Let's Play: Vampire: Bloodlines

[DFM]

The stairs down lead to a series of interconnected rooms, all of them entrenched with the same ridiculous barricades. Grout's madness must run a lot deeper than his recordings would indicate. That, or they were erected by the gibberlings themselves, but even that haphazard testament to foresight and planning falls well outside of their apparent mental faculties.



The first room on my right appears to be some sort of laboratory, probably where Grout conducted some or all of his experiments. I wonder how close he was to a cure?



A gibberling approaches from somewhere deeper inside the room, menacing me with a knife but seemingly unable to lower herself a few inches underneath the barricade.



It wouldn't really have mattered if she could.



There's a pack of them waiting for me inside the lab, but they don't fare any better. I'm almost out of ammo for the shotgun, one shot away from having an expensive and crudely designed truncheon. I leave the lab, crossing a minor hallway before reaching another, more secluded area of study.



There's a giant, stainless steel door set into the far wall, probably to some kind of freezer. I cross the floor and crack it open.



Cooler, apparently, not a freezer. I notice something echoing a familiar crimson red sitting on a far crate.



I take every last one and turn myself into a walking blood balloon. If one of those gibberlings gets in a swipe at me I can kiss this entire outfit goodbye.



I take the far door and head down a flight of stairs, the now familiar whine beginning to echo throughout the hall.



As I expand my dealings with the vampire government, I have encountered a disturbing… new symptom of this affliction. Frequently in conversation, I will hear voices emanating from other vampires. Voices that are not their own but which seem to have insight into their lives beyond what I could gather from simple conversation.



These voices seem to echo from deep within my fellow vampires and I cannot be certain if this symptom belongs to my strain of illness or theirs, for the voices are various and… inconsistent. I dare not mention this symptom to my vampiric peers for they have proven themselves true predators, to whom I could be loathe to reveal any sign of weakness.



Indeed, these voices have council me against confessing their presence and until I can confirm their source, I will listen. The information the voices have given me ranges from curious to frightening, the latter is especially true of one powerful vampire whose name I shall not commit to recording in the interest of… self preservation.



Thanks, Grout. That wouldn't have been handy information to have or anything. I come across another room full of gibberlings and, setting aside the shotgun and pulling the knife from my shoe, I decide to take advantage of their continued preoccupation.













Not long after she hits the ground I can hear the pounding of footsteps coming from the adjoining room.



I barely have time to pull out the Ingram before I'm greeted with a swipe of claws.



Holding down the trigger unleashes a cone of fire that covers the entire hallway, ripping the trio of Gibberlings apart in a matter of seconds.



This is even better than the shotgun. I start to walk towards the adjoining room when my footsteps are drowned out by the return of static and pre-recorded memoirs.



The voices have increased in frequency and direction, of late. They have begun to stay with me long after conversation has ceased and are serving as quite a distraction. I fear others are beginning to notice my preoccupation at the vampire gatherings. I am thinking again of the particular vampire of whom I spoke of previously, who I dare not name for my growing fear.



If the voices are to be believed, then my caution is warranted for they speak of his blackest crimes both past and future. More than once I have seen the suspicion in his eyes and heard the distrust in his voice when speaking of me. The fear must register on my face for it is all I can do in these moments to keep from crying out in chorus with the voices.



A click, then a softly spinning reel of tape, then nothing. I push open the door and into the dimly lit basement corridor beyond it. The difficulty is going to be in finding out if Grout was really getting a warning about one of the vampires in the city or if his madness was simply starting to take hold. Hmm.



If his hunch was authentic, would it be one of LaCroix's inner circle? I don't think it could be Nines, since I doubt he attends meetings with the promigen. It's a he at least, that much Grout lets slip. I guess Therese is off the hook.

Which would actually have been my guess, she seems ambitious enough to try an usurp LaCroix.



I come to the end of basement, greeted by a dead gibberling and a long shaft upwards. Debris from whatever used to be on top has fallen down to the floor and there are huge gashes in the wall, like something was climbing up it and tearing out cement for hand holds.



The debris is stable enough that I can get a good foothold on most of it and manage to climb my way up to the ground floor. Or... what I'd assume is the ground floor, probably no real telling with this place.



Empty. The recording starts up again, sounding through the walls as I continue forward.



