A disguised find techniques from the shadows. “Travel, my friend”, he says in heavily accented tones, gesturing with his team towards a large, rose canvas tent. Obscurely, I follow, able to catch just a glance of his features: his trimmed beard and gold- colored face.
Inside his temple, there are all kinds of feudal- looking weapons and equipment. I’m facing him from a raised station sleep. He turns to me and removes his helmet to show a 40s person with a nice appearance. “Would you like a zero- zero”? he says, handing me an snow- cold is from a great package. I relax.
What follows is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. We speak for 20 hours about our life and our hard childhoods. When I tell him about my separated father, he says he won’t let me beg him for love. He’s much more trained than I am, so I try to match his acting skills. There’s a feeling I know much about the person behind the fiery face color, but in fact, I know nothing at all.
For “larping” ( live action role- playing ) lovers, for an intense change is an inherent part of the action. I’m at a scout ‘ camp in Collon, Co, where more than 70 individuals have rented the place for a trip of angry fighting, medieval drama and suspension of disbelief. For them, they are at Five Vows, in the area of Tirneach, where they play soldiers – or gallóglaigh, who are hired to complete tasks, such as guarding the lips of a valley.
For larpers, this trip represents a chance to escape their normal life, play a role and take on new features. Larpers might choose to be cheerful or frightened, devilish or noble – or, in the case of my veiled friend, quite strange.
“It’s like Dungeons and Dragons”, says Cian Scattergood (29), who is part of the event team at Five Oaths, an Irish combat larp. Just you dress up like your personality and bate each other with foaming swords, not rolling dice at a desk.
Larping is a market pastime in Ireland, but it is extremely common there because it draws thousands of spectators for a second event. These once-fauna meetings have recently experienced a surge in social media hype, which has increased the scope of these events and caused more and more people to lash out against them.
In an effort to find The British Times to commence sponsoring my vacation away from home, and of course for severe literary interest, I inserted myself into Five Pledges to see what the all the fuss was about.
My friend and I erect our tent in the field after arriving at the campsite on a sunny May weekend by slotting our car into a meticulous Tetris of vehicles. The campsite enjoys a dense forest in its rear, where much of the combat takes place. Everyone at camp is welcoming, offering sun cream and introducing themselves to newbies. There’s a nice buzz about the place.
Players gather for a welcome meeting before “time in,” which is when people almost stay in style for the rest of the weekend. Someone makes a joke about it being a cult and gestures at the new players, which causes a resounding chant of “One of us!” One of us! It’s too late to run with my tent pitched and my harem pants on. Additionally, the car is completely blocked in.
As “time in” is called, people cautiously approach one another in a myriad of colourful hats, steel chest plates, ragged leathers and heavy chain mail. My custom purchases pale in comparison to the items I have in my shop. And don’t get me started on the make- up and prosthetics.
Still, at least I’ve got my story straight.
Javier Bard, a story collector from the far-off land of Orohogar who has traveled to Tirneach to write a brave story and win back his father’s affection, is the name of my character. I’m wearing fiery face paint and winged eyeliner because he’s a firetouched, which means he was born with the elemental power of fire, which I spent a lot of time getting right.
There’s a curious confidence among some, almost like they’ve always been their character, while others – including myself – are tentative. Someone suggests starting the weekend off with an invigorating ritual.
I assemble a stone circle with nine of my fellow mercenaries (black foam spikes that emerge from the ground and are lit with lights from within). Rituals are a common practice in this world, where players use the power of their god, the Shaper, to carry out demons. It initially seems comical, but their rousing speeches demonstrate the kind of collective fervescence that people are seeking.
I’m willing to go on a mission to retrieve some items. We approach a clearing in the woods as our band splits into two groups. We don’t know what kicks off ahead of us because we are in the back group, but it becomes apparent that hounds are attacking us as players with furs and animal-themed face paint. Amid the flurry of foam swords, sponge- tipped arrows and spears jabbing from all directions, we fail to notice some ghastly looking ghouls flanking us (again, played by fellow larpers).
It’s a whimsical sight, but intense when you’re in the middle of it. Additionally, the scene has structure: skilled players can cast spells that alter the course of play. A spell that makes me feel forced to drop my weapon when an enemy says “fumble” in my direction is the bane of my weekend. We are able to get out of camp.
I make my way toward the bar to chat up. Under a small canopy, hours are draped over tables and chairs. We’re encouraged to drink from medieval- looking cups the “travelling vodka” ( water, in reality ), which is free for members of the band. Impressively, some people brought home- brewed mead and ale to distribute.
It’s about 11pm, and there’s little more than the odd lantern to illuminate the camp. “An attack”! a voice sounds from the camp’s edge. I make my way to the action where a dual-wielding “bush” (a man dressed in ghillie suit) is groping on our guards. We engage in combat, relying on the occasional glow-stick or moonlight to see our adversary.
Later in the night, with combat ended for the day, people retreat to various tents to catch up – in and out of character. At the firepit, I hear a singsong from my tent.
The next day I try my hand at “monstering.” Larpers must perform at least two slots where they can interact with the other players in order to win at each event.
