The live play performance of There Used to Be Magic, Once, proudly created by Christine Brooks and Joshua O’Connor, introduces us to a world wherein magic – rumoured to have once been abundant – has long since faded from existence. Trust is a fragile thing in a frozen landscape of jagged cliffs and pink trees. A group of travellers are in search of an ancient source of long-forgotten magic, but are left wondering: can they rely on their enigmatic guide?

Improv and TTRPGs (table-top role playing games) go hand-in-hand quite beautifully, and TTRPGs like There Used to Be Magic, Once rely on improvisation to build a unique world and drive narrative twists. This is why the production finds itself quite at home at the New Zealand Improv Festival; watching a live-play of the game is engaging and – as the cast of players readily demonstrates – genuinely funny. Where an improv show might usually see a small number of bentwood chairs on an otherwise empty stage, this production’s staging reflects its TTRPG personality. The players are seated at desks, Last-Supper-style, which works quite well in The Dome of BATS Theatre – a space already long and lean.

The four performers taking on the challenge of this very first official live-play of the game created a troupe of characters that have undoubtedly never before been seen alongside each other.

Luke Foale’s Basalt, a sentient pile of rocks, refers to others as “flexibles,” ponders deeper reflections on existence, and does not miss an opportunity to remind everyone of their millennia-long lifespan. The repetition proves funnier every time it is re-enlivened.

Ciarán Searle’s Windmill, an adorable badger plagued by static electricity, delights the audience with food-driven antics, while Tara McEntee’s Aphrodite lends depth by embodying a goddess who seeks her own magic, tired of relying on that which was inherited from Zeus.

Steven Lyons’ Near (as in, the opposite of Far), a slightly more wisened badger than Searle’s Windmill, rounds out the troupe with convictions much stronger than those held by Windmill, who is admittedly more interested in chasing the guide’s shadow (and has been successful on multiple occasions). Near shares two important truths during the introductory phase of this live-play; teeth size influences a badger’s choice of tree to gnaw, and the trees are the key to magic and power.

Using the Descended From The Queen system, the players work together to build the story, improvising answers to questions that shape the world – and their chances of success – as the narrative unfolds. The audience particularly appreciates Foale’s clear vocal characterisation of Basalt – allowing for Basalt’s gruff dialogue to be heard as distinct and harder-hitting.  

The atmosphere is made all the more immersive with the musical accompaniment of keyboardist Matt Hutton. Add that to the list of why punters should come see live play-throughs of TTRPGs; this production value just can’t be replicated in your living room (unless you are spectacularly resourced).

McEntee’s Aphrodite is a particular stand out, as her contributions speak most directly to the bigger picture – the question of magic, its source, and how power will be distributed if found. She propels the story forward in great strides, declaring a moratorium on love, a decision that the audience knows will be reconsidered later. This lays the foundations for a satisfying resolution as the final phase of the live play approaches.

The audience are invited to vote on their level of trust in The Guide. Not trusting him at all, the audience aligns themselves with the “cunning and corrupt” assessment of The Guide. With that answer, their fate is sealed and a final card reveals the traveling party’s degree of success. They have reached the source – this is success! But – there has been a betrayal! The players are asked to illustrate the nature of the betrayal. The alpine trees surrounding the rugged landscape have conspired to melt the snow to water themselves. Furthermore, the source of magic takes the form of a mirror that allows one to see themselves enjoying their greatest wish in a way that is legally distinct from any other such mirror you may have see

Brooks offers each character the chance at an epilogue with a satisfying payoff. Basalt’s legacy will endure through a single pebble that tumbled down the mountain, ready to witness history unfold for another millennia. For the others, a picnic is in store, with room for all to enjoy.

There Used to Be Magic, Once is a must-see for anyone delighted by the chance to visualise in their own minds a world described in words by creative and collaborative storytellers. Luckily, we all have the opportunity to visit this world where magic – though it used to exist in abundance – still lingers. The deck is available here (name your own price!). 

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Based on a game called For The Queen, which now has a Commons Licence, There Used to be Magic, Once – by Wellington Game Designers Christine Brooks and Joshua O’Connor – is a table-top role-playing game. (TTRPG) that can also be a live action role playing game (LARP). Or maybe both in a single session?

A slide show of exquisite folk-tale illustrations prepares us, as we settle in the BATS Dome space. D Woods is standing by on Lights and Matt Hutton is poised at the keyboard. The Host/Game Master, CB (Christine), explains the concept and introduces the four players plucked from Wednesday’s Workshop: Tara McEntee, Steven Lyons, Ciarán Searle and Luke Foale.

