Foreshadowing, from Istamira!

Contributor: Amanda/"Istamira"
Submission: Foreshadowing
LARP System: Accelerant (Madrigal)
Location: Boston, USA
PC Name: Istamira "Mira" Nascirus
Years LARPing: 0 years, 9 months 
Website: Istamira's Quill istamira.wordpress.com

In and out of character commentary from a novice larper. Character names, places, and sometimes even plot specifics may be changed or altered to protect readers from horrible knowledge that could threaten the very fiber of the universe! ... or something like that.

So ever since my first event, there is this bad habit of mine that persists: staying up aaaall night on Saturday. The PCs bed down, the NPCs bed down, the woodland animals bed down... and yet there I am, still awake and scurrying about the camp keeping my self entertained. Any more I just use it as an opportunity to enjoy the sunrise and write down things about the event while it's fresh in my mind. My character is a scribe after all, so writing things down, doing little sketches, and other such documentation has become a core part of my roleplaying.

It was during such restless time last game that I saw something that really struck me. An unplanned naturally occurring event that just spoke to me - a moment that made for great journal fodder at the time. Ironically, the next day there was a fight that reminded me a lot of what I had written about in my journal. It was like some kind of awesome foreshadowing had happened! 

Story telling/roleplay is a huge part of the fun of larping for me (it's #1 ahead of the crafting and the boffing). So that means I can't help but be drawn to those little happy coincidences from the real world that add depth to the game by accident. Sure it's just reading harder into things - like if someone tells you the number 23 is special you'll start seeing it everywhere.But I think that becomes part of the game... trying to find ways to let those coincidences become a part of the story. I'm not the kind of player who can just do something randomly, so I am constantly seeking out symbols and reasons for everything about my character - whether it's her hair colors representing her "going native" or laying out her ancestral bones in a way that represents the spines of a book because she's a scribe. Some of the chaos is organized chaos when I spontaneously identify something that seems to "fit" the character or the way the character perceives the world around her. 

"Mira why is there an empty book in this box?"

"It represents the spirits of the Future! The acts yet to be written of."

"...."

"What?"

"You mean you didn't just need a place to stash those blank notebooks you mentioned earlier until you're ready for them?"

"...alright I maaaay have run out of room in my purse. But that doesn't change that it's symbolic dag nab it!"

I'd love to hear from other players who've had those "happy symbolic coincidences" in one of their games! What ways do you find to let the real world influence things in game for your character? Have you ever had something unplanned happen in game that seemed to fit just perfectly with something you were up to? 

For the sake of example, the following entry was made on my "Sleepless Night" (the nickname for when I stay up all night Saturday). Everything written is exactly as it happened. It wasn't an earth shattering moment, but it was really fun to write about. Sometimes I think seasoned players take little moments like this for granted, and I wanted to pull it to the foreground. Since I was the only person awake at the time I have no one to back me up about what I saw, so I leave it to the reader to decide whether it really happened as it was written.

From the Journal of Istamira Nascirus:

You might expect that time spent alone at dawn would only be a matter of what is happening in your own mind, for what else is there to interact with, no? My sleepless nights are often a time of such peace and relaxation. Yet the most peculiar thing just happened…

Earlier as I was enjoying the sunrise, I became acutely aware of how alone I was. To be alone at sunrise is nothing so new or unusual – this is my third such gather basking in the rays of morning light. A light that briefly casts everything in a sun color so brilliant that all surfaces become like impossibly wrought treasures of gold. The phenomenon is only for a few moments and in select regions of the lands, but it's quite normal. Once this moment of intangible riches passes, the amusement then becomes watching the light chase away the blue gray hues that linger yet as night reluctantly gives way for day.

This time was different for some reason. Normally there is a little stirring at this hour – some cracks of falling branches, or rustling leaves disrupted by tiny scavengers, the distant drum or horn of unseen works in far off places. Instead the silence was penetrating. The silence was also not limited to these foreign lands. Against my better judgement I ventured back to the town to observe the morning. There was a slim chance that I might stumble upon some creature going there or coming back, but I had to risk it on the hopes of arriving somewhere that didn’t cause my ears to ring from the sound of my own breathing reverberating inside my skull. There was no solace in the town either – from the Shaman circle, the great rock, or even the shores of the lake, everything was deathly still.

With no chance for escape from such overbearing silence, I returned to our camp to look over my existing writings and await which of my new surrogate family would awaken first. Every journal page turned was unnaturally loud in the wake of the surrounding stillness. Defeated by the awkwardness of how the rustling of paper seemed to echo off everything in the known universe, I opted to instead meditate in the quiet. Perhaps I could think on one of these ancestors of mine or clear my head and enjoy emptiness. Or deduce what a “ball of tangled snow weasels” might actually look like. Anything to escape the crushing notion of seemingly being the only conscious entity for miles around.

Who knows how long I sat staring ahead at nothing, lost in thoughts of anonymous ancestors and elusive elves. All I know is my attention was snapped back to the world at hand when silence was dashed away by sudden shrieking all around, like the wailing of dying men in a great battle. Mind you I have never personally seen a “great” battle with countless legions dying in battle, but I have read many accounts by scribes who’ve gone before and written of such encounters. They spoke of the horrors of hearing those desperate death rattles en-mass. The battlefields that I have had the (mis)fortune to be exposed to are every bit an echo of such writings, though in smaller volume. But it had been so quiet for so long out here that the sudden chorus of noise was every bit as disturbing as that.

It did not take me long to identify the source of the commotion when I cast my eyes upwards. Black birds. Though only birds, their calls were filled with such vehement alarm that one could not help but look about for the subject of their ire. At first there was nothing, but then a loud and near at hand flapping sound caught my attention. There was a large raptor trying to balance on a branch. He rested momentarily, and then back to the air he went – except he was not alone. There was suddenly a chaotic swirl overhead of black and white as the large hawk was chased by a flock of the black birds. They dove at him repeatedly and he twisted in the air like an acrobat evading each assault. This only served to drive the black birds mad with frustration, and their cries rallied more of the flock to engage. The hawk was not innocent in this – it was apparent that it had some aim that the black birds were driving it back from, for it would constantly sweep low into the trees, only to be driven back up.

The scene was surreal and I became completely mesmerized by it. Here was a mighty predator of the air, being held at bay by tiny black birds. On one hand it reminded me of the plight of so many in the town – rallying together to face off against a foe impossible to fully vanquish because to do nothing guarantees only more death.  On the other, perhaps it was a testament to the laws of the spirits of nature and death.

…Maybe it was an echo of the events from the night before with the town on the war path with an ancient threat.

… Or my Company’s woes at the hands of an undying enemy.

Watching the struggle I could only consider that without craft,  the weak perish and become food for the strong. When the battle moved on out of sight and hearing, it did not return. I was left alone to ponder it. Left alone to consider one last possibility – an omen. Whether for good or ill is yet to be seen, for I did not see the conclusion of that airborne battle.