“I’ve heard the legends of your heroics, Inspector, everyone has. Why not entertain us with a tale?” the Commander asks, helping himself to a seat and biscuit.
“What is there to tell?” the Inspector’s voice cracks. The sound of clicking gears chatter as the half mannequin, half man’s limbs rearrange themselves from a sit to a stand. “War, death, gangrene,” he starts, “a different time.”
The Commander puts the biscuit to his mouth and pauses mid bite. “Much better now, yes?” he asks with an awkward turn of his lips.
Another pause.
“Inspector?”
“No.” Another set of clicks bounces around the room as the Inspector brings his iron hand to rest upon a Boer’s rifle laying upon the mantle of a disused hearth, a trophy from the ‘better times.’ Commander Quimby leaves his half finished biscuit on the stand beside his chair and joins the iron and wood contraption standing before the fireplace.
“A beautiful weapon, Inspector,” the Commander says, tossing some dusty lumber into the brick enclosure. “Did you kill the man who used to hold that?” he asks, striking a match and tossing it into the pile, the spark briefly bouncing from his Commander’s pins and badge.
The inspector’s brow creases, “My apologies, Commander. I do so often forget that people feel cold.” The gears spin again as Inspector Gatchet’s legs carry him to a chest beside his lounge chair. They whirl as the mechanized arms lift the lid from the case. “It’s hard to feel when most of you has been - replaced.”
“It’s exhilarating,” the commander starts, “killing.” The inspector’s gears lock. “Or so I’ve heard. I missed the war in Africa, you know. Stationed in India for the duration.”
“I know, Commander,” the Inspector replies, “I know far too well.” He locks his right arm into a brace and twists, releasing the holding mechanism. The cogs in his stump spin wildly as he lowers the stump into a slot in the case.

“Ah, the Gatchet Claw,” Commander Quimby replies in amusement, the heat from the fire now melting his frozen nerves, “The constables have spoken of it.”
“I’ve heard them,” Gatchet replies, the three fingered apparatus flexing to grasp the handle of a tea cup before bringing the drink to his lips, “I hear much.”
The Commander returns to his his half eaten biscuit.
“Tell me of India, Commander Quimby,” the Inspector says, putting down his cup.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Inspector, the tea there is horrid. Why you’d bother to have any imported is beyond me,” Quimby extends his hand for the servant’s bell before the Gatchet Claw snaps at his fingers. The Commander jerks back, holding his hand to the light.
“Apologies, Commander. I am still so clumsy with this.” Inspector Gatchet rings the chime summoning a girl to the Library. She enters quietly, the twin braids dangling at her back, a tray carried in both hands, and a small wooden case, about a forearm’s length, under her arm. She places the case beside the Inspector’s chair before making a slight bow. “Please replace the Commander’s tea, it does not agree with him.” The Inspector looks nervously at her before glancing at the Commander. “Your taste, Commander?”
“Oh, most assuredly, Gatchet. Most - assuredly.”
“For tea.”
The Commander shakes his head slightly, “Earl Grey, Miss... Miss...”
The girl’s lips part to speak before the claw snaps again. “Penny,” the Inspector replies. “Miss Penny.” He turns to her, “You may go.”
“Perhaps I shall pay another visit, Inspector,” speaks the Commander, peering over the Inspector’s chair to catch a few lasts glimpses of the long blond braids.
“Perhaps you shall.”

“Oh come now, Gatchet, must you always be so steely,” he quips.
The orange fire glints from the Inspector’s iron limbs. The Commander loosens his collar.
“India, Commander. Tell me of India. You were a Superintendent there.”
“Oh what is there to tell.”
“Your cases, Commander. You’ve seen my record. I’d like to hear yours, from your lips to my ears.”
“Oh it was a boring time, Inspector,” Quimby starts, “Dull, dull, dead, and dull.”
“Dead indeed,” the Inspector starts, the Gatchet claw lifting the lid of the wooden box beside him, “Seven murders in Bombay, Superintendent Quimby.”
The Commander grips the rests on his chair.
“Seven murders assigned to you. Not a single one solved.”
Quimby’s hands unclench, “What can I say, Inspector. In the land of the caste system and dowry murder it’s hard to find witnesses who’ll cooperate with an investigation.” He grasps another biscuit and it crumbles slightly in his hands. “No one cares about the low castes. They’re a step below, Inspector. A hundred could have been found dead in the streets and no one would have noticed. Not a single brownie would have cared.”
“Not one except for these seven, Superintendent.”
Commander Quimby lowered his biscuit, “Are you insinuating something?”
“Seven murders on the desk of a Superintendent of the Imperial Constabulary in Bombay, not a single one with any record of investigation much more closure.”
“Seven unsolved murders on an otherwise spotless record, and, Inspector Gatchet, you’d do well to refer to me as Commander Quimby,” their voice resonated in the hollow chamber, mixing together.

