In an effort to boost National pride in the Camarilla, the USNC‟s office has

accepted a proposal by member Kellie Brewer to put together a panel of

judges for a US „Member of the Quarter‟ selection. Final details are still

being established, but ultimately, this panel of 5 members, selected from

applications in response to a standard „all-call‟ will accept nominations,

deliberate and decide.

Any member can nominate or be nominated as Member of the Quarter

and for any number of varying reasons, be it good works within the Cama-

rilla community, or good works in the name of the club. Nominations

should be sent to NC_Voting_panel@googlegroups.com and should in-

clude the nominee‟s name, membership number, chapter/domain/affiliate,

their direct ST and Coordinator, and a statement of support of why the nominee should be granted

the award. Naturally, you must properly sign your own name and membership number so that

judges know where the support is coming from!

The first Member of the Quarter will be announced this upcoming March, upon Regional and Na-

tional lists. They will receive a 15N prestige allotment, an article in this publication on what they

have done to earn the recognition of their peers and a mug or shirt. (“I was the Camarilla‟s Mem-

ber of the Quarter and all I got was this shirt” anyone?)

There is no set list of items required to become a Member of the Quarter, and judges will base on

a case by case basis, looking for innovative, active, helpful people who have helped their community,

be it within the Camarilla or without, from behind the scenes or in the spotlight.

National Member of the Quarter Committee All Call Three volunteers are needed to help enhance a brand new program for the US Camarilla. We would like to

implement a National Member of the Quarter. What we need are people to review applications for this program.

Interested parties should read below.

Each committee member will review applications for the Member of the Quarter categories to be first awarded

by the end of March 2010! Committee members are not eligible for this award but can be recommended for the

National and International Member of the Year Awards.

1) Must not have had a disciplinary action in the past 6 months.

2) Quick response time to emails (response time in 72 hours or less)

3) Good communication skills

4) A genuine interest to have a hand in showcasing the good that members of the club do for themselves, one

another and their overall communities.

These are the open positions. Applications will be accepted for 2 weeks and are due by 11:59:59pm on March 2,

2010

Applications should be sent to myself at invpaigenewsome@gmail.com

and camarilla.usnc@gmail.com

Please include the following in your application:

Name

Cam Number

Cam Resume

Real Life Resume (optional)

References (optional)

Any additional information you want me to use to consider you for the position (optional)

I look forward to the resumes

A Project In the Works…

Inside this issue:

Importance of Socializing 2

So what is in the Game? 2

Written on the Skin 3

Pictures, Both IC & OOC 4

Charities 5

Trimountain (continues) 6

Art CAM-eo 8

True Confessions 10

What Will They Do Next? 11

Tricks of the Trade 12

Camarilla Contacts 13

The Camarilla Times JANUARY 2010 VOLUME 1, ISSUE 1

The Importance of Socializing

So what is in the Game?

Sometimes it seems like the 'ritual' trip to Denny's or Shari's after a game is just that,

an antiquated ritual from old times where nothing really gets accomplished by the

further depletion of your wallet after a fruitful or fruitless Cam game. Sometimes it

seems like too much effort to organize, or even attend, venue or domain-level social

events. Too much effort, or too much expense.

As recent returnees to the Camarilla, my wife and I can attest to the fact that the Rit-

ual trip to Denny's, or the time-investment of organizing a Domain social is well worth

the time, effort and money. We left the Camarilla near the end of the year of fire,

rarely looking back and having lost contact with a small number of friends for doing so. Far from being the fault of the vindictiveness of the Vampire venue of the time, and the

political backstabbing and nastiness that went on in that genre, as we expected, this

was more or less our own hang-ups getting in the way of excellent opportunities.

'You get out what you put in' is the thought process we're applying to the Camarilla

this time around, and the difference it has made to our Camarilla experience couldn't

be more evident.

Were we to leave

the Cam now,

we'd look back constantly, even after only a few

months back in the game. We'd lose people who

have fast become what we would consider close

friends and we would miss those people dearly.

