97 Poets of Revachol - THE TIME IS NOW - 2026 SIGN UP PERIOD IS CLOSING SOON!!
Are you ready to Mag It Up? Or mellow it down with copious amounts of fictional substances? Why not live out your Disco Dreams down on the Dance Floor? Everyone, from the most hardcore of cops, to realest of communards, to most staunch of traditionalists has to have a night to party in La Cage - why not join us? Runs 5 and 6 of this heartfelt LARP are returning next year! 97 Poets of Revachol is a high-immersion LARP set in the world of Disco Elysium!
You can expect: the formation of a beautiful community, and witness it fracture and fall due to political tensions, all as our characters live the highs and lows of their complex and interweaving lives.
Location: Terezin, Czech Republic Time: 15-19 & 22-26 July 2026
Price: Standard ticket €360, 26 subsidised at €150, understudy (last-minute spots) €50. The price includes the full experience, key parts of the costume, food, and basic lodgings.
Sign-Up Opens on October 13th, 2025, and ends on November 3rd, 2025
More info: https://revachol.rolling.cz/ This link will take you to the sign-up form for runs 5 & 6 of 97 Poets of Revachol https://forms.gle/1DgWTQVnyAUok63K8
some more portraits i did; one of @laughingpinecone's 97 Poets of Revachol LARP character, A. Buttle; a skill portrait I did for a set that I wrote with a few other folk; and one of seajinki's Eyes/Dom interpretation, Domingo Panganiban :)
Family ties for our little Revachol LARP fanworks exchange... a young storyteller learning the ropes back in the snows of Katla, and mother and daughter embracing before the final battle, fearing, or knowing, that it would be the last time...
Still emotional about my Lian's journey at 97poets last year - stranded in the pale with her family as they were being smuggled to safety in a cargo full of apricots, she came out of it a dyed-in-the-wool proto-Miroan who wants to 'peel away the world to find the raw Truth beneath'. And so as much as she did love her family (which was so much, always, even when she did not understand them), her path took her further and further away, yearning for that eventual convergence, close, so close now, when all of history's painful contradictions will be negated at last. And that strange person with the "THE END IS NEAR" sign understood and counseled her, always, always... it's only fair that once Lian's body fell to the ground, riddled with Coalition bullets, her spirit picked up the sign and went on to tell to anyone who'd listen: the whole world is a zone of imminent entroponetic disaster...
HERE THEY ARE, courtesy of the event's official photographer, Zuzana Šubrtová. The Elysium-based LARP took place in two runs in Terezín, Czech Republic, in the latter half of September. These are from the second run!
I can't possibly describe what it was like to inhabit the rundown tenement of La Cage with more than a hundred other players, bringing to life a whole slice of society: immigrants, barflies, petanque players, sewer people, Union gang members, Wild Pines mercs, disco people, sewer people, looters, street artists, an inevitable mass of fascists, anarchists, communards (or so I'm told), communards (proper), communards (it's complicated), councilmembers, hustlers, taxidermy enthusiasts, the also-inevitable mass of pale-fried strugglers, journalists, Moralintern creeps, RCM chucklefucks, and so on and so forth. The old military hospital burst to life with small human moments and grand revelations happening in every corner at all time, as the gears of history moved toward our inevitable trial run of Le Retour.
We really had it all. Politics, drugs, creeping mold, more drugs, unseen voices steering us toward our best and worst natures, a metaphysical rave, entroponetic anomalies, precognition (scripted), precognition (just kind of happened?? Several times over?), suzerainist coffin deliveries, sweatshop politics, old reckonings, radiant sacrifices (accidental-ish), three-way divorces (one-upping one HDB), strikes and strike-breakers, political dance-offs and political orgies, and did I mention the drugs, under the greatness of history and the pale.
Thanks to the organizers for the colossal effort they pulled off like it was nbd, and to all my fellow dwellers of La Cage.
A few favourites:
First off, this was basically the entirety of my game:
...with a central heartrending tension between that abandon, that 'something beautiful is going to happen', and my character's earthly loves, the family she loved so much. It was really really fascinating and emotionally moving to get to play out that central conundrum in full (and go die on the barricades for an independent Revachol following the push of History) (and also of Franconegro pulling my strings like a marionette in a chilling scene) (but mostly History)
Case in point: me in the back, the Unseen voice/spirit/skill "Doomsayer" to the left, dear husband Tai in the middle. Sorry Tai!
Moralintern mission
Sweatshop workers strike
Both sides of the barricades, right as the game ended (this is not a spoiler, it said up front on the website that that's where the story would end): independentists (feat. His Fuckery Franconegro with the black wings in the background, but also the Unseen of if it sucks hit da bricks, the street martyr and idk who else) and globalists (Dolores Dei, Doomsayer et al)
speaking of those two - here's them in full rave regalia. I love that two of the collective skills of this place are flat-out "Dolores Dei" and "Franconegro", it's so fitting. Can't have current society without them, so here they are, as a molecular part of it.
