Selected chapters from "Tales of Dark Forest" by Ivan "Djonn

"Do you, or you don't?", repeated Phil just in case, noticing that me and Kostyan were staring at each other in bewilderment.
"We do", boldly said Kostyan.
"Sure thing", I chimed in.
Thing is: many parents like to burden their kids with all kinds of extracurricular activity. Right now me and Kostyan were members of biology club, and before it we fenced - three years of sabre fencing in "Musketeer" for me, and four years of epee fencing in the Children's Theater club for Kostyan. So we thought we knew how to fence, and we told that to cripple.

"What?", he laughed, "sport fencing? It's a pure crap, it has nothing in common with stick fighting."

I wholeheartedly agreed with cripple, but had no idea - why he is telling us that? In our club coach was beating everyone with fencing saber, and sometimes with stick. Difference between those things was obvious to me since childhood, and I considered myself even more competent in this question than cripple. He asked us himself: "Can we fence?" Why didn't he asked us whether we can fight with sticks?

We would've told him that we had hidden dry arm-thick meter-and-half long stakes behind the pavilion. Someone tied them to trees, we untied them and hid behind pavilion. When weather was good, we took them and beat each other with them to make our lives more fun. Cripple was right - it has little in common with Olympic fencing.

"Why haven't you said", said I, "That we have to fight with sticks. We can do that too."

Our insolence seemingly angered the cripple.

"No you can't. Here", Phil stood up and raised crutches, "Watch it."

He began to swing crutches around himself, spin them, squat on one leg and do many other things that shocked me. It looked so ridiculous and weird - pure mockery. But cripple had other opinion.

"Take your sticks", proposed he, "and attack me". Me and Kostyan exchanged glances.

"Are you sure that you want that", asked Kostyan.

"Hey!", exclaimed Phil, "Dare you do that?"

He waited until we brought stakes. When I was taking them out of stash, I asked:
"Listen, Kostyan, are we really going to batter him with stakes?"
"Do you want to be in trend?", asked Kostyan strictly.
"Well...", mused I, imagining many strangers battering myself with such stakes in the middle of forest, "I'm not sure. Still..."
"Don't be a wuss", Kostyan interpreted my doubts his own way, "You think we can't take on some cripple?"

Phil took a stance on the stairs. He was holding crutches menacingly, watching our approach from two directions. I was supposed to attack first, to distract him, and did it in such way - jumped close, haphazardly thrusting stake in his general direction. Phil dodged, parried my strikes with a crutch, but stopped watching Kostyan for a moment.

My friend swung his stake at his only good leg with terrifying strength. He was striking overhead, along the wide ark, and the strike was good - sweeping, yet sharp, like a crocket swing.

"Ow!", said I when I saw cripple falling off the steps on his back.
"So, will we fit in?", asked Kostyan, approaching sprawled cripple. "Good enough?"
"What are you doing, bastards!", wheezed Phil, "What are you doing?"
"What's wrong with it?", I asked.
"And when are we going on the game", added Kostya, "Is it soon?"
"Never!", replied Phil, "You can't fight. Do you understand me? Never!" He somehow pulled himself up, picked up his crutches and limped towards park entrance.
"But wait!", Kostyan attempted to reason him, "We had..."
"No way", said Phil through his teeth, "We are better off without you."
"Let him go", said I, "To hell with him. They are better off without us indeed".
"We'll see about it!", replied my friend, and I realized that he is not pleased. "Can you believe it?" He turned to me and said: "That's your fucking fault!"
"Now wait a fucking minute! What have I done?"
"And who suggested to batter him with stakes?"
"I tell you who", replied I, looking at Phil who was already at the park's gates, "He did that. He proposed that."
"Okay, never mind", admitted Kostyan.
"And what about Tolkien? We probably don't need to read it now?"
"Do what you want", replied Kostyan, "but I think that we should. There will be other fish in the sea. We just have to wait."