The difference this time around is the time hon-

ored ritual of afters, of socials, of just generally

getting together out of character and shooting the breeze while watching a movie, talking about game,

or about life in general.

That's the aspect of the Camarilla that we didn't

throw ourselves at last time around and it's the

aspect that is the most important, I now believe. I've listened to

the conversations about this horrible mean player or that horri-

ble mean player, and have come to realize that these feelings,

that so mirrored our own in the old world of darkness do not

necessarily stem from the vindictiveness of players, but from the

lack of social interaction outside of game. The big scary Prince

that denigrates you publicly and never appreciates a word that

comes out of your mouth, could well be the guy who gives you

props for standing up in the face of his well worded onslaught

and not cringing, if you just give him the chance.

So from one Cammie to another, thanks everyone for being

such great friends amidst the rigors of game and..

See you at Afters.

Page 2 THE CAMARILLA TIMES

“The

difference

this time

around is

the time

honored

ritual of

afters, “

Article By Tim Austen

US2003102342

That ‘Ritual’ Trip to Denny’s

So I know we have all been around the block when it comes to gaming. We've seen all the classic and in

style plots and enemies. You may have even put down a few of them on your own. We have seen the flow

of different players through the groups we have played with; the Min maxing mega gamers and the ones who

are all about shiny characters. There are scores of different situations that make us want to pull our hair out and laugh like crazy. Through

it all, what is the one thing that still sticks out for most of us? It is when we found out that somehow it wasn't about some big winning situa-

tion but how you write out the next chapter.

Believe it or not, this realization came to me during my First Call of Cthulhu game. Apparently being 12 years old and being told that yes, put-

ting the gun in your mouth and pulling the trigger was a nice explanation of an ending instead of living to pull some great sword and get the

girl. I later had this point driven home in my first Masquerade game where the crazy prince diablerized my Gangrel over the Domain. I

learned that there is no “winning” in the great big world. There is only helping to write a story that we all can enjoy.

I've seen more laughs and slaps on the back as people are pointing out how one of their characters got dropped off a building, blown up or

destroyed. I guess that‟s something that I keep on looking for and at times finding it in the oddest places. I have found it over a few beers

during the drinking venue at a con or laughing during afters over stale coffee and a plate of pancakes. It‟s the memories of the game that we

play in, the individual stories that we all tell that help to craft the great big world that we play in. Remember this if you find yourself becom-

ing all about the dots on the sheet or flashy costumes. It is the story that is the real deal so do your best to make sure that no matter the

Article by Aaron R. Cox

US2003092257

He didn’t want to wake. If he did, it would mean it was sundown. It would mean she would return. It would mean the pain would return. He shrugged a bit to relieve the pain in his arms; they had been chained above his head all day, left in the posi-tion she had finished with him in. He was stiff from sitting on the stone floor, back straight against the wall all day long.

His lips moved in silent prayer that she wouldn’t come; that, tonight, she would slake her desire elsewhere. But it was not to be.

The cell door opened and she stood there, silhouetted against the lights from the hallway. “Hello, my prince…” Her voice echoed off the walls of the room.

He did not reply but felt his heartbeat speed up as she stepped into the room, carrying a red leather case and setting it on the table. “Please, mistress…” he began but she shushed him, placing a slender finger to her lips.

“Phillip, dear, what have I told you?” she asked, her voice barely above the sound of a whisper.

This lady Ventrue was painfully beautiful. Her perfect features framed by long, abundant, blue-black hair, her undead paleness well became her porcelain stature. Graceful eyes and a small, pretty mouth accentuated her Asian features, her limbs supple and beautiful in their every move-ment. Her hands fluttered like doves and her tiny feet were silent upon the stone floor. She wore a deep green linen kimono and smiled gently as she opened the case.

“What would you suggest tonight, Phillip, dear? Oh, I think I know…” She stepped over to a case that stood against the wall, opening it with a flourish. Reaching within, she drew out a long slender instrument, about as long as a four foot dowel rod. But this had a leather handle and the rest of the instrument consisted of a double-edged slender blade, much like what one would find hidden in the sheath of a cane. The tip was so perfect that one could have written on a piece of paper with it. And writing was just what she intended to do.

