**Castle on the shore**

In the autumn of 94 our entire company was invited by Moradan to Kavgolovo, for "maneuvers" of a kind. This was a prototype of modern "buhurts", which came out of events like this. Maneuvers were different from usual games because they didn't provide individual roles, and only well-knit collectives were invited to them. It all served the following objectives: testing the team combat techniques and newest weaponry and protection. This whole trend was thought up and implemented by Moradan in St. Petersburg.

Reader should understand that there was a shortage of LARPing equipment back then, and many combat moves that became popular now weren't yet invented then. This was a time when future techniques were forming, and we will try to give a brief description of them.

**01. Weaponry and combat techniques**

First weapon used in LARPs was a simulation (replica) of a regular sword. Years passed, but this weapon is still the most popular - it became a trademark of LARPers. Such prop was adopted by most players, and controversy was about following question: "What do we do with this sword?"

Some "LARPers", such as Eric, used sword as important accessory for their costume. They made several ways to grimace with it, but they posed no real danger with it. In his eternal struggle to make sure that "no one gets bruised" on the game, Eric developed a training system that taught the fighter to intentionally hold his hand. This required to slow down the blade in the middle of the swing trajectory, which removes most important thing from the strike - whippiness. Long practice leads to muscle memory, making it impossible to make really good strike. But not everyone viewed the world like ham-fisted Eric. People from Berry's team introduced the plastic weaponry (textolite - it was scarce back then and was considered a status sign) **even though I am not a LARPer myself, I can confirm that textolite is still a popular material in Russian LARP community**, and took the trouble to learn how to use such blades. They melted together a sport fencing and saber fighting, resulting in a beatiful, yet quite humane technique. Their style required training and good reaction, and duels and fights between small groups became quite a sight.

Another approach was a "pile-up" imported from the capital. <You should understand that our terminology may not be completely correct. If someone wants to learn original names (if they even existed), he should ask the people who made them up> It was developed and implemented by specialists from Moscow "City of Masters", and imported to our city by Moradan who was hungry for everything new. He liked "Pile-up" very much and used it as basis for his future "Hird".

"Pile-up" - it's shield-bearers who break the distance like judo wrestlers. It's a shield that sticks to the opponent's body, and a short sting that does endless strikes from behind it - professional attribute of true masters of shield combat. Later on, due to the escalation of team confrontations and increasing violence of fights, Hirdmen improved "pile-up" - they took heavier blades and added swinging strikes. I think it became basis of the modern shield combat with classic grip. <This is about the Petersburg's realities. Other cities have their own masters, history and traditions>

Those were the two mainline methods. It followed by another two that saw somewhat more limited use. First was a method of "pair", i.e. dual-wielding the two blades. "Pair" saw limited use in the Cat's Den <team that gave us brother Goblin> and with us, but it only truly shined in Ave's collective.

"Pair" - it's dual-wielding people who flow like smoke clouds in combats. It's instantaneous combos of strikes from different directions, haze of dancing blades. True blade dance, one of the most beautiful, yet effective techniques of sword fighting. And one of the most difficult ones.

Ave's collective taught it like this. Someone puts a small piece of cardboard near the tree, and a man stands on it with his back to the trunk. He is holding two spade handles in his hands, and three of his comrades surround the tree and begin to batter him with three other handles. After a minute, participants trade places, and it all begins anew. After several lessons bruised body begins to act faster than mind - and wooden handles suddenly come alive. Man is still standing on a cardboard, but hitting him becomes quite hard - he is protected by blurry blades.

Another method was developed in our gang - method of "Lorien spears", in other words, fighting with heavy stakes. It combines both thrusts and swings, with lots of sneaky blows with the stake's heel. It looks nothing like a common spear fighting and resembles a usage of halberd in historical reenactment. This combat is like a mountain river, throwing stunned and battered swimmers left and right. Stake fighting has another significant advantage - you can cut them anywhere, so you don't need to bring heavy "military equipment" from the city with yourself.

