Take an American fraternity hazing, replace the wooden paddles with swords, and (as one should always do with Nazis) swap the ass for the face, and you’d get the idea. A Mensurbout started with opponents donning protective gear – leather chest guards, thick scarves, and, of course, bizarre steampunk goggles. Safety first!
While the tips of the swords were blunted enough to prevent outright murder, they were still capable of inflicting some truly nasty gashes. The aftermath of a Mensur match looked like the makeup room for The Walking Dead.
The horrific scars were considered badges of honor, even though bearing them implied that you lost so badly that you literally got your face rocked off. Strangely, though facial scars and Nazi officers go together like Nazi officers and impotence, the Third Reich actually outlawed Mensur when it came to power. But of course, if you outlaw something to protect idiots from themselves, all you’re doing is making them feel like outlaws. Some fraternities still practice it to this day.
Risri left the men to plan. She shifted as soon as she stepped outside
the building. Her flight swift and direct to the office where she spun
in the air a moment before landing at Dragaur’s apartment sure that none
followed. She reeked of smoke and burnt flesh. Without stopping she
headed straight to the shower, turning the water has hot as she could
she stood letting it beat down upon her as the night replayed in her
The woman had approached and asked “Are you Miss Risri?” She’d been polite and soft spoken within the noise of The Den. A simple request from Blank. Assurances gained, token taken and in moments, the Kaldorei stood in front of Demetrius Devereaux’s house. A line of mounts, a naked women being held by guards, a chest being attached to a large nightsaber. Risri took it all in before he spoke.
“Greetings, Miss Risri. Quite wonderful to see you again. Do put her in the chest here atop my saber.”
A thousand thoughts flew through her mind. A glance to the house before settling back upon Blank, a smile forced as she spoke softly, “Mr. Devereaux, I am humbled that you requested my presence once more. I hope you have been well since last we spoke? How can I help you this evening?”
“I’ve been well enough. I have a message to send. To the city and to the SI:7 as well. We will be heading into the city and setting up. I’d like for you to bare witness to my speech and do what a reporter does best. Would you have any qualms in this?”
We rode then, through the dark wood of Duskwood over the bridge into Elwynn. The procession not stopped by the guards. Not one stopped us. Then the gates of the city ahead, we rode through town as some kind of strange parade before he led the followers behind the Cathedral to the Gazebo.
Moments passed, orders given. In a moment they erected a cross and the girl was taken from the trunk and nailed in place. I whispered to the comm, “Commander, the gazebo, crows.” leaving the channel open so he could hear.
"Mr. Devereaux, I appreciate you want to send a message. That you have done horrible things, but this…This I can not just stand here as a silent observer, this city has laws. The guard… You can’t expect them not to stop you.”
“I don’t see them here Ms. Risri.” “Yes where are they?” “Riddle loves guards. Don'tcha, babe?" "Drinking. Bullshitting. Not doing their jobs." “My favorite toy.J” "P-please… Stop. I am sorry.”
“You are entitled to your opinion, Ms. Risri. If I wished to silence you I would’ve taken careful precautions prior to inviting you. As stated though, you are here to take pictures and to observe. Please do fetch the containers of gas and pour them over the half elf. Now. So how to say this….Now, Risri. I do many things within the kingdom of wrynn and the noble filth. Of course I murder. That I will not lie about. I prey upon the sheep as a proper predator would.”
The girl screaming, crying out in pain as the weight of her body pulled at the nails in her hands.
And then HE spoke, “Move” Risri sighed to herself, the Commander had come. The guard had arrived. She tried to stall more to give Percy time to capture Blank.
"Mr. Devereaux, please I am asking you not to do this. You have sent your message with the pain she is in, can you not hear her?”
It happened so quickly then. The girl was set ablaze within seconds a burning screaming mass of flesh. The smell filling the air. Gasoline and flesh. Acrid. The smell of evil.
