Thoughts on Masquerade

Hello there!

I really should have done this earlier (like, at the start of the game) but I didn't, and now I'm doing it. I think it's very important for me to write a post that lets you all know how I'm feeling about the game and address some of the issues that have cropped up over the course of all the really amazing story that we've been doing - because there are a few issues, and a lot of those issues are my responsibility, and I don't often take the time out to express how I'm feeling and what I'm doing in a way that everybody can read. So, this is me doing that! Hopefully I can show over the course of this post that I'm actually doing a lot of thinking and putting a lot of effort into making this game great for everybody, and not just in it for my own selfish reasons - and hopefully I can put some people's concerns to rest. Today I met with our Grievance Officers and they brought a lot of things to my attention, so this is me trying to put into words how I plan on dealing with those things.
So, without any further ado, let's launch into it!

1) Railroading - "I don't get to do the things that I want to do!"

So this is a thing that's been an issue in the game for a while now, and it's something that I really don't like. The DMs have a plan for the storyline and sometimes we push people towards certain story elements that we've invented - and sometimes that's fine, because our story is kinda cool and people enjoy participating in it. One of the problems that we face, however, is time limitations. There are an awful lot of you, and nearly all of you have things that you want to do. Occasionally  when pressed for time, I've been forced to make some snap decisions that have screwed people out of really cool plans that they've had - and sometimes that's been really unfortunate. One of my biggest regrets is the way that Senestre's death was handled in the Blood Hunt - we had to rush towards the end of that and he didn't get as much of a chance to show off his creativity as much as he should have. Another regret of mine is Marija's situation - lots of people had plans to deal with her, and in an effort to resolve that situation as quickly as possible, we skimmed over a lot of people's really creative plans to get a resolution.

That's bad. I didn't like that. If I could do it again differently, I would.

What I (and the DM team) might have lost sight of a little bit over the course of the game is that our job is not to devise stories and force people to act them out. Our job is to provide hooks into a story, and then let the players muddle their way through those stories however they like. Part of the problem is that a lot of our DMs are very heavily invested in their own personal stories right now, and they don't have the time that they had before to roll with the punches and come up with fresh ways to handle player actions. This makes you guys feel like you're on traintracks, going in a direction that you have no control over - and nobody likes that. I'm going to make an effort to be better at that, and one of the ways I'm going to do that is drop my player character entirely, so that I can devote all of my game time to rolling with your ideas and letting you play out your stories, not the DM's. Another way I'm going to fix it is that the DMs have several story elements like the trip to Sydney that we're really pushing for - and we're going to stop pushing. We're going to devise a few hooks to entice you guys into the idea of going, but if your character doesn't take the bait, then the DMs will work with whatever your characters decide to do - that's our job, not forcing you into a trip that you don't want to take.

And hey, if the world falls apart around you because you missed a hook or the Antediluvians wake up somewhere, that's fine too - you gotta roll with our punches, same as we gotta roll with yours. That's what we all want - a shifting, interesting story line that's creatively controlled by all of us, not just the DM team. So that's what we're gonna try and do more from this point on. Hopefully that'll make you guys - and us, bluntly - feel a lot more comfortable about things.

2) Language - "That was rude, get f**cked."

This is actually a personal problem of mine, not really a problem across the whole group. Remember those snap decisions I mentioned I have to make? Sometimes I'm not great at delivering those decisions. Sometimes I can be blunt, or rude, or a little bit cruel. This isn't a huge problem in actual games - that I know of - but it can be a huge, huge problem on Facebook. The problem with Facebook is that sometimes it isn't clear whether I'm talking as DM or whether I'm talking as Jason - I have two different hats to wear and it can get a bit muddled as to what hat I'm wearing. When I have my DM hat on, I should be professional at all times, and sometimes I haven't been, which is bad.

In the same vein, however, when I have my DM hat on, people have to treat me with respect too. I'm doing a very difficult job and if people are accusing me of being inconsiderate or implying that I don't know what I'm doing when I have my DM hat on, that's really not on. I need a certain amount of respect and authority to actually do my job, and that has to go both ways.