I am no longer safe. I know it. The voices have proven themselves authentic and I have withdrawn from the vampire society entirely. My absence will no doubt draw attention, but I could no longer hold my fragile composure around the ravenous eyes of my vampire peers. Especially not around him.



The voices compelled me to make what I fear is a Faustian bargain. But I had to, for their demands are constant and merciless. I have secluded myself within the mansion. I know he will strike out at me. He will go to any length to achieve his ambitions and he knows that I know.



I have taken precautions to protect my beloved wife. The cure will have to wait until our immediate safety is guaranteed. The mansion was constructed with security in mind but at that time I was not privy to the full range of vampire capabilities.



I do not know if it will hold.

The recording clicks and the record on a nearby gramophone starts to spin, a distorted, cheerful tune crawling from it's horn as the glass dome begins to slowly turn.



This must be his beloved wife. I don't know if she's dead and preserved in formaldehyde or in some kind of cryogenic stasis to prevent her advancing illness.



The walls of the circular room are lined with smaller versions of the massive dome, each one containing sentimental items and personal effects that by all rights should not require preserving, cryogenic or otherwise.



I wonder if she'd always been this way, or if this was the Faustian bargain Grout had mentioned, his desperate last effort to save his wife.



The rose floats almost perfectly still, dozens of petals unfurled, thorns unclipped, leaves spread wide and green.



It's beautiful.



The rabbit is worn, its fur matted and missing in patches. One button eye stares lifelessly outward into a world that no longer remembers it. It reminds me of something I can't quite place, a feeling inside of me. Like when I saved Heather in the hospital, but... different. I almost want to grab it and take it with me.



Oh Jesus, Grout.






I guess she's not coming back.



I already know I'm too late for Grout.







Murder.

Crucified... chained and nailed to his own bed. Maybe tortured first, god knows how he was killed. Nines wouldn't do this.


Nines couldn't do this, if anyone I've met isn't a monster-

The explosion shakes the room around, sending decorations crashing to the ground and almost knocking me off my feet. I can hear another in the distance, but the tremors are milder, too far away to be fully felt. I can hear the crackling of flames somewhere outside, and a thick black smoke begins to curl up from under the door.



I race towards it, throwing it open with a single shove and slamming into the balcony railing overlooking a blazing inferno.



A man in a trench coat stands above the fire in the balcony opposite, the smoke parting away from him as it rises. He bellows when he sees me, his accent thick and German.

"Grout! Lay low and be cleansed by the flames!"

I duck backwards, narrowly avoiding a collapsing timber smashes into the floor below.

"Grout's dead you fucking maniac!"

He leans forward, hand clenching in a fist beside his chest as he shouts at me over the flames.

"Grout is dead? He was killed by another and you are all that comes to claim the bones? I set this trap for the arch fiend himself!" He leans forward over the railing, his voice so loud I think it's going to tear the mansion apart. "WHERE. IS. LACROIX."

"IN THE GIANT FUCKING TOWER THAT SAYS 'LACROIX' ON IT YOU STUPID TWIT." I dive to my left as the rightmost section of the balcony collapses, a mountain of embers flying upwards. He steps back from the railing, fire burning all around him.

"Then let this righteous fire serve as a promise to all who serve the arch fiend LaCroix. I am coming for you LaCroix! I know you are here!" He points his finger at me across the divide. "And you! When your black soul finds the abyss, tell your masters it was Grunfeld Bach who sent you to them!"

No sooner is he done talking than a third explosion tears through the wall behind him, fire and debris parting away from him like the Red Sea.

"Perhaps when LaCroix runs out of minions, he will have no choice but to show me his face." There's a howling from the room below, rising over the flames.



One of the gibberlings runs out of a doorway below, screaming as its skin catches fire.



When I look back, Bach is gone. The smoke is so thick now, I can hardly see. I cover my mouth with my hand and leap down into the room below.



I break into a run and it isn't until I'm past the gibberling's burning corpse that smack myself and take my hand away from my mouth.



I can probably forget about asking LaCroix for this place.



I follow the only halls that aren't locked or blocked by fire. I keep running, trying to get out before the smoke gets so bad I really can't see or the fire cuts off my escape or the whole place actually collapses on me.



Some more gibberling corpses. At least Bach had the decency to take care of them for me, not like- The corpses scream and spring to life, tearing at the air like ripping it open would stop the fire.



Really, I'm actually doing good deeds here.