There were other methods - combat with sword and main-gauche, axes, flailes, glaives etc. Those methods weren't adopted by any teams and were mostly a matter of personal preference of certain people. Some of them raised their favorite weapon to the unseen height, adorning many combats in such way and giving birth to countless small "traditions", "techniques" and "styles". They are too numerous to mention, so it would be better if their proponents will lay down the arms for a moment and take up the pen.

**02. Protective equipment**

Industry of protective equipment in LARP was still in its infancy back then. You can compare it to the pregnancy: armor is already "born" now, and is quite "mature", but back then their mom wasn't even fucked yet. There was no market of armor, and people had to make it by themselves, never selling it to anyone.

Reenactment gear still haven't found its way into LARP, and we haven't had many of our own successful ideas. So most of the armor back then was made from aluminum plates, roofing iron, tin and other rotten shit. Those who had their hands in the right place managed to make something proper, but it was more of a pleasant exception than a common rule.

But war raged on, leaving its participants with deep scratches and massive bruises, so the need of protective measures was clear to most players. Back then there were two competing systems on the frontline - Moradan's "experimental method" and our own "method of anesthesia".

Moradan used overlapping metal plates riveted to the pieces of thick linoleum. This makeshift brigantine worn over the quilted coat provided quite a good protection. Such armor would bring nothing but ridicule in modern world, but back then it was a cutting-edge technology that seriously improved the armor of Hird, along with its military strength. Hirdmen also used helmets made our of thick leather and metal stripes, reinforced bracers etc. - Moradan's group kept R&D going.

We went another way. We donned quilted coats and thick mittens, got "blotto", and then lied down after the game. We renounced any protection except for the vodka, considering it shameful, and thought that fighting sober is impossible. When you're drunk, you don't care about getting brained or braining someone, and broken fingers are perceived as hilarious adventure. Seeing blood invigorates you, and mind doesn't cares about bruises. In all the years I spent LARPing I never fought sober, and I can say the same about my comrades. We never understood how sane people can even get idea to batter each other with stakes. Moradan had it completely different, leading to another dispute - difference in approaches.

**03. Different approach**

At first there was one approach to something that is called "fighting" now - or, rather, there was none. But seeds of differences caused by personal preferences of participant, fell on a fertile ground, and soon enough surface was ripped with all kinds of sprouts.

Most conservative group was the adepts of duels and "game fencing". Among them there were both complete losers who considered their blades nothing but "extension of their exalted and dark image" and true masters. Fedya Druzhinin managed to cut down the arm-thick fur tree with his textolite rapier, breathing new life into the "game fencing" term.

It was a fact: there were those who liked fighting - and those who didn't wanted it at all. Ham-fisted adepts of "theatrics" aspired for exalted deeds and soon achieved it, completely discrediting the image of Tolkienist in the eyes of commoners. Thanks to them the very word "roleplayer" is now associated with all kinds of scum - feminine boys and fat hippies who can't stand for themselves. It soon brought many disasters for the whole movement when this foul brew flooded the lands and began to smell. But even those who wanted to fight had difficulties with the form of the future events. Adepts of duels shined like falling stars and melted in the furnace of future mass battles. Simple logic - "ganging up" - brought people together. Even the mightiest warriors can't stand alone against tight-knit collectives, so the heroics of singular battles became thing of the past. New principles arose like a storm wave from behind the ghosts of games past - daggers, cloaks and rapiers. First to accept this logic in our city were our group and Moradan's Hird. Others, like a Cat's Den and Berry's company, even though they were hanging out together, often took completely different roles during the game and acted in pairs or alone. But our gang (and Hird) had other opinion. We weren't chasing important assignments and individual roles, preferring to sign up as brigands (us) or military units (Hird) - just to have opportunity to fight with each other. But we had different ideas about how to do it.

Vodka and adrenaline dominated our side of the field, pale fingers gripping heavy stakes. Man is overtaken by combat excitement - legs throw the body upwards and carry it forward without listening to the head. Heavy shroud of ethanol anesthesia covers all the thoughts, and adrenaline acts like a fiery whip, submerging a hypnotic order "Hit first! Hit harder!" into the brain that is about to blow. You should rely on intuition and initiative in such combat - being most wary of your own enraged comrades.

