve and his crew, to help support his porn habit.

"Yeah, man, I'd been meaning to ask you about that. See, when you brought it back, the tape actually wasn't in the box. I'd been meaning to get back to you about the late charges and all, but you're such a good customer I hadn't really thought about it."

Super Dave paused here, and rubbed his chin as he made a show of thinking.

"Hey, is your phone number still the same as the number on your mom's account?"

Six squealed on his friend like a bitch.

He tells the DM and Super Dave everything he knows about Twelve. Where his hangout spots are, where he lives, all of it. When pressed on the subject of the robbery, he professed to know nothing, claiming he'd been home whacking it to Thirty Men For Sandy that night and to check his rentals if we didn't believe him. Well hell, when a man says he was home whacking it to gangbang porn, who were upright citizens like the DM and Super Dave to doubt him.

As they got back in the car, the DM asked Super Dave, "Hey, did he really not return Dixie Dynamite?"

"Man, I stuck that thing in the bargain bin and then bought it myself three months ago."

It was decided that if they were going to confront Twelve, they should change over to Super Dave's truck. Partly because the thick layer of mud would obscure the license plate to any onlookers.

You've probably seen these sort of trucks before. They look like they've been almost submersed in a pure mud puddle, and gotten that thick later of earth caked all around the vehicle, with the only vaguely clean bit being the windshield where the wipers had cleared it away. Well, Super Dave's was like that, except that it was a mini truck. And he'd run out of wiper fluid long ago and simply used a garden hose to spray down his windshield.

Now in the Davemobile, the DM and Super Dave headed for Twelve's place.

>>11731286
>Dixie Dynamite And The All-star Tit Queens

I lol'd

It was a little house in the run-down part of town. Super Dave pulled into the empty driveway, and he and the DM got out.

"Twelve! Hey, TWelve!"

Why they called out to him even as they were walking up to the door, I don't know. Maybe at this point they thought they were immersed in some sort of gaming world. But they walked up to the door. Super Dave rang the doorbell repeatedly, and they waited. Called out a few more times. Nothing.

Finally, Super Dave shrugged and absentmindedly twisted the little box with the doorbell button until it snapped and dangled by the wires. "Guess he's not at home."

OP: these stories are wonderful and you are wonderful. Today consisted of getting an interview at a big equipment manufacturer, watching The Expendables (best action movie since Shoot-Em-Up), and reading your last two stories. It has been a most enjoyable day.

>>11731376
Can you please direct me to the first story? I was not online when it happened.

If Twelve wasn't at home, then according to what they'd heard from Six, there was one place he was likely to be. About twenty minutes outside of town down the highway, there was a fireworks stand. It had been converted from its original purpose of an ice cream stand, and thus still had a long wooden roof awning, stools, and a counter. It opened for a month in the summer, and two weeks in December. The rest of the time it was apparently a good place for certain people to meet up with their out-of-town contacts and "restock", since there was shade and a place to sit.

Knowing it was quite possible they'd miss him completely in passing on the highway, Super Dave and the DM nevertheless set out towards the fireworks stand, determined to confront the villain.

The sun was practically gone as Super Dave and the DM drew within sight of the closed fireworks stand. As they passed, the DM looked at the two cars parked there and the two guys standing there. One guy with dreadlocks wearing a Metallica t-shirt and jeans, one bald guy in a tanktop with baggy black pants. Bingo.

Super Dave, however, kept driving. He continued on until the stand was out of sight, then pulled off the highway and up to the gate of one of those houses that's like a cross between a ranch and a shack.

"What are we doing?"

"Waiting for a couple of minutes. Patience, Grasshopper."

From what I know from your stories, the lot of your friends and theirs are not very likeable.

But I enjoy the story time.

Super Dave waited for the length of the hair band song on the radio, then backed up and turned back onto the highway, heading back towards town, not going too fast. As they went back towards town, they saw one of the cars that had been parked at the fireworks stand pass them.

The other was pulling out of the stand's parking area and heading back towards town as well. Both knew that must be Twelve. They settled in behind him and, as it got dark enough, Dave flicked on his headlights. This was not the world's most subtle tailing job, nor did it seem that it was supposed to be. Whether Twelve had actually noticed the muddy truck earlier or was just feeling a bit paranoid was unclear, but he eventually noticed. He pulled off the highway and onto a Farm-to-Market road.

Super Dave followed.