RCM peeps predictably being serious, professional individuals
Designer drug guy talking to Corrosion who's kind of the local version of Electrochemistry. I'm sure this was a completely hinged conversation that reached sensible conclusions
Wild Pines mercs +1
Disco downtime. The set design for The Bearded Vulture club and The Second Club was out of this world. I hope my own pics can convey some of it.
sweatshop power dynamics (there were accidents, Union leverage, strikes, corruption... you'd think there would be barely time for anything else to go on AND YET)
possibly my fave pic of the whole thing (go Doomsayer!!!). we had specific graffitable areas on the wall and made VERY good use of them. Well, everyone else. My character wasn't much of a graffiti artist, her greatest contribution was turning "Revachol for revacholians" into "Revachol for mold"...
LARP^2
fascist campaigning at the Democracy Picnic
Petanque club...
...actually playing petanque? I never saw them ingame, I was starting to wonder if it wasn't a front for something else
Pictured - no scheming, plotting or quadruple-crossing here as you can clearly see by "Kras Knezhinisky"'s super normal demeanour and unassuming name, which I can totally believe was on his legit birth certificate)
I mention Kras because here's the theatrical taxidermy show with him in the middle narrating the adventures of his antifascist ferret Kommissar Kunixet. Nice pic, I take the shot. Five seconds later, superstar Frittte clerk Jamie Delaney joins in, and what can I do, NOT have Jamie in a shot? Absolutely not, so I take the same exact shot with Jamie in it as well.
And by sheer twist of technology (and of course the pale, and of course vile censorship in defiance of the Romangorod convention)... Kras Knezhinsky of all people gets kommissar-no-kommissar'd.
"Kras, the pale is erasing you from our memories, from images," I warn him, showing him the two pictures. One hour later, he gets taken behind the waste disposal facility and shot.
Hm.
(LARP's haunted. These things KEPT HAPPENING. In the first run, that version of my character went "YOU MURDERER" at the specific merc who'd turn out to be connected with her background, a couple of hours before getting that reveal in-game. What's Elysium without some good old-fashioned precognition after all!)
Poor Flowerseller (red dress here) was kind of my Empathy - many valiant attemps were made, however. Uphill struggle.
HARDCORE anodic club leader Konrad Nilsen doing something not so hardcore here, idk what was going on exactly but then again I never even noticed we had a morgue and I had a plot right next room, so what do I know. I know that the end is near. That much for sure. And that the resolution of history's contradictions goes through the pale. But corpses? Nah.
Feeling nostalgic for my fail communist who sucks, my sewers sugar grandma, the ever-reliable A. Buttle who forgot her name and all in all we're not too sure about the surname either, the star-and-antlers diehard from Revakhol with a hard K, more identity issues than scarves, erasing herself into a ghost to win a wrong battle for a wrong cause... girl we failed Elysium so hard and I wouldn't have had it any other way ⭐🦌
97poets things that didn't happen, things that will have happened at the end of time... not the muppets thing tho, the muppets thing is exactly how these two doofuses were ingame in each other's presence (text edited from Tropos's landmark post). It wasn't even scripted. we weren't even testing for that. the two born-again commies found each other nevertheless.
The first scenario is "what if she did a sick kickflip and flipped the bird to her asshole allies and by some miracle, thanks to her gonzo tactical positioning, managed to secure the rise of the best possible leader for the independentists, with whom she shares a strange bond, all under the auspice of Known Democracy Lover & Good Advice Giver Franconegro (the file is named galadrielstemptation dot png. no particular reason)"
Second one's the aforementioned asshole allies whom she loves very much always, always, always
Let it be on the record that the ONE good thing that ever happened with Moralintern and antennas was that one time when a Moralintern team waltzed into a dilapidated Jamrock tenement on their way to ruin everyone's lives, and brought all their tech gadgets with them, planting them here and there to pinpoint their objective. So an old communard hag minding her own everyone else's business in the corridors saw the four-people team proudly carry their big important antenna into one of the sweatshops - it was later said that they planted it there, secured it with a cute little wire and especially a nice sign saying "property of Moralintern - do not touch".
Not ten minutes later, the same eyewitness saw the sweatshop owners trot along the same corridor in the other direction, antenna slumped over their shoulders, headed straight for the pawnshop. A third group of strapping young folks then left the pawnshop, antenna in tow, to take it to its rightful place: to be a HARD CORE centerpiece for the local anodic dance club. The old woman, won over by curiosity, followed them across the corridors, peeked into the club and saw that it was well and just. So when she hunched back upstairs again, and saw an artistic fella whose name she could never quite recall (almost as if he were half there and half fog, but then, her memories were never the best), she happily shared with him that there was ART happening downstairs at the club right then and there, politics and technology and people mixing into something sublime.
A Moralintern officer walked into the stairs' landing and the artist whispered something in their ear. Was he relaying what he'd just heard? Worried for the kids down at the club, the old woman hurried back down - "THE PIGS! THE PIGS! HIDE THE ANTENNA!" she warned in her hoarse voice. Time was of the essence, and the precious haul was turned sideways and stuffed under a bunch of pillows, but the protuberance wouldn't really pass muster if anyone came looking. The Moralintern officer strode into the club.
...and got very busy soloing a dance-off for the AGES as they alone challenged the entire rest of the club and stood their ground. The end.
The moral of the story is: stay HARD CORE and stuff will sort itself out ig
