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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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Sup /tg/, i'm in a bad mood and very little cheers me up more effectively than a screencaps/story thread. So, let's get one rolling.
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and it looks like the lelpocalypse has finished
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this one is always my favorite
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Does anyone here know where the hell 'lel' came from?
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i don't get it
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This looks like a job for Jamhorn Glittergold, Gnome Sorcerer!
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it's a reddit thing, lemme see if i have something to explain it
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Here it is!

I'm so sorry
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gotta go now gennlemen, keep the thread alive for me?
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Oh hay, that's my .gif in that story. Neeto!
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Er, I meant to say 'period'.
Metagaming to the max. I am incredibly disappointed.
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have a recent one
>i don't get it
Blood for the Blood God
Once a month
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That is easily one of the best stories I've read on /tg/

And it's given me a cute and melancholy idea for my current pathfinder campaign I'm running.

Thank you anon!
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aw well fuck
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Having a bad day? Maybe some Henderson can help improve it. Sorry for the slow typing in advance.

I think when I left off on the last story our intrepid 'heroes' had just gotten their hands on tacos and narrowly avoided getting arrested.

Henderson is formally introduced to Kary at this point, and I decline the offer to take over her character to get back in the game. I already had a character in mind, and the session was almost over at this point anyway.

Henderson, being the responsible adult that he is, takes the kids to Henry's. "If you're old enough to kill cultists, you're good to drink." He told them, and grabbed everyone a beer. We got most of the way into an elaborate 'The Big Lebowski' reference when Mike finally asks a question, in a tone of voice that suggested irritation.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?"

"... What?"

"I mean, you guys are clearly having a laugh at my expense. I don't mind that, but I'm not getting the joke and it's pissing me off."

"Dude, Henderson is practically the 'Dude' from The Big Lebowski. That can't be accidental."

"It was. I've never seen the movie."


"...I've never seen The Big Lebowski?"

"What the fuck do you MEAN you've never seen it?"

"Not sure how that can be misinterpreted. I think my Uncle mentioned liking it in passing once."

The GM agreed to call the evening right there so he could work on the next part of the game, while we dragged our 'fearless leader' to watch what WE thought was a fantastic movie.
Mother of god. The creator of the Henderson Derailment scale.

So at Harry's, they bump into my second to last character: Malcolm Reeves. Mal was a soldier who just got discharged from the military after a tour of duty sent him into a nest of monsters.

He was diagnosed with Schizophrenic hallucinations caused by PTSD, and sent home. He overhears Henderson talking about cultists and deformed hell-poodles, and asks if he can get involved.

We move out of the bar as evening begins to set in, in various degrees of drunk. We start with the building Henderson exploded.


We go back to the remains of the Church Henderson burned down.


Same story with the old mansion and the Cult meeting we saved Kary from.

"Fookin' cultists!" Henderson yelled dismayed. "Not one clue anywhere!"

"Maybe if you didn't burn everything down we'd have more to work with?" Mal suggests.

"We wage a scorched Earth sorta war here, kid." Henderson says darkly. "But that can wait until we get a lead. Anyone have any ideas?"

Jimmy, buzz well on it's way to wearing off, raises a hand. "Uh... the Internet?"

"What the hell's an Internet?" And then Henderson learned something new about the world.

Seeing as how Kary and Jimmy's parents wouldn't want a trio of random dudes showing up to use their computers, they do the next most logical thing: break into the library and use the public access lines.

Sadly, Google had zero useful results under 'Gorram poodle fookin cultists'.
. . .

what . . . man what
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'Disciples of the Yellow King', as Jimmy pointed out, and then corrected Henderson's spelling, had a list of locations and possible meeting times for various groups across the city.

There were ten unmolested locations, and several of them were having meetings this very night. Clearly the GM was wanting us to get back to investigating.

Henderson instead bought enough gasoline to make about fifty Molotovs, and we burned every one of those motherfuckers down that evening, before dropping off the kids at home for a good night's sleep.

Mal buys the first round as we watch the news, seeing our exploits all over T.V.

