Another Day, Another LARP – Review by Samuel Z Jones

Disclaimer

A few people have suggested, following my first LARP review, that I should write entirely In-Character from beginning to end. Kindly permit me to explain: There are countless IC accounts of every Event, I am sure many of them are excellent and have avid fans. This is a review. My switching in and out of character here reflects my experience at the event itself. To assist clarity, passages hereafter in italics reflect moments in character.

Additional Note from the Editor

We quite enjoyed the switching in and out of character and it’s our website, so nah.  Also, we quite like pink, so in addition to italics we will make the “IC” stuff pink, because we can. Editorial notes and thoughts, general sarcasm will be blue, so you can tell it apart.

Day 1

Arrival

We arrived at the event on the back of a week-long road trip covering half of England. My partner and I work in publishing; we came fresh from a book launch in Bristol to celebrate with a long weekend of Fantasy immersion at Empire 2 2016. Finding our team-mates, we set up camp, our base situated conveniently beside the Temeschbar, close to the Orphan’s bar, and nigh to Illiannia’s Meadery. Other significant locations were also near.

In character, we became Prince Drogon, his bodyguards Lucky Flint and Nathrach MacNebb, and Nathrach’s wife, Akora.

The Harlequin I

The good prince bought a newspaper, from the Pledge Press directly opposite our Crimson Cartel tent. Here we learned one of the major ongoing storylines of the weekend: The three Egregores of the League, which is to say the three chiefs of the League, had vanished; the headline read “Egregone!” (Isn’t that a book/film?!) In their place now was The Harlequin, a jolly, rotund chap dressed in a red and black diamond pattern befitting his name. Prince Drogon returned from his first foray, incensed that this mountebank had so transparently seized power in the League. The Prince and his bodyguards resolved to investigate.

The Virtue of Ambition

That first night, there was much drinking. In the Temeschbar, Nathrach was drawn into a theological debate with a pair of drunk Inquisitors. The question was Nathrach’s remark that the Virtue of Ambition, or any other, was necessarily served by the appreciation of its antithesis. The case in point began with the notion that an Ambitious man should measure his reach with humility, and proceeded to the observation that Pride in one’s skill at debate should yield, on occasion, to Pride in one’s skill at arms. At this point, the priests withdrew. Aware that he had been deliberately entrapped into the discussion by an erstwhile ally, Nathrach refrained from drinking more that night, and readied himself for further trouble with the theocracy.

Day 2

Nathrach rose early, while most others were still taking council of their hangovers. The proof of his philosophical persuasions would be seen in whether or not the Inquisition arrived to press the matter further. Nathrach sat upon the bench outside the Crimson Cartel’s tent, a cigarette upon his lip, a flagon of tea by his side, and a great sword in his lap.

I love camping. Having a huge canvas bell-tent strewn with weapons and armour inevitably added to the experience. Outside, a literal tent city of the same sprang up, resplendent with banners and flags, people in bright costumes wandering the streets, and a panoply of weapons and armour on display. The evil weatherman had predicted rain; a brooding thunder head wore a speculative expression, in an otherwise clear sky.

The camp stirred. We stuffed ourselves with fried potato and vegetarian sausages, finished our tea,

and joined the general movement towards the muster point for the main battle of the day.

1st Battle: Orcing

As I understood it, the objective of the human Heroes was to retrieve some holy and/or magical artefacts from the forest near the city of Sarvos. The territory had been recently seized by orcs of the Grendal nation. Our objective, on the orc team, was to intercept the expedition to retrieve said artefacts.

At the muster point, there was much joy to discover that besides the fearsome orc-masks and surprisingly realistic breastplates, our kit now included suitably orcy helms. Armed, face-painted and masked, we formed up in our designated units and made a passable show of marching to the battlefield.

There’s an ancient maxim that applies in these situations: “Hurry up and wait.” This we duly did, rolling our orc masks up onto our brows to smoke in the final minutes before battle. Then the order came down to mask up, and we assembled for a good shouting at by the commander of the orcish horde. His oratory was interrupted by a referee, with the message that the human side had already taken the field. The orc commander then shouted at the ref instead.

What then ensued was not, overall, a great day for the orcs. The lines of battle went back and forth, not to mention around and all directions in between. We fought half a dozen engagements from as many angles around the same network of paths. The orcs were driven back, and the humans assembled en mass in the centre ground. The orcish line became strung out, unable to effectively form except in the narrow paths through undergrowth.

At these passes, moments of heroism ensued. Orcish skirmishers fought rearguard actions while the shield-walls reformed. Falling back with a small squad, I found myself momentarily alone against a swordsman all in black. Even his face was black; painted so that only the whites of his eyes showed. We exchanged blows, but the reach of a two-handed sword gave me the edge, and the fight ended with a frankly beautiful slash across his throat with the very tip of the blade. His eyes bulged and his tongue poked; he reeled back with one hand to his neck, only half acting. Then he grinned and sold it with a nod, clutching one hand to his throat as he stumbled back to the human lines.