**I'm skipping another chapter that is about their debauches in summer camp, how they began drinking and taking drugs, and eventually turned 16**

'''On the shores of Cuiviénen'''
<Cuiviénen - Quenya for "Waters of Awakening", legendary birthplace of the Elves>

We weren't forgetting about our cultural development, so we were visiting some concerts. Together with us was another of our classmates, ex-herpetologist from Biology Club nicknamed Elephant - man of rare capabilities, curios views and interests similar to ours.

Tall and heavily-built, red as fire, Elephant was in love with long-gone culture of Vikings. And he was trying to go with it as much as it was possible - fortunately, he was gifted with high pain tolerance, physical strength and extremely hard head. This story that happened somewhat later and told by Ave characterizes him extremely well. We will talk about that storyteller later, but here is the story:

"It happened in Lisino-Korpus. Big village, thousand or more houses, and we were there on a practice from Forest academy (i.e. in the logging camp). And I decided to cook some food. I went to kitchen, it was a separate building in a small courtyard, and Elephant, for some reason, was following me around and pestering. He was my roommate, living in the same room as me and Boris-Cossack.

And I was trying to cook "soup-kasha". I took all the groceries in the room and went cooking. There was canned meat, onions, potatoes, macaroni - everything. Rich, nourishing grub, which was surprisingly tasty. Lots of spices, so it was hot and yummy. Or maybe I thought so because I was fucking hungry.

But it is impossible to cook. Because Elephant is standing in the door and swearing at me. I am doing that wrong, this wrong. So I am telling him: "Elephant, go and cook yourself if you're so smart". And then he says: "I don't know how". Then I go "What the fuck, then? Sit down and shut up". But he still goes on! And he gets personal now: "You're a dipshit and a dog!" And I am, he is saying, a Viking. So he made me really mad. And there was someone's boiling kettle in the kitchen, I grabbed it and threw it at Elephat - right into his chest! Lid fell off, he got scalded - s-s-s-s-s... And while he was standing in stupor, not even screaming (and kettle was really boiling), I realized - I have to do something. There is no way I can fight him in this tiny room - he was seriously bigger than me.

I jumped at him, while he was stunned, pushed him aside and jumped outside. And there is stack of birchwood outside. He grabbed a log and started chasing me around. So we are running around our quarters. So I run, run, run, then I think "Why I am running? From that fucking asshole who can't even run?" And then I started to mock him: stop, make some faces at him, call him asshole, sucker and a cheap schmuck. And then I riled him up so much that he grabbed log by its ends and broke over his forehead. Then I thought - fuck this shit. If he catches me, then I'm fucked. I don't think he would hit me any weaker than hitting himself. I ran far into the village, laid low for a hour, bought some cognac at the store and came back in peace. And then we reconciled."

**Skipping pretty uninteresting story about our nice protagonists putting drunk Elephant face-down into the river, until he almost drowned and scared the shit out of some school trip**

Back in the day all concert goings (i.e. where and when we go) were curated by out Biology Club mate, anarchist, big fan of "Alisa" **Soviet/Russian hard rock band** and raging satanist, known as Anton Crazy. He was my neighbor - dweller of nearby yards, denizen of the Swamp. His room contained giant red flag with "Alisa" written on it, replica revolver and steel ball on the chain. He had vast connections - he knew absolutely everyone: musicians, System people <hippies>, anarchists and pushers. We knew him from the Biology Club (he was studying ichthyology), where I befriended him on the grounds of my interest in satanism and drugs.

I was raised in a Christian family, and when I was 14, I reached some stubbornness in the questions of faith, assumed some parts of church dogma to be immutable and was pretty far away from satanism. And what of it, explained Crazy - you aren't born as satanist, you become one. His power over minds was great back in the day, so in no time I dropped the yoke of White Faith. But his plans weren't destined to fulfill completely.

Back in the day he held pro-Albigensian <Albigensians, or Cathars - heretical religious movement in Medieval France. Their views are fundamentally similar to Manichaeism, which has positions of dualism. Those views consider J. Christ to be a death prophet, and Christian god to be embodiment of the power and evil> - Christian god was embodiment of power and icon of evil to him, and light was embodied by entity called Lucifer.

That's where things got controversial.