They continued on this little country road for a little while. Maybe Twelve was hoping this mud-coated truck behind him was going to pull off at any time. But finally he pulled over to the side of the road and gets out of the car, slamming the door. As Super Dave pulls over behind him, he's calling "Hey what's your problem man?!"

Super Dave and the DM get out of the truck and the DM comes around towards Twelve, calling back, "My problem is that you stole my shit, I know that you stole my shit, and I want it back!"

The DM was angry. He was really angry. He'd had his home broken into, he felt violated and abused, and finally in front of him was the man who had done it. Who had thrown the things he loved around like so much junk looking for quick cash. He'd taken one of the things that the DM truly took pride in, and the DM was going to have it back.

Twelve was angry too. He was pissed.

I think all of us have seen someone get angry like this before. It was anger without justification, without reason. It came from living a life where you believed you were entitled to whatever you saw just because you wanted it, and that anyone that didn't just hand it over was doing you wrong. From the guy that sneers at the government and flips off the country even as he cashes his disability check, to the BMW-driving yuppie going off on someone working minimum wage because he couldn't get the breakfast menu an hour after they'd stopped serving it. It was the furious anger of a two-year-old throwing a tantrum channeled through an adult body.

How dare the DM try to get in his face? How dare he?

If Twelve was pissed at being confronted, being punched in the face probably didn't make it much better.

Now let me tell you a bit about the DM. He's a fat nerd and pretty much always has been. But somewhere under that fat is a layer of sturdy muscle. We're not talking the Kingpin, here, but he spent his youth bicycling and walking around town, and his first job was with a moving company. While the muscles he'd developed during all that time hadn't been maintained, they weren't totally gone either.

Twelve was knocked back against the car. Then he shoved himself up and threw his own punch.

I'd love to tell you something out of a martial arts anime, where the pure power of righteous fury let the DM duck and weave like he was Jet Li, avoiding every strike and hitting back with pure precision powered by manliness.

But that's not the way the story was told to me, so that's not how I'm going to tell it to you. What happened was that the DM got hit in the cheek and staggered back. Then he and Twelve began to tussle, trying to hit and punch each other, but too angry and getting in too close, more shoving at each other than anything. Super Dave was nowhere... apparently he felt this was something the DM wanted to do himself. Or needed to. Or just didn't think he could clobber Twelve when they were in that close.

It was somewhere between a school yard tussle and a boxer's clench, the punches not damaging either of them a lot, but hurting enough to make them angrier and angrier.

Finally the DM roared and shoved forward with both his arms and the power of his legs, smacking Twelve against the side of his car and knocking him down. The DM stood there between the vehicles, panting and sweating, fists still clenched. He didn't move on his downed opponent, he just stood there, glaring at him.

"I want. My FUCKING. Illuminati cards."

Twelve snarled. Sure, he had no use for the cards. He couldn't even sell them. But he'd taken them so they were his, and no fat, bearded son of a bitch was going to take them away. He got on his feet, hand having dived into the pocket of his baggy pants. When it came out, it had a knife in it.

Not a huge one. Probably right at the legal limit for blade length. But it flipped out quick, and his grip on it was white-knuckled. No one doubted he was ready to use it.

>>11731410
1st & 2nd: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/11700384/
3rd: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/11720537/

*ch-CHAK*

Twelve did not move. Neither did the DM, for that matter, though he hadn't since the knife had come out. But according to what I was told, yes, it is like the movies. Even if it's a little quieter than on screen, the pump action of a shotgun makes for a great attention-getter.

"Now, I want you to think about what you're about to do, there," Super Dave said, calm as could be as he held the shotgun in a kind of odd low grip he'd developed, with the fore-end pretty much just resting against the palm of his bad left hand.

"You see, you might hurt my friend there real bad with that knife. Real bad. He'll be in the hospital for days, maybe weeks. On the other hand... I'll kill you with this shotgun."

>>11731588
Woo! Thank you.

From what I was given to understand, Super Dave probably actually had a Colt snub nose in his back pocket taken from the truck. It would have been a lot more accurate, and not necessitated him having to hold a rifle barrel up for a potentially minutes-long standoff.

But much like cops will tell you that laser sights have done wonders for toning down criminal bravado (being shot is an abstract concept, knowing exactly where you're going to be shot is terrifying), the shotgun made a very big, very obvious point: 'Drop the knife.'

Twelve dropped the knife.

F5ing like the Kenshiro.