“Of course, Superintendent, how you come to your rank is another issue entirely.”
“Commander! Inspector.” The noise echoes, rattling the photographs that watched in silence.
“Twelve open cases when you left the Constabulary, nine of which were opened a year or more before your departure from India. Certainly a spotless record if you don’t count holes,” the gears in the Inspector’s limbs clicked and whirred wildly in gesticulation.
The Commander’s fists clenched, crumbling the the biscuit in his hand.
“I take my leave of you, Inspector. I expect your resignation on my desk by tomorrow morning.”
No sooner had the Commander finished than the door to the Library opened with a loud clack with Miss Penny carrying a single cup of tea on a saucer resting on a silver tray. Her foot falls were quiet as she approached.
“Your tea, Commander Quimby,” spoke Inspector Gatchet, “You wouldn’t be so rude to Miss Penny as to leave before having your tea.”
Quimby loosened his fists and wiped his brow on a kerchief before taking the cup and saucer and laying it beside him.
Another silenced passed. Penny began, again, to speak when the hound called from the next room, howling as though in pain.

C-c-c-combo Breaker.

“Oh, that blasted dog,” said the Inspector, “I shall miss him sorely.” He turned to his maid servant, “Take Brian outside, Miss Penny.” She curtsied before turning away. “Oh,” he called, “Would you be a dear?” he asked. Miss Penny placed the tray on the side table before pulling a single key on a rope from her belt. “I wouldn’t want to break down while the Commander is here.” She nodded and disrobed the Inspector. His shirt hid a melding of iron, wood, and flesh. Cogs replaced joints, pistons replaced muscle, cables replaced tendons. What few bits of flesh that could still contract controlled only the most rudimentary of movements. Miss Penny inserted the key into a slot on each arm and wound the locks until they would spin no further. She then opened a slit on the Inspector’s right pant and did the same.
“The wonders of gangrene, Commander Quimby.” He turned again to his maid servant, “You may go.”
“One working limb, Inspector?” said the Commander having waited patiently until he was sure Miss Penny was out of ear shot.
“One is plenty,” said Inspector Gatchet, “Got your eye full?”
“You wound me, Inspector,” Quimby started, “Again.” He raised the cup to his lips and wound an approving twist of his lips.
“Sexual assault.”
The Commander spat.
“The first unsolved crime in your dossier.”
“Inspector I’ve had quite enough of this.”

“The daughter of Chinese merchant in Bombay attacked by a, ‘Colonial’.”
“Inspector, the case was dropped. We both know that a Chinaman’s testimony is worth even less in Bombay than it is in Hong Kong.”
“Assigned to a Constable Capeman in Chinese Affairs before finding its way to your desk. The constable’s report itself redacted.”
“Redacted?” A chance glance at the wooden box beside Inspector Gachet revealed the words, ‘Imperial Constabulary, Bombay, India.’ “How did you get that?”
“Arrived with the tea, Superintendent.”
Commander Quimby put his cup down.
“A half dozen similar crimes, two more against Chinese women and three against harijans, all assigned to Constable Capeman before making their way to your desk, all with Capeman’s own report redacted in full.”
“His files were sloppy,” started Commander Quimby, “they were wanting of serious editing.”
“Which is why you had him removed from Chinese Affairs.”
“Which is exactly why I had him removed. Making such a fuss about those god damned slitty eyed-”
“You had him demoted to file clerk,” cut the Inspector.
“He could barely be trusted to do that.”
“Constable Capeman made copies of every file that was redirected to your desk, Superintendent.”
The Commander paused.
“Seven sexual assaults, one rape, three rapes followed by murder, and the last was too mutilated to tell what happened to her before being killed.”
“Inspector!”
“In that order.”

