Timeless Undying Love

 As I mentioned the other day, I've now played 4 games of Thousand-Year-Old Vampire, a solitaire journaling RPG, where your character is a Vampire, and game play covers centuries at least. You come up with a brief sketch of a historical figure, and the vampire who converts them into undead, and then the game provides random events that bounce you forward in time. You create a big weirdly-sprawling timeline of experiences and memories, many of which get lost of mutated such that by the end of it your character is grappling with uncertainty or insanity.

Today I'm going to list my full game logs from the 2nd session I ever played of TYOV, which was probably more than a year ago, maybe even from the early parts of the pandemic. I didn't think to put a date on it.

This playthrough was a bit longer than one I posted this weekend, and as I recall it entertained me for several nights of play. As a result of the length, and how that interacts with experiential limits hardwired into the game,  the vampiric main character had a lot more memory issues. They kind of lost all sense of self before the end. Their fragmented timeline runs from pre-Roman Etruria up through an unspecified modern conflict that was probably World War 2. The usual Stoker-and-Hollywood vampire tropes are here, but supplemented by characters inspired by Etruscan Mythology, and some uniquely weird textile-arts and sutured-wings nonsense conjured from my own demented psyche (or, I guess, from the intersection of vampirism with an Etruscan goddess best known for her love of scissors).

Trigger Warning: Again, this is the play log from a horror game about weird vampires. This log will elude to violence, body-horror, sexual predation and literal carnivorous predation. While I don't go into a lot of detail, it does get kind of gory. If you've got a weak stomach, easily-offended sensibilities, or just horror's not your thing, you should turn around now. 

Full game log can be found beneath the fold:

Vampire #2: Thocero Etanigia

Names he has been known by: Thocero Etanigia, Cureco, Larce Prexu, and Damon Etruria

Prompts: 1, 4, 5, 8, 15, 17, 19, 23, 29, 35, 38, 42, 42, 42, (42>) 41 Alt, 38, 45, (42>) 41 Alt, 48, 47, 50 alt, 48, 49, 50 alt, 53, 49, 51, 54, 57, 57, 54, 57, 62, 70

Skills: √=checked, meaning this skill was burned/used to survive an event prompt

• [√] Green Thumb
• [√] Talented Javelineer
• [√] Family Man
• [√] Heart-hungry (this is this character's spin on the canonical Bloodthirsty skill)
• [√] Wings of Flesh and Sutures
• [√] Fertilization By Blood
• [√] Battlefield Scavenger Terror
• [√] Myth-teller
• [√] Heedless
• [√] The Art of the Ambush
• [√] Tracking by scent
• [√] Impersonating an Officer
• [√] Textile Arts

Resources:

• Lost: Olive Orchard in Felathri (Lost initially, regained by fighting off brigands, lost again the very next prompt)
• Lost: Bronze shield depicting the wings of Vanth, an invocation to ward off death
• Lost: Tapestry woven by Tetia, a marvel of beauty
• Lost: Diary #1 – an illuminated vellum scroll in a leather tube.
• Lost: Diary #2: written on sheets of birch-bark, carefully bound with sutures of goat-gut, as fragile as my mind
• Retained: Diary #3: A bugler's war journal, taken from his battlefield corpse and repurposed as if it were always mine.
• Lost: An Automatic Weapon

 

Mark #1: The shear marks where Culsu flayed my torso, then stitched me back together. I may fly when shirtless, but it painful to unfurl my skin as wings and expose my muscles to the air. The wings are a fleshy patchwork made of men other than myself whom I have slain, or scavenged from a battlefield.

Mark #2: My wings and sutured chest can be hidden beneath a tunic, but sometimes the seams bleed, especially in the presence of protective folk charms.

Mark #3: My perpetual youth has faded. My skin is leathery and the seams are receding, my hands and feet are practically talons, and I have finally grown fangs.

Characters:

• Mortal: Tetia, skilled weaver, my beloved wife, she has seen me fly to her defense. Died of old age.
  