>turcnifl rights
WTF capcha

"Hey. Hey man, come on." Twelve was nervous now. He'd clearly never actually had someone up the score on him in this sort of situation. "Come on, man. You gonna kill me over a Playstation and some fucking nerd cards?"

"No. No, I'm not going to kill you. Not unless you force me to by getting violent. But what I will do is let my very angry friend there get the blackjack out of my truck and knock your ass cold. We will then remove your clothes, remove your phone, destroy your tires, and leave your naked ass here in the country to walk home."

Twelve stared at him. Had probably never heard such a thing in his life. But Dave had been playing intimidating characters for years, and roleplaying them out with gusto.

"Fuck. Fuck, man. Shit's in my trunk."

>>11731599
>"You see, you might hurt my friend there real bad with that knife. Real bad. He'll be in the hospital for days, maybe weeks. On the other hand... I'll kill you with this shotgun."
This line. I must use this.

From Twelve's trunk the DM recovered his Playstation, his microwave, his VCR, and several of his tapes. Most importantly, tossed over in a corner and laying on its side, was the gray plastic box, latch still secured properly by Genial Shop Guy.

"That's fucking all, man, a guy I was with took the rest of your shit to get it sold, I ain't even seen him again." Twelve looked nervously back and forth between Super Dave, who had shifted his stance a few times but was still holding the shotgun in his general direction, and the DM who was putting the microwave in the back of Super Dave's truck. "You gonna turn me in to the cops or somethin'?"

Super Dave looked at the DM and tilted his head a bit. The DM blinked, but shrugged, giving Super Dave the go-ahead. The shotgun-wielding gamer looked back at Twelve. "No. I'm not gonna turn you in. But I do want you to listen to what I have to say."

>>11731649
here's a whole book's worth of quotes.
http://www.scribd.com/doc/27122909/The-Nerd-Book

Twelve looked disbelieving, but there was still enough fight in him to be snide. He looked at Super Dave like he had a cow sticking out of his nose, then he glanced over at the truck. He must have seen the American flag attached to the antennae, because he snorted. "Yeah, man? What, you gonna school me about the American dream or something?"

"That's exactly what I'm gonna tell you about."

"That's such bullshit. People work hard, don't get shit, ain't no point in it. What the fuck do you know about the American dream?"

"So are you gonna be robbing apartments ten years from now? Twenty?" Super Dave frowned at him. "You don't think you can get ahead so you'll just do this? You gonna be standing in front of the strip mall selling pot when you're eighty?"

Twelve scowled at him, but didn't say anything else. So Super Dave explained.

"Good buddy of mine, his parents came over here from Korea. They didn't have jack shit to their names. Didn't have anything but a friend of the family that would let them stay at his place. They both went right out and they got the first jobs they could. They worked hard, real hard. They got better jobs. They had my buddy, and they worked harder than ever. Eventually they managed to buy a convenience store to run themselves."

"You tellin' me that's the American dream, man? I work real real hard, some day I can own some convenience store and keep workin' real real hard 'til I'm old?"

"No. That's not the American dream. It's pretty good but it's not the American dream." Super Dave had raised the shotgun and settled it against his shoulder, and shook his head. The DM said that he knew this was sincere... no boasting, no role playing, no hamming it up. This was the very essence of Super Dave's identity, and he was speaking from the heart.

"The dream was in my buddy. They came here with nothing, and they managed to climb up to owning a convenience store that paid their rent and paid for their food. But it also paid for my buddy's college fund. He's getting ready for medical school now. Gonna be a heart surgeon. Probably gonna be a good one, too. He's going to save people's lives. That, my man, is the American dream. Maybe you won't have everything you dream of from working real hard. Maybe you can't be rich and famous and beloved by coming up from nothing. But your kids can, because of what you gave 'em."

Twelve was silent now. Just staring at Super Dave. Super Dave took a deep breath, then raised his chin a little.

"Listen. You can just keep going on like you are. Maybe you'll be okay. Maybe you'll wind up in jail or just miserable. Or maybe you can go ahead. Maybe you can work hard. Real hard. And maybe someday you can look at the things your kids have accomplished and feel that it was all worth it."

Super Dave walked over to his side of the truck, and the DM went and got in on the passenger side. Super Dave looked at Twelve again, and said, "If you don't listen to anything else I said, just listen to this. From now on, whenever you do something, think about what your kids would think of you if they heard about it someday. And... think of what your momma would think of you."