We all got a good laugh when the Cops apparently failed their assorted checks, tests, and investigations. Since we players decided as a group, that 'going to confront possible suspects' meant 'have no fucking clue what's up' and 'we're gonna go arrest Jeff Bridges, Kevin Smith, and Marshall Mathers'.

Triumphantly, we return home for the evening, and we all catch the news the next morning. Apparently people are appalled by the hate-crimes against this one religious group in the community, and they send their prayers with them.

The head of the local cultists thanked the community for their concern, and said that he had the permission of the local government to gather together and pray for the souls of their departed in a local High-School Gym.
I have seen your threads saved all over and they always make my day better. Now I get to see it person. You are a god amongst men thank you.
Well, that's one way to use a cohort.

In retrospect, the GM telling us that every living cultist of Hastur would be gathering into one convenient location should've been a hint that it was a trap.

Like one big enough to be visible from space.

This is when Henderson had a 'cunning plan'. He was gonna go there and talk to the head cultist guy. I tell him that it's a fantastic plan, since Will already shared the summoning of the demon thing Henderson accidentally accomplished with him.

So the new plan, of which Henderson was only vaguely aware, was that Jimmy was going to help the 'deacon' set up a slide show thing for all of the words of the prayer that he was going to lead.

Henderson asked what significance Lawn Gnomes had in their worship. The Deacon, after deducing that he wasn't in fact being mocked, explained that the church was rather neutral on the topic of Lawn Gnomes. Henderson then kept chasing the line as hard as he could, asking about things like Human-Gnome relations. Whether the Gnomes had souls. Whether said souled-Gnomes could theoretically be used as sacrifices to Satan.

The Deacon then, and I'm quoting the GM here (in the only good line he had the entire game), gave Henderson a Look. A look that can only be summed up as 'Dude, I fucked a Shoggoth and you're creeping me out'.

Jimmy then lead Henderson away from the fracas, after he completed his secret mission of changing one of the slides about a third of the way into the show.
Someone screen cap this, I have to sleep
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No disrespect to the crazy fuck that is Henderson, but I felt that this thread needed a serpent.
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How could a man pass up the chance to watch another chapter in one of the greatest stories on Earth unfold? You can sleep at any time.

>zsonar Please
Captcha's right, zsonar. Please, stay and watch history in the making unfold before your eyes.

That evening, the cultists prayed to Hastur. They asked for guidance and protection. They asked that their dead be avenged. They asked that they be allowed to continue serving.

Or at least, that was the intent.

One of the slides had been changed to say something more like ' Al'whya al Cthulhu fhatagan, K'kili'far al is ar'arkas fal dep'wa'.

One horrible, tentacled monstrosity per member saying the prayers out loud. The GM assumed that wet would crash the show, we chose instead to barricade the doors and leave. After the horrors had ripped apart the cultists, they turned on each other. Soon the hall was left with only the dead and dieing, while some stone-cold motherfuckers shot pool across town.

However, we didn't account for one thing. Hastur wasn't the only game in town, and a High Priest of Cthulhu felt a hundred monsters being called into the world in his Master's name. He investigates and finds the scene of the crime, and then looks into the earlier summoning performed by Henderson.

Gravely insulted by the turn of affairs, He uses a sympathetic binding using what little remained of the corpse to sick a pair of hell-hounds on Henderson, before returning to his meditations.

When they catch up to him, Will's already gone home, the Kids are sleeping, and Henderson's going for a walk with Malcolm. We're in the park not far from his house, about to part ways when we hear a horrible snarling noise.
God damn there's so much Henderson I need to catch up with before I even start reading this.
And I'm tired, and my last classes before thanksgiving are tomorrow.

I love you Nowhere, keep up the awesome shit, I'll make it for the next storytime, I swear
I really can't but thank god for indigestion and iOS devices.

Pistols drawn, we get a lucky shot off and kill one of them while the second leaps onto Henderson's face. He throws it off, and dodges it's second coming.

Guess who get's a crit to the fucking throat? Fucking Guess.