• Mortal: Larce Prexu, the traveling merchant who sees our oil to market further south.
• Mortal: Cure Lecne, who saved my life in a struggle against bandit raiders when we were young
• Mortal: Curecu Etanigia, my eldest son. Slain in the mad first nights, and fed to me by the beast Culsu.
• Immortal: Culsu of the Cave, Culsu of the Shears, The Thing Beneath The Tree
• Immortal: Revnthy, the Lasa who taught me to fly, loved me and left me
• Immortal: Chulka, an inhuman and fiercely territorial beast. I cleverly bested it the day we met.
• Mortal: Thages, my youngest son, traumatized but defiant, chased me away from home. Later he died of natural causes.
  
• Mortal: Arnthur Etaginia, warrior and descendant of my murdered friend. I nurse him back to health. Later dies of natural causes.
• Mortal: Censunia, Rhaetian wise woman, died of natural causes.
  
• Mortal: Cneve, Rhaetian headman, died of natural causes.
  
• (Im)Mortal: Ramtha, poetess, Censunia's daughter, I am too late to preserve her youth. I assume her lost to the ages, but Revnthy tells me Ramtha lives!
• Mortal: A descendant of Ramtha (or more likely a descendant of her sister, or possibly some unrelated person that I just erroneously think smells like her) has taken up arms as a vampire hunter, and uses her familial scent to lay traps for me.
• Mortal: The NCO with the fine voice. A soldier whose life I could have snuffed, but chose to spare because I liked his singing voice around the campfire. He becomes my liaison with the troops, many of whom are still in denial about what sort of creature protects them from the enemy.

 

Five Memories:

A vampire my retain up to 5 Memories, each with up to 3 Experiences. Roughly 1 Experience = 1 turn of the game. A game turn can be anything from a few seconds to a thousand years, depending on the prompt you rolled up. When all five Memories are full, you have to start offloading information to your Diary, or give it up lost entirely to the ages.

Memories are organized like themes, and the Experiences are numbered chronologically.

Memory #10: Loves Long Lost, Immortalized

Experience 26: Whilst hunting in the mountains, I stalk up on a woman I'd assumed lost for all of time. Revnthy, who taught me to fly so many centuries ago. The years have not been kind to either of us. She too is more monstrous than before, and her memories are even more deteriorated than my own. She is the first of our kind I have seen in so long, I desire her companionship at once. She does not remember me, so I regale her with old myths and poems, blending what little certainty I knew of her with tales of the goddess Vanth that had not yet left the corners of my mind. Am I flattering her with godlike comparisons, or unveiling a truth that I failed to see before? I wonder if I once knew her to be a goddess, but lost that memory too with the ages. Regardless, the flattery works and we old scarred inhuman things become fast friends, hunting partners, and eventually lovers.

Experience 27: Over a feast of ambushed hearts, Revnthy and I tell tales of pasts we scarcely remember. She has an epiphany, memory crackling like lightning on the mountain top. There is another of our kind alive, she says, or was not long ago. This woman she speaks of is a lover of hers, whom she was making her way back to when I saw her and distracted her with tales of her divinity. Revnthy says we must go find her lover now, while she can still remember her. I bristle with jealousy, even though Revnthy claims she can love us both together. We argue viciously until Revnthy says aloud the name of her previous love. Ramtha, she says. I swallow my rage and jealousy at once. Could it really be my old flame is hers as well? United by the possibility, we begin our search.

Memory #11: Hunting Pack

Experience 28: Years of hunting wildlife and stalking battlefields have made my senses grow more accurate and bestial. I can follow blood on the wind from miles off, and know as well the telltale scent of undead predators of my kind. We two search for our third with passion. It is ultimately fruitless, but at least we have each other.

