Tag: dyadic play

Published on

2025-06-18

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Theory

Together, Apart: Dyadic Play in Larp

Written by
Katrine Wind
Nordic larp thrives on intimacy. Whether through whispered conspiracies at a dinner table, a dramatic breakdown in an argument with a sibling or silent devastation in a lover’s embrace, the magic of larps often hinges on the connections between players. For me, relations between characters are at the core of what enables connection when it’s narratively driven and not purely based on player chemistry.

This article started as a reflection on why I design relations the way that I do. You may also already write relations. I hope this article serves as an inspiration piece for one of the very interesting ways to enable intense relations in a larp: dyadic play. In this framework, characters are designed in pairs and two people are locked into a singular dynamic which shapes the experience around them.

What is Dyadic Play?

Dyadic play is a larp design structure where two players embody characters deeply entangled with each other (Bowman, 2024). This pair can take many forms: lovers, enemies, siblings, rivals, or even two halves of the same character. Dyads are not always romantic; friendships, rivalries, and toxic dynamics are equally valid. For me, the defining element is that their narratives and/or experience are not just intertwined but interdependent.

The Inspired of Comedy, Christian Schönburg, and the Muse of Comedy Thalia at Helicon. Photo: Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Variations

Some larps, like Baphomet (2015), have used dyadic play to explore themes of marriage and partnership, ensuring that each player always has a deeply connected co-player. Delirium (2010) went even further by requiring five workshop days where pairs who signed up together built their shared culture, relationships, and character dynamics before stepping into the game itself.

Many blackbox larps and chamber larps have also used an intimate pairing where you could for example be a ghost of a deceased family member following the character around or the internal monologue of the person. In larps where one character exists in a liminal state – such as a ghost tethered to their living counterpart – this dual perspective also provides a unique means of influencing the external world without direct interaction.

Cecilia, the snake, and Professor Rowan McMillen at Daemon showing different sides of the professor. Photo: Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

In Daemon (Wind, 2021-) I wanted to both push the dyadic design element to its extreme and detach it from the conventional themes of romance and sexuality. The dyadic structure forms the vision and the core of the experience by casting players as two facets of the same person: daemon and human. All other design choices tie to this vision of experiencing being two people who together play the whole character. The daemon, manifested in an animal form, embodies the human’s subconscious and deeper self: the soul. A key design priority for me was ensuring that both players were physically present within the diegesis and that communication between them remained fully audible and intelligible to all participants. This is coherent with the novel series that inspired the larp, His Dark Materials (Pullman 1995-2000).

Daemon also adds enforced physical proximity: players in a dyad can never be more than two meters apart. This heightens both the narrative tension and the interdependence between the two parts of the character. I added a further mechanic to enhance the complexity and special form of dyad by introducing a physical taboo — it is absolutely a transgression to touch another person’s daemon — making the dyad create even more narrative weight in the larp. I call this extreme form of dyadic play symbiotic which was also the term I used for years when describing the core mechanic of Daemon before I learned of the term dyadic.

A beautiful part of playing two aspects of the same character is the transformation of internal monologue into external dialogue both through conversation between human and daemon and externalised through the daemon’s actions. This mechanic particularly appeals to players like myself, who prefer collaborative, spoken roleplay over introspective play. Obviously, these aspects can exist within the same experience, but I have often felt alone and bored with too much time without verbal or non-verbal contact with other players, and the symbiotic dyad-mechanic ensures that this never happens.

Diegetically, the humans can hear everything the daemons are saying and vice-versa but we practice to not treat everything too literally. If two daemons are fighting on the floor while the humans are having a pointed but polite conversation, it is more a sign that the humans don’t like each other than the daemons actually wanting to kill each other. It is very hard to describe this subtlety in writing and it is always an intuitive understanding that has to be built with exercises before the larp and by practicing during the first hours of Daemon.

House of Craving. Photo: Martin Lindelien.

With this extreme form of dyadic structure, even moments of inactivity become opportunities for co-creation; if one player feels disconnected from the action, they still have a partner with whom to discuss their next move, react to the unfolding story, or voice their character’s internal dilemmas. Because of this complete interdependence, in Daemon I would never offer that you can sign up without a partner and I then cast people together; for me there needs to be a pre-existing agreement between the players and a firm wish to play together like this. In other dyadic larps, I do offer to connect people who don’t sign up together or even know each other.

The players are encouraged to talk about their dyadic relation beforehand and we workshop the dynamic at the location, doing connection enhancing eye contact exercises and using two-meter-long strings to explore proximity and connection. More about this later.

In Helicon (Wind and Pettersson, 2024-), we choose a version of a dyadic structure somewhere in the middle of the extremes and assign characters in pre-designed duos, exploring power imbalances, control, exploitation, and inspiration through enforced dynamics. Unlike the mutual relationships of a marriage in Baphomet, Helicon pairs players in a non-consensual pact — a human Inspired in a drug-like dependency with their enslaved Muse, mirroring themes of artistic obsession, addiction, and subjugation. We strive to create a deep narrative cohesion between the dyadic characters as they both represent the same artform/science/leadership type. Rituals reinforce the hierarchical bond, deepening the emotional weight of the connection. You could call it a co-embodied narrative. As Sarah Lynne Bowman describes in her analysis of the larp (Bowman, 2024), these relationships highlight the tension between devotion and control.

There can also be options for playing with something like this in a very close ensemble with more than two people. In Helicon, we have a triad where two Inspired siblings share a Muse. However, for the rest of the article, I will only describe this kind of dynamic as dyadic.

Prime minister of Britain and the Inspired of Politics, Percy Shaw, and his Muse of Politics, Kallistrate. Photo: Kai-Simon Frederiksen.

How to determine “how dyadic” you want your larp

The chart below shows Axes of Attachment and is intended to provide some clarity of how different larps work regarding character relations (see Figure 1). It attempts to provide a way you could think about how and why you design certain kinds of relations. It’s basically about seeing the larp as a room: how do you place the players inside of the room together with the mechanics, space, physical conditions, setting etc.?

Figure 1. The Axes of Attachment model charts intersections of relative degrees of relational interdependence and shared identities in dyadic play.

X-axis (Dependency → Independency): How much a character’s arc depends on their dyadic partner-character. This could be emotional, practical, physical, narrative, or social dependence. How dependent are you on the other person being present? How closely do we bind the characters and to how many (it doesn’t have to be two).

Y-axis (Shared identity/concept -> Individual identity/concept): How closely the characters are tied internally. How much are your characters the same being? For example, Daemon has two people playing one character, while Helicon has two distinct characters with connected fates and arts. So both are more “shared” than completely individual, but Daemon is more extreme.

All larps on the left side of the figure have in my opinion some kind of dyadic design.

Another example is House of Craving (Edland, Wilson, Jansen and Pedersen 2019-). On the first day, you are playing a character and then on the second day, the same character but as a ghost in the house who is very attached to your own living person’s story. As a ghost, you can affect your own human and the others more and more as the larp moves further, and since you have the same identity as the human, you have preferences as to what they should do — and try to push them there. You could call this dynamic parasitic more than symbiotic. But the reason why I chose to define it as slightly less shared than Daemon is that you are not playing the character together and you can still walk away from each other not having to share most specific scenes. They also don’t share a consciousness. There is also a very interesting dyad complexity in House of Craving in the fact that you are knit tightly together in smaller groups as humans where the experiences are actually dependent without you sharing an identity or concept.

The Inspired of Dance, Danielle Lafontaine, holding her Muse of Dance Terpsichore during a ritual at Helicon. Picture: Kai-Simon Frederiksen.

Interestingly, it has been hard to find examples that fit into the top right quadrant where you are relationally and narratively independent but share the same identity or concept. Gothic is a good example, however, as it has a form of shared concept and identity of the characters even though it isn’t designed specifically for dependency between two characters. The two are dependent as you have just played the poet the day before and then you play the servant of the same poet the day after. As lead designer Simon Brind notes in a personal conversation (2025): “The characters were written as reflections of the poet, looking at the flaws of the poets and playing them back in different ways. Byron’s servant – Tita – is everything that Byron wants to be for example.” Simon also mentions that there is a one way dependency from the poet to the servant later in the larp as the servant has influence over the fate of the poet. So in my purely analytical opinion, you share more of an identity in Gothic (also because of off-game affiliation to a character you just played yourself) than a dependency on the individual experience, which places this experience in the top right quadrant. And this is interesting, because maybe off-game factors can also make some play experiences dyadic. If you provide the option of signing up together with someone, and you offer a lot of dependency with mechanics and/or pre-designed character relations, you might not have shared identity and/or concepts, but you move the experience further to the left on the x-axis, getting it closer to dyadic play.

Most larps will be in the bottom right quadrant and not have any dyadic play in the design. That doesn’t mean that you can’t have intense relationships without dyadic play. The chart is just meant as a help to conceptualise which kinds of relations you provide in your larp.

You might be thinking, “But you can just write a dyadic relation yourself with a friend in a larp where you write your own characters.” Yes, you could and maybe you already have. You could get some kind of a dyadic experience even playing a larp with almost no pre-written ties between characters and nothing in the design to support it. You don’t even have to sign up together for it to be a dyadic experience. However, in this article, I am more interested in the design-heavy Nordic style of thinking through coherent design on many levels and creating a clearly communicated larp experience. So while I describe here a specific philosophy for designing relations in a whole larp, you can use these strategies as individual player preferences as well.

Lady Evelyn Wiltshire and her snow fox daemon Atlas at Daemon. Photo: Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

The next part of the article shares the experiences I have made by adjusting my larps along the two axes in the chart. There are also some things I haven’t adjusted. So here are the vulnerabilities and what you win by engaging in dyadic character relation design.

The power of playing in pairs

Dyadic play is a purposeful design choice that serves multiple functions:

1. Guaranteed connection

Unlike most larps where relationships emerge organically or are written but dependent on player chemistry (Nøglebæk 2023), dyadic play ensures that each participant has a deeply connected co-player. This prevents isolation and guarantees intimate interaction throughout the larp. If there is an option to sign up together, you are also guaranteed to play closely with someone you really want to play with, which is devastatingly hard to be able to in lottery based larps.

2. Catering to specific themes

Certain themes — dependency, rivalry, obsession, or supernatural bonds — are, in my opinion, best explored through tightly structured relationships. Daemon exemplifies this by requiring players to act as two entities within the same being, forcing them into an intricate push-pull dynamic.

From Baphomet. Photo: Carl Nordblom

3. Physical and emotional presence

Dyadic play externalises internal struggles, turning them into performative, tangible elements in the diegesis depending on the degree of dependency on each other for the larp experience. In Daemon, the constant physical presence of one’s partner heightens the sense of being truly two minds in one body. Many players report that they accelerate their closeness with their co-player exponentially and that they quickly get used to the closeness. Even though the Muse has a bit more free range in Helicon, the Muse’s lack of autonomy and physical proximity required by the narrative — that Muses have to stay within 100 m of where their Inspired commands them to be — creates an embodied experience of control and restriction, which are core themes of that larp.

4. Built-in narrative depth

Pre-established relationships provide immediate emotional stakes. The weight of history between the characters and expectation add layers to every interaction, making the experience feel dramatic from the outset. Non-dyadic relations can do this as well but dyadic relations enhance the probability of it actually happening in practice at the larp.

5. Emotional safety

Navigating intimacy in larp can be complex. Dyadic play provides a structured framework where trust is central, making high-intensity scenes safer and potentially more rewarding. In the most extreme versions of dyadic relations like Daemon, you will always be at least four people when you have a conversation with another character and you will physically have experienced almost exactly the same scenes as your dyadic partner. This design makes it much easier to connect off-game over the more difficult aspects of your larp experience like an interaction with a co-player you didn’t like or feeling ostracized in the larp. Dyadic design might even make it a good experience for newer larpers as they will be able to lean on their dyadic partner and are never left alone.

