Fighting goblins and ogres in a Georgia park

"The performers are of course playing themselves, but at the same time they're playing an imaginary construct influenced by characters, scenes, and situations found throughout popular culture," says Kurt Lancaster, professor at Colorado's Fort Lewis College and author of two books on "imaginary entertainment environments," in an e-mail interview. "Just as a reader depicts imaginary situations when they're reading a novel, role-players are visualizing through the imagination the fantasy setting."

Mr. Lancaster believes no other form of entertainment immerses an individual so deeply into an imaginary world. "At its best, [LARPing] is collective storytelling," he writes. "You can have deeply humanistic transformative experiences in role-playing games, just as you do when exposed to good literature."

Back in the forest, Wolf is bent on vanquishing the bands of marauders threatening our town. "Bandits are definitely on my list of things to do today," he exclaims. "LARPs get a lot of bad spin," admits player Lauren Massengill. "It's not merited. It teaches leadership and social skills. I've seen shy people who, after a few games, became leaders."

Within the first hour of play, I watched an inarticulate young man blossom into an English-accented, chivalrous knight.

By Day 2, I was getting the hang of this new world. I had witnessed a battle between nasty, half-humanoid, half-plant mandrakes (in green costumes) and 20 defenders. I watched a goblin throw fireballs (little cloth bundles) and saw a fairy named Dusk Whisper ("Triage Healer") patch up the wounded fighters.

We were beginning to bond.

But adventure had still eluded me. Until, that is, an armored knight stumbled into the tavern. "I have a quest," he said. "I seek the most beautiful thing."

What the heck. I tagged along with a quickly assembled fellowship. After a short walk, we came to a dungeon whose door was bound by four different colored ribbons: red, yellow, black, and white – and a riddle: "Sought by those of wicked arts, hidden within loathsome hearts."

Pull the wrong ribbon and who knew what would happen. We guessed "black" might be the answer and yanked the corresponding ribbon. The door opened and we entered the cave unscathed. Ahead stood a frozen statue in the gloom. If we didn't answer the second clue correctly, it would attack. We guessed all three riddles, and brought back the booty: something called the Idol of Forbidden Knowledge. Uh-oh.

That night, the moon rose like a Viking ship on a sea of clouds. I didn't sleep well. When a black-shrouded spirit wandered past my bunk, wielding a white sword, I couldn't tell if it was real or a dream.

By weekend's end, even a man of peace such as myself could appreciate the rush of battle. But what had ultimately made the LARP alluring was not the play violence, but the camaraderie.

It was Sunday morning. Saphrin, from the Arabian-like Desert of Brass kingdom, complained to Magnus, a bull-headed warrior, about how to best rule their town.

"Your world extends no farther than the end of your sword," Magnus said to the gathered crowd.

"What is needed is two councils," Saphrin said, arguing for a plan. "A council of war, and one for domestic matters."

Nothing was resolved. The story would have to be continued at another weekend.

Chris Jones, who is in a seminary, will likely be at a future event to reprise his roles as both Magnus and Leif Thorsson. He credits his wife, Rachel, for drawing him into LARPs. "She's the reason I do this," he says. "She wanted to be a fairy."

As for me, Ethor, I began to miss the quieter moments, like comparing made-up worlds with a pointy-eared goblin named Heinrich. Completely in character, I described mine, dotted with alabaster fortresses. He told me of his, a subterranean Goblin City with belching factories straight out of Dickens.

I hoped Heinrich would stay. He seemed happier in the Forest of Doors than back home – wherever that was.

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