Experience 34: As the winter war grows more devastating, I have come to think of these men as my comrades in arms. I stop preying upon them, and instead feast upon the hearts of their foes. I find the choicest equipment and bring it back to their camp. Many who would have otherwise died in the frosts and the fighting survive because of their guardian. They call me “angel”, but then they have never seen me up close. They have, however, seen me in the distance, using marvelous weapons I captured from their enemies to kill those enemies' comrades.

Experience 36: In my day, a phalanx would not go to war without a standard. I scavenge cloth from the enemy, and summon every ounce of advice gleaned from watching Tetia's needlework in my mortal life. I hang the new flag in their camp in the middle of the night, and the men leave it flying thereafter.

Memory #12: Dangerous Descendants

Experience 30: I think that I catch Ramtha's scent on the wind, and I rush toward her. It is not her, nor another of my kind. This is a mortal, possibly a familial relation or descendant of my dear Ramtha. Someone whose ancestors survived however our village was destroyed, and now takes up arms against my kind. This mortal hunter seems to understand how I hunt, or how alluring I find her. Twice she turns the tables and ambushes me with her team of hunters. I barely escape both times!

Experience 37: The company gives chase as the enemy retreats up the mountains. As I slaughter enemy soldiers amongst the trees, I realize I have done this before, here. The ruins of the village where I had been interred lay beneath the roots of a forest hereabouts. How long has gone by since I last woke up? Is this still the first war of this era, or have they all run together? Where is my Tetia when I most need her warm embrace? Am I in danger from Ramtha's descendant, the hunter, or have enough years transpired to render her nonthreatening? I get no rest till the company leaves this place.

Memory #13: A Wolf In The Field

Experience 32: The scent of blood from the trenches is irresistible, but the dangers of the modern warfare are extreme. I am starved to the edge of frenzy repeatedly, and always seem to lose something in the process. Revnthy? Whatever became of her? We were searching for Ramtha, and then? Where have my women gone, and why? Did the war sweep them away?

Experience 33: I have settled into a new way to hunt, stealing uniforms and impersonating comrades at arms to lure my victims out of their holes. I am the scourge of the trenches. Somewhere, I picked up their songs, and some of their foreign modern words.

Experience 35: The NCO with the fine voice has figured me out to some extent, and starts leaving enemy bodies in sheltered places at the edge of camp like sacrifices for me to feast upon. Before long, he has weaponized me against them, and we live in proximity and symbiosis. With my help, the ammunition holds out until the spring thaw, and with his help, I eat better than ever before.

Memory #14: Battlefield Terror

Experience 38: I have my men at my back, my brutal modern weapon in my hands, and the force and power of a thousand years or more. I no longer need to skulk and scavenge, I can lay waste with the full fury of my immortal power. The gods have chosen their side, and the enemies of my company flee in terror.

Experience 39: I thought I was a god, unassailable king of the skies. Like the mythical Vikare, I flew too close to the sun, and fell from lofty heights downward to crashing destruction. While I knew the modern weapons were powerful, I had never actually been the target of an anti-aircraft gun before. Quad fifty-cals, the soldier with the fine voice called them as he helped me search the ground for the pieces I had lost. Skin can be flayed and stolen from the dead, then sutured into the shape that meets my needs, but I don't yet know how to replace limbs splintered in war. He carried my tattered form back to camp, and put me in his tent. If I could walk or grasp him, I would eat his heart in the night to see if that stolen strength would be enough to repair me.

Experience 40: I imagined the entire company loved me, but their motives were driven by fear instead. Now that I was incapable of bolstering them, or defending myself, men whom I had previously cowed became bolder. Someone rolled a grenade into the tent in the middle of the day, and after the fragging further immobilized me, they hauled my broken bleeding body outside and watched my flesh begin to burn. Two thousand years of skill and savagery could not save me from their betrayal. Fairwell Ramtha, for I am undone.

My Final Diary

A vampire may have up to 1 Diary, which can store up to 4 Memories, each with up to 3 Experiences. This particular diary began as a bugler's war journal. I took it from his battlefield corpse and repurposed as if it were always mine. Two previous diaries were lost to calamity and the mists of time. (See below.)