As Super Dave got in the truck and returned the shotgun (pausing to disarm it... don't ask me how, Waifu didn't know and when asked the DM just said 'well it was his shotgun he knew how to work it') to the gun rack, the DM sat there with his box of Illuminati cards in his lap. He just looked at them as Super Dave started the truck and backed up, turning the truck carefully on the packed-dirt road to head back to town. Finally, the DM spoke up.

"Dude, do you really have a blackjack in here?"

Super Dave grinned. "Fuck no, man, those things are illegal."

>>11731672
>>11731688
>>11731703

Image related, just have something in my eye

What is a blackjack ?

They drove off and left Twelve there, sitting back against the trunk of his car and staring after them.

If I was dedicated to doing the purest and most awesome Good End possible, here is where I would tell you that Twelve turned his life around. That he showed up the next day at the DM's place, having gotten the rest of his stuff back. That he apologized, paid for the window, and went on to work in the same place as the DM, until they became bros and Twelve joined us in nerd glory.

But I can't tell you that, because I don't know. The DM never saw him again, and he never heard anyone else mention him either.

>this thread

So, did Twelve decide that Super Dave's heartfelt speech about the wonders of America was too long; didn't listen? Did he just decide to move on to some other town to continue his criminal ways, having decided this one had gotten too crazy? Did the cops pick him up for possession or while breaking into someone's house? Did he get mad at the wrong guy, someone that didn't want to believe the best in people like Super Dave did, and wind up with bullet holes in his chest?

We'll probably never know.

Personally, when I think about the story sometimes, when it just comes to mind late at night, I like to think that Twelve just decided to go somewhere new and start over. That he worked real hard, found someone to cherish, and is making plans to make sure that future generations will have a brighter tomorrow. Maybe he even bought a convenience store. Those nights, I wonder what he'd tell people the number twelve on his neck stood for now.

rolled 6 = 6

When were the awesome parts ?

>>11731747

America: where carrying a knife or even a shotgun is legal, but a blunt object? Suddenly, YOU'VE GONE TOO FAR!

Super Dave drove the DM back to Super Dave's place so the DM could pick up his car. Super Dave said he needed to look the shotgun over, then he'd do a beer run and drop by the DM's place if it was cool. The DM said it was definitely cool.

The DM went back to his apartment and he unlocked the door. The books had all been put back in their places, the glass had been cleaned up, the window replaced. All days ago, obviously. The TV had been replaced by an old one his sister no longer needed, not as big or as nice, but it would do. The DM spent a little while hooking his VCR up to it, hooking the Playstation through that, testing it to make sure it worked. He set the microwave back in its place, and started a Hot Pocket zapping. And finally, he put the gray plastic box with his Illuminati collection in it back on the highest shelf of the bookshelves that his father had left him.

His world was starting to make sense again.

>>11731791
nah it's because those can have legal uses. Why you need to hit someone on the back of their head to knock them out.... yeah you get the idea.

Super Dave arrived, Guinness in hand. Wizard once told me Super Dave actually hated the stuff... his tastes ran purely to "American piss-style" beers, though Wizard added that it didn't seem to be particularly linked to the patriotism. That was just Super Dave's taste. But around the DM he'd swill what I personally called "dishwater in a can" happily like it was an Elixer of Life.

They sat down on the couch with the liquid bread, and Super Dave asked if the DM wanted to see Dixie Dynamite and the All-Star Tit Queens. The DM suggested Spaceballs instead. They settled on Barbarella as a compromise.

As they watched the 'classic' movie, Super Dave looked over at the shelf and its gray plastic box. Then he looked at the DM and grinned.

"Feel better, man?"

"Yeah. I feel better."

"Cool."

"How about you?"

"What, me? I'm awesome!"

"Yeah, Super Dave. You are."

>>11731762
A short baton that deals subdual damage and can be used for sneak attacks.

>>11731822
basically that, without the D&D specs, and it's almost always used for "sneak attacks" usually so you don't have to worry about people fighting back when you go through their pockets for change for your crack habit.

>>11731814
Well, you've got the right to hit someone just as much as to discharge your shotgun on him.

>>11731821

And then they French-kissed and did anal.

FIN

>>11731839
I tried hunting with a blackjack once. Didn't work out.

>>11731822
>>11731814
That's how the better part of 4chan gets its women.

Awesome thread.