“Inspector!” the Commander shouted, standing straight out of his chair, knocking the side table over in the process. Before he could utter another word a quick whirring of gears whined before a fist shot into his face like a bullet. A telescopic beam of concentric pipes with a fist at one end and the Inspector six feet away pinned him to his seat.
“Gatchet Arm, Superintendent Quimby,” said the Inspector. The sudden click of locks in the arm let the Commander know he should get used to the chair.
“The trend of the files show learning. Commander.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Inspector.”
“The first three crimes against the Chinese because they have few means of redress, the last nine against harijans because they have none. Only one rape where the victim was allowed to escape the rest end with taking a life.”
“You’ve,” started the Commander, “You’ve let Capeman’s imaginative reports cloud your opinion Gatchet.” He wiped his brow again.
“Targeting the least powerful, those least likely to be missed by anyone of import. It shows cunning, Superintendent Quimby.” The Inspector paused as he replaced his Gatchet Claw with another Gatchet Arm. “What you didn’t count on was a Constable capable of doing his job.”
“Capeman was incompetent. He left the Constabulary and joined the Royal Army. Transfered somewhere.”
“South Africa.”

The Commander’s face dropped into his chest. “No,” he spat under his breath. “Certainly not.”
“You may be intelligent Quimby, but you’re hardly observant.”
The light, Commander Quimby assured himself, it had to be playing tricks with him.
“Twelve unsolved cases in Bombay, all against individuals who live beyond the reach of the law, the last case involved complete bodily mutilation. Come to today, five unsolved murders, victims living outside the law, body mutilation. All after you arrive in country, all after you earn high enough rank to strip cases from other officers.”
“Inspector, stop this! Stop this now!”
“You did not count on anyone to care, Superintendent. You didn’t expect anyone to give a damn about coolies, or darkies, or whores.”
The sound of sliding metal and the creak of hinges followed by the clock-like regularity of footfalls announced the arrival of Miss Penny.
“Miss Penny, thank god you’ve arrived! Mister Gatchet has gone quite insane.”
“Miss Penny,” said the Inspector calmly, “If you would be so kind,” he said, looking down at the second Gatchet Arm. As before she pulled the key from her belt and wound the arm. “Thank you Miss Penny. See to Brain, won’t you?”
She nodded.
“Good. Go to my bedroom, there is a brown leather book bag for you. Take it and whatever else you need from the house. Be quick about it.”
She nodded again pressing a kerchief to her eyes.
“What are you doing Inspector!?” demanded the pinned Commander. “Miss Penny? Miss Penny, help me.”

She left without paying heed with only the sound of a clock ticking away in the background.
“Well Inspector, what now?”
“Now, Quimby, we wait.”
“Wait for what? The Police? An Inspector’s word over a Commander’s? Who do you think they’ll believe?”
“I don’t need them to believe anything, Superintendent.”
“Commander, thank you. You don’t think I’m well connected Inspector? You said it yourself, an unaccomplished record at best. You think moldy old cases from a colonial constabulary are going to keep me locked up? You’d best think again.”
“I already have, Quimby.”
With his free hand the Inspector pulled a pair of binoculars from the case at his chair side after which a series of telescopic pipes extended from the eye pieces to the window. Through them the Inspector watched a girl with twin braids followed closely by a golden dog clearing the block out of his vision. The steady tick of the clock still resonating in the room as the Inspector had a heavy exhale.
“Gatchet Goggles,” said the inspector, “what a shame.”
“So what is it, Inspector? Shall we make a deal?”
With a tired face, the Inspector smiled as the locks in his Gatchet Arm released and the telescopic limb retreated to his arm, releasing the Commander.
Which a quick whir of cogs and gears the Inspector stood. With exhausted eyes he looked up at the photograph of one Lieutenant Gatchet and, as if to say thank you, he tapped his head in salute. The Inspector stepped towards Commander Quimby with his new arm extended for a handshake. The clock still chattering away, oddly faster now.
The Commander Smiled, “I knew you’d come to your senses. So we have a deal, Inspector,” he took the cold metalic hand in his and shook the iron limb as best as he could. “What do you say?” he asked with a bent smile.
The Inspector looked the relieved man in the eyes, smiled back, and said, “This message will self destruct.”