I though: since I renounced the old faith (completely and by all rules - prayed backwards in the temple, decried god and cursed all his doings), then I'm on the straight road to Hell. But according to Crazy I should've been accepted by true light. This caused shades of dissatisfaction in me - what's the point of it? What about Hell?

So I formed my own views about the whole situation. According to them - since I renounced god, then I don't need to study or work no more. I got fed up by Light back in the Christianity, I won't allow to substitute one concept with another (God for Lucifer), and I will just drink vodka and take drugs, since it's a road to Hell.

I reviewed my new views and got pleased with them. It meant that our entire company will end up in the Hell. Which means I won't get bored after death. I consulted with some of the comrades, especially with Elephant, and was met with understanding - Elephant hated Christians because they, in his opinion, ruined culture of Vikings and other Scandinavians. We created our own confession, very different from Albigensian views of Crazy.

We decided - we don't care if there is Satan or not. I haven't renounced god so I could serve to Satan instead. So our faith will deal with urgent matters - drinking vodka and learning as many satanic songs to shout as possible. Lyrics of "Corrosion of Metal" and similar groups became our "satanist textbook" - such a dense structure that you can't even see Satan behind it. After learning about our views, Crazy became horrified, but such was his fate - it was a foregone conclusion, and there was nothing to do about it.

Crazy called me in one of the afternoons of autumn 1993, and we had following conversation:
"Hello, Djonny?"
"Yeah", I answered, "What do you need?"
"Are you going to a game?"
"What game?", I got confused at first, and then realized, "Wait, really?"
"Yeah, I arranged everything. You need old hockey stick and plastic circle from toy pyramid, got it? Do you have such a pyramid?"
"I can obtain one", admitted I, "But what for?"
"Put the circle onto hockey stick, and you get a hilt. You will also need vodka and pills, and I already have weed. Can you scrounge it?"
"You ask!", said I, "Of course I can scrounge! I have phenazepam **aka bromdihydrochlorphenylbenzodiazepine**, in the 50-pill blisters, and I can find some vodka. When we are setting off?"
"Come tomorrow, and we will move out to the Finnish road. Meeting at nine, then we take a train from there."
"Where?", said I?
"Zahodskoye station, military polygon **polygon Russian term for "proving grounds"**, in the vicinity of Rook lake."
I could only say: "Fucking great. My dreams came true. And we are going there as who?"
"Lorien Elves, who else?", was his answer.
I immediately called Kostyan and explained the situation. He said that he can't join us tomorrow, so he will come at Saturday morning. I couldn't reach Elephant since he went to dacha **summer house with a small vegetable garden in Russia**, and then I began preparing for tomorrow trip - looking for hockey stick and a pyramid, packing backpack and begging my parents for money for the trip (actually for the vodka).

We were lucky with our upbringing. Biology Club and especially our "Efa" club were constantly organizing expeditions and hiking trips, so unlike many of my peers, I have no problem with living innawoods. And pretty recently we got separated from our ancestral lands - i.e. got kicked out of both clubs so badly that we had trouble joining biology school after it. This happened in the last May, and it has its own backstory:
**Backstory is that they weren't allowed on a "Green Olympics" - grandiose hiking event by their clubs, so they had their own Green Olympics with drugs and more drugs, right next to the original one, and even barged into it while being high as balls, and directly confronted their malefactors. I'm going to skip it, because they only now getting to real LARP, and I want it to happen as soon as possible.**

'''Impressions from the other side'''

''You're fucking wrong if you think that main qualities of Elves are sweet songs, immortality and eternal beauty. It's a very shallow view, as if you are taking only a peel from the onion. While the onion itself that brings vile tears out of unprepared folks is Elven mentality. - Elvenpath''
**it's ogre**

In autumn 93 three of us arrived into Zahodskoye - me, Crazy and his friend Jeff, musician from "Scoundrels" band. It was Friday, and our destination was Regional Hobbit Games, aka "RHG 93". I have vague memories of meeting at train station and commuter train ride - many strangers and Crazy constantly whispering with them.

Then we were shown a road, and we followed it to a forest - taking a long walk, passing a lake and going further in the direction of military polygon. There are 8 kilometers between station and lake, but we endured it with the help of port wine and some spliffs.