Though mostly dry, the forest still contained muddy channels and streams. Generally, we avoided fighting near them. The frequent reforming of the orc lines, however, forced us to occasionally retreat at speed through these muddy hazards. At one point, while I was leaping with enviable agility across dry islands in the mud, some cheap git shot me in the back with an arrow. I completed my final leap to dry land, and dutifully crumpled to the ground. Laying dead for awhile, I was witness to the human advance, and found myself behind the lines. I wandered to the respawn point, a circuitous route that led eventually back to the same tangle of paths through the woods.

The humans had entirely formed now. With a squad of skirmishers, I tracked along the entire length or their line, seeking anywhere to engage other than at the by now familiar tangle of woodland paths. A solid mass of packed troops confronted us, with no sign of any orcish column to join in breaking through. Our squad returned to the woody paths, where we found a band of humans heavily beset by our orcish brethren. We joined the fight, outpacing human reinforcements. One human warrior still on his feet was cut down, and a woman trying to aid a fallen comrade chopped in the neck. The humans pushed forward en mass, and our line began to fall back.

An orc warchief attempted to rally us, settling on yelling abuse at me as the only orc apparently listening. On his orders, I took up yelling abuse at the retreating orcs too. The shieldwall reformed, and there ensued a ferocious fight. The humans crashed into us. I was caught in the frontline, without a shield. I’d been doing a lot of shouting all day, and now the adrenaline fully kicked in. My habitual kiai-shout in combat became a continuous roar. I joined a berserk assault that scattered the human shield-wall. My last blow was an overhead chop, neatly crowning the unfortunate chap directly in front of me. He staggered back, comically stunned, and we all paused. Then he shook his head clear, raised a hand to signal he was okay, and the fight resumed. The ref’s hand landed on my shoulder, and I voluntarily withdrew to catch my breath. About ten seconds later, the adrenaline crashed and last night’s drinking hit me in the gut. I withdrew to the respawn point, and rested out the remainder of the battle until word arrived to head home.

Opening Shoppe

I spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon stretched out in our tent, exhausted. We had set up a stall out front, but trade had been poor. I suggested changing the sign to simply say “Shoppe.” Almost immediately, we sold our first tankard. Trade proceeded well throughout the rest of the day, and my partner began to settle into her role as Akora MacNebb. From trading tankards, runestones and marzipan at our little stall, she progressed to attending Prince Drogon’s haggling over the more exotic resources and items of the Empire.

Not for the first time nor the last, my partner remarked at the incredible cleanliness of the site. Even Green Gatherings have more litter. Disposable containers and packaging are not period and people just don’t use them; across the entire site, there was barely a single scrap of litter to be seen.

The Harlequin II

Later, in the Temeschbar, Nathrach was approached by The Harlequin. The rumour in camp was that this man claimed to be a legitimate Egregor, who had escaped from some mysterious imprisonment just in time to step up and replace the missing usual three. It was also rumoured that The Harlequin had on his person three items, each belonging to one of the missing Egregors. Through careful questioning, Nathrach extracted the confession that the Harlequin himself held the Egregores hostage, and might release them for a price.

Captain’s Meeting

That evening, Nathrach MacNebb attended the captain’s meeting of the League. Here he met General Gabriel and the Highguard’s General, the latter designated Field Marshal for the morrow’s expedition. The mission would be to intercept a party of orc engineers, on their way to destroy a bridge. Close behind these would be bands of orc wizards, set to curse the river and flood the region, denying us any hope of reclaiming it from the orc invaders.

The battleplan was simple; while the Highguard and the Field Marshal occupied the centre of the field, the League and other forces would scour the woods for the enemy.

Day 3

2nd Battle: Heroing

Setting out for battle for the first time as Nathrach MacNebb, I hoped to acquit myself reasonably well. Our small squad numbering Nathrach, Drogon and Lucky was joined by Caith De Tassitos, and we four of the Crimson Cartel’s battle-squad marched initially with the much larger contingent of the Torn Banners, our allies who ran the Temeschbar.

Our first objective was to break through an orcish shield-wall on open ground, before proceeding into the woods. We had barely engaged when the enemy unleashed a drake from the woods on our left flank. This monstrous flail-wielding thing crashed into our lines directly behind me. A smoke bomb went off and I spun about to find the thing bearing down directly upon me. Seeing that the beast was armed with a pair of +3 Morning-Stars of Nope, I got the hell out of its way sharpish.

The orcs charged, and the human shield-wall bowed inward. Half of us were flung into the gorse bushes, where a vicious female orc hacked me brutally on the arm. I staggered from the fight, to where an archer of our own side was seeking pot-shots into the mob. This good-hearted chap administered first-aid, a few moments roleplaying yanking my dislocated arm back into place.