Yes, I'm still bitter that no character other than Simon survived across multiple sessions.

So as the monster kills me, Henderson manages a few solid kicks into it. The summoner, having detected a kill from his beasts dismissed the survivor, assuming that he got the kill he desired.

Henderson called the cops, and Mal was given a small but tasteful funeral at the military's expense. The official police reports read it off as a mauling by some dogs that apparently escaped, heavily wounded.

The surviving party members raised a glass in his name, while you and I are going to diverge from the sad scene.

That night, on the way home, I had a terrible premonition. I now wonder, looking back, if this was the same fey mood that took Mike the evening he created Henderson.

I lurked forums. I googled strategies. I shared small snippets of my sob story online, while I accumulated knowledge.

Henderson was born of Madness, and a man's hatred towards blind antagonism. I on the other hand, turned my eyes towards a magic more... solid. Practiced. Dependable.


I delved into deliberate munchkinism for one express purpose: The Creation of Simon Breckenridge, British Spy.

I knew setting out that I would never curb Henderson's madness. I could never hope to match it either. I therefore built Henderson's exact opposite: Competent, sane, cunning.

His karmic balance.

The Yin to his Yang.

His fucking soul mate in plot annihilation.

The perfect support character. When utilized properly, a well made/played support character is a fucking force multiplier for team effectiveness.

Since Henderson was already wrecking the campaign harder than anything I could possible design, I chose to co-opt Mike's efforts, and make the Henderson situation EXPONENTIALLY WORSE.

Since I've been absent for longer than intended from the whole 'Director's cut' thing I've been doing.... I'm gonna power through the rest of the story tonight. So excuse me while I go slip into something a bit more comfortable and grab a snack.
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>I'm gonna power through the rest of the story tonight

And there was great rejoicing

Simon was intentional?

That explains SO MUCH.

Where can I read previous sessions?

The last henderson story I read was one of the first of a multiparters, with a giant bomb

Man, I can't make shit up off the cuff like you can.

Simon was like a week's effort. I skipped a couple classes to perfect my technique.



This has the everything until this thread on it, including links to prior threads.
that is awesome
Still lurking.
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Hey, since I'm here, does anybody know who made this pic?

I had a minor business proposition for them, if they're interested.
Minor computer issues.

Dealt with, back to typing.

Gonna take a few minutes to get a HUGE chunk and then dump it all at once so we get through the next part fast.
Dang, dude even remembered the stuffed parrot.

Made me so happy. Nobody remembers Rupert.
Every time I read OMH I have no doubt it truly happened and no doubt that the DM is the "woops you die" type of guy.

However that still does not stop me from being impressed by how much the DM put up with Henderson. I don't have an impressive story myself but my only experience with 'that DM' ended with him calling US immature and ending the campaign on the spot by saying literally "The universe is dead".
Trolling is an subtle art. It isn't just about enraging someone, it's about enraging them in a very specific way, such that they stick around and keep taking your abuse even though they could just as easily make it all stop.

As I understand it, WMH didn't just want the campaign to end. He wanted the DM to suffer first.
I am preparing myself for what can only be awesome. Please - take your time, spellcheck, and cue everything up. We can wait.
I'm hoping this fills in the gaps between the last directors cut and Droppin the Yacht, and if we're lucky Hell on Ice. So excited for the legacy to continue. I thought we had heard all there was to hear.
P.S. Thankyou for linking to the directors cut Anon
Switching away from the antics of Henderson for a little while, we take the action to London.

Most spies who try James Bond level bullshit get killed. They get lost, or abandoned by their own country.

Most spies are not Simon Breckenridge. Due to careful manipulation of events behind the scenes, he managed to close multiple gaps in security, sleep with most of the attractive ladies in town, and pass all the blame to other people. He had a distinguished career behind him, and retired at Age 45 with enough embezzled government funds to have him tried for treason.

Less than a week later, without his spy network in place, his country house is destroyed and he goes back to work trying to figure out who killed his wife.