Hird held up to another approach: they haven't drunk vodka before combat, because they didn't needed it. Another stuffing was in place - heavy shieldbreakers banged steadily over the shield edge, tight formation stepped menacingly slow. Every man knew his place, allowing the war machine of Hird work like a mechanic reaper. This approach has different courage, system of drills and internal discipline allowed Hird's commanders to strictly coordinate the warfare. We needed each other as "designated opponents", but this also led to mutual hatred. Times were savage, worldview differences were noticeable, and propaganda from both sides just added fuel to the fire. First of all, Moradan's people were all straight edge, while we drunk heavily and took any drug we came across. Then there were people of faith in the Hird, while we went to the combat with a verse from a dear "Corrosion":
Fill the glass with fire water,
Drink with Satan to me!
Hey, you - give vodka to beast, to blow up heavens!
Meet us with Russian vodka, vodka is Devil - give us vodka!

Even I can't tell if we were actual satanists. But Moradan was convinced back then and hated us for that. Well, we didn't cared for his clerical habits either.

Even worse - Hird has centralized chain of command, it was divided into four "centurias". Inside each of it there were officer's positions and rank system, and Moradan himself reigned at the top.

We had nothing like this. We never allowed anyone to rule over ourselves, there was nothing to control and coordinate. Everyone drunk like crazy, believing that this is real freedom! We thought that we aren't living for some Moradan to tell us how to behave and whom to fight. Anyone who would've tried to arise over comrades on the "officer's position", would've gotten fucked up so badly that he would've remembered it til the old age.

Hird also had schedule: reveille, training and marching drills, which are only useless in army, and are incredibly important in a shield combat. Doing those kinds of things together made their souls warm, but we never fucking understood it. Barin said the best about such training:
"All those "drills" is a waste of time and showing off? What's there to train? Take an object in the hand and fuck everyone up with it in any way that is handy to you - and don't let anyone to fuck you up! It goes on from prehistorical times, when first monkey picked up a stick to batter other monkeys. Guess what - it haven't trained even for a hour before it!"

There were many reasons from mutual hatred from both sides. Hird embodied everything that we hated in this life: White Faith, hierarchy, discipline and sobriety. Hirdmen had their own complaints - they considered us godless dipshits, alcoholics and junkies. I'm not sure which part they hated the most, but I can say one big reason why we ourselves hated them.

According to our intelligence, they had three square meals a day, as well as five-o-clock with candies. We ourselves ate little back then, and considered ourselves lucky if we were able to snack with some crap couple of times per games. So their three meals a day were like a kick to the balls to us. On other hand, there was almost no alcohol in their camp (let alone drugs), so no one would've traded the cesspool where we lived for their comfortable Roman-style camp.

Moradan himself was a quintessence of all the horrors that went on in Hird. His personality occupied our minds. We believed that Moradan never sleeps, eats nothing but rice, and that he was born with a beard and glasses.

Now that we think of it, it's obvious: Hird had its own Moradan, and we had our own, and their Moradan had nothing on ours. It's horrible, but it is compensated by the things they themselves believed about us and our lifestyle. We even invented a card game called "Moradan", that's how occupied we were with his personage. That's how it happened.

In the August we had a river voyage: me, Strori, our classmate Candy and Elephant. We have chosen northern shores of Ladoga as our destination, and old kayak, the three-man "Salute", as our transport. Candy was a tiny girl, so we were able to fit her into cargo compartment, we took other sits and had quite a time traveling on this rotten shit with broken frame. Skin of this "kayak" was so rotten that you could pierce it with the finger, so it should've been called "Ka-yuck" instead.

When we were preparing for travel, Strori got possessed by gastronomical lust and demanded to create a fund that will buy us provisions for five (!) meals a day during expedition. Fund was created, and most money was contributed by Strori himself, but nothing good came out of it because Elephant was trusted with acquisition of goods.

