This last weekend found us in the not too far away land of St. Julie where we were teleported away from reality to create our own. The game is called Le Domaine du Createur and the goal is… well whatever you want really. What I’m speaking of exactly is a live action role playing game (LARP) where people dress up in costumes, assume a different personality, name, history, etc… and pretend to be in a fantasy world. We have foam covered weapons, and incantations to memorize for spells. It requires some imagination but it’s tremendous fun. We also have people playing the roles of monsters and other important characters to the story line. All in all, it’s quite fun if you manage to get into it, however I can understand those who have trouble relating to this game.
 
Every time I've played Domaine I’ve had this overwhelming fear of the dark and getting jumped when I least expect it. However in my own defense I'm pretty good with a blade and my reflexes are on the ball. In any case I’d decided to use this opportunity to challenge my most serious fears and address an issue that I have been pondering upon for quite sometime. That is the classic notion of chivalry and the medieval fantasy novel according to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I’m a big fan of the Arthurian myths, and even have some formal education concerning some of the more influential versions of the legends. Whilst every author is inconsistent and took liberties in twisting and bastardizing the stories to suit the times, the typical Arthurian knight always possesses certain attributes. One great physical prowess. Two courtly respect to women. Three respect to God. Four fearlessness. Five gross stupidity, with some exceptions. In any case all of the men who show up in the tales are portrayed as prime examples of humanity and the incarnation of heroism.
 
Modern fantasy novels, however, tend to break these rules. Furthermore not too many people play stupid characters in say D&D, or LARPs for that matter. So I figure I have a unique intelligent concept relating to a subject which has fascinated me since I was but a wee lad, and I get to fight like crazy. Furthermore I get to confront one of my great fears. The only drawback to this is that in Domaine, such a character typically wouldn’t last very long. Bingo. A short term character who I’m not afraid of losing. I would go down in a blaze of glory and fire, probably in one game. Domaine gives you six lives per character.
 
The only thing I hadn’t calculated was that I was sleeping close to the healers of the game and ended up getting my ass saved one million times. Nevertheless I managed to lose three out of six lives, and had a terrific time challenging everything. I was speaking in a bad rendition of a Shakespearian play. In short it kicked ass. At the end of the game I was voted second most implicated character in story line, and third best for role-play. I will now attempt to relate one of my deaths, in my mind the most exciting of the game.
 
 
 
The wolves howled in unison, and it would have brought a slight prickle to the back of Sir Edmund’s neck had he not been warmed by a feeling of comfort in his heart. Sator was ever with him, and as such he could not fail. Sator had already denied him rest twice since his arrival in Terra Nova, and Edmund was convinced that he would not reach the arms of his God before the task which had been laid before him was accomplished. Right now however, his mind was only on how to bring back his friends who had been turned into beasts.
 
Edmund followed the raiding party which attempted to track the animals in vain. Their prey was too fast, and too cunning in the darkness to be jumped by the clumsy loud crowd. The wolves were intelligent, they would pick out single targets and slowly wear them down. Edmund was not afraid however. Sator would guide him.
 
In a moment three women showed up declaring an attack by the wolves on the Inn. The women had also died but been brought back by the grace of God. They announced that they would return to the Inn and guard it.
 
“Nay my lady,” replied Sir Edmund. "The wood doth reek with the villainy of foul beasts. Mayhaps t’would be best that thou abide here awhile whilst I slay the creatures.”
“I’m sorry sir but my boss will fire us if we don’t get back to the Inn, and the magics of this land keep us alive even after death,” replied the old one.
“Then my lady I shall accompany thee and thy friends for tis my duty and honor as a knight to protect and guide women in need of assistance.”
“But sir, there are wolves about.”
“Indeed, and tis not in my nature to allow the weak to walk about unattended. Come fair one and I shall deliver thee unto thy Inn and guard thee with my life. This I swear.”
“Then you are welcome sir,” and off he went, sword drawn, his chain mail glistening in the twilight.
 
In a few minutes they had reached the Inn which had been put into disarray by the attacks of the evening. The women went about their cleaning whilst Sir Edmund remained at the door his eyes vigilant. Minutes passed and nothing. He turned his eyes away from the firelight so as not too lose his night-vision.
 
They came on him fast and hard. They must have been ten in number, and at their approach one of the women screamed. He drew his sword and charged the closest wolf felling it quickly with a few smart blows. He then turned to the second.
“Back foul beast. Back to whence though camest from, for the light of Sator is with me and thy assault will not avail thee. Back, or I shall be forced to cut thee down.” The beast merely snarled and pounced at him forcing him back but not before his sword connected cutting deep into the creature’s thigh. Suddenly he was sized from behind as another wolf wrestled him onto a table. It’s jaws flashed in the fire and bit deep into his armor. Edmund pushed with all his might but to no avail. Sator was going to demand yet another sacrifice of him. “Well then beast finish it. End it now so that I may continue my given task.” The creature slashed at his face and jumped off.
 
Meanwhile the remaining wolves circled. Edmund regained his footing despite the blood dripping into his eyes, obscuring his vision. He noticed the women huddled in the corner and he interposed his body between them and their assailants. He hurled a cry of aid to Sator and charged.
 
They left him in pieces, blood no longer pouring onto the ground for there was little left of his body for the wounds to bleed from. A fat wolf licked the blood and howled at the sky. Her brothers followed suit, as they retreated into the twilight.
 
 
 
 
T’was truly a kickass way to die I say.