The night beauty died

I was there the night beauty died.

Diana Iadanza, radiant, untouchable, a Justicar among artists stood beneath invisible chandeliers, ready to host a Grand Ball that would never be remembered. The music should have risen. The dancers should have gathered. Instead, the night was torn apart by blades and blood. The Assamites came like a storm, silent, precise, inevitable. There was no elegance, no negotiation, only violence. The Ball never began. The Toreador dream burned before the first note could be played.

This Saturday I finally had a chance to play VTES with friends again, and what better setting than a pub in Cambridge, because nothing says "eternal struggle" like ordering drinks between turns and trying to remember your pool count over background chatter.

David brought his Lasombra, Manuel arrived with his ever-reliable Assamites, Aaron gave the Salubri a spin, and I, of course, brought the Toreadors. Someone had to represent culture at the table.

The seating ended up as: Salubri > Lasombra > Assamite > Toreador. A perfectly reasonable arrangement, if your definition of reasonable includes being hunted by professional assassins.

The game began slowly, as it often does when everyone pretends not to be dangerous yet. Karif, Gnaeus, Opikun and Diana all made their appearances, and we spent the early turns setting up, quiet, cautious and slightly suspicious of one another. My starting crypt was kind, with two additional princes waiting, so I felt optimistic.

That optimism didn't last long. The Salubri escalated things first when Opikun equipped a weapon dealing aggravated damage, effectively announcing that close combat was now a terrible idea. Aaron was immediately promoted to "problem" and David had to tread carefully as his prey. Meanwhile, the Assamites started handing out Contracts like invitations nobody wanted. Manuel made several attempts on me, but I managed to deflect those attacks toward the Salubri, slowly draining his pool. David joined in on the redirection game as well, occasionally passing pressure back to the Assamites. It was one of those tables where no one wanted attention, but everyone kept receiving it anyway.

By the late game, all of us had three vampires out. My Toreador trio (Diana, Catalina and Flavio) were finally ready, but my hand had other ideas. For what felt like ages, I drew no political actions at all. A Toreador deck without politics feels like hosting a gala with no music. technically impressive, but deeply disappointing. Eventually, though, I drew Kine Resources Contested and things started moving. With a clear vote advantage, I pushed it through, dropping the Salubri to 3 pool and the Assamites to 10, while I remained comfortably at 9.

Then came Camarilla’s Iron Fist, the perfect follow-up. Elegant. Devastating. The finishing move. The encore after the performance. The action succeeded. I counted the votes. I had five. David had four. Everything aligned. And then, like a perfectly timed heckle from the shadows, David played Ominous Chorus. Suddenly, my carefully orchestrated masterpiece lost its rhythm. The numbers shifted. The vote failed. The Salubri lived. And just like that, the Toreador dream collapsed.

The aftermath was swift. Over the next two rounds, the Assamites dismantled my board, burning some of my vampires and leaving the rest too drained to do anything meaningful. It turns out that missing your big moment in VTES often leads to someone else having theirs. In the end, the timer saved me and we all walked away with half a victory point.

I never got to play Grand Ball, which felt almost poetic. Even funnier, the pub had live music that night and a band started playing halfway through our game. So while my Toreadors failed to host their own grand event, the background music ensured the atmosphere was still appropriately dramatic, though communication became slightly more challenging.

The game itself was fantastic. The Salubri performed impressively, the Assamites were relentless and I even had a brief alliance with the Lasombra: we each saved one of the other's vampires from torpor, which in VTES terms is practically a lifelong friendship. We laughed, we bled and we would absolutely do it again.

The game never ends, only pauses. I'll see you at the next move.

Custodian Hargrave

Choosing my weapon for Bedford

It has happened again. I have looked at the calendar, nodded thoughtfully like a Ventrue reviewing quarterly results and made a decision that will almost certainly lead to questionable life choices: I am going to the next VTES tournament in Bedford in May. And I am excited. Properly excited. The kind of excitement that makes you mentally replay previous games, rethink deck choices and suddenly believe that this time you will definitely make better decisions. Probably.

My first tournament in Cambridge was an incredible experience. I brought my Tremere deck, which felt like the safe, scholarly choice. It was reliable, defensive, and allowed me to pretend I knew exactly what I was doing while quietly reacting to everything happening around me. It served me well and I had a lot of fun with it. But now… now I feel the pull of something different. The dangerous kind of confidence that whispers, "What if you tried something new?"

The problem is not the lack of options. The problem is that I have too many. Each deck sits there, metaphorically raising its hand, promising glory, victory points and definitely not embarrassing me in front of experienced players. I do not believe them. But I want to.

First, there's the Lasombra voting deck. This one is very tempting. It has everything I enjoy: politics, pressure and the subtle implication that if you disagree, something unpleasant might happen to your vampires. Lasombra feel powerful when things go right. You pass votes, control the table and occasionally remind people that blocking you is a life decision they may regret. Of course, this also means the table might decide that you are the problem. Which is fair. But still inconvenient.