Fortunately, the right flank of our army had done far better than we on the left: Even as the orcs pressed us hard, our right flank closed upon them from the other side. Our forces eventually broke through, and we began the advance into the woods.

Again the right flank advanced strongly, and the most part of the left merged in with them, forming a powerful two-pronged column. The orcs flanked the unguarded left, and the Crimson Reaper Cartel broke off from the Torn Banners to reinforce that side. Here ensued a truly awesome swordfight, and I have witnesses.

Lucky and Nathrach advanced left, spacing out between a line of trees that formed a natural defence on the edge of a wide clearing. The orcs broke cover on the clearing’s far side, a shieldwall beginning to form even as a trio of skirmishers advanced to flank the human line. Nathrach knew Lucky was on his left, and saw a small squad of men on the right mustering a firmer defensive line. His attention flicked to the orc directly ahead, armed likewise with a two-handed sword. Nathrach twitched his own blade in salute and attacked, driving the orc back with a flurry of blows. A second orc lunged in from the left and Nathrach parried, twitching his sword back and forth between them, holding both at bay. Trusting Lucky to despatch the third orc unaided and guard his back, Nathrach herded the pair of orcs back. The orcish swordsman lunged suddenly, the axeman at his side swift to follow. Nathrach parried and cut, ducked a blow of the axe, parried and cut again. Both orcs fell. Lucky grabbed him by both shoulders, spun him about, and head-butted him, grinning maniacally.

I saw that! And I thought, does he need help? Then I thought, no, he doesn’t; he needs a headbutt! Fire in yer eyes, man! Rarrgh!

 – Lucky Flint

Not long after, we were attacked by another drake. This one was armed with a pair of cleavers, and I joined the general mob in hacking and jabbing at the thing as it rampaged through our lines. Lucky pursued it relentlessly, and ultimately struck the killing blow.

Prince Drogon had last been seen dashing into the fray. Nathrach spotted him through the melee, and started towards him. Even as he arrived, Drogon fell, wounded in the side. Nathrach pitched into the line to rescue him, hauling the Prince back from the fighting. The orcish shield-walls crumbled, and the Imperial forces broke through to their camp at the back of the woods. Here, we found the engineers. These were human traitors who had joined the invading orc army. At a previous battle, many brave heroes had been killed trying to rescue these presumed enslaved captives of the orcs. The thankless wretches had then taken up arms on the orc side, mounting a cowardly ambush on their intended rescuers. This time, there was no mercy; the traitors were butchered without quarter, and the soldiers of the League withdrew to rejoin their Highguard allies waiting in reserve.

The plan, to secure the centre ground so that the Highguard could cover the League’s retreat, worked well enough until the League forces actually passed through the Highguard lines. The Highguard, in close order and holding off an orcish advance, were forced to open ranks to let the retreating League through. Disordered, they were unable to reform in time to prevent an orcish flanking action that came near to encircling the human line.

Nathrach joined a skirmish unit on the flanks, clearing a unit of orc archers and swordsmen from the sparse trees on the edge of the field. Looking back, he saw that the human lines had reformed, and took a breather. There, he discovered Caith De Tassitos beside him again, and the pair took a moment to loot the fallen orcs in the vicinity. They found one orc still alive, whining piteously in a fashion that put the general courage and ferocity of the breed to shame. Caith was so disgusted with the creature’s wheedling for mercy that he felt moved to bosh it in the balls with his mace. The pitiful thing only wailed harder, protesting that this did not help at all. Nathrach silenced the wretch forever by slashing out its throat.

Seeing the flag of the Torn Banners still upon the field, Nathrach and Caith hastened to join what both feared might be a last stand. The fight was fierce, human columns closing up into shieldwalls to stave off the orc pincer-movement. Nathrach found himself by chance directly at the Field Marshal’s side when she gave the order to retreat. Pausing only to hack down an over-bold orc skirmisher, Nathrach ran to find the captain of the Torn Banners, and relay the Field Marshal’s orders. Then he sought the captain of the Ashen Tower, and finally Prince Drogon himself. The human forces withdrew in good order, before the orcs were able to cut off their retreat. The traitor engineers had been slain, but the orcish wizards had escaped; the battle could at best be called a partial success.

Nathrach returned to camp, pausing to inform Lady Illiana at the Holberg Meadery that her husband Caith was alive and well, and that they had walked together from the battlefield. Then he presented himself to his wife Akora, much to her relief, and awaited the return of Drogon and Lucky from the field.

Bessie The Bard, Artiste

Later, Akora engaged the services of Bessie The Bard to paint a portrait. The experience was so funny, Nathrach sought out Prince Drogon to get a royal picture done. The good Prince was sufficiently amused as to hire Bessie to attend the Crimson Cartel at the party planned later that night.

