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Dumb awful vampire larp for losers
3 months ago
General
Okay, buckle up, because we’re going back to the last Vampire: The Masquerade LARP I ever subjected myself to — a decade ago, and trust me, it was the final straw that broke my undead little camel spine. This was one of those big "regional" games where all the players from several cities would descend like a plague of goth locusts. We rented out a youth hostel that just so happened to be in a castle, which sounds metal as hell until you realize you’re basically paying to be bored in a drafty museum for three days straight.
And oh my god, was it shite. Like, top-tier, gourmet shite. The kind you stare at in disbelief. I had NOTHING to do because, shocker, every single plot thread was already clutched in the claws of high-XP immortals who’ve been playing the same crusty vampire characters since before the invention of Facebook. I was basically an NPC in my own weekend. But whatever, that’s not even the main story here.
See, there was this central plot — something about a magic staff that once belonged to a mind-robbery vampire who could yeet himself into people’s heads and joyride them around like a haunted Uber. The usual VtM business. After the event wrapped, I happened to notice one of the STs (Storytellers, for the non-goth among us) comforting a woman who looked visibly upset. For context: she was about my age, player from another city, and I hadn’t really interacted with her all weekend except to notice she was basically handcuffed to this prop staff the whole time.
I didn’t pry, because — again — didn’t know her, didn’t know her character, and my own character had spent the whole weekend being decorative furniture. But I was close enough to overhear the ST say this gem:
> "You’ve done really well. You’ve been getting hit with the plot stick for over a year now, and you’ve handled it really well."
And that was the moment it all clicked. This poor woman had spent over a year — a YEAR — being forced to play a character whose brain was not her own. Her agency? Gone. Her ability to say what her character would do? Gone. She was literally the staff’s chew toy, and apparently this was considered good roleplay.
Like, yeah, I’d be upset too! Imagine showing up to play a game about your badass vampire OC, and instead you spend twelve months being someone else’s meat puppet. She probably had a whole vibe planned — ambitions, plots, personal arcs — and instead she got Plot-Stick’d into submission. And the cherry on the blood-soaked sundae? She didn’t even get to be involved in the resolution! That big finale where they exorcised the ghost of Mithras or Caine’s half-brother or whatever-the-hell from the magic staff? Guess who got to do the saving-the-day part? That’s right: the same high-XP boomer vamps who hogged every other major plotline, probably rolling dice with one hand and patting themselves on the back with the other.
And you know what? I think about her a lot. Plot Stick Woman. My little larping ghost of Christmas Past, whispering in my ear, reminding me why I don’t do this nonsense anymore. She had her agency taken from her. I had mine quietly starved to death by neglect. Neither of us got to have fun. But she stuck it out for a year and still showed up, and honestly? She deserved better. We all did.
Anyway, every time I think about going back to LARP, I remember that weekend. I remember Plot Stick Woman. And then I close my laptop, pour myself a drink, and thank my lucky stars I never have to get possessed by a prop for twelve straight months just to give someone else a cool character arc ever again.
And oh my god, was it shite. Like, top-tier, gourmet shite. The kind you stare at in disbelief. I had NOTHING to do because, shocker, every single plot thread was already clutched in the claws of high-XP immortals who’ve been playing the same crusty vampire characters since before the invention of Facebook. I was basically an NPC in my own weekend. But whatever, that’s not even the main story here.
See, there was this central plot — something about a magic staff that once belonged to a mind-robbery vampire who could yeet himself into people’s heads and joyride them around like a haunted Uber. The usual VtM business. After the event wrapped, I happened to notice one of the STs (Storytellers, for the non-goth among us) comforting a woman who looked visibly upset. For context: she was about my age, player from another city, and I hadn’t really interacted with her all weekend except to notice she was basically handcuffed to this prop staff the whole time.
I didn’t pry, because — again — didn’t know her, didn’t know her character, and my own character had spent the whole weekend being decorative furniture. But I was close enough to overhear the ST say this gem:
> "You’ve done really well. You’ve been getting hit with the plot stick for over a year now, and you’ve handled it really well."
And that was the moment it all clicked. This poor woman had spent over a year — a YEAR — being forced to play a character whose brain was not her own. Her agency? Gone. Her ability to say what her character would do? Gone. She was literally the staff’s chew toy, and apparently this was considered good roleplay.
Like, yeah, I’d be upset too! Imagine showing up to play a game about your badass vampire OC, and instead you spend twelve months being someone else’s meat puppet. She probably had a whole vibe planned — ambitions, plots, personal arcs — and instead she got Plot-Stick’d into submission. And the cherry on the blood-soaked sundae? She didn’t even get to be involved in the resolution! That big finale where they exorcised the ghost of Mithras or Caine’s half-brother or whatever-the-hell from the magic staff? Guess who got to do the saving-the-day part? That’s right: the same high-XP boomer vamps who hogged every other major plotline, probably rolling dice with one hand and patting themselves on the back with the other.
And you know what? I think about her a lot. Plot Stick Woman. My little larping ghost of Christmas Past, whispering in my ear, reminding me why I don’t do this nonsense anymore. She had her agency taken from her. I had mine quietly starved to death by neglect. Neither of us got to have fun. But she stuck it out for a year and still showed up, and honestly? She deserved better. We all did.
Anyway, every time I think about going back to LARP, I remember that weekend. I remember Plot Stick Woman. And then I close my laptop, pour myself a drink, and thank my lucky stars I never have to get possessed by a prop for twelve straight months just to give someone else a cool character arc ever again.
that would take a proctologist to surgically remove it. That wasn't a regional LARP,
that was a three day ego stroking event for a bunch of entitled jerks.