Real warriors don’t complain about the grass being too wet for fighting. They don’t scream, “Hey, you can’t hit me there!” in the middle of a battle. And they don’t take water breaks while laughing about losing their arms and legs.

So the members of Dagorhir (the word is from J.R.R. Tolkien’s Syndarrin language and means “battle lords”) won’t ever claim to be real warriors – they just pretend to be. Likewise, the foam weapons are more Nerf than Middle Age and the fighting more Monty Python than “Gladiator.” And for every ferocious battle cry there is roughly twice the laughter in response. That doesn’t bother any of the “warriors.” This is the way they prefer their battles.

“You can’t take it too seriously, or it won’t be fun,” says Steve Johnston, freshman in computer engineering.

On the battlefield

So while their serious, death-dueling counterparts might have hesitated at fighting almost past midnight on a chilly Thursday evening, the Dagorhir players have too much fun to care. The lights of Parks Library are the only assurance that the crazy people running around in the dark are, well, crazy people running around in the dark with foam weapons. Students walking by – at least those who haven’t made an effort to get as far away as possible – can’t help but smile at the action. Some even stop and ask, sometimes in not-so-polite words, what the devil is going on. And a player will pause from fighting long enough to give the obvious answer: “We’re killing each other with foam weapons!”

Actually, the “killing” is similar to how paintball simulates a kill – hitting someone with the fake weapon causes a “loss” of a limb or life. Teams fight until the other team is dead or a goal, such as capturing a flag, has been accomplished. The stakes of life and death, though, are low enough that sometimes a passerby can be coaxed into a game after a long night of studying. It takes less than a minute to explain the basics of Dagorhir combat: Hit two limbs or the body to “kill” someone. Don’t aim for the head or crotch. Have fun. Please don’t aim for the head or crotch.

“It’s good stress relief for some people,” says Andy Frerichs, freshman in material engineering, “[It’s] a diversion in a world that’s otherwise complicated.”

Building a realm

Accessible, escapist, swashbuckling action was what Bryan Weise (known as “Aratar Anfinhir the Stormbringer” on the battlefield) envisioned when he created Dagorhir in 1977. After reading Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” and watching the movie “Robin and Marion,” he wanted to find a way to “capture the spirit of adventure that could only come from wielding a sword or bow.”

Matt Stephenson, freshman in biology, was introduced to Dagorhir as a high school junior by a friend from Ohio.

“We were at his house one night and he said, `I got this foam sword; want to see it?'” Stephenson recalls. “And me and my friends said, `Hey, this is cool, let’s give it a try.'” The group of eight friends made a batch of rickety weapons and staged chaotic battles in Stephenson’s backyard.

“I said, `I think you guys are crazy,'” recalls Frerichs, who didn’t join until a couple months after the group began playing. “The weapons were crazy and they didn’t follow much of a rule structure.”

By the summer of their senior year, the original eight had spread the word about Dagorhir to their friends, and the group officially became the Nan Belegorn (Syndarrin for “Valley of the Mighty Trees”) Realm – almost 40 fighters strong. The fighting moved out of his backyard to the local park and included weekend warriors from junior high to college. When Stephenson considered going to Iowa State, he envisioned bringing Dagorhir along with him.

So now Iowa State has its own Dagorhir realm: Tir Asleen, named after a kingdom in the fantasy movie “Willow.” It currently has nearly 30 members – most of them drawn in by either the battles or the foam weapons – who practice twice a week on Central Campus. Stephenson’s dorm closet doesn’t hold clothes; it is too full with the swords, spears, shields and axes that make the majority of Tir Asleen’s arsenal. And this weekend, five ISU students will be participating in Octoberfest, an inter-realm Dagorhir event where up to 200 fighters converge in Champaign, Ill., to stage epic, foam-softened battles.

You can be an elf

It is at inter-realm events like Octoberfest where Dagorhir’s wide appeal can be appreciated. Many fighters have elaborate costumes and weapons from every era in ancient history and the fantasy realm. Some of the warriors are very serious about their battlefield reputation and put in extra time working out and practicing combat maneuvers; others are content to compete in the “let’s-go-get-drunk-afterwards” division.

“Dagorhir’s participants experience their fantasies on a variety of levels,” according to Sean “Dominus” Richey, who operates Dagorhir.com. “Dagorhir caters to everyone. Dagorhir is an exciting form of exercise that improves coordination and balance; [it] is social and allows for interaction among a diverse group of people.”

Indeed, Dagorhir has many players like Stephenson who grew up playing traditional role-playing games like Dungeons and Dragons. “[Dagorhir] is kind of the next logical progression; you go from dreaming of it to doing it,” he says. “Unfortunately, there are no dragons for us to slay, so you go to the next best thing: a bunch of guys in costumes with foam weapons.”

The level of role-playing varies with the participant’s tastes. The minimum required to participate in an event like Octoberfest is to have a period costume and a field name. Stephenson’s field name is “Xipher” and he prefers to be on a team of “good guy” characters. Other players go as far as keeping a history of their past battles so they can boast about their battlefield feats and develop rivalries and vendettas. Amtgard, a splinter group off of Dagorhir, even has a magic system, where players can play the part of sorcerers. Magic spells are simulated by – how else? – throwing sandbags.

Currently, the members of Tir Asleen incorporate very little, if any, role-playing. The sport aspect of Dagorhir is clearly the most appealing aspect for the ISU players right now. There are more sweatpants than costumes on the field. Captains pick teams similar to how it’s done in a recess football game. A sword blow to the face immediately creates a stream of very modern-day language flowing from the victim’s mouth. The slang for this type of Dagorhir player is “stick-jock,” which is appropriate and a touch ironic, since for many of the players, Dagorhir is the closest thing to a sport that they do.

“That’s what we pride ourselves in,” Stephenson says. “Any average Joe can play.”

Dagorhir will probably never cease to attract puzzled glances; it’s difficult to accept as “normal” an activity that is rooted in a world of elves and “Braveheart.” But when most of the players cite “you get to beat people with foam weapons” as their reason to play, it’s even more difficult to consider Dagorhir to be that deviant. Don’t think of it just as a way to act out a fantasy war game; think of it as the natural response to living in a stressful academic environment. In that case, Dr. Stephenson is ready to hand out foam-padded medication to anyone who wants to show up tonight at 7 in front of Parks Library.