Elephant got a hold of capitals and acted generously in the spirit of camaraderie. Since his elephant relatives just left to dacha, he invited me to his empty apartment and used money for a week-long drinking binge. This consumed main funds, and remains were used to buy ten kilos of rice, two kilos of salt, fifty packs of "Belomor" **really cheap smokes** and can of ethanol. Ethanol was prepared in specific way - it was mixed in pressure cooker with special syrup made of honey and spices, resulting in a strong liqueur which we named after Queen of Stars - "Elberethovka".

This wonderful and magical drink became our traditional team recipe. To make it, you need two handfuls of honey (preferably buckwheat or linden one), and put it into the pot with half a liter of cold water. Put the pot on a low heat and cook honey until it completely dissolves in the water. Throw in two quartered oranges, five broken walnuts, seven cloves.

When adding cloves, you should say "A Elbereth Gilthoniel!", calling for a Queen of Stars - then Elberethovka will be exceptionally good and nutritious. If you avoid this tradition, you won't have any luck in this business, and some shit will happen when you get drunk. Grind a nutmeg once over the mixture. Add mint (or even better, a melissa) the last, just a few leaves. Syrup is then cooked for another five-ten minutes, strained and poured into pressure cooker.

If you don't have one, take regular pot and put it on the water bath. In this case you need to seal the lid with dough. Also add ethanol - one liter per half-liter of cooked syrup. Then you close the pressure cooker (pot) and put the mixture on the low heat, for five-ten minutes. Then put cooker (pot) into the ice-cold water without opening and hold it here until it cools down completely. Then remove the lid and put the cooker (pot) into the fridge for another hour, after which Elberethovka is good for drinking. Drink it from small shot glasses.

Don't obstruct pressure cooker's valve with foreign objects (wire or matches), even if you are afraid that alcohol fumes will escape from it. It can cause pressure cooker to burst, and then alcohol fumes will escape all at once, ignite and explode again - it happened once with Elephant.

We poured Elberethovka into liter flasks, packed smokes and rice and went to Ladoga. Strori wasn't informed about change of plans. This caused following incident on Montasari peninsula, where we had our first lodging. Strori suggested that we should take out the provisions for the dinner. Elephant went into his bag and pulled out the rice. Satisfied Strori nodded - he decided that we have enough rice, and beckoned Elephant to pull out more. Stone-faced Elephant pulled out the flask of Elberethovka. Strori praised this as well, and told him to pull out more. Elephant pulled out another flask. Strori was taken aback somewhat, but decided that it's a misunderstanding, and gestured: more! Then Elephant began to pull out more and more, until Strori realized that his five meals a day got fucked.

In the end we had to resort to stealing from campsites in the "Fire iron" bay. We did it like that: right before the dawn we beached our bathtub near other people's campsites and stuffed ourselves right on the tables left from afternoon. Sometimes we had to cut open the tents and steal provisions right from under the nose of sleeping people. In the end, after one especially daring heist (we stole canned food and vodka from the twelve-man crew of rowing catamaran) we had to skip Fire Iron, but it was impossible due to storm weather.

In the morning we were detected in the cliffs. Our captors started the negotiations by slathering Elephant with tear gas, but they weren't able to get back the loot because we stashed it already. We went into full denial, dudes screamed a bit, scared us with timeless death and went away.

While waiting for storm to end and eating stolen food, we made up a new card game and called it "Moradan". It was a modified Japanese durak **durak (literally "fool") is a Russian trick-taking card game with many variations. It is almost always played informally.**  with original rules, and we had following bets: if someone lost three games in a row, he turns into Moradan for five minutes. He dons a beard made out of newspaper and wire glasses, he is not allowed to drink, smoke and swear, and he can only swim in shallow places. If someone loses two games in a row when there is Moradan already, he joins the Hird: he sits by Moradan's right hand and has to act as his servant.

Even on our road to Kavgolovo, in the Devyatkino station lobby we got surprised by new member of Hird. Not only we didn't knew the new person, but we couldn't see his face. We knew the main cast - Moradan, Aaz, Legolas, Kostomir, Sting and Beregond. But their new teammate looked weird to us - wearing Russian army camo, combat boots and full-face iron mask. In accordance to their custom Moradan put his people in the formation. Then me and Barin joined the formation from the left side, hoping that Moradan won't notice us. Moradan, of course, caught us and expelled from formation, but we had time to talk with his men. Turned out that newbie is called Dain, and he is an adult man, athlete, who was recently discharged from the military. <it turned out that he was participating in the games since 1992, as a Radbug. No idea why he was pretending to be newbie and changed his name. Not our business.>

"That's some fucking newbie!" I got surprised.
"Don't be afraid, we'll endure", Barin calmed me.