Sun set when we were still on the road, and night had come - dark and cold night. Everything touched by it faded, like if it was covered by dark veil. Forest became a twilight dome, darkness concealed the waters of the lakes, and only a lonesome light from bonfire was fighting the power of that night. Fire jumped, ice-cold wing was blowing, it seemed, from every side, throwing leaves on a nearby tipi. <Canvas tent on the stick frame - traditional lodging of Indians, commonly seen in Western movies. There is a hearth in the center of the tent, and a smoke hole at the top, so the lodgers can hang around in dryness and warm during any weather>

"When this world was created", said the hoarse and, as I though, completely drunken female voice behind the canvas walls, "I was already at third level of School". Another voice, shrill and broken, was echoing it:
"You don't know everything, Lora. Believe me, not everything."
"What the fuck?", I whispered to Crazy, "What are they talking about?"
"How do I know?", replied Anton, coming closer, "Let's find out. Hey you, in the tent!"

For a moment everything went silent, and then a female voice asked:
"Who's there? Who are you?"
"We're elves", calmly replied Crazy, "Elves from Lorien."
"Yes?", said the same voice, and out of the tipi emerged a fat broad draped in a filthy blanket.

When I looked at hear, I got horrified - bloated and pockmarked face, small moustache over upper lip, tiny and evil eyes. No joking, I haven't seen uglier woman in my entire life.

"I am Lora", she introduced herself, "and I'm going to be a Galadriel. We're in Rohan now, Lorien is further away, but there is no campsite there yet. Are you really elves? What's your names?"
"I am Crazy", introduced himself Anton, "and those are Djonny and Jeff."
"Those aren't elven names", objected Lora, "Those are..."
"What do you know about elven names.", interrupted her Crazy
"I know a lot", countered Lora, "I know everything about this topic. Sit down on the logs, I'll tell you something. You are first time on the game?"

We sat around in a circle, and I could watch the light playing on our face. Crazy was wearing black navy greatcoat, I was wearing subway builder's trenchcoat, and Jeff was sporting a cotton-padded coat. We all had long faces - that wasn't a welcome we expected from our first game - at least me and Crazy. Jeff wasn't giving any shit about that.

"This is a difficult place", said Lora while staring at us, "roundelay of powers. Roads come and go, worlds permeate each other. It would be dangerous to get lost during night in those places."

"Military?", tried to clarify Jeff, who didn't got the point, "Or what?"
"No", patiently explained Lora, "Roundelay of powers. Roads come and go..." I was listening her and had no idea whether she was insane or she was mocking us.

"What about game?", I asked
"That's what I'm talking about", Lora got surprised, "Here, in the roundelay of powers..."
"I see", said I quietly to Crazy, "No point talking with her."
"Wait", my friend interrupted me, "let's hear what else she can say"
"Yeah, nah, she is going to talk for entire night. Lora, can we sleep here?"
"No", she replied quickly, "Not enough space, two of us barely fit there.:
"Two of us?"
"Me and Etzel.",replied Lora, "but you can spend a night near the bonfire. Got a drink?"
"No", I also replied quickly, "We haven't had enough money"
"No time to buy", confirmed Jeff
"Nothing else?" Lora got inquisitive.
"For example?", asked Crazy
"Well, I dunno.." Lora furrowed her brow and became even uglier.
"No", Crazy cut her off, "Nothing of that kind either"
"Okay", said Lora, suddenly losing interest, "I'm going to sleep. Don't make a noise, got it?"
"But of course, Lora, who do you think we are", affirmed her Anton. Lora got up and went back into tipi, and we heard her rolling, trying to settle down.

"Boys", I said quietly, "lets drink!"
"Sure", Jeff easily agreed, "and take some pills."
"And smoke", Crazy chimed in, and then added, "Guys, isn't that great? We're on the game!"
"Looks like it", I conceded, "but this broad disturbs me. Something is fishy."
"Yeah, that's bullshit. Don't give a shit", Crazy waved away.
"How about we just sing instead. A song. "Mama", proposed Jeff.
"Oh!", we agreed, "Of course we should!"