>>14153991

This reminds me of equal parts Dan Dare and the Unknown Soldier, both by Garth Ennis. I'm wondering whether Gatchet, or a legacy character version of him, fought in WWI.

>>14154087
no, he died at the end

+1 Internets.

It was a good read, thank you.

>>14154430
thanks, I figured Victorian/Grimdark Inspector Gadget might be a fun thing to play with

>>14153991
+1

thoroughly enjoyed

> ‘The man with the body of a locamotive and the mind of Sir Isaac Newton.’

>>14154087
Sorry, what?

curious, would you pronounce it Gatchet as Gash-A or Gatch-it

>>14154820
Well Gatch-it as I guess that's the gimmick.

>coolstorybro.jpg

Very nice sir writefag. May your brain always have ideas as good quality as these

>>14153991

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/14153991/

Archived so your ideas may live on

Excellent work, good sir writefag.

Very... League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Except good.

It also reminds me of the Spring Heeled Jack thread from last night. Might make an interesting setting, combining the two. Sort of "steam punk," investigation thing, with the players trying to stop beings like Jack, the Mad Gasser of Mattoon, and the like.

>>14153991
>>14154000
>>14154010
>>14154013
>>14154026
>>14154035
>>14154046
>>14154059
>>14154068
>>14154075
All of my love!

>>14155112
To be honest I originally thought of writing this where Inspector Gadget is Springheel Jack.

But I liked the idea of fusing Gadget with Sherlock Holmes a little better. A sort of, "What if Inspector Gadget was competent?"

Then it was just a matter of spinning an elaborate murder mystery together.

I dunno, I may still do something with Spring Heel Gatchet. I still have the notes for that first idea on my computer somewhere. Maybe some kind of prequel? I dunno.

>>14155510

How about a Van Hellsing sort of thing where Gatchet and Miss Penny hunt down Spring Heeled Jack and his ilk. Maybe throw in a little Hellboy?

Brian could be a tamed "Black dog" from British folklore:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_dog_(ghost)

and Penny, the competant one from the show, could be like Winry Rockbell from FMA who keeps Gatchet in working order.

Or make her a witch. That would be an interesting twist (and would allow her to be knowledgeable about the paranormal, and could help the Inspector combat them).

Whatever you choose, I'll guite enjoy reading it. I like the cut of your proverbial jib.

>>14155510
>>14155629

It would probably have to be a restart, or a whole new universe.

>>14155629
>>14155657
Oh yeah, it would have to be.

What I cobbled together is something just beyond plausibility. The villain is plausible which saves me a lot of work. The only implausible things are the Gatchet limbs but they're not plot critical so that saves me work too.

A witch Penny + ghost dog would have to be something completely different.

Admittedly I like the idea of some kind of Inspector Golem story.

Maybe something where... Let's see.
1) A roman-equivalent prefect living in London is turned to stone and smashed as punishment for a crime he didn't commit.
2) Jump to an industrialized-magic Victorian England where Penny is a below average magician who buys occult goods to improve her credibility
3) Accidentally buys the head of one... I dunno... Prefect Gadicus... Machina?
4) Magic happens
5) Crime fighting stone golem with ghost dog sidekick

I'll have to think about that some.

Is the Spring Heeled Jack story archived somewhere? I might pilfer some ideas from that.

>>14155629
Actually I rather like that... The more I think about it, the more I enjoy it.

I think I may use another ye olde cartoon as a framework but I like that idea... Going to brainstorm on that.

Next story will probably be the prequel to the Last Adventure as I sort of have the story mostly worked out.

It would give me a chance to flesh out Gatchet World's Penny and rework some other elements of the cartoon.

---

I'm going to step out for a while. I'll keep this thread open on my browser.

Feed me some ideas! I'll see what I can stitch together.

>>14155945

I've always enjoyed adding to setting.

Let's see... I'm not 100% sold on the rock golem thing... but it is growing on me. Dr. Claw would have to be the main antagonist, but like the cartoon version, he must never, NEVER be revealed. Is he a sorcerer? A demon? A mad scientist? Noone knows. But his presence is felt everywhere that man's dark side flourishes. He finds people, if you can call them people, that fit into his plans. There is something wrong with them to begin with, but when he is done with them... they change. The only thing we really know is that he breaks them down and rebuilds them in the image of everything that is wrong with us. And he makes them strong.