Diary #3: A soldier's journal - Threads of Love

Experience 3: Tetia weaves all through our engagement; by our wedding day she has made an intricate artwork to hang in the hall of our home together. She teaches me the finer points of stitching, weaving and textile arts. In the bitter winter we warm each others hands by working on the battle flag of my company. (OOC note: The italicized lines are delusional and anachronistic. This Experience happened in 500 BC, but he is blending it with memories from the 1940s AD and a lot of wishful thinking. His only remaining memory of his mortal family is now suspect and distorted.)

Experience 9: There is a woman above a tree, hanging in the air in impossible fashion. She is Revnthy, and she says the sign on my shield belongs to her creator, not mine. She understands more of my new existence than I do, but her answers to my questions are still mostly cryptic. She doesn't judge, and neither of us are monsters in each others eyes. I feel my first inklings of hope. She tends my sutures, and turns the flayed flesh of my back into wings. Her touch is soothing. She teaches me to fly with wings of torn flesh, and before dawn we make love. We fall asleep beneath the wagon, as has become my fashion, wrapped in the tapestry that Tetia made. When I awake the sun is burning beyond its shadow, and both she and the tapestry are gone. I feel more alone than ever before.

Experience 19: The love I feel for Ramtha the Poetess is dangerous. I imagine what it would be like to make her into one of my kind. It would be wrong, even if I knew how, so I withdraw higher up the mountain to resist the temptation. In my sadness I pick some unlucky mountain village to plague. Some years later I return to the town at night, and from the tavern window I hear gray-haired Ramtha tell warm-hearted anecdotes from her youth of the scarred southern warrior-poet she always hoped would ask for her hand. I weep blood in the dark for the life that I have denied us.

Diary #3: A soldier's journal - Memory #8: Ramtha's Sunset

Experience 20: I follow Ramtha to her home, and rap upon the shutters. I ask if she meant what she said about her Southerner. She knows my voice instantly, and throws open the window coverings. I fear what she will do when she sees that I have not aged. There is a moment of fear, and then acceptance. “My mother thought you were one of the Old Gods walking the earth. Was she right?” I shake my head, “No, but I was touched by one of the Old Gods, and I have not aged a day since.” She invites me in. In the pit of my stomach, I know it is a mistake.

Experience 21: At Ramtha's side, I return again to life among mortals. She is not the only one in the village to remember this face or my voice. The villagers start wearing charms to protect them from me, and my scars weep blood whenever a charm-bearer stares daggers at me. A few times it nearly comes to a head, but I pick off the trouble makers alone and quietly, and the town slowly comes to fear me more than it hates me.

Experience 22: Close proximity to so many beating hearts draws forth the predator within, or perhaps my intertwining with a fleeting mortal life ages me as well. One night as I kiss the neck of my mortal wife, my teeth become like fangs and she shudders as I draw blood. In the morning, my hands resemble talons when she holds them in hers. I can no longer walk among humans, and only love keeps Ramtha from seeing me for the monster I am.

Diary #3: A soldier's journal - Memory #9: King of the Mountain

Experience 23: Ramtha is at the tavern, I am in our cellar bedroom. I can hear her heart beating from across town. Someone in the town is finally brave enough to strike her for my sins, and the crowd turns into a riot. Though Aplu's burning chariot is high in the sky, I risk the day-fire to fly to her aid. My flaming entrance is impressive, and I rip the ringleader apart in front of the assembled mob. They scatter to their homes, and I manage to consume his heart before the pain can make me collapse. Only Ramtha sees how hurt I truly am, for the life I stole from the man's chest sustains me in ways mortals cannot hope to understand. Before crawling back into our cellar, I promise my beloved Ramtha “No one will ever hurt you again. I will figure out what magic must be done to make you immortal like myself.”

