Fun, fur and flintlocks

In the previous post I mentioned that I was off to be an undead pirate. Well, I didn't. Ok, he was sort of half dead, half occupying someone else's body and very polite (for a semi dead person). Unfortunately I forgot to get a pic of me in all my finery, including lovely blonde tresses that fell about my shoulders and made me look the wrong side of effeminate. Those of you that know me will know I'm into weird dressing up games (not that sort, behave!), for those of you a little confused, let me explain. The weekend was the Erin Navy Winter Parley - a live role play weekend being held at Ash and Sarah's place on the edge of some moors, and I had foolishly volunteered to monster. Monstering consists of playing whatever roles the ref's need you to play so Friday night saw me playing 'Jon', a Scottish Master Quarryman with a severe memory problem. Later on I played Daniel, Jon's son who had come looking for his old man and also to see the famous Erin Navy for himself. All I can say is that the Erin Navy need some lessons in how to tell a tale - I wasn't impressed with their recounting of the last sea battle. Saturday saw us stumbling in to action about lunchtime playing members of the MacDougal clan launching attacks on the Navy in retaliation for killing their leader. We died. Alot. The highlight of those encounters was sneaking round the back of the gully where they were camped shooting them with muskets from half way up a hill. Eventually we engaged in combat and I fell to the blade of Admiral Gull, but that was after I'd fallen off my feet in a freezing cold slippery stream - fighting on you back while ice cold water flows down your trousers has now become a new definition of dedication to role playing.

Saturday night saw the arrival of Jondril, the ambassador to the Reiver nation which was an interesting evening as most of the leaders ran away from me rather than talking to me. Never mind, Fickle -a lovely young lady with the attention span of a gnat, more power than she knows what to do with and the memory of a goldfish - bantered with me most delightfully and the evening went well. The Erin Navy wimps (with the exception of Kessel and Gull) refused to drink my Tequila so I took it away again and got ever so slightly drunk afterwards. Most of the monsters retired quite early (well, we thought it was late) as the temperature was dropping and we spent a pleasant evening watching The Incredibles and being warm in the house along with baby Thea

Sunday was showdown day, the final 'big' encounter. A huge army of monsters (all 4 of us) hiked up on to the moors, treading through ice and frost to establish a weapons and costume dump for the upcoming battle. We were to play MacDougal's again with the added addition of sort of werewolves (furry humans). I elected to play the first furry (Furry's are hard and immune to ordinary weapons and flintlock rounds so a severe beating was anticipated). Here I am, pictured in with my furry ears and freezing cold. We staked out the hills and waited for the players to turn up. And waited. And waited. Luckily the sun was out so we were reasonably warm. Eventually they hauled themselves up the hill and saw us hiding over the other side of a wall. A little bit of maneuvering and Murgle the Troll made the mistake of straying too far from the group - CHARGE! We had him, and then the rest of them had us. Cries of 'No effect' brought the usual LaRPer response - hit the monster harder. Eventually we were all dispatched and, while the players healed themselves up, off we went to prepare for wave 2.
Having done my duty as a furry and been battered into submission, I found myself boiling hot. One quick strip later (no, there are no pics of that either), it was back in to the fray as a MacDougal - this time armed with swords and pistols. We got killed. This is a monsters life btw; dress up, get killed, go back to the start point and repeat until your lungs are burning and your legs are like jelly cos you're so unfit. After a couple of waves of ordinary folk, we all donned fur and hid around the somewhat battered group of players for the final 'wolf' encounter. They shot arrows at us (I did go and fetch them like a good little puppy and then spat them out at Kessel), they shot flintlocks at us (which tickled) and then they hit us while we too tried to single out and kill the only people with weapons that could harm us. After a good fight, we died. Awwwww, no more wolves.

But, as we were up for it, there were a few more MacDougal's come late to the battle. We ambushed them as they made their way back and eventually they killed us and then, just when they thought they'd escaped, we hit them again with a couple more wolves (we lied about all the wolves being dead - we're so bad!) and a marksman with a musket. Down they went. At the end I was called forwards by one of the wolves to shoot down on the party as they cowered at the base of a short drop. Oh yes, shoot the healers (especially as the healer was a lippy cat called Flannel) and then use a hold out pistol to shoot the elf in the head as he charged up the slope. And then...have two misfires and get walloped in the back by Merrin. Damn. Dead and the end. The party did all survive but they were out of everything. All in all a fun time was had by all and I've put my name down to monster at the next event in Spring 2009.

It might all sound strange but there is nothing like shooting flintlocks and hitting people with swords and axes to get rid of every last bit of frustration you might have. I feel relaxed. Not only that but it was the first time I'd fought seriously in about 10 years and I surprised myself by managing to not only hold my own against regular fighters but beat them too. Maybe it's time to retire my non-combatant trader character and join the ranks once more? Hmmm, food for thought.

Just time to lastly thank Sarah (pictured with Thea) and Lucy (in the background of the Thea picture) for the wonderful food and endless cups of tea. I've promised to take Inga to visit and we'll go and walk over the moors and explore the industrial heritage that litters the area where they live next year. Until then, I have stored away my pickaxe, sword and flintlocks until the next time.