6. High stakes drama

When your character’s fate is intertwined with another’s, every action becomes consequential. A betrayal isn’t just a plot beat — it’s devastating. A declaration of love isn’t just a moment — it’s a turning point. This goes for all kinds of dependencies; they are guaranteed to a higher degree with dyadic play.

7. Carrying the story together

You are not alone in developing and experiencing a narrative in dyadic play. When you run out of ideas, there is another person to carry the story onwards. The ghost version of you in House of Craving might push you as a human to do something in your story that you didn’t anticipate. The Daemon version allows an excellent excuse to portray an energetic or extroverted character even though you aren’t such a person off-game if your co-player is portraying it for both of you.

The Inspired of Dance, Danielle Lafontaine, trying to strangle her Muse of Dance Terpsichore during Helicon. Picture: Kai-Simon Frederiksen.

Challenges and potential pitfalls

1. The risk of isolation

The intensity of dyadic play can create an insular bubble. If the game world revolves too much around the pair, broader interactions may suffer. Daemon players, for example, may become so immersed in their internal struggle that they disengage from external narratives. It’s not often that I have seen it happen, but it is a potential issue to be aware of in dyadic play. This is more risky the more dependent the relation is. If the dyad does not have a fulfilling dynamic for both players, that can also be further isolating especially when witnessing other dyads highly engaged together in enjoyable play.

2. Strain in the sign-up process

If you have to sign up together, finding the right partner can be stressful. Some larps allow players to sign up together, while others assign partners based on casting. The latter requires trust in organizers to balance chemistry and compatibility of wishes for the experience. You also have to make sure that you agree on energy levels and that you are okay with the playstyle the other person wants.

3. Unequal Investment

Not all players engage at the same level with specific activities or themes. If one seeks deep psychological introspection while the other prefers a light dramatic arc, friction can arise. Establishing expectations beforehand is essential — much more so than if you are free to flow through the larp to engage with whatever you find the most interesting.

4. Limited Agency

Solo players can pivot their stories at will. Dyadic players, however, must consider their partner’s trajectory. This can feel restrictive if the dynamic doesn’t align with evolving personal goals. In a completely solo experience, you can be affected by other players, your own exhaustion, etc. But the other person’s tiredness is an immaterial factor. The characters are closer than other relations in the network. Several times during Daemon, the partner had to leave. What do you do? What are the rules?

Douglas Eden and his cat daemon Haze at the Belgian run produced by Sandy Bailley. Photo: Ork De Rooij.

5. Relationship Bleed

The depth of dyadic play can be emotionally overwhelming. The sustained investment in one relationship can lead to burnout if not managed well. Ironically, there can also be disappointment if you don’t have that close feeling with your play partner afterwards. Some of this can be attributed to relationship bleed in which aspects of social relationships bleed between player and character. Romantic bleed (Waern 2010; Harder 2018; Bowman and Hugaas 2021) is the most frequently discussed subtype (Bowman qtd. in Hugaas 2024). For example, some characters in both Daemon and Helicon are rewritten with pre-existing and complicated romantic entanglements that have the potential to enable romantic bleed.

Many dyadic larps, including Daemon, Helicon and House of Craving, integrate voluntary debriefing and aftercare to help players process their experiences.

6. Predators and safety

As with all larps where we try to be brave, safety is of the essence. Preventing predators from accessing such a vulnerable type of relation requires a strong safety set-up from the organisers as well as a responsible group of players (Rotvig and Wind 2019 in Wind 2019; Brown 2017a; 2017b). This is not any different from larps with sensitive themes in general but you have to be aware that the dyadic play design choice exposes players to specific risks of emotional impact, which can be taken advantage of by problematic people.

Making dyadic play work: Expectation management, mechanics and workshops

Designing an effective dyadic experience requires structured preparation, ensuring that players feel safe, engaged, and emotionally attuned to one another. Here are key methods I use to make it work.

1. Consider which kind of experience you would want the players to have with your dyadic design

There are different ways to create dyadic experiences. So consider what you actually want to design into. Is it:
- A shared physical experience?
- A shared narrative?
- An intensely interdependent emotional bond?
- A shared consciousness?
- All of the above? (Not always possible).
One or more of these factors may appeal more to you than others, so consider carefully what you design for.

2. Expectation management between the players before the larp

The Devil You Know. Photo: Daniel Andreasson.

One of the most critical steps in dyadic play is ensuring that both players are on the same page about their engagement levels. Besides communicating specifically that this is a larp with dyadic play and what that means, players should discuss a few specific things before signing up together or playing together in an organiser-determined dyadic relation:
- Emotional intensity comfort levels: Are both players interested in exploring deep emotional drama, or do they prefer lighter interactions?
- Scene preferences: What kind of interactions (conflict, care, degree dependence) are desired?
- Narrative flexibility: How much improvisation is expected versus structured interactions?
- Off-game communication plans: Establishing ways to check in during the game without breaking immersion on the level that both prefer.
- Energy levels: How do you usually function during a larp to have the best experience? There could also be health reasons for you needing breaks from the larp. Should your co-player be aware of these needs?
By clarifying expectations in advance, dyads can avoid misalignment that might disrupt immersion during play.

3. Mechanics to reinforce dyadic interaction

You can choose to implement a dyadic dynamic simply by writing a dependent narrative for the characters and possibly some degree of shared identity. However, some larps integrate mechanics that actively support the dyadic dynamic. It is a general design point of mine that mechanics provide more tools for the toolbox of the player to experience emotional impact from the written material (Wind, 2025). Here are some examples:
- Physical proximity rules: In Daemon, players must remain within a two meter radius, reinforcing their reliance on each other. In Helicon, Muses need to stay within 100 m. of where their Inspired commands them to be. This doesn’t create a physical proximity in the larp experience itself but it creates an experience of imprisonment.
- Shared resources or abilities: In Helicon, Muses can only give Inspiration to their own Inspired unless allowed otherwise, ensuring that their power remains tethered to the dyadic relationship.
- Same character identity: In House of Craving, as a ghost, you can affect your own human and the others more and more as the larp moves further, and since you are the same identity as the human, you have preferences as to what they should do — and try to push them there.
- Restricted autonomy: Preventing one character from making major decisions without the other’s involvement (e.g., Inspired in Helicon dictate where Muses can go).
From the larp Thyself. Photo: Kai-Simon Frederiksen.

4. Workshops to build trust and connection

I have a very strong sentiment that when we act (that is: do something), we experience. The ability to play in a dyadic way is emergent, so we have to just try to play in our dyads, and then our perception of the dynamic forms when we do it. For example, I stress at Daemon that we practice the first day and that it is okay if the dynamic is wonky. We have to try it out. Before play begins, workshops can help partners develop their dynamic and understand the expectations of their shared experience. Effective exercises include:
- Eye contact exercises: Building comfort with intimacy and presence. They really have to be longer than you think!
- Movement mirroring: Practicing responsiveness and fluidity in interactions.
- Physical boundaries training: Establishing safe ways to express physical connection or distance.
- Practicing the dyadic specific mechanics.
In Daemon, for example, players use a two-meter string during workshops to simulate the forced closeness of their characters, gradually adjusting to the physical restrictions of the play experience. In Helicon, we practice the core mechanic of taking/giving Inspiration in Helicon in the workshop by using a sash that is the representation of the transferral of Inspiration, which the players will also use during the larp.

5. Safety and debriefing measures

In general in many Nordic larps, we are offering people the opportunity to participate in an emotional extreme sport. Therefore, I think we have a responsibility to at least think of what we offer regarding emotional safety in general. But specifically for dyadic play I have found that it can touch a lot of people in an impactful way. Here are some suggestions for how you could handle it.

The witch and broken war hero Loviisa Raisanen and her peacock daemon Kaligas. Photo: Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Safety regime: I find we sometimes forget that the feeling of safety is not only important for its own sake. The right safety regime helps us feel brave; makes us less afraid to play on challenging themes. I often find that safety mechanics that are not designed or introduced in a good way are more restrictive, frustrating, and meaningless. They don’t create a good feeling about daring to make brave choices. Especially in Nordic larp, many people are very considerate and careful, and while you need safety measures, I often find it equally important to remind people that if you are worried about doing something, it is better to do it than not to do it, so you don’t regret it after the larp. The safety measures are just there to ensure that you know within which boundaries you can explore this larp experience. Feeling safe is particularly important for dyadic play to work. I do it by building what I call “The House of Bravery.”

In practice, I introduce this concept in one way or the other in all my larps by building the foundation of the house before the larp with the flagging process, transparency, expectation management, and an explicit code of conduct on the website. I also provide a floor of the house: “This is what you should at least be okay with” and the ceiling of the house: “This is the most you can encounter here.” I publish this on the website and then build on it during the safety workshop. In larps, experience designers often only actually provide a “ceiling” OR a “floor.” I have observed that the greatest houses of bravery are built when people feel more free because they know the whole boundary of the house. So just be considerate about which measures you put in place to create a sense of safety and be a bouncer to keep predators out of the house.

Structured debriefs: Facilitated discussions to reflect on the experience in order to address lingering discomfort can be a good way to get out of a very bleedy experience. I think that debriefs should mostly be voluntary, as you can easily feel out of place if you are not bleedy or didn’t have a mind blowing experience (Pedersen 2017). I realise that not all organisers want their participants to get out of the bleed but I think it is responsible to at least offer the tools if the players would like to. Then they can choose for themselves if they want to take the offer.

Buddy check-ins: Encouraging dyads to support each other after play, discussing what worked and what felt challenging. Specifically, I always ask players to check what their dyadic partner needs right after the larp and encourage them to try to find common ground. Some might want a lot of hugs, and others might want a shower and alone time. I also ask players to contact their partner in the next couple of days. Most will do so, but some are just completely over a larp right away and wouldn’t necessarily contact their co-player a few days after the larp. You can read more about after care needs in the article “Leaving the Magic Circle: Larp and Aftercare” by Anneli Friedner (2020) and other resources about how to deal with post-larp emotions.

After party: It is an organiser’s choice if you want to offer as much larping time as possible and running the event right until everyone has to leave the venue. I prefer to offer time for common off-game socialising after the larp — preferably with an extra night before leaving the venue. For dyadic partners, I have often found it beneficial for their experience of the whole event and for aftercare that time is provided for hanging out out of character after the larp ends.

Decompression exercises: Movement exercises, journaling, or lighthearted interactions to transition out of character. (Note: I never use any of these myself, but they are resources you can use).

Two connected dyads. The married human couple basically share two Muses. The Inspired of Music, Maximillian Stern holding his Muse Euterpe while Sophia Newton, the Inspired of Sculpure is being held by her Muse Athanasia at Helicon. Photo: Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Conclusion: The beauty of togetherness

For those willing to embrace the intensity of a dependent narrative, the rewards can be unforgettable. So, the next time you sign up for a larp, ask yourself: Who do you want to be — and who do you want to be with?

Dyadic play can offer a uniquely immersive experience using strong narrative tools, but it isn’t for everyone. Before committing, also ask yourself:
- Are you comfortable with emotional intensity and intimacy?
- Do you trust your partner (or trust the organisers to pair you well)?
- Are you okay with a storyline that depends heavily on someone else’s choices?
- Do you prefer restricted narratives, or do you like to explore more freely?
Dyadic play isn’t just about roleplaying with another person—it’s about exploring the fundamental truth that we are deeply influenced by our relationships. Whether soulmates, rivals, or two halves of a whole, these larps remind us that no one stands alone.