His one lead skips town on a boat, so he goes to America with only one goal in mind: Revenge. He knows that he'll have to use local conditions to his advantage, since he going in blind and without a penny to his name. After all, the crown could hardly be caught funding a covert operation Stateside.

I track the Yacht, and find out where it intends to make landfall. I send a wire back home, and discover that it's an influential member of a group known as the 'Disciples of the Yellow King'. Looking around, it's not exactly hard to figure out why he might be interested in this town. Someone apparently declared war on his fucking religion.

I decide that finding the group responsible for this would be a wise move, since the enemy of my enemy would make an excellent disposable asset for the given value of 'friend'. Deciding to get up bright and early the next day to search it out, I retire to a pub near my quaint hotel room intending to sample the local fare.

As I walk into Harry's pub, I'm greeted by a pair of people in the midst of a heated argument.

“I'm telling you Will. This sort of degenerate activity is what's wrong with this country today.”

“You're fucking crazy Henderson. Each Generation has it's thing. You guys had Woodstock. This is just the new thing.”

“Come on, we all know those punks on the T.V. Are talentless hacks. The REAL masters of the craft are dead and gone.”

“I guess that's true enough, assuming you give proper credit to the proper men.”

“Will, there's no FUCKING WAY, in ANY universe, that Tupac was better than Biggie.”

“Let's get a second opinion.” Will responds, before pointing at Simon. “You there, new guy.”


“Tupac or Biggie?”

“For what, President? I'd rather vote for someone with a sense of pizazz. What's Liberace doing these days?”

Henderson smiles. “I think I like this guy. Sup, Limey? What brings you across the pond?”

“I'm a secret agent for the crown. I came here to re-enact a James Bond movie, and get throw out under an assumed name. Given your hilariously liberal gun laws, that should take most of my holiday.”

“Which Bond?”

“Connery. The only proper one.” Simon notes, a hint of distaste in his voice.

“Nice.” Henderson looks at the T.V. “Hey, they're talking about us again.”

“Your church?” Simon asks, taking mental notes.

“Victims of Jihad.” Will responds, taking a sip of beer. “Demon summoning cultist bastards.”

“Stole my Gnomes too.”

“Why do you reckon they did that anyway?” Will asks, turning to his compatriot.

“Nearest I can guess, some sort of ritual sacrifice.” Henderson responds. “By the way, that taxidermist ever finish stuffing that poodle? I figure I can use him to keep away the kids on Halloween.”

Simon finishes his mental assessment: These morons will make for EXCELLENT cannon foddder. “Gentlemen? A proposition.”

He then explains the Yacht situation to the two of them, while Henderson takes a call from Jimmy. He then laughs. “Can you boys handle getting some parachutes and some speakers for a rock concert? I just had the best plan ever.”

“... What sort of plan is this?” Will asks, watching Henderson intently.

“The best one ever. Come on, when have I ever lied to you?” Refusing to explain further he goes and leaves in his Buick to unknown destinations.

Will lets out a sigh. “I know where we can grab some speakers. You think you can get some parachutes?”

“I think I can manage. We meet back up here tomorrow?”

So while we went off to do some very mundane things, Henderson went to the local Airforce base. He told the man at the gate that he was a veteran needing to see a Doctor, and then drove off to where the vehicles are kept. Since the GM had no idea how base security was supposed to work, he pretty much just walked up to a cargo chopper going through pre-flight checks and punched out the pilot. After hooking up the Buick, he flew across town to an abandoned warehouse and parked the chopper before going home.

There really isn't anything more to that story. Apparently these were the worst MPs in the history of our armed forces.

We all come back to the bar, and Simon informs the group that the Yacht will arrive in two days time. Henderson and Jimmy rig up a thing that would let them control the various light charges and speakers from a cheap laptop, while Simon reacquainted himself with the controls of a helicopter.

The theft and dropping of the Yacht clearly happen at this point, so I'm not going to bother reposting that part of the tale here. My version wouldn't be nearly as funny as the way Mike wrote it anyway.
Well that explains where the helicopter came from I suppose.

I totally expected more resistance. I planned that shit out like a Shadowrun style attack, and then... nothing happened. I just kinda walked in and jacked the chopper.

