Thousand Year Old Vampire

 

Thousand Year Old Vampire by Tim Hutchings
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Three years ago, I started an ill-fated attempt to run a snail mail RPG campaign. Part of the issue was my own motivation, some that of my correspondents. I think we were all enthusiastic about the prospect, but in retrospect, I think we (more importantly, I) foundered on the rocks of chance. Or precisely not-chance. Though we all had strong characters and motivations, compelling settings and circumstances, the few interchanges became quickly mired in a sort of "all-over-the-place-ness" where we started off in different directions and didn't want to push each other into our own individual story-arcs. At least that's my observation.

We were missing, in essence, that random-determined-ness that is the generative catalyst for roleplaying games. Without stochasticity and a push from fate, I foundered on being centered on my own story. By design, there was no game master - we were all equal players - and, thus, no one moved the narrative along. And this, I'm afraid, needs to happen. Otherwise we are cats without herders. There needs to be a shepherd, whether in the form of a human or just an algorithm, even a simple algorithm.

So why am I going on and on about this failed attempt in a review of Thousand Year Old Vampire? After all, this is a solo RPG game, not a group play game such as I attempted.

Other Goodreads reviewers have complained that Thousand Year Old Vampire is nothing but a series of writing prompts, essentially. I think this is unfair and doesn't acknowledge the potential depth of solo play one might encounter in a session or sessions of TYOV. Now, that said, I have not yet played the game. As I do (and I will), I will report on my blog regarding the playability of the engine. For now, though, I'd like to concentrate just on the book itself (which, incidentally, is the most beautiful RPG book I now own).

Yes, one playing the game should be ready to do some writing. There are two ways to play it, quickly and slowly, and the slower version will require some writing . . . and eradicating. There is a diary, which need not be extensive, but needs to be written. Experiences and memories are gained and lost though the course of the game. The Vampire is, in essence, a palimpsest in the truest, most physical sense of the word. This is part of the horrific tragedy of it all: losing one's humanity, friends, family, and memories in the course of immortality.

To generate these memories and experiences and losses, there are a series of prompts throughout the book. Each time a prompt has been given and the experience had (or lost), the player rolls a d10 and a d6. By subtracting the d6, one generates a number between -5 and +9. This tells them how many prompts (and which direction) to move within the book. Each prompt has three possibilities which are to be used, in order, first, then second, then third, if one falls on the same prompt more than once. Statistically speaking, the likelihood of worming their way down (I use the phrase intentionally) to the third prompt is very, very low, so such events are typically very big deals.

Now, I haven't read all the prompts, because I'm saving them for my own foray into the unlife of a vampire. But the mechanic is brilliant, and I can see it working in principle, if not in practice.

This is what my snail mail game lacked: the prompts. Therefore, I wills et about getting a series of prompts written up for my own snail mail campaign. I'm hoping to take the best of TYOV, De Profundis, and English Eerie (which I am hoping to use as inspiration for both prompts and the method of navigating them) and do a more manageable campaign that lasts.

As a warm-up, I'm going to live a thousand years and see where that journey takes me in the meantime. I am both eager and terrified to embark.

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