The two lovers, Lord Alistair Dormer and the commoner born star scientist Yosaphine Darling observe their daemons Luca and Ramchii showing what is going on beneath the facade of the humans. Photo: Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Bibliography

Bowman, Sarah Lynne. 2024. “Helicon: An Epic Larp about Love, Beauty, and Brutality.” Nordiclarp.org, January 26.

Brown, Maury. 2017. “19 Truths about Harassment, Missing Stairs, and Safety in Larp Communities”. Nordiclarp.org, March 14.

Brown, Maury. 2017. “The Consent and Community Safety Manifesto”. Nordiclarp.org, March 14.

Friedner, Anneli. 2020. “Leaving the Magic Circle: Larp and Aftercare”. Nordiclarp.org, April 15.

Hugaas, Kjell Hedgard. 2024. “Bleed and Identity: A Conceptual Model of Bleed and How Bleed-Out from Role-Playing Games Can Affect a Player’s Sense of Self.” International Journal of Role-Playing 15 (June): 9-35. https://doi.org/10.33063/ijrp.vi15.323

Nøglebæk, Oliver. 2023. “The 4 Cs of Larping Love”. Nordiclarp.org. November 15.

Pedersen, Troels Ken. 2018. “Tears and the New Norm”. Nordiclarp.org, February 13.

Rotvig, Klara, and Katrine Wind. 2019. “Tryghed.”Larping Out Loud podcast, March 29.

Wind, Katrine. 2025. “River Rafting Design.” In Anatomy of Larp Thoughts: A Breathing Corpus, edited by Nadja Lipsyc et al. Knutepunkt Conference 2025. Fantasiforbundet.

Ludography

BAPHOMET (2013-2019): Denmark, Linda Udby and Bjarke Pedersen.

Daemon (2021-2025): Denmark, Belgium, USA, UK. Katrine Wind. Daemon Larp

Gothic (2023, 2024): Denmark. Simon Brind, Anna Katrine Bønnelycke, Maria Østerby Elleby, Halfdan Keller Justesen, Laurie Penny, Martine Svanevik, and Sagalinn Tangen. Gothic Larp

Helicon (2024-2025): Denmark. Maria Pettersson and Katrine Wind. Helicon Larp

House of Craving (2019-2023): Denmark. Tor Kjetil Edland, Danny Wilson, Frida Sofie Jansen, and Bjarke Pedersen

Spoils of War (2019-2025). Denmark. Katrine Wind. Spoils of War

Cover photo: War hero Sgt. Theresa Williams and Nico, her antelope daemon. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.
Published on

2024-04-25

in

Documentation

Out of Nothing, Something

Written by
Juhana Pettersson

The Muses of antiquity live on Mount Helicon (a mythological place, but also a real mountain in Greece). Perhaps because of this, the mountain’s name has come to symbolize creativity and inspiration. Helicon is also the name of a larp created by Maria Pettersson and Katrine Wind, run in Denmark for the first time in January, 2024.

The larp is about a group of friends who enacted a ritual in their student days, binding the Muses to themselves, granting themselves the genius to become superstars in their own fields. As their stars rise, they also deprive the world of inspiration, hogging it all. The binding of the Muses also means that these immortal beings have now become imprisoned into the service of mere mortals, individuals who may treat them kindly or badly depending on their whim.

In Helicon, the Inspired come together for an annual ritual strengthening the ritual of binding. They also want to spend a weekend together with the only people who really understand them, their fellow Inspired. After all, they’re the only ones to really know the secret of their success.

I played one of the two Inspired of Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy. I was a war reporter while my sibling was a playwright, both of us feeding from the genius granted by the Muse.

Incidentally, Mt. Helicon is also where Narcissus looked at his own reflection in the water and saw his own beauty. This may be somewhat narcissistic of me but when I was playing Helicon (in the second run, in February 2024), I was quite taken by the creative invention and ability of our ensemble. There’s a specific kind of beauty in larp when the spontaneous emergence of each players’ actions collectively creates a wonderfully coherent whole.

Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Inspiration

The themes of Helicon make a certain amount of recursive self-commentary unavoidable. After all, if I play an Inspired of Tragedy, how likely is it that my character’s narrative arc bends toward an unhappy, perhaps even sad ending?

I didn’t plan it that way but that’s exactly what happened. Me and my sibling, both for our own reasons, found that following the genius of Tragedy was destroying us and we yearned to be free. In the case of my character, the toll of documenting the suffering caused by war all across the world was becoming too much and while I believed it to be my moral duty to continue the work, it was also breaking me apart.

Thus at the end, I begged for freedom even as many other Inspired sought to hold onto their Muses, the divine spirits granting them deathless genius. Of course, that plea was not heard. Instead, the Muse of Tragedy decided to keep us trapped in our self-inflicted hell. That was a choice made by the player of the Muse Melpomene, not something dictated by anything in the workshops or our characters. It was an example of a dramatically appropriate, satisfying arc emerging from our collective ensemble play, fueled and inspired by the design of the larp. Nobody planned it like that but it still happened.

There’s a trick to larp design that, when it works, looks like magic. You leave space for the spontaneous creativity of the players and they bring the larp’s core themes to life without explicit instruction or a script. If you’re an experienced larp designer, you probably know how to make this happen. This observation may even feel banal because it’s such a basic element of how larp works.

Indeed, the trick is an illusion. The designer knows that the magic of the larp flows from careful design work. When that work is done elegantly enough, play feels free and unconstrained, specific choices and themes flowing with seeming emergence and settling into just the right configuration for the themes of the larp to become manifest.

If you haven’t peeked behind the curtain and seen enough larp to know how this is done, you might ask questions like these:

How do the players know what to say?

How do they know to do the right things?

How can it work when everybody is playing spontaneously?

If you’ve played in a larp, you know the answer: It works the same as it does in real life. We all go through our days unrehearsed, whether in the context of everyday reality or a fictional event.

When the larp’s design works as intended, our improvisation and imagination has been prepped so that we together as an ensemble explore a shared creative space, producing desired types of scenes and interactions.

The Creative Ensemble

In their article Ensemble Play, Anni Tolvanen and Jamie MacDonald (2020) talk about larp as a creative ensemble similar to a band or an orchestra playing music together. To successfully participate in an ensemble, there’s one skill above all: Listening. You have to be able to listen to what’s going on in the ensemble to be able to participate in a meaningful and harmonious way.

Many of the most basic workshop exercises we commonly do in Nordic larps are very effective in building the ensemble. Even simple warm-ups teach us to understand each other as a group, to pay attention and to read our co-players and their desires. When we do a round of all the players in the workshop, with each describing what they need for their larp to be successful or what they’re worried about, we help each other to lift the whole ensemble.

Humans are social herd animals and we’re typically quite sensitive to the moods and shifts of the group. The larp ensemble uses this quality to its advantage, allowing us to support each other creatively and to bounce off each other’s ideas in an interesting way.

Taylor Montgomery. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

When this works for you in a larp, it feels like spontaneous play magically gives you what you need. One such moment for me in Helicon was in a flashback scene where our characters were discussing the idea of binding the Muses. A few believed while others, like me, went along for a lark. There was a somewhat silly, half-serious process for distributing who gets which muse, where I and another person ended up competing for the Muse of Tragedy.

The crowd called for both of us to show our “unhappy face”. We both did, to general laughter and merriment all around. Mine was judged better, so I got Tragedy and the other person got Comedy.

In the scene, this sequence emerged spontaneously, yet it had an immense impact on my larp. My character had made this life-altering choice without understanding the consequences or seriously considering the implications. In play, both my character and the character who got the Muse of Comedy were desperately unhappy, yet unable to change their course.

In the same scene, it turned out that there was one less Muse than there were friends in our group of students. The character of my sibling was a sensitive, sad soul, and he was left without a Muse. As a result, I offered: “Don’t worry, we’ll share the one I got!”

This was also something that emerged spontaneously, and led to meaningful play later. In each case, the magic is a combination of design choices priming us for certain themes (my character had an affair with the Muse of Comedy, guiding me to think of Comedy as the light in the darkness of an existence defined by Tragedy) and ensemble play where we each watch for what the others are going for and try to support it.

Profundity

The themes Helicon explores are almost a caricature of classical profundity: Immortality, art, creation, destiny, genius, responsibility, and so on. Making a larp focused on such themes is not easy, and Helicon does it through designed emergence. Instead of overtly designing scenes or metatechniques around philosophical discussion, the seeds are planted in the way the characters are written and the muses described.

The problem with many themes and subjects in larp is that to be able to successfully co-create (i.e. to participate fully in the larp), the players need to feel comfortable and empowered with the material. I explored this topic in my article The Necessary Zombie, where the titular zombie is the familiar and known element which the player can rely on, creatively speaking, while also exploring newer and more unfamiliar territory.

In the case of Helicon, the supernatural framework of mythology created this familiarity, helping participants to engage with more difficult themes.

When I read my character, I didn’t think I’d be able to use very much from my own life. The war reporter who had become something of a monster in his personal life, someone from an aristocratic background who used moral need to justify the captivity of his Muse, was a much more dramatic figure than a Finnish creative arts professional like me.

We were encouraged to bring examples of artworks or other creations to show during the larp. At first, I figured I’d bring photos from wars, dying children and so forth. After reviewing potential candidates, I quickly changed my mind. Not because of what other people would think, but because of how I suspected they’d push me out of the fiction. Around the time of the larp, war had been very much on my mind. I’d followed the crimes of the Israeli apartheid system for two decades and the ongoing genocide in Gaza felt very immediate. Something like that was too painful to bring to a larp.

Instead, I chose to use pictures by the famous war photographer Robert Capa. I avoided images of combat or the dead and the dying, focusing instead on images of people who had survived.

The author as Thomas Montgomery. Photo by Anni Tolvanen.

The character worked well for me because I’ve read a lot of books by war reporters over the years and had some idea of how to fake war talk, the way you do in a larp. For my character, the goal was to end all war by bringing its horrors to light through journalism. I talked about these topics a lot during the larp, because they were central to my character’s personality, flaws and philosophical outlook.

It was only afterwards that I realized that I’d used a lot of things I myself believe about war. I believe wars can end. I don’t believe war is an inherent part of the human experience. Nation states have to work hard at making propaganda to dehumanize the enemy to the point that people are willing to murder them at scale. I’m essentially an optimist when it comes to the human spirit, and this optimism makes me believe that war is one of the great evils of human existence and must be opposed everywhere and always. We must resist the narratives that make us believe that somehow, this time mass murder is justified.

It felt strange to realize that I’d used pieces of myself in the character after all, because in many ways the character was not someone I’d aspire to be.

Vintage

At one point, the players gathered together for a group photo. First all together, and then a photo with only the Inspired. As we were posing, the Muse players were lounging about, waiting for their Muses-only photo.

We were at the venue’s gorgeous dining hall, with its classical decor and Greek-style statues. Looking around, seeing three, four, five Muses hanging about in poses of casual repose, I caught myself thinking that of course this is what a place haunted by the Muses would look like. These are the Muses, children of Zeus.

We were off-game but the casually gorgeous visuals and the easy panache displayed by the players of the Muses made it feel plausible anyway.

The larp is set in “the vintage era”, a vague thematic milieu used by several other larps as well, such as Baphomet (2015). The vintage era is perhaps from the 1890’s to the 1940’s, allowing for both glamorous costuming and ignoring modern communications technology such as cell phones.

Different larps use the concept in their own ways but in Helicon, what was particularly important was the deliberate, purposeful vagueness of the setting which makes it impossible to discuss external details. We barely know which country we’re in (the U.K.), and things like politics, technology or current events are shrouded in fog.