Fire wavered on the wing, shadows danced, and we sat in the circle of yellow light, holding anything we could fight - logs, lids, pots. First we started with rhythm - quiet clatter, and then Jeff began:
"Don't hit me, mama...", sang he mournfully, stretching the word, and we picked up:
"With iron mallet on the head. Don't hit me, mama, with iron mallet on the hit. Don't hit me, mama..."

Song was flowing - it was as my throat was drawing simple melody on its own. Words repeated, until nothing remained in the head aside from one thought - only rhythm and recitative, over and over, and again, and again. We soon entered the rage - our faces changed, voices became stronger, clatter - louder, and song went on. Sometimes we sang it for two hours or more, with no break - just wetting our throats with vodka, falling into some kind of trance, not seeing anything around us. But we weren't able to enter this state today, because we were distracted by external sound. Someone was yelling and swearing in the tipi, demanding us to shut up and stop banging.

"Hey, in the Rohan", Crazy stopped for a bit and asked, "What are you yelling on?"
"Do you know what time it is?", said broken voice loudly.
"What time is it?", said unabashed Crazy
"Three AM" was the answer
"Then why the fuck aren't you sleeping", asked Crazy, and I was seeing how pleased he was. Tipi went quiet for a moment, and then exit opened, and a man rolled out. He actually rolled, doing a somersault, wearing nothing but underpants and a shirt, bare-legged, long-haired and armed with a wooden sword. He was twenty or something (at least we thought he was an adult), but I was confused not by his age, but by his face. His eyes were bulging, his mouth was crooked, and there was one question on his face "Who dares?" After a roll, he froze - with sword over his head.

"What now, jerks?", Etzel (that was him), yelled while squinting at the light, "What now?"
"Yeah, what now?", asked Jeff, picking up the axe.
"Yeah, what do you need", I picked up a stake, "What do you want?"

Then I noticed another weirdness: Etzel had wooden sword, but with some metal rings near the hilt. He put his fingers through them - as if holding a rapier with pistol grip.

"What is this", I asked him.
"Spanish grip", explained Etzel, realizing that situation is disadvantageous for him, "I see that you got quiet?"
"You should chill as well", suggested Crazy. "Go and sleep. We won't be singing for now - we will take a walk".
"Where to?", I objected, "The fuck do..."
"We will take a walk", repeated Crazy and winked
"Okay, we're going away", I conceded.

Etzel wasn't going to wait until we leave. He went back into tipi, and we could hear him saying to Lora:
"I taught those whelps a lesson. They are leaving"

We silently waited ten minutes. Crazy rolled a spliff in that time, we toked, and we got in the mood for a good joke.

"Don't hit me, mama", we began anew after we heard first snore, "with iron mallet on the head!"

"For fuck's sake!", yelled tipi, "Did you not understand? You are fucked!"

Etzel was yelling loudly, but we paid no attention - we already knew that he wasn't scary. We even made a side bet - me and Crazy hoped that he will do that rolling stunt again, but Jeff didn't believed so. Guess what: Etzel totally did, but now he wasn't holding his sword over his head, but kept it parallel to ground.

"What do you want again", asked Jeff, showing off the axe.
"Insomnia?", carefully inquired Crazy, "Don't worry, we are actually going to leave now".
"Sure, right", I confirmed, "We are leaving already".
They are leaving", reported he to Lora, "Or else they would've gotten fucked up".

We now had another problem - how to take a piss at them without ruining our next round. Etzel couldn't fall asleep for a long time. We had to toke twice and finish off the port before we heard the snoring.

"Don't hit me, mama..." we began again, and when we heard swearing from the tipi (now from the Lora as well), Crazy beckoned us away from the bonfire.

"Too much of a good thing. We shouldn't get carried away. We are newbies here, what if something would happen? We should get accustomed and make another go. Lets take an actual walk."

We went around the lake, passing a concrete booth on the way, installed for some secret military purpose.