Experience 24: I awaken, buried in dirt and dust and ashes and roots. Our home has been long since put to the torch, and the village is an overgrown ruin. I howl empty promises into the night to murder the agent of this treachery. My beloved Ramtha is gone. My diary is coal and mold as well, and I have no way of learning what happened, or how many years have passed. The severity of my day-burns may have simply been such that I needed torpid centuries to recover. I will likely never know, and my confusion is near as deep as my emptiness. All that remains of my previous life is my shield, but fire and ages have obliterated the wings of Vanth that had once been painted upon it.

Experience 25: Smoke and blood on the air tell me that war has again come to the valley, so I descend to scavenge the battlefields as I have done so many times in the past. I would not have thought that war could have grown even louder than it was in my youth, but again the march of ages and technology has transformed the wars I once knew. They carry thunder in their hands now! I did not fear mankind enough! I should have known! If not for my shield, I may have actually died. These knew weapons mangled and ruined my already smoke-stained bronze, tearing and smashing the shield as a mighty catapult would have done to a wicker basket! How can something a man can carry pack such power? Instead of easy feeding, this war is far too dangerous to be my introduction to the new world. I flee back up the mountain to feed on goats and other lesser creatures until the war passes. I stalk them silently, practicing the art of the ambush, because survival in this new world will require cleverness and subtlety. My wilderness survival skills are pushed to their limits, but I survive. 

 

Lost Diary #1

This character has had a hard time keeping Diaries and Memories intact. This is the older of the two diaries that they have lost in their travels. It burned in a fire along with the building I was sleeping in.

Diary #1: Memory #2: Brigand Struggles (This diary lost in a fire)

Experience 2: The big Carthaginian pins me beneath my shield, focusing his fury on me because my javelin killed his captain. Cure stabs him from behind and the bandit's blood gushes onto my face; I gift a roast to Cure at every holiday of thanks for a decade thereafter, and I name my first son after him.

Experience 12: I awake to the scent of smoke. Brigands or barbarians are attacking the villa, and have set fire to some of the trees. Tetia and our youngest son Thages are in danger. From the sky, I cast javelins down upon the Brigands, scattering them, and then I hunt and feed on those bandits I have isolated. Their hearts sustains me, and I let the blood spill out of their chests unto the earth of the orchard.

Diary #1: Memory #4: Contractual Obligations (This diary lost in a fire)

Experience 4: The business is booming, but Tetia and the children hate to be without me; I contract with Larce Prexu to carry our best oil into Felathri and cities more remote.

Experience 7: Culsu commands me to hunt my other children. While stalking into the home, I find the willpower to leave without hurting them. I gather some belongings, then burn the tree. I leave a note for Cure Lecne. It tells him of the beast beneath the tree and its vulnerability in the daylight, and asks him to act to save my family for I cannot. I visit Larce Prexu's villa in the night, and demand he smuggle me North beyond the edges of civilization. For a few days, I go by the name Cureco, a name that both reminds me of the loyal example of a friend, and the horrible death of my son, for which I shall surely rot in Tarterus.

Experience 8: Larce Prexu figures out the evil I have become, and runs away. I fear he will tell my family the truth, and so I give chase, and impale him on my javelin. My fate is too shameful for my family to know. I take his name in the barbarian lands, because it is painted on the wagon.

Diary #1: Memory #5: The Serpent Beneath The Cave (This diary lost in a fire)

Experience 5: I find an old pair of shears half-buried beneath the roots of our largest olive tree. I dig them up, and the ground gives way into a sinkhole that exposes a cave beneath the tree. My boys want to explore it, but the sun is setting, so I stick a torch in the hole to check first that there are no snake nests. Any good father would risk their best tree to protect his children. The torchlight shows something far worse. I order the children to run, and struggle to keep her from escaping till they are gone. She drags me beneath the roots.

