Getting to Know You

Last weekend, I had the good fortune to be at a really interesting Mirror, Mirror event. The game was, as per usual, fun and more than a little exhausting. However, the really interesting part was the huge influx of PCs. Honestly, I have never seen so many PCs enter a game at one time.* This meant that there were many, many introductions. Introductions at MM are kind of fascinating for a few reasons. We're working with some pretty unique "getting to know you factors":

1) This game is high fantasy with a little extra high fantasy, just for kicks. People come in as really bizarre and unexpected things.

2) Because of IG and OoG rules, players can't necessarily say exactly what they are. So if someone says, "This, uh, might be rude, but... what exactly are you?" A typical answer might be, "Gee, well. I wish I could say, but, in this land, I just can't seem to say." The conversation then turns into an elaborate description that talks around the missing word.

3) Because most PCs come from disparate places, most PCs don't have experience with the majority of IG species and/or have different experiences of IG species. A related conversation: Person 1: I'm an elf.; Person 2: You, sir, are not an elf.

While MM has a reputation as a combat-heavy game (and it is very combat heavy), it's also some kind of expansive, elaborate brain puzzle that never ends. And that's what makes it so great, in my opinion.

However, as I mentioned earlier, this whole situation-- coupled with a huge influx of new PCs-- makes for some fairly interesting introductions. On that note...

Pick a character, any character. Well, pick a character (PC or NPC) with an interesting introduction. How does that individual introduce itself to new people? What have been some particularly good interactions?



* The frat house at Endgame being a somewhat close second.

LARP Heals

by Zoe

So, as everyone knows, last week-- the week of the Boston marathon bombings, the MIT shooting, the "manhunt" for the suspects, and the city and surrounding areas in lockdown-- was hellish. As someone who grew up in Maine, and has spent much of her life in Boston, I have always felt relatively safe here. (Like everyone, I've had my fears and reservations. But, privileged as I am, I have never felt "unsafe" in my city.) And this past week changed that. For those of us who lived through it, last week was a strange dystopia wherein innocents were killed and injured, peopled streets were emptied, and we were told to stay inside and lock our doors. Speaking personally, after the lockdown ended, I stepped into the warm spring evening, and felt at a loss. I hadn't really slept well; I had watched, on the television, hours upon hours of breaking news; I had relived, in a way only wrought possible by new media, the many tragedies that occurred this past week.

And, around 7 pm on Friday evening, I said to Chris, "I don't want to go to Cottington." I wanted to stay in my (almost) safe little den, and shut out the rest of the world. But, after some over-tired reflection, I reluctantly agreed.

This isn't going to be a play-by-play of the Cottington Woods first weekend event. It could be. I could tell you, in detail, about the wonderful things I experienced, and the equally wonderful people with whom I journeyed. I could tell you about the true magic that the staff created. Or I I could tell you how the enthusiasm of all players, PCs and NPCs alike, made the game spaces fizzle. Or the chills I got from interactions large and small. Or the special beauty of 40 or so people, from many walks of life, huddled around the same crackling fireplace. Or just how damn good it felt to run, fight, and sweat out all of the nervous, cloying tensions I had been keeping in my chest.

But I'm not going to go into too much more detail. But I am going to say is, yes, after all of the scary mess of the past week, I did indeed go to a LARP. And, despite my hesitation, I'm glad I did. And here's why.

LARP heals. I know this personally, and through the experiences of friends. No-- LARP doesn't make the world instantly better. It doesn't change everything in your life into issues tolerable and easy. It doesn't even provide a particularly believable escape from the so-called "real world."

But it does heal. LARPs, good LARPs at least, give you a place to be yourself. A place to be with loved ones who make you laugh and think. A place to narrate your stories, accompanied by the voices of friends and strangers alike. A place to be both brave and weak. A place to where you can return, again and again, and discover at least one new thing. A place with a community who reminds us that many other people, living in the same world, are kind, funny, and creative.

Like most other people in this country, after the Boston marathon tragedy, I needed some healing. Not a lot, because my life, in comparison, was only minutely affected. But, to be sure, I needed some healing. And I was lucky enough to be surrounded by a healing community. They didn't even have to try to help me-- they just were LARPers, at a beautifully written LARP. And that was what I needed. As I move on, still sad and increasingly more reflective about tragedies and loss at home and around the world, I raise my cup to all of you: thanks, Cottington. You were what many of us needed.

Guest Contributor: LARP in the Media Series

I write on LARP in popular Media relatively frequently, so I’m always excited to get other perspectives. Inspired by recent conversations on facebook and elsewhere, Anthony was inspired to write this essay on the use of LARP in popular media. As a media-positive person, I think this is really provocative. I’m curious to hear people’s responses, as well as possible solutions to this problem.

Why LARP Should Not Be Portrayed in Film and Television

by Anthony Reed

Recently, Zoe made a post on her facebook page about a clip from the IFC show Portlandia; the clip was about some steampunks in a hotel, and the larger conversation spoke to the representation of LARP in media. Related to this, the Portlandia clip really bugged me, and I love Portlandia (Seth Meyers is fantastic). Within the facebook threat, people were springing to defend the clip as being what Portlandia “does”: Carrie and Fred, acting like idiots while existing inside a subculture (this time steampunk RPers), is the whole point. I understand that argument and would mostly agree, except it wasn’t Carrie and Fred being idiots that got me about this skit. It was a discussion they have with an old woman outside of the elevator. I couldn’t nail down specifically what bugged me about it, but I knew that was the scene that was sticking in my craw.

