I wrapped my cloak around myself temporarily, not as much to keep out the chill as to suppress shiver of nervousness. My opponent in this game had many more years experience, and his eyes betrayed nothing. But experience can count for little, when luck has a casting vote, and I had luck in spades.
Undercover work is a challenge. For a start, it's expensive for a client- you need to be able to insinuate yourself into your target group; not look too desperate, but also not appear too interested. The lingo, the pop culture references that apply, the clothing, the body gestures, and hangout scenes, all these things have to become second nature. At the same time, you had to try not to get drawn so far into the scene that there was no returning. All that takes time, and time is money.
In this case, I was in a clandestine world few were even aware of. A tense dungeon of mystery, inhabited by supplicants for whom each decision could mean life or death. I was completely surrounded by virgins, and not the blow-yourself-up-and-get-seventy-two-of-them kind, no; more the saving-myself-for-Princess-Leia kind of virgins.
This was the world of LARP- Live Action Role Play, and I had managed to merge seamlessly into their midst by issuing the time-honoured secret code, "Where Are We At Tonight?" to which the appropriate secret counter-response was given, "Dave's Place At Half Seven, Bring Snacks To Share". Around the room I could see four hobbits (merkins glued to their feet), three elves (fake ears and all), a dwarf, two reavers, someone designating themselves as a wraith who had draped a large back sheet over their heads with two eye holes cut out, and one person who had just written "troll" on his t-shirt with a Sharpie. They were a dermatologist's dream, each face a menagerie of skin issues that tend to crop up when you consider Coca Cola to be a "magic potion", except for the wraith, whose choice of costume was possibly in fact a social grace to spare us the horrors underneath.
Lord Englewood, better known as Phil From Tech Support, was an interesting guy at least. He had worked his way up the be the current Dungeon Master by sheer ambition, one roll of the dice at the time. A risk-taker and ambitious warrior who presently lived in his parents' basement "so that I can have the time to focus on maximising my Druid's potential", as he put it, he wove tales of mystery and intrigue and was the keeper of all the group's collective knowledge, although after fifteen minutes amongst them, I was pretty certain that the collective knowledge wouldn't fill a four-page notepad. "Showers", for example, was a mystery deeper than the origins of Mordor.
My opponent was a veteran mage with forty years' experience. By the way he had said it, it was apparently something to be intimidated by, and being undercover, falling on the ground laughing would have been unprofessional. I had, however, mentally substituted "experience" with "of being completely alone"; he had apparently subsisted on diet of Doritos and salsa for at least thirty of those years, his patchy beard turned almost to random dreadlocks with the crust of hydrogenated fats, cheese flavouring and MSG. He had indicated that the beard was a point of pride, akin to the warriors of old whose own facial hair had been crusted with the blood and tears of their departed enemies, and I had refrained from pointing out that the warriors of old wouldn't use a motorised scooter to move between the kitchen and the fridge because "walking that made them out of breath."
The Dungeon Master had said "You are a seeker of truth, and unraveller of mysteries, a chaser of enigmas, an unpicker of the the tapestry of lies in which our tale is set."
"You mean, I'm, like, a detective?"
"No! Nothing so urbane, weary traveller."
"'Cos it sounds like I'm a detective."
"No! You slave at the crucible of conundrums, refining the ore of misinformation and discovering truths within truths, wherein, this fateful night, we find our tale."
"Pretty certain you just described a detective."
"Silence! There are no detectives in Middle Earth!"
"Are there cops?"
"No!"
"Banks?"
"No!"
"Robbers?"
"N- actually, yes, there are robbers. Thieves, I should say. Thieves."
"Who punishes the robbers?"
"An assembly of the local guards who work for the king defend the honour of the realm and are tasked with restraining these miscreants."
"What did they steal?"
"Well, Stroemfeld the Invincible over there- no, the one drinking the Red Bull in the red shirt- once stole the fabled Eye of the Unseeing Eye from the cave of Arin'Tune, and was celebrated in story song throughout the land henceforth."
"Shoulda put it in a bank. Then the cops coulda protected it."
"Silence. You, weary traveller, have reached the battered gates of the small trading town Leper's Leap, out beyond the Desert of Unbidden Dreams."
"What's in the town?"
"Lepers. Anyway-"
"Wait, why am I going into a town if it's filled with lepers?"
"You're going in to solve a mystery!"
"What, like a detective?"
"Ye- no! Anyway, as you walk the wretched streets of this city, you meet a man with no hands."
"Probably wants a hand-out."
"SILENCE! This man is Jerra, the great master builder of the Temple of The Seventh Sun."
"Not much of a handy-man any more, is he? What's he do, hammer the wood with his forehead?"
"Shut up! Now, Jerra takes you to the local tavern for some mead, and introduces you to Mysterius, Arch-Mage of the Ninth Realm and Keeper of the Book of Mysteries- that's Jason, to your left-"
"But his 'Book of Mysteries' is a Playdude with 'BoM' written over the top of the magazine title."
"It's the Book of Mysteries! Do not sully its forbidden knowledge, knowlessman! Mysterius sees through your clever disguise and recognises in you an opponent most artful. He says he will not answer any question you raise until you defeat him in mighty challenge! Will you accept?"
"Well, I've been told you insert Part A into Part B and C what happens-"
"Will. You. Accept."
I breathed in. Breathed out.
"Fine."
