Cerise Magazine

As we walk, the once-vampire introduces herself as Ivy, asks me a few general questions about my life, and doesn’t say much else. She is quiet, but not shy. She only talks when necessary, like a soldier. Or a commander.

We approach a cluster of cabins that, at first, look just like all the others, except that there is a pickup truck parked behind one of the cabins, piles of fabric and weapons strewn across the picnic tables, and there are groups of tired looking people dressed in black and standing and sitting on benches.

“Welcome to Monster Camp,” Ivy says.

I would later learn that Monster Camp is the heart of the game. Without it, LARP games would simply be poorly organized Renaissance Festivals. Monster Camp gives the game a story, enemies, and reasons to fight.

As we enter Monster Camp, I start to notice something strange about the people: this is probably the most eclectic bunch of folks I have ever encountered. Some of them have tattoos creeping from their sleeves, spiky mohawks, and multiple hoops dangling from their ears, eyebrows, or lips. Others appear to be athletic middle-class teenagers in semi-stylish black outfits. There are a few office-worker-types who remind me of Brock. There are even children running around. And somehow, there are all talking, laughing, interacting together.

Suddenly I realize another interesting thing: nearly half of them are female. Such a strange change; among the players, I had been the only female I’d met so far. Why are all the women back here and not playing characters?

A woman appears in the doorway of one of the cabins and everyone falls silent and looks at her. She shouts, “Okay guys, I need half of you to be trolls and half of you to be villagers. Come get your costumes and stats cards.”

Amazing! They all obey her. These people are well trained.

Ivy calls out, “How about us?”

The woman in the doorway looks us over and says, “Will needs you to be badgers. But he’s off running a mod right now. Can you get into costume and wait for him?”

I don’t fully understand what has been said, but I follow Ivy into the main cabin.

The smell is what hits me first. Mud and sweat and warm duct tape. When my eyes adjust to the dim light, I see that the single room is filled with piles of junk that cover the beds and much of the floor. The eclectic group of folks from outside are now shifting through it all, grumbling and bumping into each other. Most of them look like they were up all night. Their clothes and fingernails are caked with mud. No wonder they call this place Monster Camp.

Ivy tosses me a frayed brown tabard and helps me tie it to my waist, explaining, “This’ll keep you from catching extra spell packets.”

“Uh…great!” I say. Holy shit, I have no clue what’s going on. Maybe it was a huge mistake to try this double-hooking thing. But I can’t back out now.

“Sorry,” Ivy says, “but you’re going to have to wipe your face paint off.” Dang it! I’d just repainted my spots and stripes!

She and I quickly smear our faces with brown goo and draw black rings around our eyes.

“Look at me,” she finally says.

I turn to her and she looks up and down, scrutinizing my face.

“Hum…” She frowns. “Oh well, good enough.”

I am now a badger.

“Hey, Jennifer,” she says. “How ‘bout our stats cards?”

“Right here,” Jennifer hands them to us. She pauses and looks at me. “Oh, you’re the new chick, right?” she says.

“Uh…yeah?”

“My name is Jennifer,” she says and smiles evilly. “I’m the Monster Mistress, and I’m here to make your life hell.”

Before I can reply, she cackles and wanders off to help some other monsters get into costume.

“Is she always like that?” I ask Ivy.

“Like what?” She hands me a card covered in numbers.

I look down at it, and none of it makes sense. “Um…what do I do with this?”

“Oh,” Ivy says. She seems to have just realized how clueless I am. “Ignore all that. You have 10 Body Points and you hit for 2. Does that make sense?”

I nod.

“Good.” She says and tosses me a short, red boffer weapon. “This is your claw.”

I clumsily catch the “claw” and follow her out to the picnic tables. A group of men is standing, waiting for us.

“Hey Will,” Ivy addresses the leader.

“Hey Ivy.” Will is a tall man with a 1960s-style bowl cut. He glances down at me, “So you’re the new girl, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say.

He smiles evilly. “We’ve got plans for you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I do not yet know that this is a Storyteller, or that Storytellers have god-like power within the game world.

He turns and addresses the whole group. “Okay, everyone. You’re a group of badger bandits.” He leads us toward one of the other cabins and pushes open the door. “This is your hideout. He points to one of the other badgers. “Jeffrey here is your leader. Let him be the one to talk. Your role is simply to support him.”

The others nod and I nod with them. I decide I’ll just have to watch Ivy and follow her lead.

“Alright everyone,” Will says. “Three, two, one, Game On!”

There is a knock at the door. The lead badger says, “Enter.”

A lone figure pushes through the door. My heart jumps. It is Ranas, my new friend who saved me from the necromancer the night before. He and I had spent several minutes hiding beneath a cloak together, while a Necromancer and two skeletons stood inches away. I want to wave at Ranas or say hi, but I’m supposed to be a badger now, so I have to pretend not to know him.

He notices me, then looks away.

How awkward. I feel myself blush.

Ranas looks at the leader and says, “I’ve done what you asked, now I want to you make good on your bargain.”

“Of course I’ll make good on it.” The badger hands him a yellow envelope.

Ranas opens it and pulls out a slip of paper. Handwritten, in small writing. “Where’s the code?” Ranas says.