The Commander put down two, then a third but all for naught as Blank brought shadows and all were in darkness for a moment, when they dissipated. All that were present was Risri, Percy, and the burning effigy that was once a girl.
Sir Bennas and his troops arrived shortly thereafter, the body taken to the Cathedral. Risri following behind wearily to give her statement to the guard.
She recounted everything from the moment the woman had approached her until she opened the private channel to Percy.
“I tried to stop him. It all happened so fast. One minute she was in the trunk the next she was burning. He said she had snitched on him. That he was doing this to send a message because no one took what he said in the article seriously. What a mess I have created by even humoring him the first time.”
“Well, I’ll be certain to take care of it. And end it.” The Commander pledged. “Because I’m not the weak little child that he paints me to be. I showed his men that today easily enough.”
“It isn’t your fault. He would have done this anyways.” Sir Bennas, kind as always to her.
“I am grateful you came as quickly as you did Commander. You are not hurt?”
“Just a scratch on my cheek, but nothing more. Although-they did try to stab me. That was cute.” Percy had looked at Sir Bennas then, “What do you wish for me to do? Or shall I commit to the Kill on Sight order?”
Sir Bennas spoke after a moment of thought,“The public should be aware of this. Indeed, talk about how the guard was victorious. How the House FLED against one man. Yes, Commander. They should be killed on sight at this point.’”
“What would you like me to do Commander? Do I report this? I fear it will just feed his ego but I fear more if I do not.”
Percy confirmed, “Report it, but make sure you speak about the way I battered his men.”
“I will. What of the kill on sight order? Do you want me to add that to the article? Will that not send every vigilante after him?
Commander Aldenhardt answered quickly, “No, do not add that to the article. We will handle this quietly. We will not let them get their cockstroking.”
“We don’t want them thinking that they’re worthy of being hunted by mercenaries.”
“Can I say that you are prepared to arrest him, if he refuses to turn himself in, he won’t but does that send the message strong enough to deter those who would try to ..exactly.”
“I think that’s fair. Commander?”
“That sounds well enough to me.“
“I will transcribe the recording for you once again and drop it off tomorrow. As for the report, perhaps I delay it a day? Reaffirm it was not that important?”
"Indeed, do so.”
“Once again Commander you have come to my rescue. Thank you for that. I should have called sooner and perhaps that poor girl would still be alive…“
"If not today, Devereaux would have gotten to her another day.”
“I know, you are correct. He was not to be deterred. He did not waver in his resolve to see her dead.”
“It wasn’t your fault. A man like him plans things like this and adapts to changes. He would’ve killed her with or without you being there.”
“He’s not one to stop something simply because someone asks him to.” He stated simply. "It is not good form to blame yourself for his actions.“
"I know. I fear he has taken a fancy to having his name in the paper. But perhaps we can set a trap for him using that knowledge?”
“I actually like the sound of that.”
“Perhaps we could, I would have to think of something, with the High Magistrate’s help, I’m sure we could figure a good plan.”
The water had grown cold. She shut it off wrapping a towel around herself she fell into the bed, tears falling unheeded. Sleep finally claiming her.
JORDAN. Amman. January 11, 2016. Circassian guards pose for a photograph outside Basman Palace. Circassian guards, who have served Jordan’s kings since the founding of the monarchy, still adhere to their ancient traditions, such as donning an incongruous cold weather uniform of black wool hats, red capes and leather boots in this desert climate. They are adorned in silver and black leather and draped across a guard’s chest. Traditionally, one cartridge held poison for suicide if captured, or to pour into a slot in their short sword. Another shell held a vial of honey for sustenance.
Circassians hail from the northeast Black Sea coast and the Caucasus, a mountainous region from which the Circassians were driven after losing a multi-generational war against the Orthodox Christian Russian Empire. Victorious in 1846, the Tsar purged the Muslim mountaineers from what are now the Russian provinces of Karachay-Cherkessia, Adygea, Kabardino-Balkaria and Krasnodar Krai.