She uttered some words in Chinese and two men rushed in, unlocked Phillip’s chains, pulling him to lie facedown on the floor.

“No, Lady Mei! Please! I beg of you!” Phillip’s cries echoed around the room but he was soon locked into place and Tsu Mei knelt next to him for a moment, running her fingers through his hair.

“Shhhhhhh, dear boy,” she crooned, “What have I told you?”

Phillip’s eyes glassed over slightly. “I am yours…”

“And?”

“…to do with as you wish.”

“Yes, boy. Or would you rather die?” Her fingers tangled in his hair to yank his head back hard.

“N—no, my lady!” Phillip managed to stutter.

Tsu Mei smiled deeply and let his head fall again, standing. “I thought not. Now, hold very still.”

The pain was unbelievable! She had laced the blade with a compound that prevented the blood from clotting so that her work remained bright and red as she drew on his back, like a calligrapher drawing in sand.

First, the character for “fate”. She drew in fluid bold strokes, leaving lines that glowed with the brightness of fresh blood and she smiled at Phil-lip’s screams and cries, savoring them as they bounced off the walls of the cell. When she was done, Tsu Mei stood back and admired her work for a moment before lowering to her knees and drinking deeply of the glowing red and then sealing the wounds. Only to begin again.

Written On the Body Fiction by Melissa Snyder US2005075764

Caption describ-

ing picture or

graphic.

Page 3 VOLUME 1, ISSUE 1

“her

undead

paleness

well became

her

porcelain

stature.”

Fiction By Melissa Snyder

US2005075764

Page 4 THE CAMARILLA TIMES

The Crone

does a

photo

bomb on

the Sancti-

fied

Submitted

by

Shelly Brian

US2002066211

Carlie Cox US2004041362 and Trisha DuBois US2007029550

What

sort of

EVIL

are

they

plan-

ning?!

Weston Harper US2002021604 and Kevin US2002021481

Submitted by Shelly Brian US2002066211

CHARITIES

Page 5 VOLUME 1, ISSUE 1

National Blood Drive (Jan 1st-7th, 2010)

Habitat for Humanity (Jan 8th - Mar 31st, 2010)

National Haiti Disaster Relief Drive

National

regional

NW—region

Clothing Drive (Jan 1st—Mar 31st, 2010)

EC—region

Blood/Clothing (Jan 1st—Jan 31st, 2010)

NE—region

Haiti Charity (Jan 2010 through ?)

GL—region

Nothing (Jan 2010)

Animals/Blood (Feb 2010)

SC—region

Coat?Blanket Drive (Jan 1st—Mar 31st,

SE—region

Stuffed Animal Drive (Jan 2010)

Pet Food (Feb 2010)

Nothing (Mar 2010)

Soldiers’ Angels (Apr 2010)

Books (May 2010)

SW—region

Food (Jan 1st—Mar 31st, 2010)

Child’s Play (Jan 1st—Mar 31st, 2010)

Blood (Jan 1st—Mar 31st, 2010)

NC—region

Winter Coats (Jan 1st—Feb 28th, 2010)

If I have missed any of your regions’ good works, please let me know so I can be sure to include it in the next issue!

Viscount Gallagher and Duke Babington took positions on either side of Earl Blake‟s throne. David considered each of them in turn: Blake‟s vas-

sal and Blake‟s greatest opponent within the First Estate. In the silence, all eyes were on the trio at the head of the room. They themselves were

focused on David. Gallagher wore a frown and his eyes smoldered darkly at David, although they had always served well together under Blake.

On the other side, Babington wore a subtle smile, but his blue eyes scrutinized David coolly. Between them, Blake‟s face revealed nothing of his

mind.

The grandfather clock struck midnight: the timeless sound of time‟s passage. By the last tone of twelve, all eyes were on David: he was no longer

a vassal of Charles Blake, the Earl of Greater Boston. The only time that matters is now.