This has the result that discussions naturally move towards in-game events or the big, broad themes suggested by the larp’s central conceit: art, philosophy, immortality, morality, creativity, often connected to in-game events in surprisingly concrete ways.

The Inspired don’t age, the blessings of the Muses keeping them forever young. For some, this meant an eternity to spend in pursuit of their creative genius. Since I was a war reporter, from my point of view, it meant endless years watching people die. The subject may have been lofty but the relevance was still immediate.

The deliberate haziness of the vintage era means we can’t discuss the price of bread or the latest political scandal so instead we’re forced to tackle the fundamental meaning of the creative arts. Nobody is pushing us to talk about profundities. It just occurs naturally as a result of the setup and the way the setting has been framed.

Helicon had the thematic precision of a classic five-player Fastaval scenario, keeping it unusually tight despite its larger player base. The vintage era is a good example of a design choice keeping the focus subtly constrained: It has the effect of guiding conversation, but discreetly, without making a thing of it. This in part creates the illusion where the desired play and themes emerge seemingly of their own volition.

Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Champagne Flute Logistics

When a larp has a strong ensemble, its social nuances become easier to read. This was my experience at Helicon: It was easier to grasp when it was okay to join a scene and when to butt out, what characters I’d interacted with only a little were feeling on the other side of a room or what kind of actions would best support the play of someone else.

Similarly, I felt supported by the other players in the sense that it felt like they could read what was going on with my character and support it in turn. Because of this, I had moments when the larp’s emergent action spontaneously served up just what I needed for my character’s journey.

As the larp was building up to its final climactic scenes, we were participating in a collective ritual. It involved ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, portrayed by elderflower cordial in a champagne flute. Appropriately filled glasses were discreetly placed around the ritual space so that you could pick one up when you needed it.

I was standing with my back to a piece of antique furniture with several of the glasses. When the time came, I realized I and a nearby co-player should do a bit of discreet distribution duty to keep the ritual running. Similarly, later in the same ritual, as I was kneeling on the floor in the throes of poignant emotion, I also took a couple of glasses from nearby players and placed them out of the way so we wouldn’t accidentally break them.

These were simple, automatic acts. We all do these things when we participate in a larp. We’re deep in our own drama, but if there’s a chance to discreetly facilitate someone else’s drama in some small way, we do it. We hold a door so that someone can storm off dramatically or pick up a cool hat that fell off from a co-player’s head in a fight scene and make sure it’s not damaged.

I find certain joy from being able to do something like this, something small to help things along, because it speaks to the power of the ensemble to keep the collective larp experience functioning as beautifully as possible. Because we all do these things for each other, the experience is that much better for all of us.

Through the magic of ensemble play and careful, elegant design, we feel that we’re acting freely in the moment and yet we experience coherent, meaningful play. When it works, it feels like we as players have been inspired by the Muses.

Disclosure: I’m married to one of Helicon’s two designers, Maria Pettersson.

Helicon

Designers: Katrine Wind and Maria Pettersson, Narrators, Inc.

Participation Fee: €630

Players: 29

Second Run: February 16-18, 2024

Location: Broholm Castle, Gudme, Denmark

Music: Anni Tolvanen

Photography: Bjørn-Morten Vang Gundersen, Anni Tolvanen

Safety: Klara Rotvig

Website: Katrine Kavli

Graphics: Maria Manner

Sparring and Ideas: Emil Greve, Elina Gouliou, and Markus Montola

Character Writing Assistance: Søren Hjorth

Website Proofreading: Malk Williams

Ludography

Baphomet (2015): Bjarke Pedersen and Linda Udby. Denmark.

Helicon (2024): Maria Pettersson and Katrine Wind. Denmark.

Bibliography

Juhana Pettersson (2011): The Necessary Zombie. In Claus Raasted (ed.). Talk Larp. Denmark; Knudepunkt 2011.

Anni Tolvanen and James Lórien Macdonald (2020): Ensemble Play. In Eleanor Saitta, Johanna Koljonen, Jukka Särkijärvi, Anne Serup Grove, Pauliina Männistö, & Mia Makkonen (eds.). What Do We Do When We Play? Helsinki; Solmukohta 2020.

Cover photo: Image by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen. Photo had been cropped.
Published on

2024-03-13

in

Documentation

Together at Last: Romantic Paradox in a Not-Quite-Dystopian Future

Written by
Sarah Lynne Bowman

This article is the third in a series on Larping Intimacy and Relationships.

Content advisory: Dysfunctional relationships, domestic violence, murky consent, grooming, virginity, incest, pregnancy and parenting, potential spoilers

Last week, I had the pleasure of participating in Together At Last, February 15-18, 2024 in Berg en Dal, the Netherlands. Together at Last is a larp focused on romantic play by Reflections Larp Studio, designed and organized by Karolina Soltys, Patrik Bálint, David Owen, Lu Larpová, Marie-Lucie Genet, and Phil D’Souza. Based on the Black Mirror episode “Hang the DJ” and, to a lesser extent, the film The Lobster, the larp is set in a governmental facility in which volunteers are matchmade three times in order to find their Perfect Match. The larp originated online during the pandemic and was run 15 times as Together Forever, then transitioned to in-person play for 4 runs, with 2 additional runs planned for 2025. This run of the larp had 40 players, including 4 organizer-run characters.

The original setting made use of the actual pandemic and social isolation conditions players experienced to maximum effect; in this near-future scenario, humans cannot leave the house or socialize with others outside of hazmat suits without facing instant death from the mutated virus unless living in the same household as a family. Once a person decided to leave home, they must live alone, as proximity was too risky. As physical contact and companionship was deemed necessary by the government for human thriving, the Together Forever program was designed in order to allow people to date. At the end of the program, the system decides which characters are matched together, as well as which characters will remain unmatched. The matched participants are married in a perfunctory mass ceremony. Participants must choose to marry their “forever match” assigned by the algorithm at the end of the program; otherwise, they forfeit their right to ever go through the program again. Their alternatives were to beg this person to reject them or to run off into the wilderness to become part of the Banished, a group of people living in dangerous conditions outside of society. Divorce was possible long after the match was made, although that was deemphasized in play.

A once-per-lifetime vaccine giving 3 day immunity neutralized the virus enough to allow the participants to temporarily be physically co-present with multiple people, which for most characters meant the first time they had ever experienced physical intimacy in-person instead of VR; in other words, even if VR technology had become advanced in this near-future world, most characters were physically virginal for all intents and purposes. This chip was “new,” as previous versions of the program occurred online. In practice, this meant that play was punctuated by the strangeness of being physically co-present with so many people, able to go outside without a hazmat suit for the first time, etc. We actually started the game with a hazmat suit and mask on, waiting in line to be sanitized and processed, before we could change into our first “date” clothes and experience our first match. This contrast between the sterile government facility and the nightlife vibe was also emphasized in our costuming requirements for daytime, in which we were only permitted to wear white, grey, or light pastel comfortable clothes, including the optional Together at Last t-shirt with the program’s logo.

The sanitization process. Photo by Marlies. Image has been cropped.

The characters were jointly designed by the players and the organizers through an extensive in-game and off-game online form. The majority of the character’s personality arose from player inputs, with the relationships designed for us to link these disparate characters together. My character, Hope Novak, was one of the few who had experienced the program before, having been successfully matched for twelve years before her husband died.

While much could be said about the design of Together at Last, this article will focus upon several tensions I noticed — some which are embedded in the design and some I consider byproducts of it — which I will label paradoxes for dramatic effect. To be clear, none of these paradoxes are bugs of this brilliantly-designed larp, but rather features when exploring the difficult nuances of interpersonal intimacy. I enjoyed myself immensely at the larp and had incredibly powerful experiences with my co-players, in part because of the brilliant design. That being said, I think foregrounding these tensions is important due to the sensitive nature of the subject matter, especially when discussing a larp framed as aiming for play on a spectrum between absurdist comedy to realism to melodrama.

Photo by Bianca Eckert.

The Paradoxes of Consent, Rejection, and Monogamy

Like many Nordic-inspired international larps, Together at Last normalized queer play, as many of the matches would end up being queer in terms of gender and sexuality. Such a rule is not controversial in this play community, as many players identify as queer and/or polyamorous, or at least identify as allies. However, diegetically polyamory was not permitted in the program and was stigmatized, although the designers explained afterward that the intention was for this stigma to arise from logistical reasons based on the “laws of virology” rather than the “oppressive society.”

As players can sometimes experience discrimination due to physical appearance in such games (van der Heij 2021), we were not allowed to play upon lack of physical desire for the other person, but were instead given an impressive list of other playable reasons to reject them. This list ended up super helpful as a personal steering and mutual calibration tool, to the point that I think an article about “how to reject a character in a mutually beneficial way for players” is warranted. Furthermore, the larp was explicitly framed as not erotic (Grasmo and Stenros 2022), meaning that we were not allowed to be nude or engage in overly physical play during sex scenes. While players could ultimately choose their level of contact, the organizers recommended calibrating different representational modes of physical intimacy, e.g., using stage kissing and exaggerated movements; fading to black; or discussing what happens. Ideally, the scenes would be short and obvious, letting others clearly know what happened so they could react dramatically.

Photo by Lea-Maria Anger.

Diegetically, in-game pregnancy was not possible due to contraceptives in the water supply, although in my run, one character was permitted to join the larp pregnant somehow by another character. Instead, the government would assign a certain number of babies, which would be vat-grown and delivered via drone to the married couple’s home at some point in the future. This conceit allowed play on sexuality to be a bit more free. Instead of traditional conception, the algorithm determined if a character was permitted to have children based upon their behavior in an in-game parenting workshop; they were assessed based upon their care for a pretend baby made of flour over several hours, among other factors.

Furthermore, during each date, each match was made to fill out a form in which they discussed important topics related to marriage, including how to decorate their small government-provided apartment, how many children to have, what types of sexual kinks they would like to explore, etc. Diegetically, these forms all contributed to the “data” that led to the final “perfect match” selection. Thus, while engagement with childrearing was technically optional in-game, in practice, the theme became pervasive throughout the larp, e.g., topically in the forms, visually with play around the flour babies.

The larp emphasized consent-based play and consistent calibration. We engaged in bullet-time consent (Koljonen 2016a) for physical play and were encouraged to calibrate liberally off-game with other participants. Workshop time was devoted to calibrating with each of our three matches, which was extremely important, because we spent the better part of an entire day playing closely with each of them in turn. However, once runtime was happening, I would have preferred to have time reserved for calibration with matches before each date off-game rather than relying on ad hoc side discussions.

While we had other social connections and plots, we were under instruction in-game and off-game to make sure we interacted with our dates the majority of the time (80%). This rule was in place explicitly to avoid an issue that sometimes arises in larp: some players will ignore romantic plotlines that are central to play because they are not attracted off-game to the player, which can lead to a terrible experience for the other person. Furthermore, players should avoid filling up their “dance card” with known relations ahead of time and should be open to playing with unknown players, especially when the larp relies upon it (Tolvanen 2022). This principle was especially important in Together at Last, as we did not sign up in pairs, a recommended practice in other larps featuring dyadic play, see for example Helicon (2024), Daemon (2021-), Baphomet (2015-), etc.

Parenting class.

However, consent becomes a bit tricky in situations like these. Yes, we technically opted-in to playing closely on romance with three people — likely off-game strangers. But chemistry can be a difficult thing to predict even when not considering physical or emotional desire (Nøglebæk 2016, 2023); for example, incompatible playstyles can be a bad fit in such close, mostly-dyadic play (Bowman 2024). We are essentially responsible for another person’s positive experience in ways that can feel a bit like labor (Koulu 2020), which is not an inherently bad thing for me: I often prefer to play characters with a support role (Fido-Fairfax 2024, in press), which is why I played one of the game’s few in-game coach/counselors.