Hilariously, I had no 'fly a chopper' related skills. Even in the backstory.

GM just assumed it was there and I went. I fully expected to crash that thing in a field running from like, the entire military.
I'm guessing the previously unknown British super spy had something to do with God Save the Queen.
At this point in the game, having dropped the Yacht, we are under no illusions as to what was going to happen next.

The GM gave up the investigative undertones, we gave up on the disguising our war. I don't know why, but the GM refused to give us a cop-out. He didn't want to just rage-quit and go 'rocks fall, everyone dies'. The session ended with us dropping a Yacht, and we all walked out of there fully expecting open warfare when we returned to the table.

A week later, we met for the last time as a group after MONTHS of weekly games. It took Henderson about three weeks to completely destroy any semblance to a plot or a long term goal. All that mattered at this point was that our deaths were long, glorious and brutal.

Ironically, it was the first time we all arrived at the table with the same expectations and enthusiasm. Mike wanted to see Henderson die and the GM wanted to kill him.

I wanted Simon to draw it out as long as possible, John wanted to see Will continue to give Zero fucks.

In a way, we all succeed in our respective goals.

The game picks up about three days after the dropping of the Yacht. The remaining cultists begin to kill each other in open warfare and the police and federal investigators are all flipping their shit over the blatant WIZARDRY happening.

In the midst of it all, we're hitting high priority targets and wreaking as much havoc as possible.

The Buick is sacrificed as a Car-Bomb to wipe out a police station filled with Shoggoths.

We manage to briefly steal a tank from the National Guard and drive right through a bunch of Zombies in a Shopping mall.

Henderson updates his outfit, swapping the Hawaiian shirt for a Leather Jacket, the back of which is emblazoned with a Gnome wearing Aviators and throwing up the horns. He also dons a regular pair of Gray Cargo pants, since he would have more pockets then.

Simon put on a Tuxedo and refused to take it off, while Will donned a Flogging Molly T-shirt and a Utilikilt.

Jimmy and Kary, sadly, couldn't update their costumes. Their players were pulled out of the game at this point by Jim's parents in the real world, since they insisted on dragging them to some movie.

We decided that meant that Henderson made Jimmy get the hell out of dodge, commanding him to continue the good fight if it came to that. We went back to the abandoned Hockey Stadium we were using as a base and loaded him up so he'd get out safe, and then dropped him near a military evac zone where he met his family. We raided an Applebees to get some food supplies, and then hit up a hardware store along the way. On the way back, we find out the the badguys have realized WE'RE the cause of all their problems, and were about to launch a coordinated strike against us.

They breach the military line between us and them, and start to pour after us like a black sea of unthinkable horrors. Along the way, they started to reanimate the dead and dieing of both sides to join their charge.
>We manage to briefly steal a tank from the National Guard and drive right through a bunch of Zombies in a Shopping mall.
You weren't kidding about tearing through this story fast.

We managed to stay a half a step ahead all the way back home, occasionally taking a detour through a place like an abandoned shopping mall or the home and garden center at Lowes.

We get back, and then Henderson lifts up a Gnome from the back of the Truck. He smiles, and then sets it back down, before turning to us. "Gentlemen. It's been a pleasure." And with that, he made his way to the Rink.

We all knew then that it was a last-stand scenario, and we started barricading the doors. We managed to get three of the four entrances almost unbeatable, but the fourth one was being broken open when Will and I got to it. Simon told him to go and make sure he took as many with him as he could, before walking into the mass to rejoin his wife.

Will Stole a Zamboni out of storage and set a new high score while running over zombies and throwing Ammo and such to Henderson. When he died they were forced to go over the machine he left to get onto the ice, where Henderson was waiting for them. He managed to kill a shitload of them, but then he saw they managed to get rid of Will's impromptu barricade. As if on cue, all three of the still locked entrances explode open, and a horde seemingly without number comes in.

Henderson smiled, and called Hastur forward into the world, and set the timers.