FUCK YEAH, SUPER DAVE

I would like to say that this was merely my first brush with Super Dave, hearing about him second hand. I would like to tell you that there were many awesome stories involving Super Dave after this tale of good triumphing over evil. Sadly, though there were many other tales of prior awesomeness involving Super Dave, this one was to be one of the last.

Shortly thereafter, circumstances required the DM to start working overtime not because he could, but because he had to in order to survive. Super Dave's beloved momma got real sick for awhile, and Super Dave moved back home to help his dad take care of her. Game night had to be called off.

The DM and Super Dave were still the bro-est of bros, though. Had they not already been, the events of that week would have fire-forged them as such. Though they grew apart with adult responsibilities, they always made time to share what was going on. When Super Dave's momma beat breast cancer, they threw her a party and ceremonially awarded her XP. She didn't really understand it, but she loved it all the same.

still I doubt I've cried at a tale, why am I imagining Super Dave's speech being said by Duke form the old GI Joe cartoons.

>>11731862
He dead yet?

>>11731854
is that a vacuum cleaner doing a line of coke?

>>11731852
It's just because you're lazy.

>>11731884
Henry maeks happy tiem.

Super Dave died in December of 1998.

It's not clear what the other driver was on, but he was definitely DUI. That's all the DM ever really learned about the criminal side of the case. He didn't want to push Super Dave's momma for details. Maybe he didn't really want the details.

Super Dave was going around his dad's car after loading the beer he'd bought at the convenience store into the trunk. The other guy pulled out of a parking space a few spaces down so hard he actually did most of a circle, his rear bumper striking Super Dave's car and pushing it hard. Super Dave was struck and knocked through the air and into a cement ravine, hitting his head. He never woke up, and surgery was unsuccessful. He was pronounced dead within four hours of the accident.

>>11731884
Just sawdust, I think, but it's supposed to look like coke.

>>11731892
It looks like flour. Not cokehead would be stupid enough to waste that much coke.

The DM was devastated.

We use that word a lot, but for him it was really true. While the DM had siblings of his own, they were very different from him. Super Dave had been a kindred spirit, someone who had gotten him through hard times, who had enriched his life, who had actually SAVED his life. He had never been that close to anyone at that point in his life, even family members. And he'd actually let himself grow apart from him in only two short years. Now he was gone.

The DM's world was suddenly a very empty place.

>>11731718
>mentioning someones momma to a guy willing to break into your home

Not ever a smart idea. Did that once, now I'm dead.

Yeah, I'm posting this from heaven.

But really, it may be because I grew up in the ghetto, surrounded by baby bloods and baby crips and little kings/queens looking to get a verified kill to their names so they could move up to the big leagues, but I learned quickly, no matter what kind of gun you're pointing at them right now, you mention their momma, you had better be ready to wake up to a nine mil pointed at your head.

Good story though.

The DM did what he could to console Super Dave's momma, but there wasn't much consoling he could do. Or that anyone could do for him. He had the other guys from the group, but they weren't exactly hug-you-tell-you-it'll-be-okay friends. And many of them were going through their own unique, lonely mourning. Several days after the accident, enough had been settled regarding the criminal investigation that a date could be set for Super Dave's funeral.

He himself spoke of these events only once, but of attending the funeral, the DM told me "I remember thinking that I just wished to God I could pay someone to beat the shit out of me instead of having to actually sit there and wait to say goodbye to him."

But he had to go. He was Super Dave's best friend. Of course he was a pallbearer.

It was three days before the funeral when he remembered the shield.

The DM was in a panic. His best friend's one wish about his funeral, however jokingly it had been intended, was going to go unfulfilled because of him. He raced around town to every costume shop, prop store, and nerd place he could. Not even a hint of a Captain America shield.

Finally he hit up eBay and discovered a custom costume prop someone had made. Good, dense, hard plastic, it said, actual leather straps, proper engravings for the lines and star, hand painted. "A shield fit for a true American hero!" He contacted the seller direct and pleaded with him to just sell it to him outright. Eventually an agreement was reached, and the DM ponied up to have it sent overnight, to make SURE it would arrive in time.

>>11731902
>>11731891

wait... hope that criminal scum got his just desserts.

The next morning, fairly early, there was a knock on the door, and then the sound of a truck driving off almost immediately. The DM hurried out and stared in growing horror at a box with a deep dent in the top. Praying that it would be aimed at the underside of the shield, he carefully opened it.

