Midnight found them gathered in the shadowed hollow of a crumbling mausoleum, staring silently at one another. Feral eyes gleamed amid the blackness and the stifling scent of charnel dust. No air passed their lips, no heat stirred the sluggish currents in their cold veins. Some still bore the wet scent of death on lips and hands- the bitter winter chill had inflamed their thirst for the warm blood of the living.

The vampires waited in tension.

It was the Ventrue who broke the silence, flicking open his engraved cigarette lighter with a practiced motion. Several others cried out in pain and fell back from the wavering spark, holding their hands before their faces.

"Jackass!" screamed the Toreador, blinking back bloody tears from her eyes. "Do you wish to blind us?"

"I'd be more afraid of all your damn hairspray going up like a pyre," said the Brujah with a sadistic grin.

"No more of a danger to us than a flash-fire from all the grease soaking your so-called wardrobe," the Toreador spat back.

"Want me to kick your ass up between your teeth?" the Brujah offered.

"I'll rip your kidneys out through your nose first," hissed the Gangrel. "Quit trying to start a fight."

"Silence, all of you," said the Ventrue, modulating his words in an even, calming tone. "Await the courier quietly and respectfully."

"You need wait no longer," said a deep, burbling-liquid voice. A grotesque head appeared out of thin air. Its distended eyes were milky pink cataracts, covered by elephantine folds of wet gray skin. When it spoke, it moved a gaping orifice quivering beneath dangling, tumorous strips of flesh. "I have come, and I have the book!"

A spindly gray arm shot forward into the circle of meager light, clutching a small bound volume. Immediately, the assembled vampires forgot their prior squabbling and surged forward as one to get a better look at the thick book with its subdued marble-pattern cover.

The Laws of the Night, Revised," gloated the Tremere. "At last, understanding shall be ours!"

"The last copy at the game store, too," gurgled the Nosferatu. "Let us examine it together."

His crooked hand, claw-tipped and gleaming with oily refuse, began to flick the pages aside one by one as the others swiftly read and debated amongst themselves.

"Pretty pictures," cooed the Malkavian.

"Yes, for the most part," answered the Tremere. "But note that the ongoing chapters feature illustrations of the same three vampires, and only the descriptions of the clans feature anything different."

"They do an admirable job of capturing each clan's character," whispered the Lasombra, "with a few exceptions. Examine our supposed Tzimisce on page 44."

"What the hell is that supposed to be?" gasped the actual Tzimisce. "Why, that photo manages to possess absolutely none of the traits described in the text immediately beside it, while simultaneously portraying an ancient Eastern European vampire archetype as a scantily-clad rave-goer wearing a feather boa. My greater and lower intestine are both twitching spasmodically in revulsion now, and I fear I must go lie down."

"That picture also illustrates an intriguing thread in the illustrations," said the Tremere. "Note that at least seven of the thirteen photographs involving women feature unusually forthright cleavage-baring. Mysteriously, the Tzimisce is the most obvious perpetrator. The layout of the book seems to be going out of its way to suggest that live-action gamers are sexy and enticing, but I find it a bit discordant. The attractive men are business-suited or rippling with power beneath their jackets, but the attractive women have the dubious honor of baring a great deal more flesh."

"Agreed," the Ventrue offered, thoughtfully. "And will you look at this? Why, they've chosen to illustrate the Malkavians with a loveable cuddly-cute photo, thus ensuring the perpetuation of that distasteful stereotype well into the twenty-first century."

"Wow! That model is doing everything but clutching a teddy bear and a lollipop!" giggled the Malkavian. "At least they showed somerestraint."

"Enough about the pictures! It's time to examine the fictional piece which introduces the book and continues at the beginning of each chapter," announced the Toreador. "I'm afraid I won't be begging for more. What we have here is so-called "dramatic intrigue" between a trio of self-absorbed, stereotypical idiots who make several very foolish mistakes and act in a hilariously stilted manner so the author(s) can show what monstrous, callous manipulators they supposedly are."

"Indeed," observed the Lasombra, "and you may also note that their three-way celebration of asinine subterfuge in no way suggests to the reader what fun it might be to enter a room full of fifty other individuals playing vampires and interact with them. It reads like the plot for a first-time Storyteller's tabletop chronicle, the one he and his friends will later try to pretend didn't happen."

"Look!" shouted the Tremere. "The story doesn't end, either. This could be construed as a subtle suggestion that the nightly battles of the Kindred are nebulous, shifting affairs where tidy endings are a rare thing. However, if you actually read the story, you will more likely guess that someone ran into the end of the book by accident before they could include the part where the characters have a rocket launcher party."

A few moments of silence followed while the vampires read further.

"Gangrel! Have you nothing to say?" asked the Lasombra.

The Gangrel took the book gingerly in two clawed hands, turning it over several times and examining its binding. "It seems to be compact and survivable," he offered, "well-constructed and highly portable in an urban or wilderness environment."

"Correct!" hissed the Nosferatu. "It's small size also makes it very concealable, which is useful for a variety of utilitarian reasons."

"Thank you- you two are not allowed to talk for a while," said the Toreador as she snatched the book back. "There have been some serious system revisions. Anyone care to offer their thoughts?"

"Well... the entire system has been revised to reflect the setting of the most recent tabletop rules," said the Brujah, "so fans of consistency will be quite pleased. Consistency has never really turned my crank, but hey... to each their own."

"Also, the systems for Blood and Willpower have been heavily altered, and now directly reflect the tabletop system rather than simplifying it," whispered the Malkavian.

"This makes conversion of characters to and from the tabletop rules a great deal easier," observed the Tremere, "but it also means that players will have more cards or tokens to carry around and keep track of. Also, under the older version of the system, the player of a young vampire could easily and fairly keep track of Blood and Willpower traits in their head. No more, I fear."