David left the Star behind and gracefully crossed the polished pink marble to the throne. As he stood there, Notary Babington stepped forward

and unrolled a large parchment across the table reserved for these most important of documents: the very foundation of the First Estate. He

placed the stones at its ends and readied a quill. At the same time, Father Luigi Toma stepped forward from the nearby fold of the assembly. He

wore heavy black robes and carried an ancient leather-bound book, which he held before him as he took the place beside the throne that had

been Babington‟s.

David knelt before Blake‟s throne, then clasped his hands as during prayer and extended them toward Blake above him.

“By the Lord, before whom this relic is holy, I will be to the Right Honorable Charles Blake, Marquis of Greater Boston, Viscount of Allston, and Prince of Greater Boston faithful and true, and love all that he loves, and shun all that he shuns, according to God's law, and according to the

world's principles, and never, by will nor by force, by word nor by work, do ought of what is loathful to him; on condition that he keep me as I

am willing to deserve, and all that fulfill that our agreement was, when I to him submitted and chose his will.”

With those ancient words, he had made his will known to all.

Earl Charles Blake, still unreadable, took David‟s hands in his own.

Loudly, firmly, for all ears to hear, Blake declared, “It is right that those who offer to us unbroken fidelity should be protected by our aid. But I

will not accept this oath of yours, Your Grace. You will not be counted with the number of antrustions.”

The room erupted in excited whispers and gasps. None could believe that Earl Blake had just rejected the pledge offered by his most renowned

vassal of the preceding decades. All faces were confused – all but those of Blake, Gallagher, Babington and le Mont Réal. Their eyes all knew a

shared secret, and it was these four who took positions to surround David, with Blake in the lead. Immediately the Star was in the front of the

room, come to their liege‟s side in uncertain circumstances.

“Stay your men in my city, Your Grace,” Blake ordered calmly, “and follow me.”

Amid the unprecedented disruption of the court, David ordered the Star to stand down with a glance. They followed only two paces behind,

however, as David‟s escort of four led him into the foyer, to the left through a short hall and into the master bedroom. Turning left again into

the massive chamber, David caught the strong scents of roses and horse blood. The door behind them shut, leaving him alone with his escort.

Rather than a bed, in the center of the room stood a massive copper claw-footed bathtub. The crimson liquid filling it reflected black in its mir-

ror-like reddish surface. Enough blood for a whole stable of palomino thoroughbreds.

Trimountaine By John Scott US2002023603 Chapter 15 (of 17)

Page 6

THE CAMARILLA TIMES

The blood in the tub eddied and churned with slow, languid movement. Still sheathed in a coating of the warm blood

of horses and rosewater, a straight, slender nose emerged, followed by high cheekbones and a delicate, square

woman‟s chin and soft, slender lips. Her head rose from the viscous liquid, her thick, straight tresses trailing behind.

Her eyelids opened, revealing light green and hazel pools. She continued to rise from the tub and leaned against its

walls, the blood framing her deep bodice. She was darkly beautiful, immersed there in her element.

“Quite the contrary,” she replied with a cool, smooth alto, “You have never disappointed, Your Grace.” Her accent

seemed to come out of the past, as if from an early radio broadcast in New England.

“Even when tested,” Blake added, sparing a glance for Babington, “you have pleased us.”

Babington spoke up, “I would have taken you into my service, Your Grace. Now that I know that your ethics could

not allow it, I would do it all the more. You have served this house well since my last visit to Boston.”

David didn‟t miss the reference. He looked at the face of the woman in the tub, gradually seeing her in his distant

memories: the „late‟ Earl Beverly Read. His recognition shone in his eyes as he glanced from Babington to Read, then

to Blake, then to le Mont Réal.

Blake explained further, “The deception was necessary at the time, in order to rebuild the House after the assassina-

tion of His Grace the Duke. That is why His Grace Duke Babington visited 45 years ago – for the same reason he

once visited Montréal... for the same reason he is here now.”

“We no longer wish you to serve us, David,” Read intoned from the tub, “We offer you no less than our unity, serving

the House.”