The seller had done a great job packing it. Plenty of peanuts, a plastic wrap around the shield itself, he'd done his best. It still hadn't managed to stop FedEx from putting a gash in the paint running from almost dead center of the star out to the edge, where there was now a ding in the raised lip edge of the shield.

The DM confided to me years later that sometimes, he still wishes he could get his hands on that FedEx driver.

There was nothing he could do. The DM didn't have the proper materials to work with this. He had some 40K mini paint, but what about color matching? And he didn't even know what sort of plastic this was, if the paint would bond properly. Beginning to despair, he loaded the shield into his car and drove to the LGS to seek an expert opinion.

Genial Shop Guy took a look at the shield and said that yeah, he was pretty sure he knew what it was. But without knowing the brand of paint the maker had used, they were pretty much out of luck for color matching. The only real option was to strip it off... carefully... and probably repaint the whole thing. The DM bowed his head and leaned on the counter. Genial Shop Guy just looked at him for a minute.

"Is this for Super Dave?"

The DM looked up at Genial Shop Guy and nodded. Genial Shop Guy nodded slowly in return, then looked at the shield again. He rubbed his thumb over the scratch, and nudged his thumbnail into the ding at the edge. He turned it over once or twice, looking at the whole thing. Then he looked up again.

"Write your address down for me. I'll have it to you by seven AM."

As the DM walked back to his car, he noticed that there were other people behind him in the parking lot. When he turned, he realized it was because the 'Closed' sign had been put up in the LGS's window.

At six fifty-seven AM, the DM's doorbell rang. When he opened the door, there was no sign of Genial Shop Guy. What there was, was a Captain America shield leaned against the railing opposite his apartment door.

The flat but well-done paint job had been replaced entirely by metallics. In the light from inside the apartment and the light of the streetlamps, the red, white, and blue gleamed like only adamantium should be able to gleam. The DM carefully picked it up and took it inside. The whole thing was done perfectly, not a smudge, not a brush line. The raised edge was gone, thereby removing the nick, making the shield more of a perfect dome, just as it was in the comics.

A shield fit for a true American hero. Intended for one. Delivered by one.

The DM walked into the church with his back straight, head held high, and Captain America's shield on his arm. He had determined that he would not feel silly. He would not care about curious glances or odd looks. He was honoring the best man he'd ever known, and he would not be ashamed. He looked around at the crowd, seeking familiar faces, determined to ignore strangers with shock or disdain in their eyes.

He immediately saw four more red, white, and blue circles looking back at him. There, on the arms of his friends, who themselves were standing with heads raised and challenging looks on their faces. Friends who had known Super Dave, laughed with Super Dave. Who had slain dragons with him, calculated warp jumps with him, discussed Daleks going up stairs with him.

The DM heard someone come in behind him and turned. It was Wizard, his normal t-shirt, battered jacket, and beret gone, replaced with what seemed to be the same black suit every other male in the place was wearing. Back then his beard was shorter, his bald spot not yet gleaming, hair only dark gray. He looked at the DM. He looked at the shield. He raised an eyebrow.

Wizard stopped in front of the DM, and just looked at him. He raised a hand, rubbed his beard thoughtfully. Then he reached out that hand and placed it on the DM's shoulder.

"My friend. I am sorry for your loss. All of our loss."

They hugged. The DM said that the sound of his plastic shield clinking against Wizard's tin one somehow wasn't funny at all.

It was time. The moment the DM had been dreading. He wondered what they were going to do with the shields. Should they all get together and choose among them who would put their shield with Super Dave? Should they put all of the shields in? Should they put the shields in right now? Should they take them off and set them aside before the service actually began? Honoring their friend was one thing, challenging strangers was one thing... but Super Dave's momma and dad weren't likely to understand, and that was something else entirely.

But first he had to get it out of the way. Actually going up to the casket and looking down. Saying goodbye to Super Dave. The DM made his way up to the front of the church, people making way for him, some looking, some merely by reflex of letting those in mourning go through the ritual. The DM stopped when he could just see the edge of the casket. Could he do this? Could he go on? Would Super Dave still bear the wounds of his death? Would that be better or worse than to see him looking as if he was "just sleeping"?

His hand tightened on the leather of the shield strap. He wasn't sure if he was praying to God or to Captain America to give him the strength he needed. He wasn't even religious.

Finally, he stepped forward. He looked down at Super Dave's face. Knowing this would be the last time he would see him. He forced his eyes right there, knowing that if he didn't, he might never be able to look, never be able to say goodbye. But still, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colors. He looked.