"Check it out", I pointed at it, "it's actually a military shit"
"So that's why they were going - "polygon, polygon". Because that's how it actually is.", replied Jeff.
"That's why it is called - "Gaming polygon", explained Crazy.
"Are you sure", said I, but got interrupted
"Quiet, both of you. Look there", said Jeff.

Five persons were moving in our direction from behind the booth. We couldn't see who they were or what they were wearing in darkness (and high from pills). When we got close, one of the strangers called us:
"Hey, who are you?"
I thought that voice belonged to a much older person.
"And who are you", that's the only thing I could make up.
"I am Lord Eldarion! And I don't recognize you!"
"We're elves from Lorien", said Crazy confidently, "Do you have any more elves?"
"You need to visit Tranduil", advised Eldarion, "I suspect that would be a fitting place for you. That's further down the shore, 500 meters past the Moradan."
"Past what?", asked Crazy, but our meeting was already over: Lord Eldarion ignored further questions and left with his entourage.
"What is that - Moradan", Crazy summed up our collective doubts.
"Not what, but who", I read Tolkien carefully, especially the addendums that explained difficult elven language, "Moradan is "black man" in elven, "mor" is black, "adan" - human. Similar to dunadan..."
"Shut the fuck up", Crazy took offense at my tone of voice, "I knew myself what does dunadan means"
"How are we going to look for black man in a forest during night?", Jeff chimed in.
"Lord Eldarion already explained it to you", I got angry, "It's 500 meters down the shore"
"Then let's go", Crazy hurried us, "The fuck are you standing here? I want to look at this Moradan so much!"

We went further and soon walked onto a clearing. First we thought: Lora was right about roundelay of powers! We were going further, walking straight, and still went to Lora's tipi! Then we looked carefully and realized that it is another tipi.
"Where do they get those tents", I asked, but Crazy interrupted me. He raised the canopy and asked quietly:
"Is Moradan here?" No one answered, so Anton asked again, in more loud voice:
"Where's Moradan?" He got nothing but silence in return again, so he couldn't stand it no more and yelled:
"Do you have Moradan or what?"
"What do you want in the middle of the night?", replied sleepy voice
"We just wanted to know - where is Moradan", explained persistent Crazy
"I am Moradan. What do you need?"
Crazy, hearing this, got possessed with an idea to look at Moradan, opened a canopy and stepped inside.
"Careful!", said the same voice, now irritated, "You have stepped on my hand."
"Ow, sorry", said Crazy, stepping into another direction in complete darkness, but then stumbled and swore: "Fuck, I stepped on something again!"
"What is going on? Take your legs off my head!"
"Sorry", said Crazy again, "I just wanted to look at Moradan. We are leaving!"

Crazy emerged from the tent.
"Well, have you seen him? Is he actually black?", I asked him quietly
"It's dark in there", said Crazy timidly, "I couldn't see it"
"Let's leave", snapped Jeff, "Let's go anywhere. Even to this Tryndila, anywhere. I'm sick of your Moradan!"
"What do you mean - "our"?", we objected, "Since when he is ours?"
"Let's go", Jeff was not in the mood to argue

Lord Eldarion wasn't lying: down the shore we saw a light of a big bonfire. Forest spread apart, and we walked onto a clearing. There was no tipi or tent - just a big bonfire among trees. Sitting near it was some dude in padded coat, work pants and jackboots. He had a very blue-collar look - cigarette in the teeth, five-o-clock shade and ragged fisherman's beanie.