They sit at tables, two either side of CB, where pen and paper have been provided. It’s a bit like the story table in a writers’ room for a TV series, except ‘show-runner’ CB uses cards to randomise the provocations they will build their story on.

It’s D Woods who freezes the image that provides the location and the players embellish it: the blue mountains are bathed in pure sunshine, the pink trees are like candyfloss and every aspect is destined to melt. Luke describes their Guide a 8½ feet tall, spindly, with a hairy back that swishes when they walk and pulling a raft in preparation for the melting.
  “Hot?” asks Steven.
  “I may or may not have described my ideal man,” replies Luke.

The symbol which will allow access to magic is like the one for the artist formally known as Prince – but no-one can name it, let along draw it. Nevertheless it will come into play as The Symbol of the Vigilantes, which I think is supposed to be a malevolent force intent on foiling the quest.

The players get to choose their character names and describe them, and their attributes.

Steven’s solid, anthropomorphic badger is called Near; preferred pronoun, ia. Fearing the Guide might be a bit weak, Near believes acts of kindness will bring out their courage.

Ciarán’s character, Windmill (they/them), is also badger-like, with hair that reacts to static electricity. When the Guide isn’t looking, they like to jump on their shadow and pretend they’re catching something.

Tara is Aphrodite, a goddess on holiday, so she didn’t bring her magic because that is work. He most endearing habit is to use a moisturiser with a salty, fishy scent.  

Luke becomes a pile of rocks called Basalt. They are uneasy about the idea of ‘magic’, believing there is only science. “There is no magic in sunrise,” they say. “Science is to blame.” It emerges the Guide may be ‘into’ Basalt but they’ve missed their chance because Aphrodite has decreed love is not allowed on this quest.

Now we get to ‘Scenes’, proposed by CB. “Two characters who wildly agree on something” is taken up by the badger pair, Near and Windmill, who agree their jaws have to be very strong.

“Basalt and Aphrodite discuss whether the Guide is into Prince” leads to Basalt claiming they don’t care about matters of the flesh, Aphrodite wondering whether the Guide might be leading them astray, and Basalt confessing they’ve broken the promise not to fall on love but wanting to keep it a secret … Aphrodite wants to find the source of magic because she is annoyed a man – well, Zeus – gave her the powers she has and she wants to find her own magic.

As the improvised scenes ‘play out’, adding interesting dimensions to the characters, I find myself feeling there is more in this experience for the players than the audience. They’re in writer-mode, still thinking and talking things through, rather than actor-mode. Is it fair to want the game to morph into LARP-mode, so that what has been so creatively developed informs the ACTION of their being on a collective quest to find the source of magic, with an unseen Guide who may or may not be trusted?  

There are amusing elements. Basalt’s grinding on about having been around for “thousands of millennia,” causes Aphrodite to shout “No!” more often than we usually hear in an improv show. Her revelation that the Guide convinced her to join the quest by promising her the majority of the magical powers provokes Windmill to exclaim, “Do you think you’re more powerful than two badgers and a pile of rocks?”

The Vigilante gets a passing mention when Near’s relationship with it is questioned. This may be when an un-asked for offer is shouted from the audience but is ignored. I feel this offer represent a restlessness in the audience.

CB announces the ’ending phase’ and asks the audience clapometer to choose whether the Guide should turn out to be Kind, Cowardly, or Cunning and Corrupt. We opt for the latter – and so it transpires the questers realise they have been betrayed in ways that draw together some of the threads they have established:

The imaginatively group-created big spherical mirror they thought was the Source of Magic becomes a mere bundle of sticks that even fails to impress the badgers. Near falls in love with the Guide who chases ia into the sphere. Basalt ruminates on being betrayed every thousand years. Windmill tells us they’ve pulled away the shadow causing the bundle of sticks to collapse. Aphrodite realises it’s ironic that the only thing able to return her powers is the very thing she banned.

As love is restored, Windmill reveals they and Aphrodite have the same father: Zeus. Cue ‘Purple Rain’, offered by Near. Basalt concedes magic may exist after all, and Aphrodite announces a big party in the badgers’ warren.  

While There Used to be Magic, Once has the hallmarks of story-building through improv, I feel that only achieving the outcome through talk at the table is less dynamic than characters in action, being and doing, would be. What we get instead is just the concept of a plan for performance.

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