Players

Run at Laingholm Hall, Auckland, New Zealand, by NZLARPS

by Zara Kinzett and Clare Stones

In the utter black of the void a sigh is heard. A glow slowly materialises and a form appears in its centre. Hera, graceful and tall emerges and floats, for lack of a better word, in the abyss. "Always and forever, stuck with his chores...never any recognition...glutted philanderer..." she mutters, shaking her head as she looks about. "What am I supposed to do with this place?" She waves her hand. Globes of light now dance in the void, bring light and a sense of position. A toss of the other hand and tables appear laden with food, music creeps through the nothing tantalising hearer with the longing to find musicians unseen. Hera nods and disappears as quickly as she came.