As Hastur stepped forward, he got a rather... unusual greeting.
Are we archiving OMH stories with images still or just in the online archives.
In every way possible.
Alright. Keep this bumped until 3pm 4chan time and I can get on pnging. Never tried doing one this big before, will be interesting hunting for break points for parts.
Let me put it to you this way. In several thousand years when space elves find our shell of a planet, barely habitable, I want them to find an intact storage device containing three things in the ruins of our civilization:
1. Cat pictures
2. Poorly photoshopped pornography attempting to depict Emma Watson with a horsedick
3. Old Man Henderson stories.
Man don't look at me

I'm gonna fucking pass out as soon as this is done with
Dammit, that was my plan. I'm only up this late because I had a prelab to do. At least after doing the silly thing I'll be done for the day.

"O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love in all thy sons command. With glowing hearts we see thee rise, The True North strong and free!~"

The King in Yellow pauses, while Mike apparently hits the limit of the internal clock he's been ticking off in his head.

"Alright, we win."


"The charges go off. I set them for fifteen seconds. I needed to make sure he had enough time to arrive, but not enough time to actually ARRIVE."


He then broke it down and explained little pieces of information gleamed from investigative portions of the game. Meticulous notes from MONTHS prior. Together, they painted a very obscure bit of information regarding the nature of the gods in this setting.

"But that's... That's..... You BASTARD!" The Gm accused dramatically, standing up and pointing.

"You only just now noticed?" Mike returned, politely baffled.

The Gm then performed the first and ONLY table-flip I've ever seen in my years of gaming, before leaving in a huff.

After a few moments of awkward silence, I realized that for all the bullshit, it wasn't really a satisfying ending. I'm not sure what drove me to do it, but I stood up. I picked up the table, and I moved to the now vacant GM's seat.

Henderson came to a few moments later, most of his body crushed in rubble. A few feet away, he notices another figure.

"Sup?" He wheezes, while reaching into his coat with his one good arm, pulling out a joint he stashed away for future use.

"I'm dieing." The form replies, his voice weak. "I must commend you Human. I did not think you capable of such a task."

"Yeah, you seem the type to know a lot. Something I learned early in life is that no-one expects a sucker=punch from someone they underestimate." He then lights his slip with a smile.

"True." The form responds. "You know, I've been following you. You know I never took your Gnomes?"

"Fuck, really? Well now I feel like I might've over-reacted a bit." He says with a cough. He then passes the blunt to Hastur, who after only a moment's hesitation, accepts.

"You apparently gave them up for a charity auction." He informs him. "... You know, I've figured out everything but one little detail. Mind if I ask you a question?"


"Is Henderson your first or last name?"

".... Man, I've got no fucking idea."

Laughing, the man and the Mad god died together moments later. Henderson's body was dragged from the rubble two days afterwards, and only Jimmy and Kary and some old preacher man cared enough to attend his funeral.

Will was buried nearby, since they were apparently friends in life and he didn't have much left in the world after his bar burnt down. Simon was quietly retrieved by his Son and put to rest near his wife's grave a week later.
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Best end.

Jimmy and Kary managed to get into a nice college together, since the insurance from Henderson's life and homeowners insurance policies, as well as the money coming in from liquidating Will's assets gave them a nice headstart on life.

Their story didn't QUITE end there, but I'll let that shit slide for now, since I know you guys only care about ONE epilogue.

Henderson opened his Eyes, fighting off a Migraine god only knows how long later. He forces himself to his feet and squints around at the blank desert horizon.

He looks at the Mesas in the distance, and the endless sands in every direction. "Well, I'm either in Hell or Utah." He lets out a deep sigh, realizing he's out of cigarettes. "Utah, knowing my luck."

He notices a town in the distance, and have no better idea on what to do next, he begins to wander in it's direction. "Man, that better not be a fucking Mirage."
He really did win Call of Cthulhu.
Alright, that's it then. The official, final end of the Old Man Henderson story.

This was the definitive version, since neither I nor WHM have much more to expand on from there.

There IS more in store for our.... 'Hero', but it's not really just his tale anymore.