As for Gatchet; if you do make him a rock golem, at least bolt on some steampunk weaponry and fun devices. You have to honor the source material a little bit.

>>14156263

Here's a few wiki links to folklore(ish) characters, many of which I gleaned from that Spring Heeled Jack thread.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mose_the_Fireboy
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spring_Heeled_Jack
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P%C3%A9r%C3%A1k,_the_Spring_Man_of_Prague
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mothman
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mad_Gasser_of_Mattoon

Look at this one in particular. It's not so much of a folklore thing, and it certianly isnt a character, but I think it would work great in this setting.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ley_line

Somehow Claw's powers, and those of his followers, are connected to the Ley Lines. Sometimes, when a city is positioned in just the right spot magical energies permeat the people. This magic absorbs the "flavor" of the people in the area, and starts to coalesece in the area, saturating it with thier fears, emotions, and darkest desires. Somehow, Claw has the ability to condense these majiks into certain individuals; reforming them into the image of the area's dark side (forgive me for using that term so often).

Thus, Spring Heeled Jack's M.O. is rape and terror; because while the city of London pretends to be well ordered and a model of society, there is a dreary undertone of greed, vice, and corruption. This also explains why he is often mistaken for a gentleman before he makes his move: he seems to be the best mankind has to offer, while in reality he is its worse.

This is why Mose the Fireboy is a gang leader, and larger than life. New York is America's biggest city, but it doesn't even pretend to be a nice place.

More coming in a bit.

>>14155860

Instead of a witch Penny, how about making her an alchemist? That would put her halfway between witch and scientist, so she could still resurect Gadicus and help him fight supernatural being, but still be able to rig up some neat gear to bolt to his old bones- er, rocks.

Okay, this guy is fucking hilarius.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Monster

He shouts at women like a construciton worker, then stabs them in the ass.

And that's about it.

If you add him, he should totally be a copy-cat. He has no actually powers, but he thinks the stories of Jack the Ripper and Mosey and the Mothman are just so cool that he decides to do the same thing... and although his M.O. is fucking retarded, and he seems to be the idiotic man alive, he becomes one of if not the most successful one of all. And all with no powers to speak of.

>>14156574
Ha HA HA! WTF

Ok, he's in.

Ok, after a quick brainstorm here's what I've got.

I went with the "Inspector" being an enraged awakened demigod. But I feel like it's already gotten away from the core.

I need to think about this some more.

Anyway, enjoy.

“Almost ready!” shouts a small voice over the static and hum of the aether compressors, “The Ley Lines are crossing!” Incantaitons and scrolls cover the magically insulated cables that form a webwork of enchanted wiring linking one magics capacitor to another. “Two of the Ley Lines have crossed!” The voice shouts. The liquid coolants begin to boil as aether waves as forced into vacuum tubes, the massive fans cast pages of notes and schematics about the room like confetti. From behind a newly scattered pile of incomprehensible papers a small girl to which the small voice is attached shouts madly into a dictoscript, a mechanized arm at the other end scribbling her words on parchment scrolls. “June 13th, year of significance 1850. Magician Captain Penny of Her Majesty’s Mage Engine Corps. After two months of collection, I believe I have collected enough Ley Line aether to power the relic of Vulcan.” Major Penny turns away from the speakercone to the translucent hound at her feet. “What do you think, Brian? You think we’ve got it this time?” She asks excitedly.
The dog, though party transparent, as clear as he can rolls his eyes and wafts through the wall and into the parlour.
“Fine!” Penny screams, “You were much nicer before you were dead!”

She turns back to the dictoscript and continues her notes. “Tube columns aldous, bartholomew, charles, and franklin illuminated.” A shattering of glass heralds the loss of column bart. “Rerouting aether from column bart to column merlin.”
She turns back to the dictoscript and continues her notes. “Tube columns aldous, bartholomew, charles, and franklin illuminated.” A shattering of glass heralds the loss of column bart. “Rerouting aether from column bart to column merlin.”
The magics-meters measuring the intensity of the respective Ley Lines begin to harmonize, the sinusoidal movements of the etch pens moving in almost total unison.
A ring of vacuum tubes, pulsing with condensed aether, surround a large tube in the center. Contained within is the relic of Vulcan, a bronze node said to be part of the robots crafted by the god himself.”
Mage Captain Penny watches the needles closely waiting for the moment precise moment when they overlap perfectly, her hand sweaty and tight on the switch to decompress the gasified magic into the relic chamber.
Two feet above, in the streets of London, panic. The gas in the street lamps were ablaze and uncontrollable. Blue, green, and violet flames lashed out at passers by, angered by the overwhelming aggregate of magic beneath them.
Light boys on piston stilts set about putting the lamps out only to be consumed in their iridescent light.

