From clan flavour to bloodshed: A first VTES lesson

Last Sunday I finally got to do one of my favorite things: introduce VTES to a new victim. Sorry, player. A friend of mine had never played before but was curious, and I was more than happy to guide him gently into the Eternal Struggle.

Before the game, I tried explaining the clans to see which one would grab his attention. In hindsight, this might not have been my brightest idea. Liking a clan's vibe doesn't always mean you'll enjoy its playstyle. Still, he gravitated toward the Banu Haqim, so a few days before game night I sat down to build him a deck. I'd never played them either, so I did what any responsible Methuselah would do: asked around and consulted the VDB for… inspiration. The goal was simple: make sure the deck actually worked and didn't immediately betray him.

When I told my wife about this, she had one request: "Can you please look at my Malkavian deck too?" Fair enough. The Clan of the Moon had been running on an unmodified V5 precon for far too long. So once again, I turned to my trusted accomplice, the VDB, and tried to improve those sneaky lunatics. I'm happy to report that I emerged from the process feeling moderately competent.

Then came my own dilemma. With Banu Haqim and Malkavians at the table, what should I play? My hand instinctively reached for the Tremere, but that meant more Blood Sorcery, and I wanted to show off political actions too. Ventrue? Toreador? Then it hit me! I had preordered the Sabbat Path of Power deck and had never played it. This felt like the perfect excuse to embrace the darkness.

Naturally, that led to another problem. Most of my collection is firmly Camarilla-focused. I have about as many Sabbat cards as I have reasons to trust them. The VDB wasn't much help either, one Path of Power example deck relied heavily on Aaradhya, running five copies. I had two. So I did the only thing left: mashed two precons together and hoped for the best.

The game itself was so much fun. My friend was my prey, my wife my predator, an arrangement that felt deeply symbolic. My friend quickly discovered how brutal the Banu Haqim combat module can be, especially when repeatedly topping up vampires with Hunger of Marduk. My wife, meanwhile, did what Malkavians do best: bled me for 5 or 6 like it was a casual suggestion. If only I'd owned an Archon Investigation, that would've taught her some manners.

 

After two hours, all three of us were still standing, so we pressed on. About half an hour later, I managed to oust my friend and claim a VP. We called the game there, though I'm fairly certain the Malkavians would have eaten me alive shortly after, handing my wife the win. A familiar ending.

Afterward, I reflected on the decks I'd built. They both worked well, but in hindsight, a combat deck might not be the best introduction for a new player. Combat in VTES is practically a game within the game, complete with its own timing windows, rules, and opportunities to say "wait, can I respond to that?" A stealth-bleed deck would've been a gentler on-ramp. Still, we all had fun. My friend wasn't discouraged by defeat and immediately suggested playing again. Who knows, in time he might turn out to be a competitive player after all. And if there's one thing vampires have plenty of, it's time.

As this was my last post of the year, it feels like a good moment to pause, take a step back, and appreciate how far this little journey has already gone. From first games and questionable deck choices to data dives and late-night theorycrafting, it's been a joy to write these thoughts down and share them. There's plenty more coming next year (more games, more experiments, and undoubtedly more mistakes) but for now, I'll let the cards rest. Thank you for reading, and I'll see you again after the calendar turns. Just remember, that the game never ends, only pauses!

Custodian Hargrave

Sixth Tradition: Destruction

The final lesson was given far from the manor, in a forgotten industrial quarter where even mortals avoided the night. Lord Henry Woolcott brought his progeny to a place where ash still clung to brickwork and the ground bore scars no rain could wash away. Here, he explained, judgment had once been rendered. The Sixth Tradition was not spoken lightly, for it was the law that ended all others. Destruction was forbidden not because Kindred life was sacred, but because chaos was. To kill one of their own without sanction was to declare oneself above the hierarchy, a crime that could only be answered with extinction.

Woolcott taught that the right of destruction belonged to elders alone, those whose age, power, and perspective placed them beyond impulse. To destroy a Kindred was not vengeance; it was governance. A fledgling acting on rage or fear risked unraveling centuries of carefully balanced order. The young Ventrue learned that even righteous anger meant nothing without authority behind it. Without permission, without command, a Kindred who destroyed another became nothing more than a liability and liabilities were removed swiftly and without ceremony.

Then Woolcott spoke of the Blood Hunt, though not with reverence. Only the Eldest could call it, for only they bore the weight of what followed. To name a target was to unleash the city itself, sheriffs, hounds and opportunists all bound by tradition to pursue destruction. The hunted Kindred ceased to exist in the eyes of the law, they were already dead, merely waiting for the night to catch up. Woolcott made it clear: the Blood Hunt was not cruelty. It was the city proving it could still enforce obedience.

As dawn threatened the horizon, Woolcott regarded his progeny one last time as a teacher rather than a ruler. This lesson, the last, carried no comfort. Power did not grant the right to kill; hierarchy did. Survival did not belong to the strongest, but to the most obedient. "Remember", his silence seemed to say, "even monsters answer to something greater". With that, the lessons ended. The fledgling now carried all six Traditions within him, laws not meant to be debated, but endured. And if he forgot them, Woolcott had ensured he understood exactly what awaited those who did.

 

I've been playing VTES for a few months now, and in all that time I've seen exactly zero vampires commit diablerie. Not once. Not accidentally. Not even as a "well, this seems funny" moment. At my tables, diablerie is treated like touching the big red button labeled DO NOT PRESS. Everyone knows it exists, nobody wants to deal with the consequences.