Lots of good deeds.



There's a whine and a crackling coming through the walls, and Grout's last words echo through the hall, slowed and warped like very words themselves were melting in the flames.

The voices echo in the twisted corridors of my psyche, dark whisperings of a macabre and formless menace, the approach of which portends an end, an end to all of this.

This time, it doesn't click, and the last word holds until it's consumed by the roar of the fire.



I pass through several more rapidly collapsing hallways and stairwells before making it to an outside bedroom and finally finding a window to the outside to tell me where I'm at.





Fuck. Fuck. I'm never going to get back down before this place comes down around me or I'm eaten alive by fire.





Fuck it, let's try a stupid plan. I set my foot on the window sill.





I hit the ground and roll sideways into the brick wall surrounding the mansion, amazed that not only didn't I hear any snapping bones, it didn't even hurt at all.



Alright, hitting the wall hurt a little but not that bad.





A primogen is dead.





I don't know what to think about that.





The cab is waiting for me just beyond the gate. The only thing the driver asks is if I want to see LaCroix. When I mutter out a 'yeah' he speeds away from the burning mansion, just as sirens start to cascade in the distance. It's a fifteen minute drive to downtown and we ride in silence, no radio or conversation.



When we arrive at the tower, I step out and he speeds off, still not asking for any money.

Woo boy.



Gonna' have some 'splaining to do.


Short update today, but we've just finished Grout's plotline. For anyone interested, here's the full transcript of Grout's recordings, with corrections on grammatical oversights and errors that appeared in the Let's Play (at least, the ones I saw):

[DFM]

It is quite peculiar the happenings I’ve been made to witness from my supernatural longevity. I’m thinking of one unfortunate phenomenon in particular, of unique interest to my station both as a professional and as a sufferer of this vampiric condition. It seems the stream of time has begun to erode the moorings of my chosen course of study, for the methodologies that gave birth to psychology are slowly disappearing. I find myself in an era that overlooks the physical component of psychological pathology time and again in favor of the sadistic practices of Freud. Chronology, Dactopintalism and the rest of the old guard have fallen by the wayside, its champions all silenced and dead with my unique exception. Would that I could make my voice heard again, although it may be suspicious should I return to popular medical discourse fifty years after my apparent death.

No, better that I continue my study into the psychosis in secret. One day, may I hold up my own cure as validation of the methods. I am confidant no cure for my condition or that of my beloved wife lies within our figurative minds, waiting to be unlocked by the correct combination of memories uncovered from our childhood and I am most certain it has nothing to do with the relationship between myself, my parents and my genitals, sorry, Sigmund. I choose to stay my course.

----

Another unfortunate casualty to tide of time; Insane Asylums. I lament their loss not only as brokerage houses for the breadth and depth of human psychosis, but also I shall mourn the disappearance of the peculiar environment present only in an insane asylum. That palpable atmosphere of blistered brains and churning bowels, the odiferous deluge of freely flowing bodily humors, that gently rolling cacophony of distant sobs and screams, the muttered cursing of perceived enemies and the blissful gurgling of the lobotomized. Like new born babe discovering the sky. Hmph. I shall still find test subjects as surely as I find bloody sustenance in the night, but this climate, I fear, may never be replicated.

----

Often I reflect with great regret on the missed opportunity that was my infector. Had I been conscious after the attack, I could have stopped the orderlies from locking her in the roaming pen. What I would give for just one interview, a few simple questions of the plague ridden woman who met her end that dawn. Of course there is no guarantee she would have been any more helpful than my current crop of test subjects, mewling wretches. Few could be called enthusiastic. Given the nature of the tests I cannot expect the same fervor from all of them but a modicum of cooperation would be appreciated. Animals. The one called John went so far as to gnaw off his arm to escape into the floorboards like some feral rodent. I still hear him scurrying about at night, making an atrocious mess.

----

My studies proceed at a languid pace. I’m mired in fowl concavity at my wife’s advancing illness. My subjects grow restless without proper supervision, but I cannot pull myself back from this black depression. How many nights I’ve wasted now, gazing from the tower walk, pondering the frailty of existence.