I gender bent Hanzo from Overwatch because… Well I honestly don’t know. I kind of just drew until I reached a point of no return, and here we are. She doesn’t even look all that different from how I would have drawn male Hanzo, really. She probably should use a chest guard too but eh.
On October 31, 1938, John Deering took a last drag on his cigarette, sat down in a chair, and allowed a prison guard to place a black hood over his head and pin a target to his chest. Next the guard attached electronic sensors to Deering’s wrists.
Noah swallowed some, hugging the few things he was given to his chest as the guard lock him in the cell. It took him a second to turn around and send a smile towards the other man before offering a cheery, “… Hello,” And hopefully masking every ounce of nervousness he felt.
It's been how long of you NOT coming to see me and here I FIND you in a jail cell? The fuck you've been doing?! You better tell me that there is an awful pretty jewel in the evidence chest that the guards have or I am not helping you.
It’s been like. A few months maybe? I’m sorry I always get into trouble but I promise there’s some kind of thing for you in there somewhere!
Mirrandah was still wobbly, but she was still pretty cognizant now. Her body contorted and she flipped onto her back and crossed her legs as she lie, looking up at the ceiling. Her hair splayed out on the floor under her and she laughed a moment. “This was a good day. I got to finally walk, and I got to see Doran again. He really is cute. His nose is cute. His eyes are cute. Old man Braghs pretty cute too, for a fogey.” She chuckled and rolled onto her side. Her uniforms leather strained slightly as she caught a strap on her shoulder, causing it to tighten around her chest.
The night was still young and she still had drinking to do. Her undershirt would be better, and she knew something was making her uncomfortable. So she stripped. Pulling the leather chest guard off and then sitting back down on her butt, lotus style with a sigh and started looking around the room.
“Pretty place, Miss. It’s kinda like my old mans. He used to love this sorta stuff.”. She cooed as she saw her staff, crawling towards the Stein and Gourd and burbled slightly as she fumbled with the stopper. She tried for only a moment before letting out a soft huff and grunted of frustration as she sat back on her legs.
“Bricaaaa… My gourd is being a butt!”. She rang out as she leaned halfway back, looking towards the druidess with a lopsided grin and frown. “Make it gimmie, Mama’s thirsty”
Brica had stopped, her hands frozen, each holding a glass from the cabinet over the sink. A small keg of mead sat on the counter, at Mirra’s experienced glance, the tap was in the wrong position to have any mead left in it. Her face was frozen in a frown as she slowly looked around. She noted a couple of glasses in the sink that should not have been there. The cabinets not quite closed, drawers not completely closed either. Her frown deepened as she looked towards the door to her room, which was also pulled mostly closed instead of being wide open as she normally left it.
“Mirra…” Brica began before she flung one of the glasses in her hand towards a figure that sprinted out of the bathroom door. Fur flowed rapidly across Brica’s skin, her whole body became longer, her face extended into a muzzle as a snarl spilled from her throat. She dropped low. Sitting hard on her ass as she ducked under the sword swipe of the dark figure. Her fist pistoned out hard, the sound of bones snapping and an high pitched scream of pain filled the air. The body seemed to fold over itself as Brica fired an elbow towards the figure’s unprotected knee beside her. Again, the sickening sound of breaking bone filled the room. The door to the bedroom slammed open as a second dark clad figure stepped from the shadows, sword in hand.
Her eyes blinked. Her head tilted slightly and just watched as the blurs moved and attacked. It didn’t register until the shattering glass rang out. Mirrandah stayed still, seeing the second form swerve from the bedroom, and the dim light of night and small illumination of the main room allowed it to glint enough for her to switch on.