“The code?” The leader smiles. “That wasn’t in the bargain.”

“But without the code, I can’t read this.”

“Well, perhaps for another three gold…” the leader says.

Ranas turns red in the face. “Three gold? Don’t you realize how important this is! If Gaia is destroyed, you’ll die with it!”

“Myths and legends,” the badger says. “I only care about getting my fair share.”

“Your fair share?” Ranas sounds angry. “Your fair share?” He pulls three coins from his pouch. “Fine! Here is your fair share.” He throws the coins hard at the ground and turns away. “When I return, I expect to be given the code.” He opens the door, walks out, and slams it behind him.

For a moment there is silence. My heart is beating fast. I can sense the tension in the leader. He is turning red. It seems he has been affected on a level that goes beyond the game. Suddenly he bursts out the door after Ranas. Ivy and the other badger follow, and I follow them.

I run out the door just in time to watch the leader stab Ranas in the back. Ranas lurches, then falls to the ground. I nearly scream, but stop myself. I’m supposed to be a badger. I’m not supposed to care about Ranas. I’m not supposed to know who he is.

The other badgers join the leader, and soon all of them are stabbing Ranas’s unmoving body. Then they all start shuffling through his clothes for gold. I look away.

“It’s not here!” the leader finally says, angry.

I want to do something. To call for help. Ranas needs to get healed in five minutes. Where are the other warriors?

“Come on!” the leader says, motioning for us to follow. Together, we walk with him towards the woods.

Then Will, who had been watching from a distance says, “Good job you guys, that’s enough.”

The scene is over.

We walk back to the main Monster Camp cabin, and I wipe the paint from my face, and quickly paint on my cat stripes for the second time that day. Will hands each of us a slip of paper that reads “10 XP.”

“You can redeem it tomorrow,” he explains, “at the end of the game.”

I don’t really know what XP is, and I don’t care. I leave my slip of paper on the picnic table outside and walk back toward the tavern. I feel like a sellout.

Why Be Monstrous?

After that experience, I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to NPC. I mean, NPCs don’t create their own characters—they are assigned roles by the Storytellers. Sure, they get to play dozens of roles a day—monsters, sorcerers, villagers, giant angry bumblebees, etc. But if someone else is directing them, where’s the freedom in that? By not creating a character, aren’t they missing the point of the game?

About a year later, I tried NPCing again, and the more I did it, the more I began to see the freedom that you do get by being an NPC: there is no need to conform to the villager expectations.

In my second article, I explained that every player must conform to societal expectations because, in a monster-filled world, an isolated individual can’t survive alone. But when you’re an NPC, it’s okay for your character to die: you can get a new character five minutes later. And you have the freedom to be as tough or rude as you want (within the guidelines set out by the Storyteller) without risking anything.

Back to the Tavern

I walk up to the tavern. I discover that my guardians are all there, talking and drinking root beer. They look tired.

“Trolls attack villagers,” explains Gleek, the ogre, “but we fight trolls. Villagers okay.”

Suddenly Brock approaches, his shoulders high. I look around for a place to hide.

“So Gleek,” I quickly say, trying to start conversation. I look down at his head-on-a-pike-boffer. My mind goes blank. “So..uh…”

“My lady,” Brock interrupts, holding a sword out in front of him.

I glance up. “That’s my sword!”

He hands it to me.

“But the vampires took it last night! How did you get it back?”

“I fought long and hard,” he said. “I spent the whole afternoon searching.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I say.

He stands, like he is waiting for something, so I continue thanking him. “I mean, to do something like that for a stranger really…uh…shows your courage—”

Arcturus approaches, saying, “Ellie, can I have a word with you?”

“Yes!” I say, and jump up a little too quickly.

We walk to a quite corner and he says, “Are you still interested in becoming a barmaid here at the tavern?”

“Oh? Definitely!” I say.

“Well, I think I may have found a way…”

Suddenly the double doors both burst open and slam against the walls. Several of the patrons grab their swords, ready for an attack.

Standing in the doorway is a single figure. The entire body is covered with weathered black leather. Two short swords and a cross bow dangle from the belt. A string of bones hang from the side. Huge military-style boots lace up to the knees. Orange and black tiger stripes are painted across the face. It isn’t until she speaks that I realize it is Ivy.

“Ranas is dead!” she bellows.

What?

People drop their swords and spoons. A few of them lower their heads and hold their hats to their chests.

No.

“We don’t know how he died,” she continues. “But he was found on the south side of town, ripped to pieces.”

This isn’t right.

“We need to find something of his. Did he mention anything about a book to any of you?”

This isn’t the way my story is supposed to go.

I raise my hand. “I-I met him last night. He told me about it. He said he’d show it to me someday.”

Ranas was supposed to be a main character.

“Did he tell you where the book is?” she says.

“No.” I shake my head.

“Damn!” she growls, then looks around. “If anyone finds out anything about the book, let me know immediately.”

She turns and storms out through the double doors. Somehow I feel like the game is over. Or that, perhaps it is no longer a game.

“Ellie?” Arcturus says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I say, looking down at the ground. An inky tear drops from my nose and hits the floor. Then another one. Damn. I’ll need to fix my makeup again.