Finding a comfortable corner to sit in, Old Man Henderson takes out his bottle of whiskey, the third of the ten that he keeps in his bag. And begins to drink, whilst rambling to himself.
"The thing about the elder gods, the thing is. They aren't evil, everyone thinks they are some kind of omnipotent cosmic evil. They aren't, they just don't care. We aren't SHIT next to them, and they know it. And they just don't give a fuck. Which in many ways, is worse than evil. At least evil gives you something to really fight against. It's hard to fight against something so goddamn powerful and indifferent you aren't even a fly next to it." As he says this, he begins to drink directly from the bottle.
"Take Nylarthotep! There's someone you can really hate, dudes got a big chaos hard on for humanity. Wants to wreck everything. You can really hate him! Or ya now, could, if he wasn't more powerful than every human put together. The only real God any of us have a chance of fighting is Ha- ya know fuck it, he's dead, I killed him. Hastur, Hastur, there, I said it! And the only reason he's dead is because of a industrial fuckton of explosives and the one moment of weakness he ever has! Azathoth dosent get sick! And Shub Niggurath just don't care at all!"
As he rambles. He starts to walk again, down the halls, In any direction he sees.
"Ya know Rupert, sometimes I wonder why anyone really cares, hell. I'm not even sure what's real or not, it's much easier to simply go with everything, even if it doesn't make much sense." He says, the to stuffed parrot on his shoulder.
"On the note of going with things, where the hell are my damn garden gnomes? I put those things in one of these closets, musta been what. 40k in gnomes? That's a veritable fortune! I better start finding those!" He says, opening up the nearest closest.
"The thing about the elder gods, the thing is. They aren't evil, everyone thinks they are some kind of omnipotent cosmic evil. They aren't, they just don't care. We aren't SHIT next to them, and they know it. And they just don't give a fuck. Which in many ways, is worse than evil. At least evil gives you something to really fight against. It's hard to fight against something so goddamn powerful and indifferent you aren't even a fly next to it." As he says this, he begins to drink directly from the bottle.
"Take Nylarthotep! There's someone you can really hate, dudes got a big chaos hard on for humanity. Wants to wreck everything. You can really hate him! Or ya now, could, if he wasn't more powerful than every human put together. The only real God any of us have a chance of fighting is Ha- ya know fuck it, he's dead, I killed him. Hastur, Hastur, there, I said it! And the only reason he's dead is because of a industrial fuckton of explosives and the one moment of weakness he ever has! Azathoth dosent get sick! And Shub Niggurath just don't care at all!"
As he rambles. He starts to walk again, down the halls, In any direction he sees.
"Ya know Rupert, sometimes I wonder why anyone really cares, hell. I'm not even sure what's real or not, it's much easier to simply go with everything, even if it doesn't make much sense." He says, the to stuffed parrot on his shoulder.
"On the note of going with things, where the hell are my damn garden gnomes? I put those things in one of these closets, musta been what. 40k in gnomes? That's a veritable fortune! I better start finding those!" He says, opening up the nearest closest.