"But Jason," I hear you ask. "How do I tell if you're DM Jason or friend Jason? It's so hard to tell!" Well, the solution to that is simple. We're probably going to be moving the group off Facebook soon, because Facebook is kinda terrible. We're going to have our own website with forums and things, and when we move there it will be a lot easier to tell if I'm DM Jason or friend Jason - and hopefully things won't get so confused. Another plus is that it won't muddle up character separation for you guys, too - you'll have places on the forum where you can talk in-character, and places where you can talk as yourselves. I think that'll really help solve the language problem and everybody can treat each other with professionalism and respect where it matters, and then talk smack and casually insult one another where it doesn't. Sounds good, right? I think so, anyway.

3) Grey Areas - "Jason won't want to work with me."

This is a difficult problem for me to address, but I'll do my best. There might come a time when I'm having personal issues with somebody - we're all friends most of the time, but I fully admit that sometimes I can be a difficult person to like, and there can sometimes be tension. There might come a time when you think to yourself, "I don't want to take this to Jason, he's sick about hearing about this clan and my plans, maybe I should just shut up and not take this to him." Even worse, you might think to yourself, "I'm not going to take this to Jason, he doesn't like me, it'll never get approved." The absolute worst case scenario is me thinking "God, I wish this person would bugger off, I'm so sick of listening to them blather on about this plan!" Yes, sometimes that does happen, although very, very rarely. I love all of you quite a lot (eww) and I want this environment to be one in which we're all comfortable expressing ourselves, and sometimes I'm not the right person to talk to (hopefully not often!).

I want to fix any concerns that I'm going to shelve somebody just because I'm not feeling kindly disposed to somebody, and in an effort to do that, I'm going to be a bit more obvious about bringing in other DMs to assist me on issues that I find tricky to deal with, and I'm going to make make more of an effort to talk to our GOs if ever I think I need the extra support - that should stop me from getting snippy with anybody and make everybody feel a lot more comfortable.

In the same vein, I might have to send players to other DMs if I'm not feeling equipped to deal with a specific problem right at that moment. If I send you off to somebody else with your plans or ideas, don't panic! I'm still very interested in incorporating your ideas, I just may not have the time or be in the right head space to give you the attention you deserve.

4) Power Levels - "My character can't do anything!"

This is something that has been mentioned quite a few times from quite a few corners, and this is the one issue that I'm going to address a little bit more bluntly than all of the other ones. A few people have been unhappy with their character sheets - they don't think they have enough Strength to be of any use, for example, or they don't have enough showy disciplines. I'm going to respond to those complaints very simply. On Tuesday I launched a fresh Sabbat tabletop, and rolled up six character sheets using neonate statistics, and the absolute bare minimum of powers and abilities were handed out.

We got seven hours of play out of those baby vampires.

There is no character - no character - that does not have the tools to do awesome things. Look at our independent ghoul players, for example. The nature of the game is social, and so any character can suddenly find themselves in a very interesting position at the drop of a hat. If you're feeling powerless and feeling like you can't do anything, here's a handy checklist:

• Have you researched what exactly you can do with the character sheet you have?
• Have you sat down and talked to a DM about the long-term goals of your character?
• Have you considered presenting yourself to another player's character for training in new powers?
• Is there anything your clan or faction is doing that you could assist with?

Those four points should give you oodles of things to do, regardless of whether or not you have huge character sheets with nine dots in every discipline and Cain getting you out of trouble. We can't all be elders, and when Gehenna comes the powers of elders are going to start fading anyway. Don't get bogged down in the numbers on your sheet - play the game for fun, not for huge dice pools. We're here to help you make it interesting regardless of your statistics.

5) Tabletop Rules - "How does Celerity work again?"

To finish off, here's a very minor issue. When we run tabletops, each DM has a slightly different way of running things. Tyson runs things very by the book and uses blood pools and health levels, Zorro tends to oscillate wildly between rules-heavy and pure storytelling game play  and I like to think I sit comfortably somewhere in the middle. I'm sure when James starts running tabletops, he'll have his own way of running things, as will Ollie. This can be confusing for the players, though, if everybody has a different way of approaching things.

To try and fix this issue, I'm going to be reminding DMs to tell their players before they start how they run things - how they will handle things like Celerity, blood pools, health levels, and skill rolling for that particular tabletop. They'll make sure that the way they want to run things is alright with you guys, and then you can skip merrily into the World of Darkness and destroy something fun.

Wrap-up.

So, those are five issues that were brought to my attention this morning, and I hope that I've shown you how I'm going to address them. To finish this whole spiel off, I'd just like to remind everybody that I'm not some sort of unfeeling ogre who wants to show up at Elysiums and make you all dance for his amusement - I'm heavily invested in your enjoyment of the game, and I want to create an experience that you'll all want to come back to. Hopefully me dealing with all of these issues will make you feel better about the game, and about me as head DM. I do so love this job. 