Blake‟s eyes said the same thing. In fact, to David‟s eyes, he might have been looking into the same pair of eyes. Some-

how the physical differences in color and shape seemed unimportant.

Three hours later, David followed Blake, who himself followed Read, back through the foyer into the living room.

Now washed and perfumed, Beverly Read was clad in a short-sleeved pale blue Edwardian ball gown of embroidered

gauze with garlands of tiny red rosebuds at the neck and on the skirt. Her dark auburn hair was worn up with a sap-

phire-studded crown. The roar of speculative conversation suddenly dropped off into complete silence as all three, led

by a prince thought to be 45 years dead, took position in the front of the room.

At a glance from Notary Babington, Father Toma returned to his previous flanking position while Babington unrolled a

new parchment over the table.

Trimountaine Chapter 15, continues

Page 7 VOLUME 1, ISSUE 1

Trimountaine Chapter 15, continues them as if they had just arrived.

“Her Grace, the Most Enduring Right Honorable Beverly Read of House Trimountaine, Earl of Greater Boston, Duchess of Hartford, Marquise of Greater

Boston, Viscountess of Allston and Viscountess of the West End.

“His Grace, the Most Magnificent Right Honorable Charles Blake of House Trimountaine, Earl of Greater Boston, Duke of Hartford, Marquis of Greater Bos-

ton, Viscount of Allston and Viscount of the West End.

“His Grace, the Most Steadfast Right Honorable David Robinson of House Trimountaine, Earl of Greater Boston, Duke of Hartford, Marquis of Greater Bos-

ton, Viscount of Allston and Viscount of the West End.”

He paused briefly, perhaps intending the dramatic timing that resulted:

“Behold, the House Trimountaine is in summit.”

To read previous episodes go here: http://wiki.white-wolf.com/camwiki/index.php?title=Trimountaine

Page 8

THE CAMARILLA TIMES

The Art CAM-EO A place to showcase your artistic style for all to see

Drawn by

Roger Alderman

US2002021614

P D U

I A S

C V 2

T I 0

U D 0

R 2

E H 0

O 2

T L 3

A L 6

K E 5

E R 3

N

B

Y

“I CANNOT believe I‟m doing this.”

It was a few days before Halloween and a few days after my nineteenth birthday. I was college freshman in

Gainesville, FL and had finally begun to acknowledge my inner geek. I had been searching for a local Dun-

geons and Dragons group online, when some crazy dude named Matt from some crazy organization with

some crazy title like the “Armadillo” that did something called “LARP” contacted me. Somehow Matt transformed something that was so foreign

and weird and scary – at least to any “normal” person, so I asserted – to something mildly interesting and quite intriguing. I agreed to meet him at

a pizza place, and from there Matt persuaded me to attend my first Vampire the Requiem game. The premise for that game was a Halloween

party, themed “Come As You Aren‟t.”

I was literally shaking as I made that long, long walk from the parking lot to the game site, clutching a character sheet and a short background

story, dressed up as a Catholic schoolgirl for Kassandra the Lancea Sanctum (or however the heck people pronounce and spell that). I eventually

reached the game site where a half-dozen strangers in bizarre costumes were already talking and laughing. I couldn‟t back out now. So I sum-

moned all my courage, approached, introduced myself, and promptly slid against a table, trying to avoid both eye contact and notice, wallowing in

utter disbelief that I was actually doing this.

But my attempt to evade the people around me failed miserably, because each one took a genuine interest in me, managed to engage me in con-

versation, and thoroughly calmed me down and cheered me up. More and more people showed up and every single one of them was friendly as

well. I was starting to think that this wasn‟t too bad. Then game was called on.

And I thought I had been shaking before.

I was paralyzed with shyness and could barely open my mouth to talk. But Mike the venue storyteller was determined to

get me involved in the action and in the plot. So before very long, he pulled me aside to inform me that my character had

been possessed by a child‟s spirit. “Roleplay appropriately,” the ST said with a grin. I recoiled in horror, trembling more

violently than before. Then I finally realized, “What do I have to lose? Okay, I can do this.”

