Dude, where's my vampire?
Posted on Sunday, September 27 2009 @ 16:49:10 PST
As I watched Twilight for the fourth time (involuntarily-so since the second) I suddenly realised how we gamers, both PC and console, have been deprived for, albeit not a vampiric eternity, but quite some time of a good- key word- vampire RPG game. The outdated, power-hungry and bug ridden Vampire: The Masquerade aside.
Vampires are back and not-so-much in black, but a far trendier teenaged face and an emo-esque ambiance soundtrack. They’re no longer seen as Goth demigods, or indeed just dedicated Goths in general. Rather, they’re cool, sexy, and a major ticket seller. So why is it that, after years of exclusion from the popular inner sanctum of mass acceptability, vampires are yet to rise from their crypts into the video game industry, instead of treat such a business like daylight?
If anything this is the perfect time: vampire books, are in. Vampire movies, are in. Dressing like a vampire, is in. You know who you are. So where are all our pixel-born blood-suckers?
While someone, somewhere, possibly from the ninth circle of Hell itself, has opened up an artery in the business to allow bad blood such as Beatles Rock Band and such like to keep pouring from the industry’s gaping wound, developers seem to be completely in the dark where this major gap in the market is concerned. You’d think such an idea (a new vampire game) would be comparable, visibility wise, to two puncture marks on one’s neck.
I mean to say, what could possibly be more enjoyable than assuming the role of a player-made vampire of their choosing, to stalk the streets of hot spots such as Johannesburg or Vienna, opting to play the dark guardian angel by preying on those who prey on others, or just plain darkly- drinking the blood of the innocent and so forth!
Nope. Instead of being allowed to charm unrealistically beautiful female A.I., we’re being allowed to rehash old songs, play as the Master Chief’s dumbed-down doppelganger who can’t talk, and brain train- more.
I’m going to sign off from this blog by wrapping my cloak around myself, bursting into a flurry of bats, and attempt to figure out which of those bats is my behind. That particular bat is going to come in handy when I find out who’s responsible.