Much love,

Jason.

.

It's five o'clock and the sunlight filters through onto my bleeding stomach.
I'm thinking of all the swear words that I know in blinding succession.
My body is resisting and the air is crisp and everything is going to keep on trying.

It's five thirty and the sun has slipped behind a cloud but the bleeding has stopped.
I'm thinking of Hell and Heaven and Agreements with slow, torpid thoughts.
My body is still and the air is slowly changing and everything is falling by the wayside by trying.

It's six. The sun is gone. The angry red marks across my belly are slightly raised.
I'm thinking that there is still so very much to do but it sears painfully across my eyes.
My body is itching and the air is heady with smoke and everything isn't moving.

It's six-thirty. There's a pale white light. I can't make out the marks on my stomach.
I'm reading somebody else's infinite, somebody else's memories, and they twist to fit mine.
My body is twitching signals to my fingers, the air is dim and dark, and everything is here.

Tethered

You keep having to leave.
Tethered to the bar.
You don't want to travel far.
But she'll wind up in trouble again.

You're rushing red-wroth
when you see him behind the bar.
Keep a civil tongue
for you'll run together under streetlamp suns
and you'll not think, and she won't have
to wash the blood out of your suit
in the morning.

Priscus

Let's just stop and think before I lose face.
Muscles spasm, neck twitches.
Held tilts.
Arms akimbo.
Let's just stop and think before I lose face.

I'm dripping with gold.
Royalty or horse piss.
Sell it with your eyes.
Drink in their lies.
Yours is a brow that they will stoop to kiss.

You will never see the world as they do.
They will cut it into pieces and offer it to you.

Go. I cannot bear to look at you.
You will never see the world as I do.

Dripping with gold.
The cold is at your back.
I'm coiled to attack.
It's true; I crave you.

Let's just stop and think.

hIm

Tattered jeans and dirt-stained knees.
A face full of untold fabrications.
A body of planes, lines and curvature.
A wingspan bold and beautiful.

Chelonia

I've too much mind and not enough head.

And the little self-control that I have is red

and mean and crippled.

It remembers a time when my mind

was confined to the waters of the blind.

The surface rippled.

Enemy mine,

beautiful and evil,

fill your cup and I'll find mine,

and we'll leave well enough alone.

I'm out and about now anyway.

Ice-Sleep

lock it all away

in the deep-dark-pack-ice

lock it all away.

This is not the way forward.

You can't play on those terms.

The board isn't fair.

You'll only get burned.

in the deep-dark-pack-ice

lock it all away.

sleep with me.

there, in the cold.

We can smother this.

You can grow old.

in the deep-dark-pack-ice

and not want.

lock it all away.

you're afraid.

Sensible.

You're so sick of being sensible.

There's no stopping that juggernaut.

but hush, hush

in the deep-dark-pack-ice

lock it all away.

the thinning line between that place

and your sanity

is quickly fading away

so lock yourself in

lock it all away

lock it all away

the devil has no sway

in the deep-dark-pack-ice

lock it all away.

and your fury means nothing

in the dark.

Hands of Fire

I have hands of fire.
It's what I wanted.
Just don't incur my ire.

I travel in a little bubble
of warmth, that preserves
the simple heartbeats all around.

I bring light to every room
I heat water, rooms, loins.
I do the best I can.

He disrobed before me
such a crass way of putting it
but his skin was on display.

I couldn't touch it.
(not that I did not want to
but for fear of consuming)

He said
"I will be an inferno."

I will be an inferno.

The fire began to spread.
Racing up my arms,
searing my flesh.

I did not scream.
I had enough control for that.
I did not scream.

I have a mind of fire.
I let this happen.
It stopped my eyes from blazing.

See all wreathed,
or desire all ash.
I have a mind of fire.

His bare skin before me.
I howl within
and burn away their sin.

"I will be an inferno."

I cannot touch.
It isn't you!
But I have hands of fire.

Searing-hot.

Searing-hot liquid.
It floods into the internal cavity.
Swills about your innards.
Burns them away.

You contort and double over.
You unfurl and something breaks.
The fumes of bile-seared body.
Floats up to your brain.