A dozen of us are instructed to be cats with the task of killing magic rats at my first monster session. Since I was a child, I haven’t ever pretend to be a cat, but the general interest in the situation makes it difficult to resist.
We play bandits in the trees in another encounter. Later, I play a member of an eco-terrorist group that wants to flood a town and restore the land to its former state. Often our plans go abysmally. Learning is not about winning, but rather following the character’s direction.
It’s weird, but it’s the best kind of weird.
Dinner time starts as the sun sets over camp. I grill around the fire pit with some new friends and open up about their tiring experiences.
“When your character dies, it can really hurt”, says one veteran of the hobby.
Another adds: “I was fine when it happened, and I had a few minutes to prepare myself for the inevitable death, but when I went home and had to start putting aside parts of her costume, I started crying.”
One is warned about the “bleed” in Larping, where the character’s relationship to the player becomes blurry and the character’s feelings become real.
People might experience the loss of a character they’ve played or been friends with for 10 or 20 years in long-running larps held in the UK.
At Five Oaths, however, no such demise is on the cards for me this time– although it comes close. On the final day, a climactic encounter ensues with a red- caped pantomime villain, Mac Robin. He’s a recurring character, and a thorn in the side of the gallóglaigh.
His posse raids the camp, and I’m taken captive. As our band rallies, I am rescued and attended to by a healer. This involves diagnosing my condition by opening up a small, laminated card I was given by a referee and putting a countdown until I’m patched up. I’m asked to bite down on a piece of wood and be prepared to snap my arm back in place because there must be a theatrical element.
When it comes to larping combat, how strong you are has little impact. You witness players using quick reflexes and encyclopedic knowledge of in-game spellcasting to demolish those who are much taller and stronger than them. It’s a lot to get your head around, but it’s a lot of fun if you just go with the flow.
Larping’s reputation is increasing. “Previously, a lot of media would be like,’ Look at the nerds doing nerd things. Aren’t they weird?'” I’m told by Scattergood. “From the outside it looks like that, but once you’re in character and there’s someone twice the size of you coming at you with a big axe, you’re like,’ Oh, I’m actually f**king s**ting myself here. The hobby is more than just sweaty nerds in their mother’s basement listening to old- school metal, drinking Mountain Dew and rolling dice.”
I’m reminded of something the master of camp, Éabha Caerdroia, said over the weekend: “Everyone in the band is an outsider, but that’s what brings us together.”
In their collective eccentricities, these people harmonize over a few short days. They return to a place where they feel at home after a long day of working as civil servants or software developers. And it’s brilliant fun.
It would make you proud to identify as a nerd.
For more information and tickets for Five Oaths, visit
‘Arcene’
Enda Keane
I am a vartach from Draíod. At some point, we leave a mark on our faces. Some see this mark as one’s quality, and mine is that of the sunspear. Traditionalists of the past would think that this indicates that I will have a great destiny and must work toward it, but I recently realized the folly of Draod’s class system. Because one’s mark does not denote one’s merit, and far too many people with less desirable marks have been let go of their own destiny.
‘Maldita’
Sarah Brennan
I’m a weeping firetouched. A weeping person passed away and has a completely different personality when they wake up. I joined the gallóglaigh and found out I’m pretty good at fighting, and I’ve been a warrior ever since. And I recently enlisted in the crew of a privateer, which is essentially a pirate ship, to sail with them when they need to recharge in between missions with the gallog. I like singing too. If you ca n’t hit it, have a drink with it, or have a singsong – there’s not much point.
‘ Carn Duilleog ‘
Liz Dernan
I’m a wildling from Baol’s highlands. My family are clansmen, so I’ve joined the gallóglaigh for some adventure before taking over the family business. I have the responsibility of greeting and making sure guests feel welcome as deputy camp master. I’m a healer, but I don’t fight, so I’m worried about being a liability during combat.
‘Deasmunach’
Cian Scattergood
I’m a rat wildling from Bruid. Before I joined the galloglaigh, I served as a guide for those who traversed the forest, hunting big game, and protecting visitors. Six years ago, when the season of uncertainty began, I jumped in. Since my son’s mother is dead, I make no bones about it. I even made an unsuccessful attempt to wed him last night. People all over the world are aware that I’m an open book. And you must take what you can get in this life.
‘Éabha Caerdroia’
Siobhán Grayson
I am a leasiar]not too dissimilar from elves]. I’m 75 – but that’s a guess. Controversially, I have been “candled.” The past me made the decision to perform a ritual to erase everything from her life. A year and a half ago, the closest I can recall. Leasiar are the memory of Tirneach, so I’m affected a lot by not being able to remember. I feel like an outsider. It kills me that my family lives there and that I don’t know anyone. And I’m concerned that my past actions will come back to haunt me.
‘Thick’
Seamus Butler
I am a fathach (a stone-like object that is enlivened by the vartach, or subterranean mages), and I am one of them. When I was made, however, something went wrong. I’m as dumb as a rock. Thick likes flowers. Flowers are pretty. My master told me to “go walk that way” when I was almost one year old. I last saw him at that point. I don’t talk very fast, and I’m not bright, but I like helping people, like in rituals where I can contribute ancient magic left over from my creation.