But that responsibility for another’s play experience is quite heavy especially when engaging with romantic and sexual intimacy. In such games, we expose some of the most vulnerable parts of ourselves to others, even through the alibi of the character. We may think the alibi is strong for many reasons — trust among co-players, a rather light-hearted and sometimes absurd setting, strong distinction between player and character personality, etc. But the emotions we experience are often all-too-familiar, and may have spectres of previous relationship memories attached to them, reemerging unbidden before, during, or after play. From a transformative play perspective, these emergences can be viewed as positive, in that they show us areas that need healing in ourselves (Hugaas and Bowman 2019), but not everyone attends leisure larps interested in or prepared for intensive personal transformation.

Emotions around rejecting others or being rejected are especially potent and are inherent to this setting. Needs for love and belonging and fears of ostracization drive much of human behavior as matters of survival, and are especially sensitive with romantic and sexual relationships. These themes were inherently present in the larp, whether or not each individual player experienced them or not.

Polaroid photo by Karolina Soltys.

The first date was meant to feel like an evening. Then, the chip went into “Turbo mode,” meaning Dates 2 and 3, which were only one day in this run, felt to the character like a several month relationship. This design combined with the enforced monogamy meant that rejection would likely happen in-game on some level. For example, while we could still pine for our last match, diegetically we risked being reported and kicked out of the program if we did not adhere to the rules, such as not talking to our exes without a “chaperone.” While off-game, we were encouraged to bend the rules, in practice, this rule meant that at least some of the time, many of our characters were likely to feel insecure or rejected as we watched our potential “perfect match” playing closely with others.

The angst around these feelings was also tied to the fact we had no actual power to choose who we married in the end or whether we got married at all, leaving our fate up to the “algorithm” and for us to “trust the process.” Interestingly, as players, we had much more influence over the outcome than our characters; we were instructed to fill in calibration forms at the end of each match, sharing our in-game feelings for our current match (and others at the program). We were also permitted to share our personal desires for an ending as an off-game request; some players wanted a happy ending, others wanted a terrible match, and others let the organizers decide the ending. This last option seemed the most risky to me, as unsuspecting players might be sideswiped by emotional (Montola 2010) and romantic bleed (Boss 2007; Waern 2010; Bowman 2015; Hugaas 2022) from past triggers or current desires dashed.

The HelpBot.

Furthermore, the game setting itself was inherently murky consent-wise. While were instructed not to play on sexual violence of any kind, there were in-game consequences for rejecting our current match. Yes, technically we all opted-in to the program, but we had literally no other choice if we wanted to live with another person. We could live alone or with our families, some of which we wrote to be highly dysfunctional and even abusive. We were not required to engage in sexuality with our matches, but we would be forced by the program to live with them for a certain length of time before divorcing, or be alone. And since polyamory was forbidden, we were expected to somehow make it work with this person. Off-game, this rule was here in part to provide angst for the characters, who would likely have feelings for multiple people, but also to try to prevent the players from solving their character’s dilemmas in this not-quite-dystopia by becoming poly. The HelpBot, a non-sentient robot who helped run the program, who played by one of the organizers, would inform us that 97.5% of matches ended up “perfect”… even if it took 10 years for the couples to realize it.

My character Hope was a 45 year-old intimacy coach who made her living by teaching people ways to connect in online environments. She also had the visceral memory of living harmoniously with someone for much of her recent life; indeed, her “perfect match.” However, Hope was also polyamorous, which was highly frowned upon in this setting, meaning she was one of the few people critical of what she viewed to be compulsory monogamy forced upon the program participants. Indeed, one of the reasons her previous husband, Paul, was “perfect” was that he supported her online relationships with other people and provided stability while she was on the turbulent rollercoaster of dating.

The game had an overarching Panopticon feel, as all interactions were fed through our chips to the system as “data.” Our matches were read over a loudspeaker by a robot voice each time they occurred, with dramatic pauses for us to react within our Support Groups, which were set up for us by the program. Almost all of us were matched with one or more exes. For Hope, this practice was initially problematic, as her ex had left because she wanted a monogamous relationship. While we were instructed by our character sheet and the rules to be excited to see these exes at the program, Hope immediately worried if this forced interaction would be unwelcome, which thankfully it was not.

Furthermore, Hope found out in-game that her ex was almost twenty years younger than her and a virgin (like most characters), while my character had previously been married and had many online relationships. (Note that before the game, I asked the organizers to be paired with players closer to my age to try to avoid these issues, which thankfully was arranged). This fact led to extensive discussion between our characters about the ethics of such a relationship, a conversation also echoed in Hope’s second match, Serena, who Hope believed was her soul mate. Serena had been married before but had never experimented with polyamory. In both cases, my character’s polyamory could be experienced as non-consensual non-monogamy by the other characters, leading to rocky emotional waters in-game and discomfort for me off-game.

Siblings preparing for the mass wedding. Photo by Linnéa Cecilia.

Another oddity was the inclusion of family members in the setting. As players, we were expressly directed not to engage in incest. Yet, in practice, to engage in group activities such as the sex education, burlesque, and neo-tantra workshops (which I ran), characters were asked to consider sexual themes in close proximity with their parents, siblings, or cousins. On the plus side, this factor also led to deep play around protectiveness and family-building; two of the Dates featured a Meet the Family meal, in which various configurations of participants found themselves testing the waters of each new family constellation.

Finally, while the setting enforced monogamy, it was also paradoxically a polyamorous — or at least serial monogamist — environment. As an intimacy specialist, Hope found this setup to be irresponsible at best and sadistic at worst. Not only were characters forced into relationships with their previous exes, but they also had new exes after every match all together in the same space. They were forbidden diegetically from openly loving or desiring others, although of course transgressions of these rules were off-game encouraged. No one had any time to process the relationship they just left and were forced into another relationship immediately, a recipe for drama and dysfunction — which, of course, makes for excellent larp fodder.

Inherent to this design was the “Singles Night” embedded in the program after Date 2, in which characters were temporarily single. While they were discouraged from interacting with their exes, of course this rule was repeatedly broken and new connections were formed, many of which did not align with Date 3 the next day. Hope interpreted this more licentious setup as entirely intentional on the part of the program — any connections that night fed the algorithm more “data” regarding who might actually make a good match and how characters might behave given liberty.

Serena and Hope before the wedding.

Thus, the compulsory monogamy of the program was challenged at each stage of the process in fascinating ways. Regardless of how each character felt about their previous matches, they were likely to have strong feelings of some kind that caused complications in the future relationships. Hope viewed these complications as a test of her integrity as an openly polyamorous person: could Hope have compersion and be happy for her soul mate if she fell deeply in love, had incredible intimate experiences, or ended up married to someone else? Wrestling with this inner dilemma was intense enough for me to feel that I had not “solved” the larp through poly as a player.

When the robot voice announced who Hope would marry — thankfully, her second match and “soul mate,” Serena — the joy Hope felt was immediately tempered when she considered the feelings of her two exes in the room, including her third match, who also happened to be in her Support Group watching her reaction. Fortunately, the two had come to a mutual understanding, but still the drama of the moment was high for all characters. Furthermore, Hope had difficulty feeling joy when her other loved ones in the room were visibly distressed by their matches. The Group Wedding final scene was bittersweet, as the matched characters lined up in their fancy wedding clothes for the mass ritual, while the Unmatched watched on in their hazmat suits, preparing for more time physically separated from intimacy with others. Conversely, some characters were devastated by their pairings, yearning instead to be with someone else.

Again, this complicated ending was engineered for maximum larp drama, and even steered toward by many of the players to get their desires met for their version of good play (Pettersson 2021).

The Paradoxes of Physicality, Tone, and Genre

A game like Together at Last is difficult to classify in terms of traditional larp genres. While we the genres of romantic comedy and drama are well-known in film, such genres have yet to be established fully in larp. In part, this limitation is due to taboos historically in more traditional play communities around romantic, sexual, and physical play, which often lead play groups to deny acknowledging that romantic bleed is a natural phenomenon that can happen to anyone (Bowman 2013). Even in the Nordic community, larps focused on oppression dynamics are far more common than settings focused entirely on romance, to the point where the designers had to explicitly signpost on the website to manage player expectations (Koljonen 2016a) that Together at Last:

is a story about attempting to have romantic relationships with a variety of people, some better suited to you than others, about growing as a person and looking for true love, whatever that means. It is not intended to be ‘misery porn,’ though there may be some difficult themes in the character backstories (e.g. depression, bullying, emotionally abusive parents). (Reflections Larp Studio, 2024)

That is not to say that larps centered upon romance do not exist; notable exceptions are Regency-based larps such as Fortune and Felicity (Harder 2017; Kemper 2017) and many UK freeforms, but rather that they are not nearly as common, and thus the play culture surrounding them is not fully solidified in terms of conventions around physicality and tone. Therefore, I would say that romance-based larp is an emerging genre — one that is developing alongside erotic larp, but is not necessarily synonymous, just as sexual and romantic attraction do not always coexist (Wood and D 2021). I would say JD Lade’s Listen 2 Your Heart (Bowman 2023) also fits the romantic genre, whereas larps like Just a Little Lovin’ (2012-) or Helicon (2024) may or may not depending on the way the characters are written and enacted.

Former members of the Banished reintegrating into the main society through the program. Photo by Marlies.

As a developing genre, norms need to be established and made clear by the organizers about what the game is and is not. Otherwise, players tend to rely on their larp muscle memory (Bowman 2017), unconsciously driving play toward genre expectations that are more familiar to them, or inserting genre conventions that were not intended as themes. This tendency is not in itself necessarily a bad thing, but it can lead to wildly different expectations of play, interpretations of content, and spreading of themes that were not necessarily intended by the designers. For example, as I have described with Listen 2 Your Heart (Bowman 2023), the last minute addition of vampires to an otherwise romantic game might lead some to find the content appealing, whereas others might find it troubling (e.g., Edward’s problematic behavior in Twilight).

As mentioned above, at Together at Last, we were instructed to play along a spectrum of absurd comedy, realism, and melodrama. However, I noticed people bringing in conventions from the gothic horror and noir detective genres, which caused a bit of cognitive dissonance for me. For example, behavior that might be gritty and normative in a noir film (or even in a BDSM context) might be considered abusive in a light romance context without calibration. A normal reaction to psychological terror in a gothic horror book may look like a psychotic break in another context, something my counselor-type character found especially concerning. In both cases, I was able to successfully calibrate with the players in question, which was a relief, but the experiences were jarring. It can also be difficult to tell if such actions were fully calibrated off-game with other players involved, which can lead to concern, especially when role-players are very immersed in the drama and convincing. We were encouraged to break game to check in with other players, but I found myself wishing we had workshopped the Okay Check-In (Brown 2016) or something similar to practice in an embodied fashion.

I often noted what I could only describe as “hate walking”: characters experiencing something emotionally upsetting and hate walking away up and down the halls, sometimes in packs, with one or more characters hate-walking alongside as emotional support. Of course, larp is a physical activity, and such behavior added to the dynamism of the environment, but it also added a sense of volatility. At the afterparty, the organizers shared that this run was particularly “dark,” with the previous one ending up far more “wholesome.” I suspect part of the shifting dynamics between larp runs has to do with the player-written characters, as different inserting kinds of content can radically impact the game, i.e., the domino effect (Bowman 2017).