"Where's king Tranduil?", Crazy inquired eloquently. And, anticipating possible questions, added:
"We are elves from Lorien!"
"The hell do you need him for?", asked dude
"None of your business!", I decided to participate in conversation as well, "We need him, that's all."
"How it is none of my business?", wondered dude, "For I am Tranduil, king of the Mirkwood elves!"
"You're, well", doubted Anton, looking at his attire, "don't look like one!"
"Yeah, and you look like you're just out of Lorien!", dude retorted, then turned to Crazy and asked, "What's that, a naval greatcoat?"
"Wait, you're actually a Tranduil?", I asked.
"Yep", replied dude, "So decide already, do you have business with me or not. But keep in mind - you won't find any other Tranduil in there."
"So," we agreed, "Then we have business with you."
"And what would it be?"
"That's what," here we pulled out marijuana and port wine, "We must discuss everything in a manner fitting for elves. Drink a cup of miruvor and smoke a Pipeweed."
"Understood," Tranduil got excited and pulled out a five-liter jerry can from behind the tree, "For this occasion I have ethanol - pure, as tears of Varda."
"That's so good that we understand each other", Crazy praised him, "I am Crazy, and those are Djonny and Jeff." At this point we had frozen and looked at Tranduil with a certain degree of doubt.
"Splendid names," Tranduil approved, "really elven. Sit around the fire, I'll find some grub."
He pulled out a clean rag and served some snacks on it. We poured ethanol, drunk, and Crazy sent a joint around.
"Where are you from", asked Tranduil after observing such important rites.
"From the Lorien," Crazy answered, and since I was still out of loop somewhat, I decided to clarify "From the Moskovsky's district"
"And I'm from the Gorkovskaya, and my hobby is smithing," said Trand, showing us a crossbow that he made himself out of wood, steel corner guards, cable, gear and leaf spring. "It shoots metal rebar with tremendous power. No fucking difference how it hits - whether with tip or side."
"Awesome", we admitted, immediately beginning to feel not just an affection, but a respect for Tranduil
"And also explain us," I asked him, "We were in the Rohan, and there was a broad here, Lora. She is telling about such weird stuff..."
"Lora?", laughed Tranduil, "She's fucked in the head, don't mind her. Let's drink again!"
"Drink to what?, asked Jeff.
"To what?, wondered Tranduil, adjusting his torn beanie, "We drink to elves, of course. A Elbereth!" He raised his metal mug.
"Gilthoniel!" , we responded, copying his gesture.
I threw back my head and poured ethanol inside. Liquid fire hit my throat, and soon everything got mixed - light and darkness, lake and ground, sky and forest. Bonfire was cracking, melting my previous life into amber sparks. School years were flowing away from me as black smoke, human world was getting charred in the corners, breaking down into the pattern of cold ashes. I still remember when I asked Tranduil before falling asleep:
"So wait, we're actually on the game? You mean, for real?"
"Are there any doubts,", king calmed me, "I am king Tranduil, you are Lorien elves. Everything has worked out, so sleep tight." And so I did.

Morning came suddenly. It's like I just closed my eyes - and here it is. I squinted and looked into giant world - sun came out, you could see shining water surface behind trees. Morning wind was bringing light splashing and persistent vitriol smell from here. King Tranduil explained to us that army had put concrete slabs on the lake bottom for use in tank maneuvers. Pressurized tanks drive underwater, so you can only see snorkels outside. We didn't understood what it has to do with vitriol, and then king gave additional explanations: army is poisoning lake with chemicals to kill algae and keep the water extra clear.

"Kostyan probably arrived already", I heard Crazy's voice, "We have to go back to Lorien"
"Well, then!", Tranduil replied, "Godspeed!"
"See you later", I mumbled while getting up, "We'll meet again!"

Lake shore looked much better during day - pine forest, divided with heather clearings that went all the way to the water sometimes. We were exchanging opinions as we walked:
"They had such a nice guy as king", I declared
"Fact," Crazy agreed, "his highness knows his Quenta." <Quenta - elven for "Story". Here it is used as slang for "subject matter, trend".> **word "quenta" is now used in Russian roleplay community (both among LARPers and tabletop roleplayers, regardless of setting or system) as a slang for "character's backstory".**

When we came back to Lora's tipi, we first noticed Kostyan sitting gloomily near the ashes of bonfire.

"Good morning", said Crazy politely
"Yeah, sure,", replied Kostyan, "but not for everyone."
He told us what happened with him on the road. As it turned out, he began drinking vodka as soon as he got off the train, and then he polished it with beer. Near the Big Krasnopersky he met some mushroom picker - he was having sandwiches for breakfast on the road side. Kostya asked him to share, but man refused. Then Kostya asked him again, but man got mad and told him to fuck off. Then Kostyan picked up a thick stick and hit a man several times with it, then grabbed sandwiches and ran away.