Then there's the Banu Haqim combat deck. The elegant solution to most problems: violence. There is something deeply satisfying about playing Banu Haqim. You don't negotiate, you don't debate, you identify a threat and remove it with professional efficiency. It's clean, direct and occasionally terrifying for everyone involved. The downside is that sometimes you clear the board so efficiently that you forget to actually win the game. It's a bit like perfectly cleaning your house and then realizing you forgot to cook dinner. 

Then we have the Path of Power Sabbat deck. This one is ambitious. It combines politics with that delightful Sabbat energy of "we are in charge now, whether you like it or not." With Aaradhya and Dark Selina in the mix, the deck feels like it could do something truly impressive. Or completely collapse because I didn't draw the right pieces at the right time. It's a bit like preparing a complicated ritual: you're fairly sure it will work, but there is always that small voice asking what happens if it doesn't.

And finally, the wildcard: the Salubri deck. Untested, unproven, and slightly mysterious. This is the deck equivalent of showing up to a formal gathering with someone no one has met before and confidently saying, "Trust me, this will work." It might be brilliant. It might be a disaster. It will definitely be memorable. There is a certain appeal in that.

So here I am, standing at the crossroads. Do I go with something familiar and reliable? Do I embrace raw power and aggression? Do I attempt something ambitious and political? Or do I trust in the unknown and hope for the best? At the moment, I genuinely have no idea. What I do know is this: I am looking forward to Bedford. Another chance to play, to learn and to make new mistakes (hopefully more refined ones this time). To sit at the table with experienced players and try to keep up, one decision at a time. And whichever deck I end up choosing, I'm sure it will teach me something. Possibly humility. But hopefully… also how to get more than half a victory point this time.

The game never ends, only pauses. I'll see you at the next move.

Custodian Hargrave

The Art of Losing (and why I keep coming back)

Let me start with a confession: I lose. Quite a lot, actually. Not in a dramatic, table-flipping, "this game is clearly broken" kind of way, but in a much more subtle, almost educational fashion. The kind where you confidently execute a plan, lean back slightly, and then (over the course of the next two turns) watch that plan quietly fall apart while everyone else carries on as if this was always going to happen.

The funny thing is, I haven't even had the chance to play much recently. Life has been busy, schedules misaligned and my decks have mostly been sitting idle. But that hasn't stopped me from thinking about the game. Quite the opposite. I find myself replaying past games in my head, analyzing decisions, wondering what I could have done differently. It's like a Tremere apprentice leaning over dusty notes, trying to understand which part of the ritual went wrong, except in my case, the ritual is "why did I get ousted in turn five."

When I first started playing VTES, I had a fairly straightforward expectation: build something cool, play it and eventually win a few games. That seemed reasonable enough. Instead, what I got was a steady stream of lessons disguised as defeats. My early games followed a familiar pattern. I would feel confident, execute "the plan" and then slowly realize that everyone else at the table also had a plan... and theirs actually worked.

At first, I didn't fully understand what was happening. Why was my action blocked? Why did that combat go so badly? Why did my predator suddenly decide that I was the most interesting person at the table? Over time, though, things started to make more sense. Not because I suddenly became good, but because I began to see the patterns. Timing matters. Table perception matters. And perhaps most importantly, people matter.

There was a moment in one of my games where I felt particularly proud of a political action I was about to play. I had what I thought was a solid argument, enough votes and a clear outcome in mind. I presented my case with all the confidence of a Ventrue who has already decided how the meeting will end. And then, quite calmly, the table dismantled my plan, redistributed the damage and left me wondering how I had managed to negotiate myself into a worse position than when I started. That was the moment it truly clicked: this game isn't just about playing cards, it's about navigating people.

What keeps me engaged, even when I'm not actively playing, is how differently each clan feels. When I think about my Tremere games, I remember trying to carefully manage resources and timing, only to be dragged into situations I wasn't fully prepared for. With Ventrue, there's always that expectation of control (of being the one setting the pace) until something slips, and suddenly you're negotiating for survival instead of dominance. Lasombra feel like they're always on the edge of something powerful, one good turn away from taking over the table. And Gangrel, well, Gangrel feel like they're playing a different game entirely: patient, reactive and quietly effective.

Despite all this, the outcome is often the same: someone else plays better. But instead of being discouraging, that's what makes the game interesting. Every loss carries something with it. A better understanding of when to act. A clearer sense of who the real threat is. A growing awareness that sometimes the best move is simply to do nothing and wait.

Progress in VTES doesn't feel like a sudden breakthrough (although it is entirely possible, that I am just a bad player and others improve faster). It feels more like gradually becoming less confused. You start to recognize patterns, anticipate reactions and occasionally avoid making the same mistake twice. And every now and then, something works. A well-timed action goes through. A deal holds. A plan comes together just enough to make a difference.

That's why I keep coming back to it, even when I'm not actively playing. It's not just about winning. It's about understanding. About slowly piecing together how this strange, social, strategic puzzle works. Every game leaves behind questions and for some reason, I find that incredibly satisfying. So yes, I lose. But I also think, reflect and occasionally improve. And I have a feeling that when the next game finally happens, I'll make entirely new mistakes... just slightly better ones than before.

The game never ends, only pauses. I'll see you at the next move.

Custodian Hargrave