Fortunate for them that the flames could be reasoned with and nearby Fire Men talked the enraged heat back into their enclosures.
Two feet below, in a chamber littered with shredded scrolls, frayed mage wire, and shattered aether tubes, a young Captain Penny peers over her desk at watches a white pulsing light shine from behind a broken tube column. She pulls the dictoscript to her mouth and, in the silence of the settled debris whispers, “I’ve done it.” From the parlour the spirit dog wafts in again staring dumbstruck at the mess. “YES!” She screams, “GO, GO, ME! IN YOUR FACE, DOG!”
Without a moment’s hesitation Brian pulls the scroll from the disctoscript and phases it into a wall.
“Oh come on...”
Through the sparks and crackling of small fires a new voice screeches to life, “THIS IS NOT THE FORGE!” It booms, shattering the few intact tubes, “WHERE IS LORD VULCAN!?”

mfw I re-read what I wrote

>>14157429
>>14157416
>>14157403
The more I read this the less I like it, back to the drawing board.

I won't delete it for -- posterity or whatever.

>>14157581

I hate to say I agree but... yeah, I kind of have too.

I think you may want to skip past his creation/reanimation a bit (although I did like the idea). I do have an interesting idea for who he actually is, though. In Greek Mythology, the gods first created men of metal before creating modern man (out of dirt, if memory serves). I know they had men of bronze, and a few other metals, but methinks iron would work best here.

I believe Gatchet should be a normal human inspector that takes care of Penny (no blood relation, but they think of each other as family). Penny is low ranking member (journeyman) of the Alchemists guild, a secret order under the command of the British Empire, though support has been dwindling in favor of --insert steampunk technobabble here--. The Alchemists have recently acquired what they believe is a lost piece of a "Man of Iron" one of the strongest beings the Greek gods ever created (though they did go extinct do to their barbarity). Shortly after learning about this discovery, young Miss Penny learns that her "Uncle," Inspector Gatchet, has recently been attacked and mutilated by an unknown assailant (this will turn out to be Jack the Ripper or something working under the orders of Dr. Claw; who realized Gatchet was getting "too close" with an investigation he was working on and had to be silenced).

Without thinking, Penny steals his body and takes it to the laboratory. There she grafts the pieces of the Man of Iron onto his lifeless corpse, and, after pumping him full of Ley Line energy (this part of your story I liked), revives him as a hybrid Human/Man of Iron.

They soon discover that nearly any piece of metal crafted onto the metal bits of his new body come under his (not always complete) control.

Afterwards, the two set off on a quest to take down Gatchet's assailant and whatever force spawned him.

>>14157581

Btw, did you read the "Black Dog" article at all? It is a sinister being that is poorly defined but entirely menacing.

>>14157759

The black dog should be what took out Gatchet in the first place, and is the first supernatural thing the duo confront. However, thanks to Deus Ex Machina bullshit Penny somehow cleanses it of its evil or at least bonds it to her will rather than Claw's. I think this would be a worthy nod to the source material (the show) as the dog often dressed up in outfits to help Penny but was ALWAYS mistaken by Gadget to be a M.A.D. agent.

Also, you were correct in your original story, the dog's name was Brain, not Brian. That was me just misremembering.

>>14157759
I had the same idea, skipping the origin completely because that's just going to be a fucking mess. Eventually I might find a decent way to do it, but it's tiresome.

I thought I might make the story lighter but I think I want to go that way. More tomorrow.

>>14157878

Cool.

Just watch this, its hilarius.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBM-ezV7uE8&feature=related

>>14157808
I did which is why I keep getting more dissatisfied with what I came up with.

Light humor's not my thing. Grim'n'dark for me. Fuckin' 40k. Ruined my imagination.

>>14158243

Humor is over rated.