Interestingly, I have noticed that these romantic larps that have been run several times tend to develop a devoted following, especially if the setting allows for a unique experience each time the game is played. Both Listen 2 Your Heart and Together at Last had an active Discord before, during, and after the game. Such channels lead to an intriguing blend of in-game and off-game light-hearted banter and pre-game play (Svanevik and Brind 2016) that often impacts dynamics in-game. The character sheets were all transparent, meaning we could read them before play, leading some players to have a strong in- and off-game familiarity with all of the characters; some even seemed to ship some duos over others coming into the game, meaning they had preferences for who should end up together and not. The Together at Last Discord was active many months before the larp and though I could not participate in it due to time constraints, I found it oddly reassuring to see people connecting so excitedly around larp. The Discord also became a needed lifeline after play, as we emerged from this 3-day experience back into life (see e.g., Bjärstorp and Ragnerstam 2023). Now, in the post-larp transition, it feels good to continue to be connected to my co-players.

Diegetically, the Discord was used in interesting ways as well. We all had our own in-game social media timeline upon which people could post, as well as several channels for special interests our characters would have had online, e.g., simulators for farming or raising AI children. One of the reasons this run was particularly intense was that many of the characters were celebrities, so actions that happened in-game would become news stories on Discord, thus raising the stakes. The organizers also used the Discord to communicate key logistical things that we were expected to do, such as filling out the forms. Many players fluidly switched between the online engagement on their phones and the in-person play, but I found it difficult not to get sucked into my off-game responsibilities, so I used it sparingly until after the game. Ultimately, the larp was a paradoxical hybrid of virtual and physical, especially considering the newness of physicality compared to the relative comfort the characters had with virtual encounters.

In-game celebrities made for an active Discord with extensive online play.

Romantic Realism

I appreciated that Together at Last made space for happy endings for players who wanted to have that experience (as I did). I also really enjoy being part of the ongoing online community around these intense romantic larps. I have had some deep and potent scenes, as well as debriefs, with the players. I feel very lucky to have been a part of these experiences. Each larp had moments of brilliance in its design, leading to a feeling of safety when playing with these emotionally fraught themes.

That being said, after each of the larps in this series, I keep wondering what it might look like to play a multi-day romantic larp focused entirely on a realistic exploration of healthy intimacy. I have played several short Nordic freeform scenarios on romantic relationships, although they usually focus on issues of breakups (En kærlighedshistorie, Ellemand and Nilsson 2012), infidelity (Under My Skin, Boss 2010), and other critical issues rather than on trying to develop and maintain a functioning loving relationship. I realize that content might be boring for some players, but in my view, even relatively healthy relationships have plenty of inherent conflict to work through — for example, insecure attachment styles or trauma recovery.

Hope and Serena.

If larps help us develop skills in a deeply embodied way, which I believe they are capable of doing, what are we practicing when we return to dysfunction as a source of drama? What lessons are we experiencing in our bodies about love in times of conflict? What catharsis is happening? And what takeaways can we distill from these dynamics that we can infuse with our daily lives afterward, whether as cautionary tales or breakthroughs, our own intimate relationships, or our relationship with our own vulnerable, human hearts?

Together at Last

Designed and organized by: Karolina Soltys, Patrik Bálint, David Owen, Lu Larpová, Marie-Lucie Genet, and Phil D’Souza

Cost: 300€

Location: Berg en Dal, the Netherlands

Players: 40

Bibliography

Bjärstorp, Sara, and Petra Ragnerstam. 2023. “Live-action Role Playing and the Affordances of Social Media.” Culture Unbound 15, no. 2: 66-87.

Boss, Emily Care. 2007. “Romance and Gender in Role-playing Games: Too Hot to Handle? Presentation at Ropecon 2007.” Black and Green Games.

Boss, Emily Care. 2009. Under My Skin. Black and Green Games.

Bowman, Sarah Lynne. 2013. “Social Conflict in Role-playing Communities: An Exploratory Qualitative Study.” International Journal of Role-Playing 4: 17-18.

Bowman, Sarah Lynne. 2018. “The Larp Domino Effect.” In Shuffling the Deck: The Knutpunkt 2018 Color Printed Companion, edited by Annika Waern and Johannes Axner, 161-170. Pittsburgh, PA: Carnegie Mellon University: ETC Press.

Bowman, Sarah Lynne. 2023. “Listen 2 Your Heart Season 8: An Unexpectedly Bleedy Experiment.” Nordiclarp.org, November 20.

Bowman, Sarah Lynne. 2024. “Helicon: An Epic Larp about Love, Beauty, and Brutality.” Nordiclarp.org, Feb. 25, 2024.

Brown, Maury. 2016. “Creating a Culture of Trust through Safety and Calibration Larp Mechanics.” Nordiclarp.org, September 9.

Fido-Fairfax, Karolina. 2024, in press. “Strings and Rails: NPCs vs. Supporting Characters.” In Liminal Encounters: Evolving Discourse in Nordic and Nordic Inspired Larp, edited by Kaisa Kangas et al., 38-40. Helsinki, Finland: Ropecon ry.

Harder, Sanne. 2017. “Fortune & Felicity: When Larp Grows Up.” Nordiclarp.org, June 13.

Ellemand, Jonas, and Ida Nilsson. 2012. En kærlighedshistorie. Alexandria.dk.

Grasmo, Hanne, and Jaakko Stenros. 2022. “Nordic Erotic Larp: Designing for Sexual Playfulness.” International Journal of Role-Playing 12: 62-105.

Hugaas, Kjell Hedgard. 2022. “Bleed and Identity: A Conceptual Model of Bleed and How Bleed-out from Role-playing Games Can Affect a Player’s Sense of Self.” Master’s thesis, Uppsala University.

Hugaas, Kjell Hedgard, and Sarah Lynne Bowman. 2019. “The Butterfly Effect Manifesto.” Nordiclarp.org, August 20.

Kemper, Jonaya. 2017. “The Battle of Primrose Park: Playing for Emancipatory Bleed in Fortune & Felicity.” Nordiclarp.org, June 21.

Koljonen, Johanna. 2016a. “Basics of Opt-In, Opt-Out Design Pt 3: What They Need to Know at Signup.” Participation Safety in Larp, July 5.

Koljonen, Johanna. 2016b. “Toolkit: The Tap-Out.” Participation Safety in Larp, September 11.

Koulu, Sanna. 2020. “Emotions as Skilled Work.” In What Do We Do When We Play?, edited by Eleanor Saitta, Johanna Koljonen, Jukka Särkijärvi, Anne Serup Grove, Pauliina Männistö, and Mia Makkonen, 98-106. Helsinki: Solmukohta.

Montola, Markus. 2010. “The Positive Negative Experience in Extreme Role-playing.” In Proceedings of DiGRA Nordic 2010: Experiencing Games: Games, Play, and Players. Stockholm, Sweden, August 16.

Nøglebæk, Oliver. 2016. “The 4 Cs of Larping Love.” Olivers tegninger om rollespil, August 18.

Nøglebæk, Oliver. 2023. “The 4 Cs of Larping Love.” Nordiclarp.org, November 14.

Pettersson, Juhana. 2021. Engines of Desire: Larp as the Art of Experience. Pohjoismaisen roolipelaamisen seura ry.

Reflections Larp Studio. 2024. “Together at Last: Playstyle.” Togetheratlast.weebly.com.

Svanevik, Martine, and Simon Brind. 2016. “‘Pre-Bleed is Totally a Thing.’” In Larp Realia: Analysis, Design, and Discussions of Nordic Larp, edited by Jukka Särkijärvi, Mika Loponen, and Kaisa Kangas, 108-119. Helsinki: Ropecon ry.

Tolvanen, Anni. 2022. “A Full House Trumps a Dance Card – Anni Tolvanen.” Nordic Larp Talks. YouTube, September 11.

van der Heij, Karijn. 2021. “We Share This Body: Tools to Fight Appearance-Based Prejudice at Larps.” Nordiclarp.org, June 14.

Waern, Annika. 2010. “‘I’m in Love With Someone That Doesn’t Exist!!’ Bleed in the Context of a Computer Game.” In Proceedings of DiGRA Nordic 2010: Experiencing Games: Games, Play, and Players. Stockholm, Sweden, August 16.

Wood, Laura, and Quinn D. 2021. “Sex, Romance and Attraction: Applying the Split Attraction Model to Larps.” Nordiclarp.org, February 22.

Cover photo: Polaroid by Karolina Soltys. Image has been cropped.
Published on

2024-01-26

in

Documentation

Helicon: An Epic Larp about Love, Beauty, and Brutality

Written by
Sarah Lynne Bowman

This article is the second in a series on Larping Intimacy and Relationships.

Content Advisory: Enslavement, oppression, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, addiction, dysfunctional relationships, plot spoilers

From the Heliconian Muses let us begin to sing, who hold the great and holy mount of Helicon, and dance on soft feet about the deep-blue spring and the altar of the almighty son of Cronos… — Hesiod’s Theogony

Helicon is a larp by Katrine Wind and Maria Pettersson. The first run was held January 5-7, 2024 in Broholm Castle, Denmark, with a second run scheduled for February 16-18. The larp focuses upon a group of artists, leaders, and scientists in the early twentieth century with various specialties who have discovered and enacted an occult ritual in their university years together. This ritual enables them to call forth the Muses of Greek antiquity, children of Zeus and Mnemosyne, goddess of Memory. The artists ensnare the Muses into servitude such that the Muses are spiritually bound into conferring their Inspiration to the artist who summoned them (their “Inspired”) and are not allowed to Inspire others without a direct order. They are also no longer free to leave the vicinity in which their Inspired has ordered them to stay; through the course of the larp, this vicinity was Helicon Manor, a far cry from the Mount Helicon of antiquity where they normally go for replenishment. Helicon deals explicitly with themes of artistic inspiration, addiction, emotional turmoil, power, restrictions on freedom, and dysfunctional relationship dynamics.

If you are planning to play a future run, please be mindful that this article will share spoilers about the details of the design and the ending.

Thalia, the Muse of Comedy. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Urania, the Muse of Philosophy. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Physical and Spiritual Subjugation

And, when they have washed their tender bodies in Permessus or in the Horse’s Spring or Olmeius, make their fair, lovely dances upon highest Helicon and move with vigorous feet…

     — Hesiod’s Theogony

In Helicon, each Muse has a specific theme that infuses their Inspiration and guides play: Comedy, Dance, Epic poetry, History, Love poetry, Music, Painting, Philosophy, Politics, Psychology, Sculpture, Song, Spiritual inspiration, and Tragedy. While the power dynamics within the dyads (and in one case, triad) are complex, the Muses are essentially enslaved to their Inspired. They can be drained dry of Inspiration, which the Inspired can use to fuel great deeds or waste as they wish. They can be separated from their siblings: the only beings who can truly understand their divine nature and the millennia of memories they share. They can be physically, emotionally, and spiritually abused by their captors. Even in the kindest of pairings, they must endure the renewal ritual of binding every year, witnessing all of their siblings undergo the process of losing their free will once more. Muses are required to wear only white and gold, with their clothing chosen by their Inspired.

Omorfia and Philip Frost, Muse and Inspired of Painting. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

The Muses can also exert influence over their human captors. When their captors experience their Inspiration, whether given consensually or forcibly taken by the Inspired, the experience is akin to being high on drugs and vulnerable to the Muse emotionally such that promises can be extracted. However, whether or not the Inspired chooses to honor those promises depends entirely on their own integrity: not a common trait written within these characters. While the Inspired have different attitudes toward the binding ritual and its problematic ethics, they still willingly or grudgingly participate in subjugating the Muses each year for their own gain.

This subjugation is particularly painful within the context of the epic setting. Because the Muses are forced to give Inspiration only to one (or two) humans, the rest of the world is starving and wasting away. For millennia, the Muses were deities that evoked worship and vulnerable surrender in order to receive their blessings. They could freely give Inspiration and leave at will as befits their nature; now, they were forced into servitude. At the center of this dynamic is the frailty of the human ego: how even the “best” in the world still struggle with needing to feel recognized and important, and how such insecurities lead people to cause brutal harm to others in order to extract their vital energy and love.