Moradan had chosen a lake shore as a grounds for his maneuvers - windy stripe of bitch 50 meters wide. We went inside an old dressing cabin and began to drink there, hiding from cold autumn wind. Wet sand surrounded us, there was lake by our side, and our cabin was right next to the briar patches and sparse trees. There were fifteen men inside the cabin: Crazy was rolling joints, Red pulled out a bottle of whiskey he nabbed somewhere, we also had some vodka. In other words, we were getting prepared for combat.

It should be noted that the game was a prototype of modern buhurts - but only a prototype, not a buhurt. For the sake of decency Moradan made a common quenta, declaring our cabin to be a magical castle, and making Crazy an elven king. Moradan became a dwarven tzar, his campsite became a dwarven castle etc. Simple and therefore well-organized event.

Some time later, while we were preparing for battle while literally sitting on each other, we heard a voice from outside:
"Elves! Lord Moradan orders you to lay down your arms!"
"Finally!" said Crazy, who was tired of waiting. "They came to wave their dicks at us. Boost me up, I will have a speech!"
We raised him by his legs, so his upper third was showing over the cabin edge, and then everyone else crawled out to look at embassy, aside from the laziest ones. It was one guy, bony tall guy in Stahlhelm and with shield, on which there was an inscription: "Donald McLaot" **sic**.
"Elves," he repeated automatically, "Lord Moradan..."

Then he looked into our faces and went silent. When he was retelling this story to us many years later, MacLeod said following:
"It was my first game. Moradan riled me up so good when he was sending me with embassy, so I was almost expecting to actually see elves. And then when I saw those ugly mugs crawling out of cabin, all armed with pipes and clubs, something clicked in my head. As if I'm standing in my yard. Standing and thinking - what kind of bullshit I am saying before guys?"

"As an elven king..." Crazy hanged out of the cabin and began to tell his own speech, but several comrades jumped out without listening to him and went after the envoy. Crazy tried to stop them, and instead of exalted speech he said:
"As an elven king... Fuck!" MacLeod had following comments later:
"When I saw this fuckface crawling out and screaming "As an elven king, fuck", and another four ones running after me in the same time - I understood everything. I realized how much I was fucked over by Moradan with this embassy!"

In the ensuing combat I got lucky and pierced Donald's German helmet with my sword that is called "Workplace Injury" and is made of flattened piece of iron pipe. It happened mostly because the helmet was worn-out, but still - it was honorable, good strike. Meanwhile Hirdmen lured Elephant into briar patch and boxed him with their shields - also a good way to spend time. But we held onto a dressing cabin.

Another combat happened on the forest road, on the path to the Hird's camp. Back in the day I was carrying a shield to the games (made out of four-millimeter thick aircraft duralumin, 80x60 centimeters, with beveled corners and iron edge), and I had it on myself today. We were advancing towards the Hird formation, and I was right across the Dain - meter away from his shining mask. In the blink of the eye he brought me down with low sweep - so my legs ended up way above my hand. Due to this I had to spend some time in the roadside ditch - stunned and filled with rage and humiliation.

"Well, fuck", I thought, spitting out sand and fallen leaves, "they weren't lying - he's actually an athlete!" Then I called my brothers to help me prove once and for all: three junkies are worth one professional. We made a following plan: they will press this character with their shields, then spread apart in right moment - and then I will fuck him over his mask with a metal corner of my shield.

Luck was on our side, it went even better then we expected, and several minutes later my shield stamped right into the Dain's mask. But here's the thing: we though it was iron dwarven mask, but it turned out to be a papier-mache covered with metal foil. It wasn't nice, but it's not our fault. Dain is a smart guy, but his idea with the mask was admittedly a complete bullshit.