The Honest Armourer

Numerous traders visited our little shoppe. My partner began negotiating deals in earnest, and acquired for me not only a suitably heroic belt, but also the services of a leather-worker to make loops and fixings, solving much of the carriage problem that afflicts period costume. Modern day clothing, see, is equipped with pockets. A top tip for anyone coming into LARPing; decent belts hung with sufficient pouches are top of the kit list.

Not long after our visit to the armourer, he knocked again at our tent door. During the adjustments to my belt, a magic-item ribbon had fallen off. The nature of the game, beginning with the detail that combat revolves on all parties being honest about their Hit Points, puts the rules inherently on the honour system. Personal weapons, armour and camping equipment are out-of-bounds for theft, but In-Character items such as coinage, magic effect cards and enchanted item ribbons are considered fair game to keep if found or even outright stolen. Yet the armourer brought back a rather valuable magic item, and bade us attest that the White Raven are honest traders.

3rd Battle: Orcing

An opportunity arose to go orcing again, one of numerous minor battles that took place over the weekend. We layered on orcish tabards, masks and helms, and marched out again in a passable column, this time to the open field. From here, we advanced upon the humans emerging from the trees. The line of our march missed them completely; they moved to flank us at once, our column dissolving into a loose skirmish line to head them off. A unit of Imperial orcs arrived, fighting on the human side, and the humans we had almost trapped scampered back to safety. A number of brave Imperial orcs fell and an Imperial orc commander was captured that the humans might escape. Two of the humans were cut off from their friends, about a hundred yards behind the orc line. An orc warchief yelled at me, “Kill that one!”

There’s something about being yelled at by an orc warchief. I grunted an affirmative and ran, chasing down the nearest human straggler, roaring at him to fight me. He ran away instead, but two Imperial orcs dashed out to save him, and obliged me in a brief exchange of blows before themselves turning tail. I chased the trio to the edge of the woods, roaring wordlessly until the snarling of my own breath in my lungs alerted me to another near-berzerk rush. Anticipating the adrenaline crash to follow, I signalled the nearest ref and volunteered to help a fellow player who had sprained her ankle from the field.

The Harlequin III

Bright spring reigned that afternoon, and a full festival air ensued. We traded and interacted, gossiped and rumoured, and joined in the multitudes of unfolding stories as opportunities arose. Our tent was situated centrally in the League camp, and most of the drama of the League faction played out at our door.

The Harlequin appeared, accompanied by a band of mummers, and put on a play. It rapidly became clear that their purpose was to publicly question the self-proclaimed Egregor. In the discussion, he presented the ring of the missing Duke, confirming the rumour that he at least possessed items belonging to the missing three. The questioning seeming to lead nowhere, Nathrach MacNebb broached certain details to the Fool overseeing the performance. His questions were relayed, but the Harlequin boldly claimed that he had been lying at the time, only further muddying the truth.

A Friendly Duel

A dueling circle formed, a skilled bravo with sword and buckler putting on a highly entertaining show against a string of opponents. Watching, I found myself in discussion with a fellow zwei-hander, and we squared off for a friendly bout. This was a real high point, the chance to cross swords one-on-one with an exponent of the two-handed sword. We proved roughly evenly matched, though I concede my opponent was impeccably sporting.

Bessie The Bard Sings

With twilight drawing in, there was a party in the woods. Dancers capered and a fire-show held most of the audience captivated. Throughout, we were entertained by the musical styling of Bessie The Bard. Perching on one leg, her guitar braced at a bizarre angle, occasionally laying on her back with her guitar upside down, amid a range of other bizarre poses, she strummed ferociously and sang such classics as ‘Aromnomnomnomnom’, ‘Kakakao! Kakao!’, ‘Oh Please Help Me I Am Being Threatened By Angry Armed Men’, and the unforgettable, ‘Who Is This Idiot who Hired Me For This Party, I Am Very Afraid Now And It Is All His Fault’.

Day 4

The final morning saw a few last character developments, even as people began packing down to go home. Following his natural actions in the latter half of the battle, Natrach MacNebb volunteered as a battle-runner for the League. Later, he was stopped by the Harlequin, who enquired whether all was settled since the public denouncement.

“If you would understand my manner, sir,” Nathrach said, gruffly, “I am the Prince’s bodyguard, my chief concern is his safety. While the disappearance of the other Egregors was a mystery, and your own legitimacy unproved, it was my duty to be suspicious.”

“Very wise.” the Harlequin’s eyes twinkled. “And humble.”

“In the service of Ambition, sir.”

“Will you be joining us at Sarvos?”

“To retake the city? Of course, my lord Egregor.”

 

And you can find more from Samuel Z Jones…

…on Facebook

…and on Smashwords

LARP organiser: Profound Decisions