The dice in a cup had been passed to a smug Mysterius, who had then rolled three fives for his first attack. Apparently his "armour level" meant that unless I rolled a perfect three sixes- the perfect attack, I would not penetrate his "battle mesh" and his "Blade of Serenity" would basically strip my immortal soul and turn it into a pizza delivery man or something. It wasn't important. What was important was answers, and I wouldn't start getting answers until I won this battle.
I scooped up the dice carefully. Put my hand over the cup as I shook. Breathed in deeply. And threw.
This was the world of LARP- Live Action Role Play, and I had managed to merge seamlessly into their midst by issuing the time-honoured secret code, "Where Are We At Tonight?" to which the appropriate secret counter-response was given, "Dave's Place At Half Seven, Bring Snacks To Share". Around the room I could see four hobbits (merkins glued to their feet), three elves (fake ears and all), a dwarf, two reavers, someone designating themselves as a wraith who had draped a large back sheet over their heads with two eye holes cut out, and one person who had just written "troll" on his t-shirt with a Sharpie. They were a dermatologist's dream, each face a menagerie of skin issues that tend to crop up when you consider Coca Cola to be a "magic potion", except for the wraith, whose choice of costume was possibly in fact a social grace to spare us the horrors underneath.
Lord Englewood, better known as Phil From Tech Support, was an interesting guy at least. He had worked his way up the be the current Dungeon Master by sheer ambition, one roll of the dice at the time. A risk-taker and ambitious warrior who presently lived in his parents' basement "so that I can have the time to focus on maximising my Druid's potential", as he put it, he wove tales of mystery and intrigue and was the keeper of all the group's collective knowledge, although after fifteen minutes amongst them, I was pretty certain that the collective knowledge wouldn't fill a four-page notepad. "Showers", for example, was a mystery deeper than the origins of Mordor.
My opponent was a veteran mage with forty years' experience. By the way he had said it, it was apparently something to be intimidated by, and being undercover, falling on the ground laughing would have been unprofessional. I had, however, mentally substituted "experience" with "of being completely alone"; he had apparently subsisted on diet of Doritos and salsa for at least thirty of those years, his patchy beard turned almost to random dreadlocks with the crust of hydrogenated fats, cheese flavouring and MSG. He had indicated that the beard was a point of pride, akin to the warriors of old whose own facial hair had been crusted with the blood and tears of their departed enemies, and I had refrained from pointing out that the warriors of old wouldn't use a motorised scooter to move between the kitchen and the fridge because "walking that made them out of breath."
The Dungeon Master had said "You are a seeker of truth, and unraveller of mysteries, a chaser of enigmas, an unpicker of the the tapestry of lies in which our tale is set."
"You mean, I'm, like, a detective?"
"No! Nothing so urbane, weary traveller."
"'Cos it sounds like I'm a detective."
"No! You slave at the crucible of conundrums, refining the ore of misinformation and discovering truths within truths, wherein, this fateful night, we find our tale."
"Pretty certain you just described a detective."
"Silence! There are no detectives in Middle Earth!"
"Are there cops?"
"No!"
"Banks?"
"No!"
"Robbers?"
"N- actually, yes, there are robbers. Thieves, I should say. Thieves."
"Who punishes the robbers?"
"An assembly of the local guards who work for the king defend the honour of the realm and are tasked with restraining these miscreants."
"What did they steal?"
"Well, Stroemfeld the Invincible over there- no, the one drinking the Red Bull in the red shirt- once stole the fabled Eye of the Unseeing Eye from the cave of Arin'Tune, and was celebrated in story song throughout the land henceforth."
"Shoulda put it in a bank. Then the cops coulda protected it."
"Silence. You, weary traveller, have reached the battered gates of the small trading town Leper's Leap, out beyond the Desert of Unbidden Dreams."
"What's in the town?"
"Lepers. Anyway-"
"Wait, why am I going into a town if it's filled with lepers?"
"You're going in to solve a mystery!"
"What, like a detective?"
"Ye- no! Anyway, as you walk the wretched streets of this city, you meet a man with no hands."
"Probably wants a hand-out."
"SILENCE! This man is Jerra, the great master builder of the Temple of The Seventh Sun."
"Not much of a handy-man any more, is he? What's he do, hammer the wood with his forehead?"
"Shut up! Now, Jerra takes you to the local tavern for some mead, and introduces you to Mysterius, Arch-Mage of the Ninth Realm and Keeper of the Book of Mysteries- that's Jason, to your left-"
"But his 'Book of Mysteries' is a Playdude with 'BoM' written over the top of the magazine title."
"It's the Book of Mysteries! Do not sully its forbidden knowledge, knowlessman! Mysterius sees through your clever disguise and recognises in you an opponent most artful. He says he will not answer any question you raise until you defeat him in mighty challenge! Will you accept?"
"Well, I've been told you insert Part A into Part B and C what happens-"
"Will. You. Accept."
I breathed in. Breathed out.
"Fine."
The dice in a cup had been passed to a smug Mysterius, who had then rolled three fives for his first attack. Apparently his "armour level" meant that unless I rolled a perfect three sixes- the perfect attack, I would not penetrate his "battle mesh" and his "Blade of Serenity" would basically strip my immortal soul and turn it into a pizza delivery man or something. It wasn't important. What was important was answers, and I wouldn't start getting answers until I won this battle.
I scooped up the dice carefully. Put my hand over the cup as I shook. Breathed in deeply. And threw.
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