----

After decades of solitary study into this affliction, I have learned that it is by no means mine alone. Indeed, this city is home to an entire society of similarly afflicted individuals with whom I’ve only recently made contact. They are an understandably standoffish sort, by and large, but I have been able to confirm with them that the condition is indeed vampirism, which apparently comes in a multitude of strains, each with a spectacular set of symptoms such as invisibility and even a sort of lycanthropy. Through numerous official interactions with the governing body of this secret society, I have concluded that their fundamental understanding of the vampiric condition is woefully lacking and mired in suspicion and pseudo-religious dogma that would make a Turk balk for its scriptures. Indeed they seemed impressed with my studies and the eloquence with which I was able to present them. Apparently the typical sufferer of my particular strain of vampirism is far from the vanguard of the King’s English. So impressed were they that they even offered me an office in their government, a rather high office, by the sound of things. I believe I shall accept. If nothing else, it shall provide a lofty vantage point with which I may observe the breadth and epidemiology of the affliction so I may move more expeditiously towards a cure.

----

I have accepted the role of ‘Primogen’ for clan ‘Malkavian’, the dreadfully winsome label applied to the particular strain of vampirism I suffer. So named for some supposed vampire father figure of old. More poppycock grown from a backward culture that seems interminably drawn to children’s tales and the fiction of Victorian romance when it should concern itself with the science behind their suffering. No matter. I have taken this office for no greater reason than the advancement of my research. I must make mention, however, that even among my would be peers in this governing body of vampires, the level of paranoia and superstition is frightening. Their intelligence is not the question, no indeed, for as they courted me for this appointment I had to suspect that their overtures were hand tailored for what must be my obvious infatuation with reason, For the devil would to well to have such honey tongued tempters. Even so, I could not help but notice the dressing of language these vampire leaders chose for their siren song. Whether it is born of habit, from addressing their unwashed, ill educated subjects or from their own deep seeded beliefs, their linguistic flourishes belie a faith in superstition over the providence of empirical reason that must be an all pervasive theme in this society of darkest night.

Damn it all, now I’m doing it to.

----

As I expand my dealings with the vampire government, I have encountered a disturbing… new symptom of this affliction. Frequently in conversation, I will hear voices emanating from other vampires. Voices that are not their own but which seem to have insight into their lives beyond what I could gather from simple conversation. These voices seem to echo from deep within my fellow vampires and I cannot be certain if this symptom belongs to my strain of illness or theirs, for the voices are various and… inconsistent. I dare not mention this symptom to my vampiric peers for they have proven themselves predators, to whom I could be loathe to reveal any sign of weakness. Indeed, these voices have counciled me against confessing their presence and until I can confirm their source, I will listen. The information the voices have given me ranges from curious to frightening, the latter is especially true of one powerful vampire whose name I shall not commit to recording in the interest of… self preservation.

----

The voices have increased in frequency and direction, of late. They have begun to stay with me long after conversation has ceased and are serving as quite a distraction. I fear others are beginning to notice my preoccupation at the vampire gatherings. I am thinking again of the particular vampire of whom I spoke of previously, who I dare not name for my growing fear. If the voices are to be believed, then my caution is warranted for they speak of his blackest crimes both past and future. More than once I have seen the suspicion in his eyes and heard the distrust in his voice when speaking of me. The fear must register on my face for it is all I can do in these moments to keep from crying out in chorus with the voices.

----

I am no longer safe. I know it. The voices have proven themselves authentic and I have withdrawn from the vampire society entirely. My absence will no doubt draw attention, but I could no longer hold my fragile composure around the ravenous eyes of my vampire peers. Especially not around him. The voices compelled me to make what I fear is a Faustian bargain. But I had to, for their demands are constant and merciless. I have secluded myself within the mansion. I know he will strike out at me. He will go to any length to achieve his ambitions and he knows that I know. I have taken precautions to protect my beloved wife. The cure will have to wait until our immediate safety is guaranteed. The mansion was constructed with security in mind but at that time I was not privy to the full range of vampire capabilities. The voices echo in the twisted corridors of my psyche, dark whisperings of a macabre and formless menace, the approach of which portends an end, an end to all of this.

[Kerensky287]

*glances at the transcript* Goddamn, sir! You are committed!

I'm curious as to why Helen doesn't seem to make the connection that maybe Grout might be talking about LaCroix, actually (Not spoilered because I don't know for sure having never played). She says "Hmm, it must be a big important vampire... hmm, Nines? No. Therese? No. Maybe it's someone in LaCroix's inner circle who I haven't met yet! Yes, that's the only possibility."