The casket must have been picked partly because it was wide enough to accommodate the shield. It was resting on Super Dave's chest like the golden sword of a fallen warrior king. A window was cut into the star in the center, showing a photo of Super Dave when he was a child, a cardboard circle marked with finger paint strapped to his arm with kite string, his smiling parents on either side of him. The DM turned his head, finding Super Dave's momma where she sat in the front pew. She was smiling at him through tears.

All six of Super Dave's pallbearers carried their friend with one hand, and Captain America's shield with the other.

I never got to know Super Dave. Which may account for the fact that these events come off a bit as if I'm eulogizing a hero of legend rather than a slightly crazy good ol' boy nerd. But you'd have to understand the tone of voice people use when they describe their experiences with him. The sound of wonder, delight, even awe as they recount his exploits, or just that smile whenever someone says something like "Oh hey, remember that game where Super Dave actually played an elf?" These are the people that I spend all my social time with. Since our meeting was never to be, I have to judge him on the impressions he left with them. Impressions that are still going strong. They still miss him.

The DM still misses him, I know. After a Super Dave story has been told, sometimes he'll just get quiet for awhile, as if lost to the memories. And then, every so often, he'll look at me and he'll grin, and he'll say, "Man, I wish you and Super Dave had gotten to meet."

The fact that I can't help but feel honored in some way when he says that is the reason that I couldn't tell Super Dave's most awesome story without also telling the story of his death. Somehow it seems wrong to share that greatness with the world without also explaining how the world was deprived of further such stories.

>>11732030
Manly tears.

Ah, but what happened to the shields, you ask?

Most of Super Dave's friends took them home. One of them, who'd shelled out for an actual metal shield, padded in back and with multiple straps as if it were combat ready, gave his to Super Dave's momma. I've seen pictures of it where it hangs in her entryway. I asked Wizard what he did with his, and he just shrugged and said that such blatantly patriotic stuff usually annoyed him, and it was put away somewhere. I took that to mean that it was probably sitting in a box in his closet, where he could look at the box instead and remember every time he got out that ratty old jacket. The other three I'm not certain of, maybe I'll ask the guys the next time I run into them.

But you're probably mostly interested in what happened to the DM's shield. Does it hang in a place of honor? Somewhere we can all see it every week, presiding over our games as if watching us?

I suppose you could say that the first part's true. The second, not quite.

About a week after the funeral, the DM headed back to the LGS. He knew Genial Shop Guy had no doubt been invited to the funeral, but didn't recall seeing him there. But he did know that a bright, shiny shield had turned up that morning on his doorstep, as promised, without a single cent asked for or paid.

"Thank you," the DM said to Genial Shop Guy. "You can't understand how much it meant that you did that."

"Maybe I do," Genial Shop Guy replied, grinning.

"No. You really don't."

The DM set the shield on the countertop, and gently slid it across.

"But maybe this will help you to, someday."

The shield hangs in the LGS to this day. It is most definitely not for sale.

>>11732065

Got stolen by crackheads. CYCLE IS COMPLETE.

There are no words. Just Awesome, and sorrow at that which has been lost.

This one's for you, Super Dave.

OP, I am sorry for the loss of someone you should have gotten to meet, no matter how long in the past.

I just hope that everyone here sees the second part of this story as more a lament that a good gamer couldn't further influence the world and less as FUCK YEAH MANLY FUNERAL.

I just don't...excuse me for a few, lets have a few moments of silence for the fallen, one of us, who we wish could be here.

Here's to you, Super Dave.

Incredible story bro. This thing could be made into a buddy comedy-adventure movie of epic proportions. Seriously.

10/10

>>11732150
Coincidentally, I was just thinking that the events of the funeral were interesting on their own, and the condolences of fa/tg/uys out of place.

>>11732184
Dude, only 10/10?

This story made me tear up like the overly-emotional female that I am.
The world needs more Super Daves

>>11732459
I kept my tears back until >>11732156 posted, then manly fucking tears.

I've uploaded this to the archives. Vote it the hell up.

By the way, I may take a break for a day or two, maybe even a little more.

I've really enjoyed you guys enjoying these stories. (As to the other comments, s'fine. I know that's just how it is, it's a'ight.) But getting all emotionally wrapped up in these stories all over again is pretty tiring.

