Hank "The Stank" Harrison's page

Posting to all my games:

Thank you for waiting and/or botting me. You deserve the truth, and the truth is I lost my job -- in part because I got a little obsessed with the fun I was having here.

I have prided myself on never dropping out of a game, but that ends today. I'm close to landing a new job, but even so I need to devote myself to it for quite some time before I'll feel comfortable again.

So, I'm sorry, but I have to leave you. You'll know I'm back when I post again looking for a new game, but until then I'm going 100% silent.

Again, my apologies for abandoning you. I know that you'll understand. It has been fun, and I treasure the adventures we've had together.

Consider this a friendly request to replace me or move on without me. Good luck and have fun!

-"Caro"

Posting to all my games:

Something's come up in RL. Posting will be very sparse or nonexistent for a while.

Please bot me as necessary, replace me if you need to. I expect it will be 1-2 weeks.

Sorry. Good travels.

Hank nods to Miss Carlyle with a sense of respect.

Why, that's right kindly of you, ma'am. You can have your men tell him, but he seems to like it out there better, he says, misconstruing Kwan Ho's reasons.

Pouring himself three fingers of the Ballantyne (21 years is better than 17, right?), he plops down unceremoniously in a the nearest comfy chair.

Right kindly indeed.

Now, this is the life. I wonder if she needs a pilot...

Hank does his best to feign shock that someone else was carrying a weapon.

Persuasion, untrained: 1d4 - 2 ⇒ (2) - 2 = 0
Persuasion, Wild: 1d6 - 2 ⇒ (6) - 2 = 4 Ace: 6 - 2 + 1d6 ⇒ 6 - 2 + (5) = 9

Jake's illustrious movie career just might have a rival.

I'm the only one packin'. There's no harm to the lady planned here, unless it's you two plannin' it. Here you go.

Hank hands over his .45 to the very large man.

Hank finds something very interesting in his pocket, biding time in case Jake wants to try his charming magic on Mount Thug and his partner Mount Biggerthug.

I don't think we want to shoot anyone here. But I would have said that about the hotel room. In any case, I know a few tricks to take these giants down to size.

Well played, Jake.

Hank dusts off his stained dungarees and battered leather jacket.

What?

More the the dark heart of the Upper West Side. Just as dangerous, for some of us.

Shall we go?

"Not a problem! We're trying to clear his name."

-Posted with Wayfinder

I soooo wanna open that spoiler!

Forget not thy Wild Die, Jake.

Hank pantomimes looking everywhere but at Jake.

Yeah, if only we had a famous movie star here with us now.

Grinning broadly, he asks,

Do you know any, Jake?

You're right, Jake. So where do we find her?

Well, guys, it looks like we stepped in it. We've got some sort of drug ring going, but we can't go to the police because we're implicated pretty deeply.

Hank sighs.

I think we need to follow this to its end, for Jackson's sake if not our own. If we can wrap it up ourselves, we may be able to clear our names.

He takes a sip of illicit whiskey.

There's Africa. Anything else we can check first?

Unfortunately for Murphy, no one has the Knowledge (Psychology) skill to help him with his level of madness.

This seems like it might be useful for the horrible disturbing non-Euclidian mind-warping unusual things we're likely to come across.

I could be convinced to take it up instead of my fightin' & shootin' skills. Anyone else willing to consider it?

@GM, I couldn't find the list of specific Knowledge skills in the test drive PDF. Can you point me to it?

Also, if we do take up psychology, is it too late for Murphy?

We're clearly up against some very dangerous men. I think I'll spend a little more time practicing at the municipal shooting range and the boxing ring at Gardner's Gym on 34th Street.

Hank will increase both Shooting and Fighting to d8, since his d10 Agility allows it. Other than that, I think I'll stick with the skills he has, as they make sense for his background.

@Fr. Murphy, a streetwise, shootin' priest! I like it!

You learned that magic is real, the dead can walk again and sometimes things under the stone should be left alone.

Nope. Didn't see it. Nope nope nope. Such things don't exist.

They say "ignorance is bliss". In this game, ignorance is also sanity.

Nicely done, GM, on an unfamiliar system (for most of us I think) in an unusual setting. Looking forward to not seeing more mind shatteringly insane interesting people and places!

Boy, if I had a nickel for every writhing, seething, weeping face-worm...

No, it can't be.

Hank the unshakeable seems genuinely shocked for a moment, then shrugs it off with a conscious effort of will.

It can't be. Such things don't exist.

He looks down, not into the abyss, but at the stone.

Close it up quick, boys. There's some sort of poison gas causing hallucinations in there.

Shaking off his torpor, his jumps up and wrestles for control of the crane rig.

I've heard the mari-ju-wanna is bad. They're not telling half the story!

@GM, is that damage that I took? I'm not sure where to mark it.

Spirit: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Wild: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Don't tell me...I don't want to know...it's not...a Disco party, is it???

Hank takes a moment to look down into the pit (assuming he can do so without the slab falling down again).

Who's down there? Quiet down so we can help you!

Help me out here, guys. I think there's survivors down below.

Hank stares at the mangled bodies.

Amazing makeup work.

He begins working the mechanism to raise the rock.

"Die...er, again...foul scum!"