Puzzled

Hi everyone,
Humor me-- I know updates have been infrequent, as real life is... crazy. However, a thought just randomly occurred to me. I know there are many players who enjoy puzzles in modules-- and I know many of these same players become frustrated with puzzles that are too easy/too complicated/too frequently used. So, very simply, what makes a good module puzzle?

Absence from those we love: Saying Goodbye

In more than a few of the LARPs I staff/play, there have been some very poignant player exits. These have involved a variety of circumstances, including player deaths and players electing to go "off-screen" in dramatic and meaningful ways. Exiting, as a player, is a topic unto itself-- how do you do it? Why do you do it? When do you do it? These are excellent questions (and, if the fodder feeds you, discuss), however, I'm more interested in the people left behind.

I recently wrote on the end of plot arcs. This generated some excellent comments-- many of the notes included that narrative resolutions can leave players disconnected and/or sad. Accordingly, it falls on staff (and the players themselves) to provide ways for those players to get re-involved. The exit of PC characters poses a similar, though more complicated, problem. Since my last quest on this topic was directed at staffers, this is directed at PCs.

Imagine, for a moment, you are in the climatic moment of whatever battle in whatever realm you frequent. Suddenly, one of your friends-- perhaps your closest friend and confidant-- does something heroic, unforeseen, and, ultimately, final: the player impacts the game in such a way that takes them permanently off-screen. Your friend, as a PC, has made their exit.

Take another situation-- a teammate, in a difficult and hard-won battle, is struck down, and, unexpectedly, fails to resurrect. The teammate's IG death is final, and they will no longer appear, fighting alongside you.

Or a slightly more complicated situation: your favorite teammate has OoG reasons that prevent them from playing. They have a new baby, a new job, or need to leave the country. Logistically, they have decided to quit the game, and the character is making an off-screen exit. In any case, neither you nor your character will see them IG.

Farewells, in whatever form they take, are inevitable and sometimes necessary. IG, player-exits can motivate narrative and heighten drama. OoG exits are necessary and productive for a variety of reasons. However, those absent certainly leave a hole: both IG and OoG, people feels the absence of friends and comrades. As a player, how do you deal with farewells from players to whom you are emotionally attached? How do you RP the drama of loss without making the game upsetting? How do you create new relationships that are equally meaningful? How do you commemorate players who have left the stage?

As always, your comments are appreciated.

p.s. Mirror, Mirror players-- I see a lot of enthusiasm floating around the netscape. If anyone is interested in doing some collaborative MM stuff, shoot me an email at collabnarration@gmail.com. If there are enough people interested, mayhaps we can do something fun before the first event.

Guest Contributor: How We Impact Our Games

Contributor: Amanda/"Istamira"
LARP System: Accelerant (Madrigal, Mirror Mirror)
Location: Boston, USA
PC Name: Istamira "Mira" Nascirus
Years LARPing: 1 years, 7 months 
Website: Istamira's Quill istamira.wordpress.com

A guest contribution about the various ways that we can help (and hurt) our larp communities.

If you're reading this, no matter who you are, there is something terribly important that you must be made aware of immediately.... 

You have power

... the power to create game experiences.
... the power to change the course of the game.
... a power to manipulate how things are perceived, received, and more.

You wield this power every single day - often without even knowing it. It's a radiating aura that travels with you wherever you go, and all who so much as tangentially touch your existence are influenced by this power. For that reason, it is inherently dangerous for you - yes YOU (myself included) - to make any contact with other larpers. Why danger?

We each have the power of creation, influence, and perception, but note that it is in the most neutral sense of the words. For example, if we have the power to create "good" game experiences, so too do we have the power to create "bad" ones. Ignorance of this duality of our inherent power is the most dangerous part of the equation! Yet every day, we each go out into the world, interact with one another, and life and the game plays out according to how we're wielding our power. The results are the cocktail that makes up your larp community. 

All Good Things Must Come to An End

This past year, at least in the New England LARP community, has seen the end of some long-running and/or much beloved games. As one of the games I staff is coming to an end, I keep returning to questions about narrative arcs, and how to best complete them. (To be clear, narrative arcs are not the same as the game narrative: they are "sub-plots," of varying magnitude, that exist within the larger game framework.) Arguably, for many LARPers, continuous, interconnected narratives are what keep them coming back to game: over time, they become invested in a given narrative, and committed to, in some way, seeing in through. However, when a narrative arc comes to a close, players can sometimes feel sad, unsatisfied, and/or without purpose. I have known a few people that, following the end of their favorite IG narrative, felt almost entirely disconnected from the game. With this in mind, I have a few questions...

- As a player or as a staffer, what are some successful ways you've seen story arcs ended? What hasn't worked as well?
- How do you make the ending of a narrative meaningful for invested players? Do you give them anything (such as in-game skills, objects, titles etc.)?
- How do you create an ending that is satisfying for players? For players, what sorts of things are you looking for in narrative completion?
- How do you deal with transitions between narratives? What are good ways to get players re-invested in new storylines?