"Oh dear. The entire combat system seems to have taken a similar step toward greater complexity," said the Malkavian, her eyes wide. "Weapons now feature a host of sub-abilities and special powers that could easily turn combat into a grueling, disruptive affair. Giving this system to a rules lawyer would be like giving a Federal Express gift certificate to the Unabomber."

"Complexity ahoy!" spat the Tremere. "My own central interest, the supernatural Discipline powers, seem to have received the same treatment! The physical Disciplines in particular (Celerity, Potence, and Fortitude) require the memorization of numerous special exceptions, conditions, and situational modifiers. Just what combat needed- more footnotes. Pfah!"

"Hold it right there, spooky- some of us can handle ourselves in a tussle. Some of us even enjoy it," said the Brujah, less than cordially.

"But what we're discussing here is the aesthetic of the entire Mind's Eye Theatre experience!" objected the Toreador. "Is longer, more involved combat the point of that experience? Characters also have more wound levels- more modifiers to memorize and argue over! The abstraction and simplification of combat in previous editions of the game rules never discouraged trigger-happy players from getting their rocks off in combat- it just kept fistfights from becoming six-hour affairs!"

"Even a swift and stealthy assassination seems certain to attract a crowd of onlookers. It's the same principle as rubberneckers causing a traffic jam to stare at a car accident," said the Assamite.

"I didn't know there was an Assamite here," said the Ventrue.

"No one knew there was an Assamite here except the Assamite," said the Assamite.

"I knew there was an Assamite here. I took her wallet," said the Malkavian idly while she played with the Assamite's credit cards.

"Son of a bitch!" hissed the concealed assassin.

"Er, anyhow, while these rules now mirror their tabletop counterpart more clearly, they also manage to surpass it in complexity on numerous occasions. I think our general consensus is that this is not necessarily a good thing, particularly for new and inexperienced players," finished the Ventrue.

"Speaking of inexperienced, much of the descriptive prose is weighted down by awkward phrasing, overwrought language, and misused conjunctions," said the Toreador. "While still above average in terms of readability, this continuously mars the book's chances for artistic perfection."

"For once, I agree with you," hissed the Nosferatu. "Technical errors, misprints, and misspellings are present, but very rare. With this problem all but solved, the editor(s) should have examined the descriptive text more closely. It's often top-heavy with florid invective and hyperbole. The Disciplines alone probably could have been pared down by three or four pages with no loss of meaning whatsoever. In short, many of their descriptions look like they were marinated in Lovecraft sauce."

"Doesn't anyone have anything positive to say?" asked the Brujah.

"Of course. White Wolf has never strayed from placing the safety rules in the beginning of each Mind's Eye Theatre book, and clearly explaining what the stakes are if they're violated," said the Ventrue. "This is an attitude to be applauded."

"Also," offered the Malkavian, "this is a thick book, and damn near as complete as one could hope for. Even if its rules system has fallen and can't get up, the sheer volume of information is impressive. It might be softcover, but I certainly wouldn't want to take it in the face."

"My innate fascination with order and authority also draws me to the section on Storytelling," said the Ventrue. "Now this is a fine piece of work. Obviously distilled from years of practical experience, it offers an honest appraisal of the rewards and pitfalls of running a Mind's Eye Theatre game. This is a balanced and insightful section that should be reviewed even by veteran Storytellers. On its strength, the book's stock does rise a few points."

"Yes, those are all good points," whispered the Toreador in a brittle voice. "But I feel I should mention what is perhaps the most displeasing aesthetic shift of all."

"Do tell," responded the Ventrue, attentively.

"The sublime and austere atmosphere of the 2nd Edition tabletop rules was reflected in the first two generations of Mind's Eye Theatre," she said carefully, "but this edition seems to have come full circle from that treatment of vampirism. Even the fictional piece, were it not for a single instance of full-out fang-baring blood drinking, could really be about any generic form of egotistic, manipulative "super being." The predacious nature of vampire society as it reflects the predatory beast burning inside each vampire is given little treatment here, and I feel that the spirit of the game suffers in response. Some of the horror is gone. Some of the fear is gone. Vampires, we must remember, are supernatural killers, not just puppeteers with fangs and superpowers. I do not want to see them sanitized. More than anything, it makes me a little sad," she concluded.

Several minutes of silence followed her statement, as the others reviewed certain passages within the book or mulled over their thoughts privately.

"So..." began the Ventrue at last, "what we have here is a somewhat flawed but undeniably comprehensive rules and setting summary..."

"Aided in its goal by its compact size- just right for the inner pocket of a trenchcoat, briefcase, or even a handbag," added the Nosferatu.

"And a ton of new toys for kicking ass!" the Brujah chimed in.

"Not necessarily a good thing," replied the Toreador.

"I AM ASSKICKOSAURUS!" screamed the Brujah.

"Bite me, fanboy!" hollered the Gangrel as he leapt upon the Brujah, claws flailing. "And please note that the combat which is about to occur will probably waste three times as much of our valuable playing time as it did before!"

As bits of Brujah and Gangrel filled the air, the others continued.

"We also have updated Discipline and setting notes offering complete harmony with the latest tabletop developments," said the Tremere, "even if some of the descriptions wouldn't get you very far in a college-level composition class..."

"Rounded out with a lamentable loss of focus on the personal horror, tragedy, and nature of life as a legendary monster of the night," sighed the Toreador.

"And a Tzimisce in a feather boa," the Malkavian reminded them.

"And a Tzimisce in a feather boa," the others chorused.

Capsule Review:

This book is an invaluable resource. It also features undisciplined prose, questionable additions to the complexity of the rules systems, and a dull, useless piece of fiction running throughout. Buy it- but see if you can't borrow it first.

Scott Lynch, 1999