Experience 6: The cave-woman Culsu flays my torso, puts something inside me, and stitches me back together. The pain makes my days an unending red blur, and I hunger for the hearts that beat in others chests whenever blood leaks out along my seams. Curecu, my eldest boy, is dead, and she force-feeds his heart to me. I am bounded in roots, and unable to break free. As I consume him, I am transformed. I learn over the next few days that I cannot strike Culsu, she holds some terrible power over me.

Experience 10: I search high and low for Revnthy or more of our kind. In a seaside cave, I find a hideous and venomous creature, Chulka, part serpent and part bird, with the rough outline of a man. I try to talk to it, but Chulka is very territorial, and I barely escape the cave. In daylight, I use my shield as a sunblock to return, pour oil from the wagon all around the entrance to his lair, and start a fire to smoke him out. He runs screaming from smoke into the sunlight, and my waiting javelins. He burns and hurls himself into the sea to avoid further damage. His fate is uncertain, but I know now that I am the monster that exists to safeguard man and burn other monsters!

Lost Diary #2 

Diary #2 has been lost due to Revnthy's scatterbrained wanderlust.

Diary #2: Memory #6: Forced North (This diary has been lost due to Revnthy's scatterbrained wanderlust)

Experience 14: In my slumber, I hear Thages argue with his mother. He lights her new tapestry afire and throws it into my cave to destroy me. I am burned by it and the sun as I flee. I murder our neighbors to hide in their house for a day, then take their wagon north, retracing my previous exile. My head is awash in chaos, anger, and hunger, so I begin a diary to keep these two journeys separate. Later I arrive in the north. The barbarians speak a foul tongue and have strange practices, which makes it easier for me to hunt them. They scream “damon!” when they see me, and I start to think of that as my new name. I am Damon of Etruria.

Experience 18: I retreat further north to avoid the Romans. In the foothills of the mountains I find a village whose language is not that different from one I spoke. I build a cabin in the woods not far from these Rhaetians, and eventually brave their village at night. Their myths match the emblem on my shield, and it is talk of such myths that earn me the respect of the village wise woman, and her daughter the poet. I had thought I would never have human friends again, but eventually even the village headman grudgingly comes to like “the southerner who respects the old ways”.

Diary #2: Memory #7: Battlefield Scavenger (This diary has been lost due to Revnthy's scatterbrained wanderlust)

Experience 15: A war ravages this new land, and battlefield is easy feasting for a heart-eater like myself. One wounded soldier bears a familiar blazon on his shield, and as he bleeds he mumbles in a language I'd not heard in years. Instead of ending him, I tend his wounds, and tell him tales of his forebear, the warrior Thages Etanigia, who drove off a foul beast that was haunting his land. He seems to know me from family legend. Arnthur Etanigia recuperates and survives at least long enough to begin the voyage home on foot.

Experience 16: The war continues for several years, and I feast on the hearts of the dying and the vulnerable, regardless of what language they speak. My mind degrades in this time, and most of my memories of my mortal life are lost.

Experience 17: These new soldiers fight with greater discipline and training, They also have better equipment, including flaming chemicals that nearly kill me. My skin is roasted, the sutures ignite and everything peels. I skin the recently dead, and stitch myself a new covering and wings. 

 Lost Memories

These are Memories or Experiences erased by various event prompts. They didn't even end up in a Diary, they just faded away.

Memory #1: Time In The Orchard (This memory lost because war enflames my senses)

Experience 1: I am Thocero Etanigia. Like my father before me, I lived just West of Felathri, in Northern Etruria. I was the devoted husband of my lovely wife, Tetia, and father of 3. Our land was known for it's great olive orchard. I have twice had to take up arms to protect our city, but never in my mortal life traveled more than nine miles from my home.

Experience 11: Confident I have mastered my hunger and found my true calling as the monster who slays worse monsters, I return to my orchard. Has it truly been so long? The children are young adults. In the late hours I skulk through my old house, and to my shock Tetia lays with Cure Lecne. The beast inside me rages, and I slay my old friend by dragging him high into the sky and letting go. To obfuscate my part in it, I plant his shattered body at the foot of the cave where Culsu once slumbered.

