Part 10: The Fun Stops Here

Update 9 - The Fun Stops Here



It's night, and there are more people at the Museum, including Wyche. This is like an cyber indiana jones quest, with this half-amulet.



Everyone who was here during the day is still present, but there are three new faces. Every time stark sees someone, he must have a conversation with them. So he does, starting with someone named Zinda.

Nice. You call this progress?



History's just a bunch of old stories to me, but the Met was one of the last civilized places in New York. You have to party here?
You miss the point, jack. Past isn't just prologue for some of us. The ancients had it figured. Check out the grandeur of Angkor deep in Cambodia's still-steaming jungles, the silent wisdom of Zimbabwe's temple walls. Imagine the ancient Arabs camping in the Sahara where the searing heat of day and cool of night caused rocks to expand and contract, filling the desert night with the pained moans of the stone. The pyramids, man. Architecture with high purpose. Cross reference that with Manhattan's pyramid, the TransTech Building.

She's not a very good anarcho-primitivist.

All I know is that TransTech's execs booze it up inside the pyramids whenever they need a break from the Cairo casinos.
Yeah, there are people who abuse the pyramids. Hell, there's a bunch of rich animals that party here during the days. To them the museum's just a cool place to party. They're part of the reason this planet's screwed over. We think the ancient world could teach the modern a few lessons. Look at the treasures in this museum. Techs say that our century's glories will be made in cyberspace. Yeah. Thousand years from now, anybody going to want to look at a FATS or a data cluster?
Who can figure taste?

Wyche is in the lower left. Without going to the Hellfire Club first, he wouldn't have much to say to us.




What makes you say that?
Your secret's safe with Wyche, dear. I recognize what you're trying to do with the pigments. Splendid job. I'd heard rumors that the Inner Sanctum had become a coven of psychotic vampires, but, honey, you look the real thing.
Like you'd know.
Sweetheart, I've lived the real thing.
Sounds like a story the Inner Sanctum would enjoy hearing.
An old woman, Kate Olgathistle, used to run a pill shop in the Bowery, but the real action was in the rear parlor. She had shelves of obscure tinctures, ancient totems, and dusty, unlabeled bottles of dried leaves and powders. Some of us would go there regularly to learn the secrets of the ancients. Used to, that is, until the vampires got her.
Vampires? You're certain it was vampires?
Certain. Shop was fire-gutted, and the cops never found her body, but we know it was vampires. Kate knew things about them. Knew exactly what they were, knew how to summon them, and she knew how to kill them.
So this is all rumor? You haven't actually seen a vampire.
I'm getting to that, dear. I need books. I collect books. The library still has within it old books that have never been digitized, books that reveal the ancient ways. Kate suggested that Brick and I scrounge there for an eighteenth-century text on lycanthropy. It was on that hunt in the former public library that we encountered two women--creatures really--vampires. They were the most sensual beings I'd ever met. We were bewitched, spellbound by their allure, their danger, by bodies that rippled and pulsed with erotic energy. They took us one at a time. Believe me, dear, I've copulated with all kinds of people, in all types of formations, but this. They drained my blood. I've got the scars to prove it.

This strikes me as something straight out of Vampire: the Masquerade.

This was at the library, you say? Well, I've been meaning to do some reading lately. Maybe I should check this out.
Proceed with caution, but if proceed you must, could you bring me a book, perhaps? A volume titled Mystics of Catal Huyuk, a treatise on prehistoric spiritualism. I'll pay 4,000 dollars for the volume if you bring it to me here. Take this too as a sign of good faith. It's half of an amulet that dates to ancient Sheba. Kate said that the other half was stolen from her. Put the two together and, she claims, it will summon a member of the undead, although she didn't say who.


We can't combine both amulet pieces in our inventory, but we do have a new location and side quest. Brick, who Wyche mentioned, is the last person to talk to.

I talked to Wyche. He told me about what happened to the two of you in the library.



library.

There's something wrong with his face.

Come with me. They'll be more likely to show themselves if you're there.
No go. Not me. They almost killed me. My back still won't straighten. I've got deep bruises on my legs and chest. They drank my blood, which, yeah, was kinky as hell, but too dangerous to go back for seconds.

If there are vampires at the library, then we shouldn't go there just yet. We don't have the tools needed to kill them.

There's one other thing to do here, which we could have done before.



A search let's us take that sarcophagus, now represented by the gray rectangle. If we take it as is, the guard will attack us. However, if we equip those coveralls we got from Sampson, we can take it without any problems.



This probably means that more time passes when traveling between areas as long as we have the sarcophagus in our inventory.



Talking to the guard isn't necessary, but I wonder what excuse Stark will come up with.

Renovation. The board wants this thing remade into a wet bar.
Morons. Ah well, just watch yourself with that thing. I hate to see people like us getting hurt doing rich folks' dirty work.



Lastly, we'll check out Renfield's apartment. Hopefully it's not littered with crosses, holy water, and stake traps.



Uh...




Our bloodlust is at 84%. We have those bottles of blood that cure our bloodlust immediately, but let's see what would happen if we didn't.

Watch the bite in real time:




Either we wait too long, and bite one of our randomly selected party members, which would cause pretty much all our party members to get freaked out and leave the party, or we bite an NPC.



It's okay, Renfield. Through the magic of reloading a previous save, you'll live again.





We get to loot the body of any bite victim. His death cry sounded like he cleared something from his throat with a cough.




We would have lost 9% humanity. That's a pretty big loss. Good thing we have bottles of blood.

:reload:




Renfield lives, and our bloodlust is sated. Let's talk to him.




You know, you're a strange guy, Renfield. What is all this junk?
Junk? Master, surely you're not speaking of my ant farm, my pride and joy. Look at these guys. How big and juicy! Terrific sprinkled on ice cream.
That's great, but what exactly are these things you said you can do for me?
I see you've already got the coffin. An antique, too. Nice touch. It'll look great right in the corner.
I see you already have the dirt. Then you know you have to line the coffin with the native soil. And my apartment is the perfect place for it.

Shit like this is why I'm taking care of the order of events.

How do you know all this stuff?
Listen, I've had to worry about all these countless little details for my last employer. Plus, I play a lot of role-playing games. You can trust me. You can store the coffin here, come back anytime and know you're safe. I'm just a nobody; no one knows where I live. Now, are we going to go out for a nice juicy kill tonight, Master? Can I watch, huh? Maybe if you think I'm worthy, you might wanna make me immortal too. We could hang around together as equals. Buddies for all eternity.
I don't have the power to make others into vampires. I'm just a victim, still half human. Besides, why would I want the curse of your company for all eternity?
Oh, come on. O.K., so maybe you don't like me that much now, but just wait. I'm invaluable. You'll grow attached to me and then you'll change your mind. This just feels like destiny, doesn't it? I think I was born to serve you. By all means, let's get started, Master. Do you want me to serve you?



Another vote!



His stats suck.



What the fuck is with his shirt? What does that even mean? Harry Truman and everything, but

It's quite simple, mon ami. You see, his apartment is filled to the brim with bugs, and he quite enjoys it, but he takes pride in the fact that his body is free from bugs. You see, his shirt is a representation of his autonomy over his self, even when he lives in an environment that he's not quite in control over.

Either that or, if you want to use the word 'Stop' as its popularly used in Truman's phrase, he's responsible for the bugs. Also:


Do we welcome Renfield into our party? If it's determined that we will, who will he replace?