The area in between the Butterfield dorms—or as it is more commonly known, the Butthole—is home to many different activities. At any time you may find students playing Frisbee, kicking around a soccer ball, or hanging out at picnic tables. But if you happen to wander by on Thursday nights, you will see something a little different: men testing their metal against other men. You will see the human spirit pushed to the brink and then beyond it. You will see foam and tape swords being wielded in a way you never thought possible. You will see LARPing.

LARPing, for those who do not know or who have not seen the movie “Role Models,” is an acronym that stands for Live Action Role-Playing.  It is a general term that encompasses many different types of role-playing games. Perhaps the most famous type is the medieval/fantasy sword fighting that can be witnessed in the Butthole once a week. The brave warriors who make up the scene are members of the University’s Strategic Gaming Club, and they gather to hone their skills and engage in friendly combat.

“We hope to give people opportunities to express themselves in a different manner, to have fun, and to promote strategic gaming in all its forms,” reads the club description from the online student group directory.

When you first see one of the Thursday meetings in person, it can seem a bit jarring. Our peers are jumping around holding foam swords and shields. Then, at certain intermediate points, one of them “dies,” and puts down hir weapons. It is certainly not a normal sight to see. Well, maybe normal for Wesleyan. But there still seems to be a lot about this club that is of a curious nature. So this past Thursday, I set out to engage in one of these battles myself.

My entrance into the meeting was a little anti-climatic. To be fair, I had been hoping for swirling gusts of wind, the ground blanketed with fog, and epic music not too distinct from the “Lord of the Rings” soundtrack playing in the background. So maybe my expectations were a little high.

I walked over to the members and was immediately welcomed into the club. I quickly got the rundown of the battles—they’re a sort of open training and practice session. The members work on their battle skills and non-members are always welcome. The night I was there, three other combatants were also fighting for the first time.

The club also hosts and attends larger events, which involve more complex characters and advanced point systems, but these embellishments are not part of the weekly meetings.

The way each battle works is simple enough. A hit to the arm means you lose that arm (put it behind your back). A hit to the leg means you lose that leg (either take a knee or pivot). A loss of three limbs or a strike to the chest or back means death. However, strikes to the head or stabbing with the weapons are not allowed. This is war, but safety still comes first.

The array of weapons the LARPers had was impressive: bags full of long swords and short swords (so named for their corresponding lengths), a number of tape and foam shields, and a box of duct tape throwing knives. “Would you like to try one?” asked a member when he saw me eyeing the long swords.

I was a little startled. I had not expected to be allowed to jump right in. But here was the chance to play with a sword, so of course I was going to take it. I wanted some big speech about the power of this blade that would maybe involve him taking a knee and ceremonially passing the sword to me. But instead he just handed me the sword in a fairly undramatic manner. With a draw of breath I swung the sword around a few times. Yeah, this was awesome.

The atmosphere that night was nothing but encouraging. Being surrounded by people who were enthusiastic about what can be seen as an odd activity seemed not only to justify it but also fuel it. I was quickly corralled into engaging in a fight.

My first fight was against a more experienced member. He held in his hands two short blades, which he twirled around effortlessly. My long sword suddenly felt clumsy in my hands. After we exchanged the customary call of “Lay on,” he charged at me and struck, quickly dispatching one of my arms. Tucking it behind my back I turned to face him with a new vigor. But even with my increased efforts, my opponent easily dodged my looping hacks and delivered a deathblow to my chest.

I fought a few more times, determined to get at least one kill. I eventually did in a three-way battle. However, my post kill touchdown-dance-style celebration was short lived as the other opponent seized my celebration as an opportunity to hit me in the back.

With my first tastes of LARPing mortality under my belt, I departed. Maybe I didn’t look like any of the characters in the “Lord of the Rings” movies. And maybe I am not particularly adept at wielding long swords or shields. But I can take comfort in knowing that if the world ever falls into disarray and we resort to showdowns of feral bands fighting with bladed weapons, I will have more experience than most of the competition.