You're going insane.
There's not much left of you.
The searing-hot liquid.
Floods into the eternal cavity.
You won't live forever.
You'll just burn away.

Do you have anything else to say?
You upended it into your bones.
In the blood-flecked foam
that bubbles from your lips
there is an absolution.

Bury your head in the sand.
Twist and turn in your body
convoluted.
It floods into the diurnal cavity.
Swills about your innards.
Burns them away.

Work to be Done

You were mid-pour when it hit you.
I mean, for chrissakes, strong arm didn't prepare you for shit like this.
That head warlock with his sword stuck in that religious nut.
The boss sprouting wings for some fucked-up reason;
that's gonna make business a hell of a lot harder
and then there's the kid. Everybody's gonna be looking for him
and you owe him a shitload of money
but it'll all be fine
if it wasn't for the kid.
The warlock has no eyes.

Bit of a pity that she burned up.
She was pretty in her own way.
Completely wrong, of course.
There's no salvation after death for the likes of us.
There's just this.
We were made in the image of our Maker.
You've never showed any mercy before.
Why should he?

You're glad that she couldn't see.
Might get some ideas in her head.
Something you can't give her.
She'll settle for dogs and the occasional friend.
But that's a vice you can't indulge.
That primal, reproductive urge -
but you feel it too, don't you?
Everything that lives strives to make more of itself.
Even in unlife.
Procreate.

Your Maker won't allow it.
She's not right.
She's too right.
She's too used to you.
It wouldn't be a curse.
And anyway, Paul wouldn't approve.
She doesn't deserve -
she hasn't earned -
she's not right.

You come out of it.
You've poured elder's heartblood all over the counter.
Better go fetch a rag.
There's work to be done.

Sun Cult

We live in a sun cult.
The obelisks have been uprooted.
The mummies burned away or buried.
The pharoahs dead, the high priests gone.
And yet the sun still rises.

The stunted men will writhe and cry.
The sun god turns a baleful eye.
We mime the rites of ages past.
And no one has to die.

We live in a sun cult.
The trappings have faded.
The world worships in private.
The moon recieves more screen time.
And yet the sun still rises.

The stunted women ask us why.
The sun goes down and races by.
We mime the sickness of the day.
And no one has to cry.

Packed

You pack away the lines and lies that you wore upon your face.

You pack away the comforting toxins that screen you from the dark.

You pack away the ability to hide away 'neath the yoke of hard work.

You've packed it all away.

Head up high, now.

The Smell of Resistance

The smell of resistance is a thick one.

The thought of defeat is a sick-sick-slick one.

I am fighting through.

You can get some sleep when you are dead.

Ignore that clock-tick-tick inside your head.

Get out while you're new.

This really is quite laugh-out-funny.

You're only poor for want of money.

You've never had a dime.

Wait! There is no such thing as crime.

Do what you must to survive,

It's only wrong if somebody sees.

So drink deep and close-lock the doors.

Nothing gets in.

You were told that you were a god-sent-miracle.

The world will twist-turn-turn at your footfall.

You poured yourself into life.

What a joke that turned into.

Nothing got in.

The smell of resistance is a thick one.

The thought of defeat is a sick-sick-slick one.

I'm not fighting through.

I can get some sleep before I'm dead.

The clock goes tick-tick-tick inside of my head.

I fell into the depths when I was new.

This isn't at all laugh-out funny.

I'm dying poor from lack of honey.

I only have a rhyme.

Don't wait. I'm a wrong-bad-crime.

Get out so you can survive.

It was so wrong that they all saw.

So spit it out and break-smash the doors.

Let them all in.

Show Me What You're Made Of

Show me what you're made of.
Viscera aside.
We're high-minded and bloody.
Squawling,
shrieking infants.
We'll depart as we arrived.

I can say just what you need.
You don't want to be alone.
You'll tear them apart and break their wills.
For cheap, for free, a bitter thrill.
You've known it the whole time.
You want a razor's edge, my dear.
There's really no denying.
You've got the potence.
There's never been any room for question.
Animated by your will that turns inwards.

You're a fortress.
Cloistered up until you burst
at the seams, a rushing torrent
of pent-up fury, of animalism
there's no holding it back this time.

Show me what you're made of.
Viscera aside.
Blood and bone and sinew.
You've got nothing to hide.
Tear away the veil and dance in your bones.