Is Helen just deluded? Is she just utterly convinced that LaCroix is and always will be her very best friend?

[Jagos]

LaCroix seems like small fry. They've just moved back (the Ventrue line) based on what Nines has said, so someone has to be over him.

[DFM]

^ opposite, actually

She figures since LaCroix's the boss he's got no reason to keep his evil plans a secret. If he wants something evil done, he'd just tell someone to do it and anyone who didn't like it would just have to bring it up at the next vampire board meeting. The only reason someone would be secretive about their plans is if someone finding out prematurely would ruin them and nobody in LA is really in a position to ruin any schemes LaCroix has, so her conclusion is that someone's planning to usurp LaCroix and be new king of the dead in LA.

Edit: Well, the Anarchs would have the capability but they don't really care what LaCroix does anyway, he's always numero uno bad dude.

[Jagos]

???

I was under the impression that LaCroix wasn't a primogen?

[Krylo]

He's not.

He's above them.

The primogens are the heads of the various clans. There's a tremere, ventrue, malkavian, etc.

A prince is the ruler of a city.

Now, to understand that you also have to think about travelling as a vampire. Any long distances are going to be, you know, bad. Because if it takes over eight hours, you're probably hitting sunlight, and then you're dead.

Not only that, but vampires aren't exactly friendly with each other, and you NEED allies and support to survive in new cities. Not having any means you're everybody's bitch. Like Helen has been. When you move to a new city you have no allies and no support.

There's also werewolves. Werewolves don't like vampires and tend to hang out between cities. By don't like, I mean they actively hunt (though that is never mentioned in the game, that's how werewolves are). As such travel between cities is dangerous even if you can do it fully at night.

Then there's feeding. In most cities the prince hands out feeding grounds to vamps and denotes other areas as free game. In a city you know, you know what these areas are. In one you don't, you could find yourself having to choose between starvation and potentially getting killed by an elder vampire who doesn't like you digging around in his fridge.

So on and so forth.

What all this means is that if you're the Camarilla ruler of a city, while, TECHNICALLY you have people above you, they have very very little control over what you do. You're basically given free reign. The ruler of a city state.

As for the primogen... well, think of it this way--the Prince is like the roman emperors, while the primogen are like the senate. Each, technically, has the power to over rule the other. However, a powerful emperor is unchecked by the senate, while a weak one is ruled by them. The same is true of Primogen/Princes.


Also: the CAMARILLA recently came to LA, not the Ventrue.

The Ventrue are a clan, which is like a bloodline. It's not a political body--though some clans organize themselves as such. Or attempt to.

The Camarilla are the organization of which LaCroix is a Prince.

The reason the Ventrue are leaders, is not because they run the Camarilla, but rather they run the Camarilla (in general) because they are leaders. The Ventrue bloodline is predisposed to leadership, and it has always been that way, Camarilla or not. Their abilities, and the personality traits they tend to choose when siring create cunning and power hungry politicians.

The Camarilla itself is made up of members of all clans, and has princes and what not from all clans as well. The Ventrue make up the majority of the top, but they aren't the sole proprietors.

[Mirai Gen]

Plus generally trying to get a Malkavian or Gangrel to become a leader doesn't work too well.

[Krylo]

For Malkavians that's due to a defect of the blood, but for Gangrels that's because of, again, the personality traits which Gangrel sires tend to like. Animalistic ones.

Though some Malkavians (Therese/Jeanette) can be damn good politicians, as can Gangrels. Tremere make good leadership material, as well, if they can get past the distrust of their blood magic, and Toreador would be better at it than Ventrue if they could stop writing shitty poetry long enough. People like them much much more, after all--and they're even better at manipulation than the Ventrue are.

[Mirai Gen]

For Malkavians that's due to a defect of the blood, but for Gangrels that's because of, again, the personality traits which Gangrel sires tend to like. Animalistic ones.

Basically, yeah. Gangrel kind of remind me of Dreamspeakers from Mage in that regard.

Damn I wish Troika were still around so they could make me a Mage video game. The engine doesn't work nearly as fluidly as Vampire does (what with vampires being a thousand times tougher/stronger/etc than a human) and it wouldn't be very appropriate for a video game in some aspects (Most of the powers basically are just "Make shit up, it happens that way") but I'd still love to see it.