But game night is Saturday, so I'd expect plenty of memories to be stirred. I should have another fun one for you Sunday night at the latest, if you guys are still interested.

>>11732638
Fuck yeah, I might need some epicness for Sunday.

Simply, Amazing Mahogany, Port and Cuban Cigars.

There are always the epic stories, should someone just take the time to ask.
And speaking of ask, could we hear the Leadership feat story?

>>11732664

First asked, first answered, m'man. I will gear up for telling you about the leadership game.

I will try to have it for you by Sunday at the latest.

I think we may have the next wasteland warrior.

>>11732740
Except less of a dick and more generally awesome.

>>11732715
Good good gives me time to gatherthe ingredients to make an epic night.

>>11732757

Wasteland Warrior isn't a dick, he's just drunk. Always.

>>11732820
He's Russian?

>>11732847

I think he lives in Vegas. But I'm not sure about that, I didn't know people actually lived there.

Sir,

You have my undying respect as a storyteller. Clearly, you've rolled a Bard in the past.

Super Dave, if you're watching all us fa/tg/uys, down here, I just want you to know, you are an inspiration to us all, even in death.

>>11732088
I would have cried if not for this motherfucker right here.

rolled 18 = 18

>>11732908
I agree with this gentleman entirely.

>speechless

>This thread.

>this thread

I also just read the Wizard story. Goddamn, if even half of these are true, you people are bros to the MAX.

*Sniff* It's just alergies man. *Sniff*

for Super Dave.

*sniff*

To Super Dave, someone who's presence would change anybody's life for the better.

I don't have an appropriate image to post.

I'm crying; it was a fine story, OP. Thank you.

Wow... You're probably gone by now OP, but these stories are amazing. I wish I was in your group, with your people.

>>11732533

Oh my god, it was exactly the same thing for me. Well fucking played, Captain America poster, you asshole.

rolled 17 = 17

>>11730759
This thread is amazing and brings back my faith in humanity.

To the man who's redefined super.

I haven't cried this much since... Well, nobody would give a damn but I have been moved to tears.

Here's to you, Super Dave.

Manly tears, my friend. Thank you for sharing.

Here's to Super Dave, may his memory live on in the hearts of every gamer, and every American

Thanks for your request.
It has been added to our database and the thread will be archived as soon as enough request for that thread have been made.
This thread has been requested 3 times now.

Super Dave is Kamina irl

Reaction pic very relevant to story.

I cried.

bump

MANLY TEARS! No joke. An inspiring and awesome story.

I found this thread expecting a half assed story, almost bawled my eyes out by the end, wet back and read OP's other two stories, all just as awesome. OP, you are my hero, you've posted OC that doesn't suck in any way shape or form, I salute you sir and wish you all the best.

Meh. Too..unrealistic, and rather trite.

Can't get into it, sorry.

>>11736382

>trite

I really wish that people critiquing stories like this would find a new word. Their responses get rather trite after a while.

This one's for Super Dave.

I was reading this on my phone in the crapper, and I had to come post this.

I must admit; this is the first /tg/ story I have ever heard that I openly cried manly tears to. The others got me close, but the tale of the Fall of Super Dave pushed me over the edge.

Brofist, OP. For Super Dave. One of the greatest man who ever lived.

Manly fucking tears.

OP. Keep on keeping on, you kind breathe life into /tg/

brofist.jpg

Now I'm sad.
I'M SAD

OP don't listen to the shitty trolls. We like you and your stories so feel free to post them any time.

Wow.
I've never felt the urge to cry at a /tg/ thread before.

Hail Super Dave.

This thread is just too much win.

God Bless Super Dave

bump for quality thread.

Just read it. Shed a manly tear for Super Dave.

>this thread

>Super Dave now appears on monument

I made the mistake of reading this thread at work earlier today.

People at the office were asking me why I had tears in my eyes.

Super Dave exemplified the Sheepdog Concept.

I literally have tears in my eyes right now.
I am trying to hold back on drinking lately, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to go crack an "american style piss-beer" in honor of a true fucking American Hero.

I laught at dead-babie jokes, I laugh at real pictures/videos of poeple getting teared appart, for I do not care about them.
I mostly laugh when I read "sad" stories, no matter if real or fictional. Mostly what other people find touching, simply doesn't affect me.

right now, I'm crying

We're all Super Daving in a Super Dave thread.

/salute

>This story.

Is it just me or is anyone else curious about the game where Super Dave played an elf?

This thread is everything I love about /tg/