The larp is a mixture of the mundane and the extraordinary, with the interactions taking on a significance not only within these interpersonal dynamics, but upon the world stage and even within the realm of gods. For this reason, I classify the experience as epic play, not only because of the context of Greek epic poetry from which it emerges, but also due to the heightened significance of these actions and the strong emphasis on great artistic production arising out of pain. To subjugate a person in order to extract their vital energy is tragic; to subjugate the Muse of Tragedy is tragic on an epic level.

Melpomene (standing), Taylor Montgomery (left), and Thomas Montgomery (right), Muse and Inspired of Tragedy. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

The white and gold attire worn by the Muses gave them an ethereal, otherworldly quality that contrasted sharply with the Vintage Era clothing of the artists. The website describes the Vintage Era as encompassing “any time from the late 19th century to the middle of the 20th century” (Wind and Pettersson 2023). In contrast to this vaguely modern era, diegetically, the Muses have existed for millennia. Despite this eternal quality, however, the Muses tend to “live in the present.” This meant in practice that we may have fragments of memories from bygone eras of having inspiring historical or legendary mythic figures at will, but such memories would be less important than the present moment experience. For me, this awareness led to a strange contrast between being trapped in a mundane human experience of time and its day-to-day concerns, while also mentally leaping to other times and places, adding to the eerie and unnatural nature of the Muses’ servitude. Such elements added a sense of epicness to play.

The concept of epic play is not intended to reduce the importance of larps focusing on oppression, intimacy, and other dynamics occurring amongst “mere” humans, but rather to describe an aesthetic quality about the larp that sets it apart from larps about the mundane world. To be captured as a Muse meant we could not Inspire others, such that our lack of involvement due to our enslavement was creating ripples in reality not only inside Helicon Manor, but outside of it. The Inspired could trade or even gamble away the Muses’ Inspiration, which can be seen as a mixture of their vital essence and their labor the Muses no longer had liberty to use as they wished.

This epic aesthetic quality can also be ascribed to certain storylines within fantasy larps and themes in other games that feature a supernatural component. Epicness relies upon the ensemble of players committing to underscore the epic significance of the actions performed within play. I have had epic play experiences in other settings, such as at the Vampire: the Masquerade (1991) larp Convention of Thorns (2017) as well as within chamber larps and tabletop RPGs of various genres; indeed, this epic quality is likely what draws many people again and again to Dungeons & Dragons (1974-), which is still the most popular tabletop setting in the world.

What made Helicon exemplary in this respect was the care put into the communication, design, structure, and safety surrounding the experience such that this epic quality — and the tragic predicament within which these characters were ensnared — was emphasized. This article will focus on these design and implementation practices, providing theoretical context from my perspective as a player-researcher enacting a Muse character where appropriate.

Calliope and Edmund Wright, Inspired and Muse of Epic Poetry. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Lawrence Black and Erato, Inspired and Muse of Love Poetry. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Circles of Trust and Betrayal

Thence they arise and go abroad by night, veiled in thick mist, and utter their song with lovely voice, praising…

     — Hesiod’s Theogony

The larp designers fostered trust among the player base in a variety of ways. The website clearly communicated not only the themes of the larp, but also its structure and which sorts of experiences the players were encouraged and discouraged to enact. Players were not expected to demonstrate expertise in their respective arts or to perform during the larp, which lowered the perceived barrier to entry of performance anxiety. Despite the intimate nature of many of the relationships, the designers detailed that this larp is not intended to be an erotic larp in which public displays of sexuality are encouraged and are often a central design feature (Grasmo and Stenros 2022). While such larps can be experienced as liberating for participants (Juhana Pettersson 2021b), explicit sexuality can distract from the more subtle relationship dynamics and interactions that this larp sought to foster. Regardless of the chosen themes, expectation setting is important in creating a shared culture before signup even begins (Koljonen 2016a), provided of course that the players adhere to this established social contract.

Similarly, the website described the structure of scenes that would occur, which included a form of fateplay (Fatland 2000) of certain scenes framing each act. It described the pre-larp scene of the Muses attempting and failing at escape, only to be dragged back to Helicon Manor: in achingly strong contrast to the real Mount Helicon, where they would gather for connection and renewal as siblings before their enslavement.

Stella Wilson, Inspired of Spiritual Inspiration, led the rituals. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

The larp was framed with a beautifully epic theme song composed by Anni Tolvanen, which ushered us in and out of play. Tolvanen also curated a soundscape of dramatic music that echoed through the halls during the larp. The first Act began with a ritualized Punishment scene while standing in a circle, in which the Inspired enacted consequences on their Muses for their escape attempt, also forcing the Muses to punish each other. I have also utilized this technique of starting the larp by dropping characters directly into ritual space when co-designing Immerton (2017) and Epiphany (2018). I find it a particularly helpful practice to emphasize the core themes of the game, help players quickly get past the awkwardness of the first hour of the larp, and create intensely meaningful role-play moments from the beginning that can feed play later. (For further reading on these larps, see Jones 2017; Brown et al. 2018; Kim, Nuncio, and Wong 2018).

In our discussions after the larp, Wind referred to this design technique as part of a concept she calls frontloading, which she will further describe in an upcoming article. For Katrine, this term referred to the structure and pacing in terms of intensity, which puts a lot of structured and tense content earlier in the larp. This term also resonated with Maria, who described frontloading as designing extensive and complex character relations with focus on high playability in the larp itself, a common strategy in Finnish design. Wind explained:

This combination gives players something to immediately play on and react to that has specific relevance for their character and gives them “something to talk about immediately.” It also provides alibi to jump right into relations that might take a lot of time to ramp up and cause everything in the larp to culminate at the same time in the last few hours. . .

If there is one or more crescendos in the beginning of the larp itself, culminations and intensity [are] spread out over the whole playtime because you can be sure that some things will only culminate in the last hours of the larp anyway.

In the next group scene, we were then instructed to go to the dining hall. The multi-course dinners and lunches were catered and high quality. What made these dining scenes particularly epic were the statues and bas reliefs decorating the room that portrayed scenes from Greek mythology. The metatechnique that guided play in these scenes was dinner warfare, also featured in Wind’s larp Daemon (2021-). Unlike the intensely visible brutality in the Punishment ritual, we sat in circles masterminded by assigned seating to maximize drama. We pretended to be members of polite society while delivering passive aggressive verbal barbs, whether about art, the Muses’ confinement, class, or any number of other dynamics. (Gender, sexuality, and race/ethnic discrimination was explicitly forbidden in the larp, but class was very much embedded in the character design). This juxtaposition of high boiling intensity in the beginning directly to a low simmer punctuated the themes of the larp quite sharply: the epic alongside the banal, the fragility of human egos, the need to control in order to feel important, the subtle bids for freedom within enforced servitude, etc. According to the designers, traditions such as arranged seating were diegetically upheld as necessary, both due to affiliation to the Inspired’s prestigious university and the necessity to keep the ritual intact. Wind told me,

Alibi for the seats being like this was provided by the diegetic fact that the Inspired needed the repetition to make sure they could renew the Binding year after year, so they didn’t dare change the seating. It was simply, and naturally, a tradition. This meant that divorced couples and former friends were awkwardly seated close to each other for hours.

Danielle Lafontaine, Inspired of Dance, and Christian Schönburg, Inspired of Comedy, engaged in dinner warfare. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

The first Act ended for Muses with a touching final circle: a purification ritual. Diegetically, the Muses would return to Mount Helicon every 15 years to reconnect through this ritual; since we were not permitted to return to Mount Helicon or see one another at will for the last 15 years, we made do in the Manor with these stolen moments. We huddled for warmth in the dark attic, gently comforting one another through touch as we did throughout the larp. We each took water from a bowl and cleansing the Muse next to us, which felt like a ritual blessing. Then, we each shared a Secret — some revealed shameful feelings or actions, such as taking someone else’s Inspired as a lover or alerting one’s Inspired of the escape plans. While we all witnessed these admissions, the purification ritual added an element of forgiveness to the circle. At least for my character, the understanding that we were taking action under complicated situations of duress made it easy to let such admissions go, although others did hold resentments.

The Inspired awaiting the arrival of the Muses in the first Binding, the beginning of Act 2. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen. Image has been cropped.

The second Act began with a flashback scene in which we enacted the initial binding ritual. This ritual also occurred in a circle within the same room, imbuing the physical space with a certain repeated significance. This scene was particularly effective because we already had the experience of being subjugated by these relationships the night before. We then began play with a brief experience of freedom, worship, and a pure desire to Inspire outside of such subjugation, only to be bound and betrayed. This worship was especially desired by the Muses because of its unusualness in the modern world, where few still prayed to the old gods; thus the pain of betrayal was manifold.

At the end of Act 2, the characters engaged in another important informal ritual called the Party, which was also upheld every year due to tradition. In the Party, the artists drained their Muses of all Inspiration in a moment of selfish gluttonous intoxication, doing absolutely nothing of worth with these gifts. The Muses were expected to participate in the Party as celebrants as well, which we interpreted in various ways. This sort of peer pressure to maintain appearances was present in all of the rituals, with Inspired and Muse characters alike having various degrees of internal and external conflict around these traditions.

Henry Wilson and Clio, Inspired and Muse of History. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Close to the end of Act 3 was the yearly renewal of the binding ritual, with a twist: the ritual was disrupted afterward by a scroll that contained a sort of counter spell, in which the Muses were offered the opportunity to make a “Choice.” The Muses could choose to stay with their captors in servitude, or leave, which would entail them to become mortal, losing their supernatural abilities, and eventually dying. The design allowed for us to spend quite a bit of in-game time focused on this Choice and its ramifications. The power dynamics were suddenly flipped: the Muses could now decide to freely go (albeit with twisted ramifications and not at all prepared for human life), or stay within the dysfunctional dynamic of enslavement, lending to the air of tragedy.

I was cast as Clio, the Muse of History, who had a comparatively consensual dynamic with her Inspired, historian Henry Wilson, in part due to intense Stockholm Syndrome. Though Clio’s entrapment was relatively kind, she was appalled at the indignities forced upon her siblings. During the Choice, Henry wanted Clio to stay to help him uncover lost cities like Troy, which had earned him great fame with her Inspiration as an impetus. However, he had chosen to marry another human Inspired, which reinforced to Clio this sense of indignity.

The other dyads and triad had similarly complex interpersonal dynamics, which led to the Choice being difficult to make; certain characters, who experienced some of the worst oppression in the larp chose to remain enslaved. This choice mirrors human dysfunctional relationships, but was intensified by the epic quality of the larp; the Choice had far-reaching ramifications, not only to the characters present, but the world at large. In Henry and Clio’s case, they chose a third option, presented to them by Erato, the Muse of Love Poetry, and her Inspired: the artists would publicly release us from our binding, assert our independence to leave at will, and permit us to Inspire others. The questions then became: Would Clio return of her own free will to Inspire Henry, even though he was now engaged to a mortal woman? Could Henry retract this declaration at will, leaving her to be bound again? Thus, even this “easier” third option was still riddled with emotional complexity.