Shooting : 1d6 ⇒ 3
Wild : 1d6 ⇒ 6 Ace! Ace: 1d6 ⇒ 3 Damage: 2d6 + 1d6 ⇒ (6, 4) + (6) = 16

-Posted with Wayfinder

Hank frantically attempts to put a bullet in the nearest zombie's brain.

Shooting: 1d6 ⇒ 6 Ace!
Wild: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Shooting: 6 + 1d6 ⇒ 6 + (4) = 10

Damage: 2d6 + 1d6 ⇒ (1, 3) + (2) = 6 Standard damage (2d6) + Raise (1d6)

Hey, take it easy, Friar! We're not supposed to lose Sanity from our own comments!

Damage: 2d6 + 1d6 ⇒ (3, 2) + (1) = 6

-Posted with Wayfinder

Hank tries to put a bullet in Mukunga's head.
.45: 1d6 ⇒ 6 ace
Wild: 1d6 ⇒ 5
.45: 6 + 1d6 ⇒ 6 + (3) = 9

-Posted with Wayfinder

Ah, I missed the -2, so my final score is 6-2+3-2=5

@GM, do we have initiative to do something now? Is there a map? Are there zombies between me and Mr. Zombie-master?

Spirit: 1d6 ⇒ 3
Wild: 1d6 ⇒ 6 Ace!
Wild: 1d6 ⇒ 3 total = 9

What the...?

Hank whispers,
The lanterns are still lit. Whoever lit them is probably near.

Hank moves to the opposite end and moves the curtain enough to look behind it, using his free hand.

Hank readies his .45 and opens the door.

Ready, guys?

Hank attempts to open the trapdoor.

Hank regains his composure.

See here, gents, there's different footprints leading to this trapdoor under our recently deceased proprietor. I'm guessing whatever -- or whoever -- he died to protect is down there.

Hank attempts to move the bloody rug, doing his best to avoid bloodstains on his clothing.

Don't touch anything if you can avoid it. This is now a crime scene, and we don't want to leave fingerprints.

Fingerprint identification has been around a surprisingly long time.

Hank stares blankly, aghast at the turn of events.

Why...why would he...?

He looks to Father Murphy for support.

We weren't going to hurt him. You saw. Right?

@GM, is the body blocking the trapdoor?

That was Hank's action this round. I took a Minor Hindrance of pacifism, so I'm roleplaying that. Now that N'Kwayne is showing himself to be insane, Hank can reconsider his strategy.

Hank, adrenaline pumping after his close call, pulls his .45 and backs away.

Give it up, N'Kwayne! There's no escape!

Hank is a pacifist after his experience in the Great War.

Hank picks a trinket and makes a show of fumbling it behind the counter.

Oops! I'll get that.

Moving quickly before the proprietor has a chance to object (or leaning over, if that's not possible), he expresses surprise.

Mister N'Kwayne, you're standing on a trapdoor! Where does it lead?

Hank wanders over to the counter and peers nonchalantly, seeking where the shoe prints lead.

Notice: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Wild: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

Hank surreptitiously scans the store, looking for yarmulkes.

Notice: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
Wild: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

Hank whispers,

Let's go in before we get murdered. Or worse.

I think it's an uncomfortable hat. I always see 'em wearing these little head-protector pads to protect 'em from their yarmulkes when they're going into their church for services. Prob'ly got sharp pointy spikes inside to keep ya properly penitent.

Hank takes a skeptical look at the small handful of coins in his pocket, then an even more skeptical look at the waitress' rather large and menacing boyfriend, and decides to leave a good tip for once.

African Jews? Now I've heard everything.

Let's go, boys. I've got a sudden need for some African yarmulkes.

I guess there's a reason I fly the planes instead of investigating stuff. :-)

Hank looks around for anything like waybills, posters, etc., mentioning Emerson Imports, and for anyone looking out of place.

Notice: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Wild: 1d6 ⇒ 4

I embraced it at first, but the only three ideas I had (phone book, directory assistance, asking the locals) were all shot down, so I'm a little stuck.

I get and agree with your point about Cthulhu being different, but understand from time to time we may need a hint.

Bah! Don't get me started on Coolidge. That man's a menace! You ever hear of Herbert Hoover? He was Secretary of Commerce under Harding. I know 'cause I got a cousin who was his secretary for a while a few years back.

Herbert Hoover. Now there's a man that can turn this economy around!

And I'll have you know that Fr. Murphy and I killed only...ummm, let me see...carry the three...oh, yeah, don't forget that one...we killed exactly ZERO nice Harvard librarian ladies. :-P

Hank looks expectantly at the group, except for Fr. Murphy.

Nobody got the address?

Turning to the waitress, he asks

You got a phone I can borrow, darlin'? Or a payphone nearby?

They do exist. By the end of 1925, 25,000 of these booths existed in New York City alone.

Hank, for once the most sober individual in the room, places a hand on Jake's shoulder.

Jake, you play heroes on the silver screen all the time. Today you found out what it means to be one in real life.

I'll bring my .44. It's always been enough to back down pretty much everyone.

Well, then, it's probably too late to make a visit to anyone tonight then. Hank suggests we get a few hours shuteye, then meet at a coffee shop in a "good" neighborhood near-ish to Harlem.