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Good friends and fair folk, the Night of the Dead has passed us by and all is well with the world. Praise be to Kharach, praise be to the Seven.

Yes, you guessed it. It’s another Wednesday Larp post. This weekend, ahead of Halloween on Monday (which translate to an In Character Festival), adventurers from Newcroft descended upon a small village near the Grenwolde (a forest north of Newcroft) at the invitation of the local pub landlord on behalf of the local people. A mission that was recently run returned a holy relic to the shrine and whilst we were not involved in the re-consecration (like last year), strange things were afoot.

It was a humble affair, with rustic produce and a generous spread (so much food!) and as the adventurers arrived, we were told a Ghost story by the landlord. It was a tale of a gruesome monster known as the Rattler that had preyed upon the people decades before which was vanquished by a mage in black. But on the Night of the Dead, Kharach’s holy day, when the borders between this world and the next are weakened and all manner of things can make their presence known … a dark hooded figure has been seen about these parts, ever pointing and declaring “No more. No more”, accompanied by the sounds of the passing of the Rattler.

At this point my OOC head goes “Oh hell no …” as I get a big hint at what’s about to come. And whilst at the point in the story where the landlord calls out and the door is flung open and a dark cloaked shape points straight at me – causing Mercy to turn as white as a sheet in fright – was not expected (looking back I should have known … it being a ghost story and all), lo and behold, as Mercy Blackstaff sits down to watch a game of Tafl between a priest of Tralda and the pub’s indentured servant, a dark cloaked figure graces the scene, face ashen pale. I welcome the figure (because Mercy is a tad naive or at least thinks the best will happen) and enquire as to where he has come from, to be rewarded with the stranger turning to face me and raise his hand to point at me, mouthing the words “Doom”.

Oh hell.

But Mercy is made of sterner stuff and rather than screaming the place down or cowering in a corner, she stands and looks for aid from other adventurers. The Kharachians then try to speak with him whilst Mercy tries to calm the servant who looks particularly antsy.

The evening continues along these lines, the spectre appearing and pointing at a person (usually me), dropping papers with bizarre clues (like “What’s your poison, goblin”, “I missed”, “Face the tree” and others) which led a merry dance for the Kharachian priest and the General for them to uncover the identity of the spectre and figure out how to free him. Whilst we were not involved directly in this quest, the rest of us uncovered useful items, played parlour games and generally enjoyed the night of the dead. Following the mission last week, our resident Scout discovered a vial of physician’s drugs which he handed to me which I then passed onto the Surgeon General. I believe this answered the “What’s your poison, goblin” and other things came to pass.

We played a guessing game where players had to ask questions to determine which person one player had been given (Mother of Longstor for example) – which led to much amusement when I revealed my card as we had a mother of Longstor who asked some brilliant but odd questions like “If I met your person in a dark alley, would I have an irresistible urge to stab you?” – which would be odd since she’d likely meet herself … which raises all sorts of problems.

Anyhow, in relation to the title of this post (and yes, they usually have some relevance to the post), we played a game of apple bobbing. Now, I’ve never played apple bobbing before, but I knew the vague principle. I was advised to go first and after sweeping my wimple out of the way, I tried to catch an apple and failed. As I came up for air, the Crowan priest (the new character of the previously vleyborian necromancer) offered his advice on the matter.

“Just go for it. Choose your target and press your attack. Trap it at the bottom and grab it with your teeth” – truly the Crowan way. And so, I braved dipping my face into the clean water and arose victorious, dripping wet, with an apple in my teeth. I would have claimed it to eat but I thought it best to return it to the bowl for others to have a go. IC they were wormy apples which Mercy would never eat, but OOC they were gummy worms and I probably would have.

As the evening progressed we kept hearing of how things were progressing until the Kharachians announced they had an idea on how to free the brave mage in black and seal the rift where he sent the Rattler. After the priest prepared his scroll, we all tramped outside to provide support should something nasty slip through and we watched in anticipation as the ritual was conducted. The human mage appeared as Sol, our elven mage, was teleported elsewhere (because they were both played by the same person) and the rift began to close.


Victory and saving the world and stuff.

The party began to wind down after this and soon Mercy retired to one of the rooms in the Inn but OOC I got back in my little car and drove Lord A384 and myself home. As we collapsed on the bed, we both agreed that it had been a great party but I think I’ll always remember that the Crowan offered advice to the Vleyborian about hunting apples.

In other news, with the turn of the month, Mercy Blackstaff has been raised to the rank of Master within the Guild of Physicians and has been awarded the title of Doctor. Huzzah!