Bending backwards for your love.
Bent double and unfurled.
The patterns of your flesh
the whorls under the skin
grow ever darker as you allow this.
You will allow this?
The taint takes hold.
World without end on the knife-blade
of the cruelest lip.

World and time without end.
With the souls of those you love dripping from your maw.
To pool in bloody-minded sentiment at your feet.
They watered the earth you flourished in with their tears.

Show me what you're made of.
You're fighting back.
In the small hours of the morning.

Vice

I'm in a vice.
It's rather nice.

It has me by the throat.
Every inch of me, every instinct screaming to grab
to claw, to spit, to bite
to subsume, to consume, to defeat, no retreat.
It has me by the throat.

I'm in a vice and I can't breathe.

There's a way out.
I will bite, you hear me?
I will scream my wrath and rage and ruin.
I will use your methods against you.
I can win even a game I do not choose.
There's a way out.

I'm in a vice and I no longer care.

I have protections.
The toxins of my choosing.
Those things that you can ingest to alter yourself.
Illegal. Abusive.
Things like love, and structure, and power.
I have protections.

I'm in a vice and it does nothing.

Show me things.
Rivers of blood, faces of the damned.
My own blood pouring from my veins and igniting.
I inhale the smoke and am born anew.
Sacrifice? For you?
Show me things.

I'm in a vice.
It's rather nice.

Never.

Come forth!

Come forth!
Come forth!

I call you from the hallowed places!
From the skies and from the wastes!
Come forth! Come forth!
Your god's good graces depend upon it.

Pick up your plowshares and sharpen your sticks.
We'll tear it all down with the sweat of our brow.
The city is mortar, the city is bricks.
There is nothing there, only us, only now.

Come forth!
Come forth!
Tumultuous tide that you are, you come forth!

I call you from the depths!
From the seas and from the trees!
Come forth!
Come forth!
Your father's ire abates because of it.

Down and dirty in the muddied pool.
They've made a mire to muck about in.
Though at times we all seem the fool,
This is a war that we're yet to win.

Come forth!
Come forth!
Sniveling wretches and heroes come forth!

I call you from within!
From near and from far!
Come forth!
Come forth!
My glorious victory depends upon you.

Lexicon

The die are consistent.
There's no escaping the onslaught of chance.
Three ones over two days despite my prayers.
You're a fair-weather follower and you know it.
Regret transgressions in the wake of a forsaking.
Is this catching up to me now? Did I let this happen?
Draw the runes, chant the catechisms -
consult the books that others transcribe behind masks of silence
and inaccessible locations.
What power a rune from a maker that means nothing?
There's no escaping the onslaught of chance.
Prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.
They withhold their council and watch you.
What do they want? I drew what I thought was right.
Power-mad that you are, you grasped at shadows.
Sought to bond the unbondable.
Now you suffer for what you have brought forth.
An impeccable engine, I have to try.
The die are consistent.
There's no escaping the onslaught of chance.
But draw things to a close any way.
If I survive this, I will be better.

Pray

He who forges images, he who bewitches
the malevolent aspect, the evil eye,
the malevolent lip, the finest sorcery,
Spirit of the heaven, conjure it! Spirit of the earth,
conjure it!

I have a new prayer.
Dance, motherfucker, dance.
I'll shoot them all in the fucking head.
And I won't shut the eyes of the dead.
Will that get your attention?
Smashing down the chain-links and comin' on up
like a fucking tide.
You just couldn't let it slide.
And now you're rising up for vengeance.

The devil has entered.
You'll write runes in the blood of all the men who have wronged you.
(Or the cheap lipstick to your left).
Drive him out and steal his power.

I have a new fucking prayer.
Pray, motherfucker.

Les

There's something shockingly comfortable about a place where your shoes stick to the floor. I'll roll a cigarette and it's all of two minutes before somebody is talking to me, somebody clearly addled by the toil of a long life and the substances coursing through his bloodstream. The bustle around us slowly begins to increase as he buys me a drink and I shoot it down with the coldly amused bar staff, who've no doubt seen it all before.

I give him a false name. I'm not myself tonight.

There's something in his eyes and the sway of his hips that reminds me of hoar-frost, of a crisp, clear winter's morning where the air is so cold that there's no room in it for the taint that normal air has. But he isn't safe, he isn't nice, and he most certainly isn't right, so the feeling fades quickly and I turn my attention to other forms, other bodies, other people.

I'm glad I told them all that I was a lie. It's easier to swallow than the truth.