From the back of the group of vampires, I piped up: “HI GUYS! Pretty night, isn‟t it? Does anyone have a cookie?” Though

they quickly fell back in character, without exception each one of the players jumped out of shock. The shy girl wearing a

uniform and pigtails had finally spoken!

I continued to roleplay being possessed, and with each passing moment I swelled in confidence. I was beginning to have

fun! Even after the spirit was exorcised from my character I was able to play her confidently, interact with other charac-

ters on my own initiative, get further involved in action and plot, and continue to have fun. Hours flew by.

After game ended, everyone gathered at Matt‟s home to celebrate Halloween out-of-character. I learned more about Req-

uiem, I got introduced to other venues, but most importantly, I became friends with each of the Cammies. I couldn‟t recall

a time that I had had more fun. What could possibly beat trying something new, enjoying it, overcoming a major fear, and

making no less than 15 wonderful friends in the span of mere hours?

So, when it was all over…

“Wow. That was AMAZING! Tell me when the next game is, please?”

True Confessions

Page 9 VOLUME 1, ISSUE 1

“And I

thought

I’d been

shaking

before.”

Essay by

Amanda González

US2007080412

What will they do next?

At the request of the ANC Newsletter, I am writing this little bit of snark. Warning.. there will be

graphic descriptions...

...<_<...

...>_>... Of real Vampires, and their practices!

Let me begin by saying that I hate needles. I like my various fluids where they are, thank you very much! But I try to donate blood as often as

possible... There are reasons for this... If this whole pantheistic agnosticism thing doesn't work out, I'd like to have not just lived a fairly good

life trying vaguely to be good to people, but also to have some concrete evidence that says "Hey, guy.. look here! I'm a really altruistic and helpful gal, friend." Then again, there was also the immediate draw of the promise of tasty tasty prestiges. Despite my greedy and selfish in-

tentions, no small group of people (family, friends, etc) took it upon themselves to thank me, let me know they were proud of me and gener-

ally say that I was a good person for doing an action which helped to save lives-- even if it didn't necessarily come from an altruistic place.

I have no transportation of my own, so I conscripted one of my cammie-friends to take me to the donation clinic days in advance-- some of

you may know him... I won't go into specifics here, because I don't have his permission to talk about him, strictly speaking... But then, let's say

that this publicity is his payment for (finally) getting back to me on the day of the appointment at the Elks Lodge and letting me know, several

hours before, that he wouldn't be able to take me there.

Well, that was lame… I called up one of my best friends, Shawn... He's a really great guy.. Everybody should know Shawn.. He's extra-super

awesome, and goes the extra mile for friends...

Usually.

Sometimes he goes the super-duper-quantum-extra-OMG-mile for

some friends, then he can't do a few feet for other friends. That's what happened this day. I called him just after the other

friend bailed on me and asked if he could take me to the lodge...

He sounded like...

Well, this is the best way I can think to describe it… He sounded

like: [ -1(Rainbow) + Ruined Birthday] + ( [Eeyore] [Rip Van

Winkle] )^10

He said he would drive me, but I wanted a backup plan... I knew

that his bed was calling to him at this time, and I didn't want to be

the cause of his life-suck any more than I had to.

So, as I thought might happen, Shawn fell into his bed and drifted

into a 1000 year sleep, dead to the world. My sister ended up

taking me to the lodge, and here is where the story gets somewhat

grim.

I walked in, and had a bit of a kerfuffle with the people at the desk,

being the awkward person I am when dealing with day-walkers...

I'd canceled, then re-instated, then canceled the appointment sev-

eral times that day, due to the amount of doubt I had on my ability

to arrive and not wanting to waste their time... They greeted me

and asked for my name and I told them who I was... They genially

spoke with me-- I'd talked to one of the two of them most of the

times that day that I'd called. I recall that they also thought it was hilarious that I read the sign that was put up saying "IF YOU [x]

THEN YOU CANNOT DONATE!" I understand why-- what the

janitor in The Terminal said was true-- in America, no one reads

signs. I could tell you stories-- HOO boy.