"What a bitch!", Kostya explained his behavior while unwrapping greasy newspaper that contained sandwiches, "He is breaking the laws of taiga, not sharing the food like that! Then I..."
"Fucking great act!", Jeff supported Kostyan, "Look - it has herring, and pickles."
"And a sausage. We're lucky!"
"And do you have...", I said hopefully, but Kostyan anticipated my question and pulled out a bottle of vodka out of backpack.
"Of course I do!" We pulled out mugs, poured vodka and sat around the bonfire.
"Well, to good morning!", I proposed a toast.
"To our arrival!", agreed Kostyan, but we weren't even able to drink in peace.

"Are you Lorien elves?", we heard a shrill voice behind our backs. I turned and saw a man of average height, wrapped into a tattered navy-blue curtain. He was wrapped so tightly that you could only see crumpled gray slacks and short rubber boots under it, and over it - a filthy, unkempt beard. This beard had literally shook our imagination. Later on, when we recalled it, we argued if it actually had cigarette buts stuck in it, or just a lonely macaroni remains stuck between dried boogers.

"My name is Eric", saying that, beard spread apart a little, letting outside a crackling wheeze.

We were sitting silently, examining the weird stranger. Behind the giant beard he had a pruned face, draped in a thin locks of unwashed hair. Eyes hidden behind square glasses had expression of arrogance and smug expectation. This was clashing with overall impression - this aside, Eric looked like an insane hobo wrapped into a blue curtain from head to toe.

"Who is this schmuck?", quietly asked Kostyan, who still haven't recovered fully from sandwich incident. But then he gathered his strength and raised his voice.

"Hey you, get the fuck out of here!"

"I am Eric!", said the beard again, "And I am going to give you a lecture on an art of playing your role. I myself am playing a part of nazgul. This means I will scream a lot, and when nazgul screams, he inspires terror in people."

Eric gathered strength, put his hands on chest and made a face that he probably considered scary. Then his beard had spread again a little, and we have heard a high-pitched, grating sound, something akin to a cat that got its tail stepped on.

"Ash nazg!", squeaked Eric, staring at us.

All this nightmare - Eric's voice, his facial expression and his ruffled beard, was too much for our feeble minds. This was a hysteric: we laughed and couldn't stop. You think that it's over, you are calm again, but no - another glance on the boundless beard was enough to make you hysterical again.

"Yeah, then try screaming yourself!", Eric got mad, "Just try!"
"Sure," said Crazy, "We'll try." We gathered our strength, drank another shot of vodka and stood against Eric.
"Go on!" said Eric, "But you have to scream in Elven."
"Sure, but I will scream alone for now," responded Crazy.
He winked to us and prepared to scream. Meanwhile me and Kostyan flanked Eric and stood by his sides, a little behind the back.
"A Elbereth!", Crazy screamed, and screamed good, I think

But we had already seen expression of "premature disapproval" on Eric's face. So as soon as he opened his mouth, another scream, mighty as eternal light of Aman, rushed into his ears. This sound is born in your bowels, then comes out of your throat, hurting it, and only then, free and merciless, spreads over country, giving birth to formidable echo.

"GILTHONIE-E-EL!", me and Kostyan yelled in both of Eric's ears, just like we used to scream on concert - without sparing our throats.

This scream had slain Eric. He jumped on spot, spun, and soon was several meters away from us, bending down and holding hands over his ear.

"Dark Servants can't tolerate the name of the Goddess", said Crazy seriously and pointed his finger at Eric, "And this is the real proof of the fact."

It seemed that Eric had enough. He adjusted his curtain, puffed his chest so we could see it, and walked away. He was trying to show us: we still haven't defeated him completely.

"We'll meet again!", he said over the shoulder after walking away from bonfire.

"We will be waiting", I yelled in his direction, and Crazy added "Eagerly!"

**And you guys will be waiting as well. First chapters weren't that legendary, but things will pick up from there. Translating all this is time-consuming, so I will probably just cherrypick some of their craziest LARPs, and provide the link to the original text as well, in case someone knows Russian here**