Experience 13: My family is safe from all but time. Tetia weaves a new tapestry, showing my spirit guarding our villa and orchard. I take up residence in the cave where Culsu once lay. I learn that my blood shed regularly on the roots fertilizes and strengthens the trees. My family is safe from all but time and the hunger within that I struggle to suppress.

Lost from Memory #11: (This memory lost in a bestial hunger.)

Experience 29: Revnthy and I stalk the mountains trying to find Ramtha, my Ramtha, our Ramtha. The goddess Revnthy is mercurial and prone to wandering. I often have to search for her, and in one of these jumbled backtrackings, my diary gets lost somewhere. My mood sours. The hunt for Ramtha has gone on forever. I feel no closer to finding her, and Revnthy is now impeding that effort. Angry at our lack of progress (and the failings of my own nose, to be honest), I lash out at her and drive her away. I am alone again, and wallow in my sorrow and loneliness. (This memory lost in a bestial hunger.)

Lost from Memory #13: (This memory lost and blurred into Experience 33)

Experience 31: Another war, or a continuation of the last one? I can't recall. I fall back on my old ways, scavenging the battlefields. I find the body of some sort of company musician, who carried a book where he recorded his wartime memoirs and musical compositions. I cannot read his entries, but I use the blank pages in the second half of the book as if it were my own. On a cold night, I wrap myself in a scavenged uniform, and infiltrate a camp to sit just beyond the edge of their light. I enjoy vicariously their celebration of life, and tales told around a camp in a language unknown to me. One young soldier with a lovely voice strikes me as the heart of the unit. I stalk him to his tent, but in the end I decide not to kill him in his sleep and devour his heart. The bugler whose uniform I wear probably liked this man, for his musical talents and fine voice. That is enough. (This memory lost and blurred into Experience 33)

Final Analysis

This was weird as hell, but also a ton of fun to play and write. Again, the game's ability to send your narrative around in unexpected corkscrews is a delight. 

A Prompt Explanation: Here's a small mechanical explanation of some weird notes I'd written in my list of event prompts triggered, above. 

Prompts: 1, 4, 5, 8, 15, 17, 19, 23, 29, 35, 38, 42, 42, 42, (42>) 41 Alt, 38, 45, (42>) 41 Alt, 48, 47, 50 alt, 48, 49, 50 alt, 53, 49, 51, 54, 57, 57, 54, 57, 62, 70

"50 alt" means I used the alternate prompt #50 from the appendix instead of the main prompt #50. I think this was because in game #1, my character ended up on prompt #50 multiple times as well.  

"(42>) 41 Alt" means that since I'd already rolled prompt #42 three times, I was obliged to move on to prompt #41, but again that was also a prompt I'd rolled several times in game #1, so I went to the appendix.  

Now, if you don't know how the game works, you might think that this is a sign that the game needs more prompts or something, but really its more like a sign that I need new dice. They got abnormally streaky, rolling the same thing so often that if it happened in an online game I'd be worried the RNG was broken. 

I will say that while I really love that the appendix has alternate prompts, it's a little dissapointing that they aren't formatted in the same 3-to-a-page format as the mainline prompts.  They don't correspond to the same numbering system at all, actually, which I do think is a bit of a shame. If you find yourself in need of an alternative prompt, you have to figure out your own kludgy method to pick one from the list of 135. If it was instead a second set of the same number of prompts, laid out in the same way, you could easily use them entirely as an alternate game, or individually swapped out when you hit something you'd previously encountered.  I'm a little tempted to take that second set of prompts and edit and lay them out to make them more usable... but I'm not sure I play the game often enough to justify the effort.

It's a minor gripe, anyway, because it really only matters if you play the game multiple times in rapid succession. Seeing the same prompt again is no big deal if the last time you saw it was a month ago.