Anyway. So, I went back into the large room with the lawn chairs and whatnot, and..

Page 10

THE CAMARILLA TIMES

Essay by

Kelly Lux Callahan

US2006078155

Wait, I missed something. Did I mention before, that, during the three days preceding my appointment, I was drinking pickle juice and GAL-

LONS of water along with iron supplements and multivitamins, to get myself all juicy and full of delicious blood for these guys? I should have-

- because I did that. I have a tendency to pass out, and be in tremendous pain... As I've said before, I hate needles so much. SOO much. I've

had to go to the hospital a lot of times thus far in my life... and I am not fond of them. So my mother, the RN, advised I drink pickle-juice and

lots of water to help with the whole process. The multivitamins and iron supplements were my idea.

So, after having answered the incredibly long list of crazy questions that don't apply to me, I was led over to one of the ridiculous lawn

chairs.

Now, I had had, in the past some experience with giving blood... My friend Shawn had had a little bump, like a scar or

something on his arms right where you donate from, so he'd been deferred several times... and that had happened to

me this time. On my right arm, where you can see my veins from space, there was a teeny little zit... so I had to get

them to draw from my left arm.

Some history with my left arm-- I tried to give blood before from my left arm, and they poked around in it for about

30 minutes... the new nurse completely forgetting to use a compression cloth or band aids or anything to stop bleed-ing-- but that was OK, because I didn't bleed. Since that point on, we've joked that there is no blood in Lux-- that I am a

dry husk of a person in which there is only dust and ill intent.

So, after about 20 minutes of the new-guy intern type poking around on my left arm, a man that I can only describe as

the inverse of Patch Adams came up and took over. He gave me a hard rubber ball to squeeze on rather than the little

foam dealy that I had been. He stuck me with the railroad spike that he was calling an needle, and dug around. He

couldn't get a good flow, so he poked around more. It was several attempts, me gripping and twisting and writhing on

the chair in anguish, before he found something close to a good flow.

He said later, after he'd gotten all the blood he needed and I'd had to be laid down due to the excruciating pain in my

arm and eventually shoulder, and the nausea (from both pain and blood loss-- it's inevitable.. there's not enough pickle

juice in the world for me) that he's fairly certain there was a tissue-plug in the needle which was stopping most of the

flow, and that any pain I might have felt was from blood not being able to be pumped to my arm. I simply, zenly

agreed, my cold and numb arm unable to punch the guy in the dick. He kept me there an inordinately long time,

a'feared that I would stand up, then fall over like Peter from Family Guy-- no frames in-between upright and on the floor-- just two frames...

one instant standing, the next instant, face through a lawn-chair with needles and other blood-letting goo-gas stuck in me comically.

When he noticed my arm swelling to the size of a football, he put a little icepack on it gruffly and taped it down.

I was eventually sent over to the snackytable and commanded by friendly dudes to fill out the little survey thing... And I did. I remembered

that I'd left my water-bottle over at the lawn chair-- I'd had it between my legs the whole time, because there really wasn't any other place

for it. It was at this point that I discovered the lid to my water bottle was not exactly working 100% and that from the point of view of many

people, I might be considering getting some adult diapers.

Well, I'd had enough and just wanted to go home-- I didn't think that it could get any worse than this day had been.

Then I got outside, into the 20 degree 40mph wind. Now, any girls who might be reading this will get me. I hadn't brought a jacket, and.. that

damn water bottle. And my sister, in the truck, was nowhere to be seen.

So, low on blood, dignity, and frustrated in the extreme, I searched for the car. It took me about 10 minutes in the freezy-wind to find it.

Over the next few days, I developed a bruise that can only be described as beautiful... But then, as my friends and family know... Art is in my

blood. Sadly, I neglected to take any pictures of it.

But yes.. if asked if the gain is worth the trouble... and I will definitely say yes.

Ignore the twitch in my eye.