Sometime in the future, I'll tell the story of the game I will never top as a GM. It was a first in many ways for me: It was the first game system I 'designed' (admittedly, it was mostly just Deadlands modded to hell). It was the first full game I ran. It was the first campaign I named going into it.

It was a game so successful and loved by my players that EVERY one of the main characters ended up getting their own spin-off campaign.

So, that's it for Henderson. But keep your Eyes peeled for when I lay out 'The Kings of Nowhere'. I'm not gonna half ass it like I did this one, since it's THE campaign I feel that I need to do justice.
Word, I like your style. I'll tune in for that.
oh lord thank you for that!

To be fair, there wasn't a whole lot to tell story-wise here.

I mean, there was no banter, no insane witticisms; just dice, next move.

We moved like a well oiled machine and kicked ass, but there's not a whole lot of meat for you guys to enjoy. I mean, unless you wanted a detailed play-by-play of everything we fucking did with diagrams, but we don't exactly have that to give you.


To clarify in further detail, Henderson asked for them to not waste money on a corpse.

His exact words were to just 'toss me in an old sack or something and send me to the dump. Ain't nobody gonna mourn me or give two shits I even lived'.

Jimmy opted to get him a rather nice coffin, and pay for a decent funeral, even if there was only the two of them there to mourn. It amounted to nothing, but I felt oddly touched that he felt obligated to make the gesture.
Has this been archived yet?
Could someone less lazy than me please screencap archive this? Nothing like Old Man Henderson to make my day.
Thank you, A Self Called Nowhere and WHM. Your antics have given this roleplayer a genuine chuckle on more than one occasion. I'm sad to see the Henderson story end, to be honest, in the same way that one might mourn the conclusion of a treasured series of novels.
File: 1353407479861.png-(743 KB, 2712x3680, Old man henderson directo(...).png)
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And here's the obligatory screen cap so the future generations and/or the space elves can experience the tale of Old Man Henderson, the man who won Call of Cthulhu.

Thanks for finally bringing us closure Nowhere, i look forward to your future stories.
Henderson's back! Glorious.

Incidentally, I scored 0.25 Hendersons Derailing Someone Else's WHH story Bleeding Out. My finest moment.

Now that the story seems to be over for now - unless another of your players enters /tg/ and tells his version of the story (admittedly it would be nice to hear the GM's side, but unlikely).

I thank you for your stories, when I have to inspire or motivate people for what they can do in PnP gaming, I show them Old Man Henderson.

I know that few - very few - people on /tg/ think Old Man Henderson is lol random shenanigans, but Old Man Henderson is a tale that just goes to show how far, how crazy, how much you can bend a game to your likening if you just put in a bit of effort.

Waffle House Millionaire and A Self Called 'Nowhere', I thank you for telling this story.

This is probably an overly emotional post, but I just don't care. Words can't do Old Man Henderson the justice he deserves. He is 50% trolling, 50% destiny, 50% hard work, 50% wackiness which totals up to 200% awesome - yet we still have to add the 20% cooler factor bringing Old Man Henderson up to a full 220% of whatever we fancy.

Bottoms up tonight, I'll drink to you guys.
Thank you sir. Your work as well as Nowhere's is greatly appreciated by /tg/ and shall be inscribed in the annals of tabletop history.
>He then passes the blunt to Hastur, who after only a moment's hesitation, accepts.

You two.

The both of you. High-five each other when next you meet, on behalf of the internet.

no dammit it was a /sp/ thing.
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My hat is off to you, good sir.

Fantastic story, all the way through the end!

He may have died in the story, but Old Man Henderson will forever live in /tg/.
Nowhere, I think I owe you and WHM a drink or hundred

So glad I caught this live
Man, even after rereading that twice, I have no idea what "arrive, not not actually arrive" means.
Hastur needed to be present, but not fully up to speed after being summoned. It's that small window of weakness that Henderson exploited with a stadium full of explosives.
Oh, so cross-dimensional jet lag.

I get that.
Ah, beat me to it. Thank you.
I have a jealous

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