Blog To LARP and die in Colorado

We can all attest that “geek chic” is here to stay, but what about fringe geek culture? What about something like, say, live-action role-playing, or LARPing? Are people ready to accept a grown man running around shouting “lightning bolt!” within a fantasy battle setting? Is LARPing about to reach critical mass? Maybe, if the people of the Denver/Boulder International Fantasy Gaming Society have a say.

The International Fantasy Gaming Society was started in 1981 in the suburbs of Denver and was originally based on the Dream Park novels by Larry Niven and Steven Barnes. Three decades later, the group is still LARPing it up on a regular basis, providing opportunities for men and women to dress like wizards and warriors and run around the woods smacking each other with foam swords.

I arrived at the group’s latest event, a two-day LARP at Red Rocks Group Campground in Woodland Park, with a glut of preconceived notions, fully prepared to snicker and giggle at pockmarked young men in kilts and middle-aged women in corsets. (We’ve all seen what goes on at Ren Fairs.) The campground was littered with proper and makeshift tents, set up in circles to signify a village. I thought, “Did I just step onto a SyFy original movie set?”

Protect the village
“Today, we’re having an Asian adventure game,” explains Peter Sartucci, a real estate appraiser, former gamer, and current Game Master (team referee), “and none of my hats fit me.” After trying on four conical hats, he gestures at the makeshift village. “Most of this stuff is mine,” he says. “Don’t remember the last time I parked in my garage.”

The team of six I am following is from a branch of the International Fantasy Gaming Society in Portland, Oregon called the Portland Lowlanders. There are two couples. The players range in age from 47 to well into their 60s, with nary a nerdy teenager in sight. The group’s LM (Loremaster), Spencer Corbin Lawson, has a pair of prosthetic horns affixed to his balding head, kept down with a black, see-through bandana. Before the LARP starts, Lawson mentions that he’s happy to be part of a game held by the founding chapter of the IFGS and excited to be part of a more physical game then the group sees in Portland.  

Someone tells me two of the group’s PCs (player characters) have never played in Denver before. Another guy’s only been to Denver once. He looks much sweatier. My guess is he’s the “thief,” but he mainly looks like a peasant in a tan tunic and brown pillbox hat. The rest of the group members are either “knights” or ... something else, but exactly what else is unclear. What is clear, however, is that they’ve all spent a lot of time developing their characters and costumes. They wear both with pride.

We begin our journey in the village. There’s a fire on the mountain, and probably some feuding gods. Their mission: Put out the fire, and protect the village.

Actors set up throughout the village know their purposes in the script, and they sometimes ad-lib to spice things up. Their job is to give the Lowlanders information valuable to their quest. I would soon learn that 75 percent of the game is asking questions about what the hell is happening.

The battle begins
Just as I wonder when I’m going to see the Lowlanders use those foam swords and shields, I witness the first of many combat scenarios. The battle begins as a group of six Lizard Men swagger around a guy in all black—the infamous Monkey King—tied to a stick in the ground. Why the Monkey King is tied up is unclear, but both sides talked about how delicious the Monkey King would taste. The Lowlanders don’t want to fight the Lizard Men, who sway back and forth as Lizard Men should, with their sewn tails wagging with anticipation. But before long, foam swords are drawn and hit points dealt are announced. One of the bigger Lizard Men hits the ground, and two Lowlanders swarm around him. This looks a like a group of kids playing with higher production quality.

We move on to a “mountain” consisting of army netting tented and held down with long spikes. It reminds me of a ropes course until a knight from the Lowlanders begins struggling up the netting in a kilt and announces, “This whole process would be a lot easier if people couldn’t see up my skirt.” Now I know it’s a ropes course. The Monkey King, who is known as Seth in the real world, jeers at the team as they lumber over the mountain. “In one game I played Loki, and I really got to turn up the dick,” he says with a laugh.

PhDs and PTA presidents
“I like to hang out with people who have a sense of humor about it,” 31-year-old Seth explains. He tells me about his PhD in ecology and how he flies in from Chicago to participate in games as often as he can. “I’ve written, produced, and acted in games for 15 years.”

My guide, Michelle Lonsinger, the PTA president at her children’s elementary school, pulls me around back to show me the production tent, where lights, sound effects, and smoke can be manipulated inside the shack. She’s been gaming for more than 20 years, has two kids, and explains that she’s accepted the LARPer stereotype. She points to one of the Lizard Men: “He plays high school football,” she says. “He’s the next generation of LARPers, and he loves it.”

“It’s performance art for each other,” Sartucci explains. By the end of the game, the Lowlanders have to hike up a hill to put out the mountain fire. As the group requests a “physical” (time-out) from the Game Master, Seth pulls me aside and asks that I not include his full name.

No one else I spoke with minded using their names, but Seth is concerned that his coworkers might mock him, and that his LARPing lifestyle will negatively affect his current job hunt. I tell him I’ll keep his last name out. But he’s not worried that his fiancée will find out, explaining that “she’s nerd-curious.” He tells me that on their first date she stopped him to ask, “Wait, are you a LARPer?” “It knocked me back,” he admits.

Best day ever
The end of the game consists of a 14-year-old girl with swords attempting to take down the Lowlanders. She gave them a run for their money. “Who doesn’t like [doing this]?” she asks me later. “You get to dress up and kick butt.” As she sheaths her swords, I ask how she would feel if someone she knew read this story. “Whatever,” she replies. “Most of my friends are way nerdier. Ten years ago people would make comments or look at us like we’re crazy. Now they want to know more and join in.”

As we head back to the campground exhausted and largely asthmatic, I notice the next group of gamers approaching. They’re svelte and moving at an impressive rate. Many of them have used years of theater training to complete their costumes. Many are talking about the 50-foot articulated dragon Sartucci and others built for a game a few years ago. As I follow behind the Lowlanders, a member shouts “Best. Day. Ever!”

On my way out I spoke with Dave Holm, a retired police officer and current scuba instructor who participated in the first IFGS game 30 years ago, about what I saw. “Sure there’s some silliness in it,” he explains as he lies down in front of the makeshift building he’s the keeper of. “But I think everybody needs some more silliness.”

I left smiling. Here was a group of people with varied interests, occupations, and ages playing a game together—like a family. The nearby frog boy asks me if I’m leaving, and I nod. I had a great time watching the Lowlanders, but I was ready to go. When asked if he had a good time, the frog boy nods exaggeratedly. Just as I begin to ask him what his friends think of him playing the game, his grandma, an actor from the village, tells him to get ready for the next encounter. He runs off, pushing another frog boy. It’s answer enough.

To find out more or participate in a game visit the Denver/Boulder IFGS site.