The Choice. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Circles of Safety and Calibration

Come thou, let us begin with the Muses who gladden the great spirit of their father Zeus in Olympus with their songs, telling of things that are and that shall be and that were aforetime with consenting voice…

     — Hesiod’s Theogony

The larp featured a pre-game call a month before the larp and extensive workshopping before the game in which we were briefed on aspects of the world and practiced specific play techniques. Most of us signed up in pairs (or triads), meaning that we likely already had developed a certain degree of trust with our main co-player(s) in the Inspired/Muse dynamic. We were instructed that we must calibrate with these co-players at least before the game, and ideally also the other relations mentioned in our character sheets. We were also instructed to check-in with our dyad or triad players after the larp. These instructions emphasized the need for emotional care for co-players, acknowledging the intensity of the experience and making it part of the shared culture of the game to tend to one another. On the other hand, we were also reminded that we are responsible for our own experience, meaning we should communicate if needs arrive and do what is necessary to care for ourselves.

Calliope, Muse of Epic Poetry, and Thalia, Muse of Comedy. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Pre-game workshops are often quite awkward experiences, especially whenpreparing to play larps of this nature. Players often feel a certain degree of social anxiety about their own role-playing abilities and their skills at interpersonal interaction (Algayres 2019). They may feel worried about costuming, physical touch, their own attractiveness, or any other number of insecurities and uncertainties. To establish trust early on, we were instructed to sit closely with our dyad or triad and touch in some way during the briefing, such as a casual touch on the arm, cuddling, holding hands, etc. Physical touch can release oxytocin (Zak 2011) and provide an experience of trust between players, although it can also backfire for participants who feel hypervigilant or triggered when touched. The website communicated that players needed to be willing to experience casual touch: “A good baseline of what you should be okay with could be a stranger touching your arm, shouting at you, holding your hand or kissing you on the cheek” (Helicon website, n.d). We also workshopped eye gazing between Muses and Inspired, which deepened the connection and helped relieve a bit of the awkwardness. Eye gazing is a simple, yet quick and effective technique for people to see others beyond the masks each of us wear in social life, as well as to feel truly seen in a short amount of time.

We also had times within the workshop to calibrate with many of our written relationships, which from my perspective provided a solid groundwork of a “home base” between player-characters within play. In my view, creating time for such calibration is critical to the success of such larps. Many players do not have the time or inclination to reach out before the larp and find it difficult to remember names, faces, and the specifics of written dynamics during play. Creating contact before the game and encouraging players to discuss what each person wants (and doesn’t want) from the dynamic is very helpful.

Danielle Lafontaine after draining Terpsichore at the Party (Inspired and Muse of Dancing). Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

We also workshopped a scene involving the drawing of Inspiration. The metatechnique involved a white and gold sash with the Muse’s name written upon it, which we would use in some way to signify giving Inspiration. The sash could be used in many ways ranging from gentle and consensual to violent and non-consensual. We were instructed to hand over one of our three precious Inspiration ribbons placed on our name tags and transfer them to the Inspired’s name tag. The ribbons were a non-diegetic way to communicate how full or empty of Inspiration each character was, as well as who had drawn Inspiration from whom, as each Muse had different colored ribbons. We could decide to act upon this extra-diegetic information as a form of steering (Montola, Stenros, and Saitta 2015). The designers explained that they did not want Inspiration to turn into a statistic like in other role-playing games, but it still influenced play for some of the larpers.

Another workshop emphasized playing to lift (Vejdemo 2018), meaning we took turns boosting the importance of the other characters in terms of their personality or accomplishments using “Yes, And” to build upon what others were improvising. For example, a character could say, “My recent art work has received quite a lot of positive reviews…” which we would then reinforce with added comments. Since the larp also dealt with the fragility of artists’ egos, we also practiced playing each other down, which would be initiated by the person wanting that sort of play, for example, “Lately, I’ve really been struggling to get critics to care about my work…” The co-players would then “Yes, And” to make the character feel even worse about their artistic block or lack of public recognition. This metatechnique was particularly interesting as it provided an impetus for drawing Inspiration and seeking validation from others through dysfunctional means.

We were instructed to use “off-game” in order to quickly calibrate and negotiate consent during play or leave the space for more extensive discussion. We went off-game between acts and the default for sleeping quarters was off-game as well. Right before the larp began, we workshopped violence, including tapping out when we wanted a certain interaction to slow down or stop, as well as escalating slowly through bullet-time consent (Koljonen 2016b) to give other players a chance to opt-in or out. This practice ended up important for the first Punishment scene that we were soon to play.

Omorfia and Philip Frost, Muse and Inspired of Painting in the first Binding. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Maximillian Stern worshipping Euterpe at the first Binding. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Christian Schönburg binding Thalia, the Muse of Comedy. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Calibration was also emphasized in the workshops between acts in effective ways. We were given time for one-on-one discussions, but we also circled up with each player sharing a short sentence of what they would like to experience within this Act. Then, other players could raise their hand and volunteer to deliver that sort of play, which added an element of accountability to one another. Following Juhana Pettersson’s (2021a) assertion that players are engines of desire, being able to openly express one’s wishes in a group without shame is a powerful experience. For example, I tend to prefer subtle scenes and was drawn to the larp due to the emphasis on discussions of art and the creative process; through this process, I was able to ask others to approach me with those kinds of discussions if desired. It was remarkable to me the way a briefly stated request could redirect the flow of play for individual players, and thus the ensemble: a form of group steering.

Epic Dyadic Play as a Genre

Unwearying flows the sweet sound from their lips, and the house of their father Zeus the loud-thunderer is glad at the lily-like voice of the goddesses as it spreads abroad, and the peaks of snowy Olympus resound, and the homes of the immortals…

     — Hesiod’s Theogony

At times in Helicon, I felt like I was experiencing something quite new, but I could not put my finger on why. Oppression dynamics and dysfunctional relationships are hardly new themes; indeed they are the bread and butter of many Nordic or Nordic-inspired larps. Epic storylines and supernatural abilities are hardly new either, as RPGs as a medium have featured those elements from their inception.

Euterpe and Maximillian Stern, Muse and Inspired of Music, attempting to compose. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

At one point, I looked around the room during dinner warfare, surveying the artists with their Muses, thinking, “Oh! We are in a really good Toreador larp” — the Toreador being the artistic clan in Vampire: the Masquerade. In Vampire, the undead take “retainers” who are bloodbound to them, meaning supernaturally addicted to their blood and compelled to obey. Retainers bound by Toreador are often highly talented in their own right, ensnared by the vampire’s wish to keep their retainer’s talents for themselves — an especially potent theme considering many vampires lose the potency of their own talents when turned to the undead. This larp was different in many ways, of course, especially considering the retainers were mystical eternal beings. The emphasis on artistic creation as an important theme of the larp led to a depth of discussion that I often craved as a long-time Toreador player, enhanced by the setting of the beautiful castle and its art.

The initial binding ritual was initiated by Henry Wilson, Inspired of History, and Stella Wilson, Inspired of Spiritual Inspiration. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

At another point, I saw characters huddled in corners trying to solve various plots related to the occult rituals: the Inspired were trying to figure out ways to stop the Muses from being able to flee, whereas the Muses were trying to figure out a way for the Escape ritual to work. I thought to myself, “Oh, we’re in a Call of Cthulhu larp and those are the occult researcher characters.” As with Cthulhu (1981), Helicon’s setting is clearly playing to lose on some level; whether freedom is attained or the Muses continue to be bound, loss is embedded. But the sense of supernatural horror that pervades Cthulhu was not the emphasis here; instead, we focused on the interpersonal dramas inherent to these characters being locked in this non-consensual pact. Indeed, the occult components felt like an aberration, while the “natural” state would be to let the Muses free to choose who to Inspire. The occult components did not seem to be a goal to attain or a puzzle to solve. Rather, they were elements calling to mind the Spiritualism of the early twentieth century, as well as storytelling devices providing alibi to engage in intense rituals, which tend to amplify play. From my perspective, these spells were more of a conceit than a quest, although I steered away from play involving them so cannot speak for other players.

The final Binding ritual. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

I keep returning to this emphasis on dyadic (or triadic) play, which is also not new. The Nordic larp Delirium (2010), about oppression within a mental institution, relied on players signing up as couples and used dyadic play to explore themes of love and failed attempts at resistance (Pedersen 2010; Andreasen 2011). Personally, I have had particularly strong experiences playing Here is My Power Button (2017), an American freeform about users purchasing an android from a company as part of a scientific experiment. What made Power Button potent was a toggling back and forth between one-on-one user/android scenes in the same room and group scenes, in which all users would interact in one room and all androids in the other. Helicon had a similar structure: we had large group scenes that were also one-on-one scenes, giving a sense of collective experience along with intimacy. We also had activities such as the Muse ritual in which we were all together and able to share about our paired experience.

Phren, Muse of Psychology, and Athanasia, Muse of Sculpture. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

This epic dyadic structure is also present in Linda Udby and Bjarke Pedersen’s PAN (2013-) and BAPHOMET (2015-), which feature occult storylines and supernatural content in the form of possession from godlike entities (Pedersen and Udby 2017; Nordic Larp Wiki 2019). Another dyadic larp is Wind’s Daemon (2021-), which is based upon Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials (1995-2000) series. In Daemon, characters have animal entities attached to them that represent their souls enacted by other players. I have not yet played Daemon, but have read many play accounts that have emphasized the powerful nature of this dyadic setup. In practice, the structure at Daemon meant that characters are instructed to stay physically close to one another at all times (Wind 2021): not exactly the same as our experience in Helicon, but was a clear inspiration.

Melpomene and Taylor Montgomery, Muse and Inspired of Tragedy. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

In reflecting upon the larp, I am now considering the combination of epic play and a dyadic (or triadic) structure as a particularly potent combination: perhaps an emerging genre of play as more and more larps are produced in this format. Helicon required a strong degree of trust between players in dyads (and triads), as well as a degree of commitment: we were expected to continue to role-play and check-in with our co-players and not abandon them, even if we wanted to steer the story into a new direction. Most characters had several other interesting and playable character relations, which helped interweave the larp into more of an ensemble (Tolvanen and MacDonald 2020), rather than incentivizing isolated play between groups of 2-3. While players may have differing experiences of the larp, my perception is that this dyadic epic play combined with emphasis on the ensemble led to a special magic of interconnectedness not always present at larps.

I finally settled on, “Oh, we’re in a Neil Gaiman larp,” at least thematically; we were epically-infused characters with all-to-human quirks engaged in interpersonally meaningful play tinged with sadness about humanity’s flaws. Gaiman’s (2018) words describe his work well:

A world in which there are monsters, and ghosts, and things that want to steal your heart is a world in which there are angels, and dreams and a world in which there is hope.

However, from discussions of the designers, “Calliope” was not a primary inspiration, so to speak, and the character relations were meant to be far more nuanced, which I definitely experienced. I look forward to seeing what larps are spawned as this type of design and experimentation continues to evolve.

Polyhymnia, Muse of Spiritual Inspiration, and Helica, Muse of Architecture (Wind). Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen.

Acknowledgements

My deepest gratitude to Katrine Wind, Maria Pettersson, Elina Gouliou, Mo Holkar, and Mike Pohjola for giving feedback on this article.

Helicon

Designers: Katrine Wind and Maria Pettersson, Narrators, Inc.

Participation Fee: €630

Players: 29

First Run: January 5-7, 2024

Second Run: February 16-18, 2024 (upcoming)

Location: Broholm Castle, Gudme, Denmark

Music: Anni Tolvanen

Photography: Bjørn-Morten Vang Gundersen

Safety: Anna Werge Bønnelycke (Jan. 5-7) and Klara Rotvig (Feb. 16-18)

Website: Katrine Kavli

Graphics: Maria Manner

Sparring and Ideas: Emil Greve, Elina Gouliou, and Markus Montola

Character Writing Assistance: Søren Hjorth

Website Proofreading: Malk Williams

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Cover photo: Patrick and Phren, the Inspired and Muse of Psychology. Photo by Bjørn-Morten Gundersen. Image has been cropped.