Julian O’Hare was a character that Oliver Brook, a simple human, had been working on for years now. Lance Tier, his opposing rival, was given character by Al Stevenson, an older-generation Live Action Role Player. He had been the one who insisted that their characters face off in a final duel. He wanted to play the bad guy who had gotten into the knights’ quarters and worked on turning everyone. Oliver had been okay with this change, so long as his character -- his pride and joy for years now -- would remain one of the good guys. This was their last fight to keep that promise. Julian O’Hare would not go down without a fight, but he was definitely going down this afternoon. Oliver was prepared, as much as someone could be.

The Saturday afternoon LARPing group was held in the large park around Toronto’s Eaton’s Centre. Just beyond the group’s flags and brightly coloured tents filled with props were small statues that marked Toronto’s history. Sometimes people in the office buildings across the street and service workers -- often tourists, too -- would stop and watch the LARPers’ performance. Some people even thought the group was doing Shakespeare in the Park, though Oliver often had no idea why. Half the knights and other LARPers were not as eloquent as Shakespeare, though they were just as violent as something like Troilus and Cressida, and with just as many fart jokes.

The LARPing group, known as the Council of Elderward, met about once a month for half the year. They usually skipped a meeting here and there when the winter months yielded too much ice to set up their tents and play-fight for a while. Today was supposed to be the last meet-up before summer break, just before the Canada Day weekend. For the next few months, The Council of Elderward would focus mostly on genre mash-ups with new characters and settings. Steampunk vampires were next on the block. As much as Oliver loved steampunk and vampires, he knew he wasn’t going to get into something that tried to weave them together. He much preferred the old medieval play-acting games, where he got to dress up like D&D characters and act out bastardized scenes from Lord of the Rings. He had grown quite fond of Julian O’Hare. But he knew, that like all good things, it must come to an end. This bright, sunny afternoon in late June was as good as any other day to end the character’s life, so everyone else involved could go on to greater and better things.

“I beg you,” Julian said as he backed up to the edge of the sandpit where they fought. “Do not go gentle into this. Do not treat me as if I am made of glass. I want all that you have.”

“Good,” Lance said. “I don’t plan on being easy. Are we ready, then?”

“You still must count to three.”

“Ah.” Lance smiled, devious, just underneath his helmet. Oliver spotted the king and queen of their fictitious town in the background. The queen, played by Stacy Bradley, dropped character slightly as she rubbed her hands together. Oliver could tell just how excited everyone was for the final battle and he was even more proud to be a part of it.

“Then ... three.”

Lance charged. The split-second delay on Oliver’s part caused his character Julian to stumble into the first blow. The sword hit his arm, stabbing him. Oliver, still acting as Julian, fell backwards. He knew to fake how deadly the injury was so his opponent would get the wrong impression.

“Ohhh, no,” Julian cried out. “My arm!”

His histrionics paid off. Lance began laughing, mocking Julian, before Julian finally slammed his sword into his legs.

The swords were not real, obviously. Most were kids’ swords from Toys ‘R’ Us painted in darker shades or baseball bats repurposed with duct tape to make them shiny. Even the armour both guys wore wasn’t too restricting. Real chain mail would have been too hard to fight in, so they’d fashioned plastic chain mail, or wore tacky silver costumes from Toys “R” Us again. LARPers knew that the point of playing was to push the imagination, rather than go for authenticity.

Julian rose to his knees and struck Lance with a few more blows.

“You see,” Julian taunted, his voice light. He kept one hand on his arm, covering up his wound. “This is what you get. Look at where you are and what you have become. Corruption. Greed. Evil everywhere.”

“I would much rather die than face anything less,” Lance said. “But I don’t think I shall die.”

Lance lunged forward, striking one of Julian’s knees. Oliver, still playing, fell back. He watched as one of the elves in the crowd moved over to him. This particular group of three elves, all with plastic ears and green outfits, were part of his underground alliance. One removed a pink vial from their purse and held it over Julian’s mouth.

“Here, sir, while he is down, drink up,” the elf commanded. The pink vial held the elves’ secret healing potion -- and everyone gasped at the sudden revelation. Julian tore off the cap and drank the water dyed with food colouring. Then he bounced right back up onto his feet.

“I am healed, at least a little,” Julian proclaimed, his voice stronger than before.