Page 11 VOLUME 1, ISSUE 1

“He stuck

me with

the

railroad

spike that

he was

calling a

needle”

This article is about the Stereotype, the dreaded word that roleplayers around

the world seem to avoid like the plague. This concept has bedeviled every role-

playing game ever to exist, and it‟s especially prevalent in the world of LARP

most of us belong to. No one seems to want to play „the Stereotype‟, seeing it as

an evil, uncreative thing.

The problem, however, comes into being when no one plays the Stereotype. Non-Player Characters (NPCs) aside, it

sometimes seems like every PC in the game has to be so radically different from the perceived Stereotype that the

very basis of things gets lost in the drive to be Unique. While Individuality is a good thing, it gets taken too far, too

often, and in my opinion it can destroy the flavor of the game when taken to extremes.

As a disclaimer, let me say that this is solely my opinion, based on my experiences and what I have seen and deduced

from it. I make no claim to being the Authority, nor am I necessarily completely right in my opinions; my intent in

writing this is to get people to think about the subject, and to consider it in, perhaps, a new light.

In essence, the notion of „Stereotype‟ is, at heart, taken from the descriptions every game lists in their resource mate-

rials. The description- which may or may not state that it represents an „average‟ or „overview‟- then becomes „the

Stereotypical Member‟ of whatever group is being described. In the New World of Darkness by White Wolf, the

main groups that fall under this heading are the Clans and Covenants, though groups like Belial‟s Brood and VII also

have the „Stereotype‟ applied to them, as well. The descriptions of what each group is (in general) like are, in my opin-

ion, fairly broad and vague enough to give endless variation and individuality when making a PC or NPC.

However, what I (and a lot of other people) have seen is that, to many players, anything remotely resembling the

listed description is unoriginal, too limited, or otherwise something that should be avoided at all costs. My question,

and I put it to you all, is:

Why?

Why is playing a „stereotypical Ventrue‟ or „stereotypical Nosferatu‟ a bad thing? Mind you, this article is not trying to

claim that every Camarilla player feels this way, but truly I am seeing more and more concepts coming into play that,

hon- estly, boggle the mind. Certainly, I‟m not trying to tell players what kind of characters they can

make, and neither am I saying that individualism is bad, but what I‟d like is for more players

to consider how interesting and fun a character who is more „stereotypical‟ can be. Organization

Tricks of the Trade

Written by

Drew ‘Rottweiler’ Dietz

US2002021487

Page 12

THE CAMARILLA TIMES

Playing the Stereotype

Organization

Camarilla Contacts

Page 13

THE CAMARILLA TIMES

Camarilla Council Officers

Club Director: Kelley Barnes-Herrmann - Clubdirector@white-wolf.com

US National Coordinator: Jed Stancato - Camarilla.USNC@gmail.com

US National Storyteller: Clint Hauser - uscamnst@gmail.com

National Finance Administrator (NFA): Chris Herr - camfinance@white-wolf.com

National Services Administrator (NSA): Kristi Trujillo - memberservices@volunteer.white-wolf.com

National Conventions Administrator (NCA): Nikki Hauser - nikki.m.hauser@gmail.com

National Ombudsman: Howell Herrin - uscamno@gmail.com

Assistants to the National Coordinator

ANC Admin: Michael Munene - us.anc.admin@gmail.com

ANC Arbitration: Jericho Johnson - us.anc.arbit@gmail.com

ANC Chapters: Jim Blaylock - us.cam.anc.chapters@gmail.com

ANC Newsletter: Lani Austen - ANCNewsletter@gmail.com

ANC Prestige: Joshua Jackson - actionjack853@gmail.com

ANC Charities: Sara DeSanto - us.anc.charities@gmail.com

Tech Team

Assistant Club Director, Tech: Brent Cerrato - camarilla.nta@gmail.com

AACD: Admin: Brian LaMere - brianlamere@gmail.com

PA : IRC: Morte - cam.irc.admin@gmail.com

ACD: Lists: Ben Rosenblum - cam.lists@gmail.com