Maybe diablerie happens more often in tournaments. Maybe there's a secret underground scene where vampires are slurping elders like smoothies. But in casual play? It's a rare beast. Which makes a card that specifically punishes a diablerist (assuming your +1 stealth action actually goes through) feel a bit like bringing a silver bullet to a knitting circle. The theme is fantastic, don't get me wrong. Passing judgment on someone who committed the ultimate crime is peak Camarilla drama. Mechanically, though? I'm just not seeing it.

When I look back at the other Tradition cards, I can easily imagine situations where each one shines. They do things you expect vampires to do: manage blood, enforce domains, create progeny, manipulate resources. Sixth Tradition, on the other hand, is waiting patiently for a crime that almost never happens, like a very bored sheriff polishing a badge no one ever asks to see.

The tournament data doesn't help its case either. The last winning deck that included even a single copy of this card dates back to 2007. That's eighteen years ago. In VTES terms, this card hasn't just fallen out of favor, it's been quietly sealed in a vault and forgotten. And I can't blame the players.

I'm not sure what this card would need to become relevant again. Destroying a vampire is obviously a powerful effect, and the Sixth Tradition is literally about destruction. But maybe the design focus should've been closer to a Blood Hunt, something that lets Camarilla vampires actively dogpile a target instead of waiting for someone to commit a very specific and very avoidable crime. A tradition that says "you messed up, now everyone gets involved" feels more on-brand and more playable.

And with that, my Traditions series comes to an end. Six cards, six very different design philosophies, and one very lonely punishment card waiting for a diablerist that may never arrive. It's been a fun experiment to go through all of them, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed overthinking every single one.

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

Custodian Hargrave

Fifth Tradition: Hospitality

The lesson began at the city's edge, where the lights thinned and the old boundaries still mattered. Lord Henry Woolcott halted his progeny beneath an iron bridge, the hum of distant traffic echoing like a warning rather than comfort. This was not their domain. The air itself felt hostile, unclaimed by Woolcott's will, and that alone was enough to command restraint. He explained that the Fifth Tradition was the etiquette of survival. Not courtesy, but acknowledgment of power. A Ventrue did not trespass. A Ventrue announced himself. To do otherwise was to invite annihilation before one ever drew breath within foreign shadows.

Hospitality, Woolcott taught, was the recognition that all domains were sovereign realms, each ruled by a will as merciless as his own. When entering another city, a kindred became less than a subject until recognized, a thing without title, protection, or rights. The fledgling listened as Woolcott outlined the ritual: present oneself, declare lineage, await judgment. Acceptance was not guaranteed, nor was it owed. Without the ruler's word, one was nothing: prey, interloper, or example. Among the Ventrue, to forget this was not ignorance but arrogance, and arrogance was swiftly corrected by final death.

Woolcott spoke of princes who had erased entire bloodlines over breaches of hospitality, not out of cruelty but necessity. A ruler who allowed unannounced predators into their domain invited chaos, and chaos was an enemy of order. The young Ventrue learned that even the most powerful elders bowed to this law. To honor another's domain was to preserve the hierarchy that kept their kind from tearing itself apart. Control began with restraint, dominance began with respect for the throne one did not occupy.

As the lesson ended, Woolcott straightened his coat and turned back toward the city they ruled, leaving the foreign lights behind them. "Remember this", his presence seemed to command. "Power does not travel with you. It is granted." The fledgling carried the weight of the Fifth Tradition with him as they departed, understanding now that survival was not only about strength or discipline, but about knowing when to kneel, when to speak, and when to wait for permission to exist.

 

Before I kicked off the Tradition card series, I did what any sensible Tremere would do: I read all of them first and made notes, just so I wouldn't accidentally praise something that clearly wanted to be compared to Govern the Unaligned. I knew the Fourth Tradition would invite that comparison, but the Fifth Tradition walked in, sat down, and said, "Hold my goblet".

Mechanically, it looks familiar at first glance. You still need a Prince or a Justicar, the acting vampire burns one blood, and you move blood to another vampire. Business as usual. But then you read it more carefully and realize something interesting: it doesn't say the target vampire has to be younger. It doesn't say they have to be uncontrolled. Suddenly the card stops being a polite accounting exercise and starts looking like a deluxe room-service menu.

So yes, unless I'm missing something crucial (which is always possible), you can absolutely use this to top up a ready vampire or accelerate an uncontrolled one. Four blood. Four! That's not "nice", that's "someone just skipped three hunts and a bad decision". It's like hunting, but faster, cleaner, and with a title involved. Very Camarilla.

Naturally, I went digging through the VDB to see who's actually using this thing. As expected, it shows up in only a handful of decks, but interestingly, it's been showing up consistently for about twenty years. That alone earns it some respect. The usual suspects benefit the most: Ventrue, Toreador, and Nosferatu. Which is delightfully thematic. Princes tend to come from the clan of kings or the clan of roses… and the Nosferatu? Well, if anyone appreciates a quiet, well-managed arrival, it's the people who prefer not to be seen at all.

I can absolutely imagine slipping this card into a few of my decks, probably as a one- or two-of. More than that feels hard to justify, at least with my current level of experience. It's powerful, but it's not screaming for full commitment. It's more of a "you'll be glad it's there when you draw it" kind of card.

So what about you, dear reader? Have you made good use of the Fifth Tradition? Any clever tricks, combos, or stories where four blood at the right moment completely changed the table? I'm genuinely curious and always eager to learn new ways to make titles feel even more important.

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

Custodian Hargrave