The figure moved quickly, but Mirrandah just stayed on her knees. “Oh, you made her waste good glass, shame on you!”. Her face contorted a bit as she shifted her feet under her form, they moved and shifted her legs under her, as she bridged her back upwards. Three points, perfect spacing. Her hands swung out and using her fingers took soft jabs at the heel, knee and hip as she used an not before seen core strength to raise upwards with each strike.
Spinning around her body, her already heavy set frame wiggled a bit, her cloth covered breasts shook for a moment as her hands came around and smacked what she assumed was the face of the shadowy figure. Maybe it was the nose, or the eye. Either way it was soft flesh of some sort. Her left hand curled like it was holding a saucer as the other came around and flat palm struck into the chest of the thing before her.
The sound of something popping could be heard as she took a final stance, still wobbly as she stood eyes looking crossed, but her body showed no real opportunity to strike at.
Brica rose from under the body. Blood dripped down from her forehead and across her muzzle. Blood spray could be seen on the cabinet at the level her head had been. She grabbed the sword from the body, tossing it to the other side of the room as she looked at the other downed man. “Want to disarm him while I make sure this one is just as disarmed?” she asked before she began searching the man who had directly attacked her. With a pause, she nodded towards an ornate small cabinet with glass in the doors, “there is a new bottle of bourbon in there, as long as these two didn’t drink it like they did the mead. Rhio is not going to be thrilled when I tell her I never got to drink any of it.”
Within moments, a couple of daggers, a dirk, a garrotte and some spiked knuckle dusters were added to the sword across the room. Brica would pause to make sure the man was still breathing, which he was, but the growing pool of blood under his head indicated it was only a matter of time before he stopped.
Mirrandah lit up and taking a step towards the cabinet was met with an angry growl of frustration. Mirrandah seemed to side step his now one eyed assault and leaned backwards, onto one leg. Two strikes landed, one in-between wrist and the other in the chest again. The assault was rapid and forced the man to drop his sword as Mirrandah then changed to a back donkey kick, landing square in the middle of his chest, knocking him back into a chair only to trip him up and fall backwards more, a cracking noise was heard as both the man and the chairs leg broke. The bone jutted from his leg as he screamed and scratched at it. Mirrandah daintily opened the cabinet and burbled at the bottle. “Oh what do we have here, bourbon from the hills? Oh mama is going to make sure you taste good.” Her hand snatched the bottle and thumbed the stopped bottle open in a flash. The cork bounced harmlessly off the back of the bleeding man’s head as she took a long swig from the bottle.
“Ahh! Oh that’s good stuff” she looked over at Brica as she smiled, staggering a bit. Her feet moved her closer to the last man and knees him in the middle of his back, forcing him to all fours as she proceeded to sit down onto him, crossed her legs and took another drink from the bottle.
“Brica, I think they wanna steal your stuff, and they think they can get away with it.” Mirrandah giggled and nuzzled the bottle. “Oh you, you can’t get away from me, I’ll find you no matter where you are.”. She took the bottles bottom and with a clubbing downward strike with the flat of the bottom cracked it into her new chairs skull, and as the body fell, her other leg hit the floor and she stayed in a sitting position for a moment longer.
Brica pulled the wrappings from the face of the figure she was searching. A dark wrap that had come loose in the fight revealing a very tanned skin and a human face. She shook her head wondering if her cottage had been a break in of opportunity or if they had been checking it out for awhile since she had been gone for most of the week. She also wondered if they had been hiding out since they had decided it was safe to not only drink her mead, but by the looks of the knife in the sink, they had been eating her food as well.
The man below her whimpered and groaned for a moment, before taking a shuddering final breath. Brica looked down at him, frowning and concentrating, the fur quickly receded and her form shrank back to what Mirrandah had been used to seeing, the caramel colored skin seemed paler, and Brica was breathing a little heavy. After a moment, she held her hand out towards the other woman, “I could really use a belt of that bourbon, and no it isn’t from the hills, it actually came from Pandaria, maybe someday I can introduce you to the Pandaran who crafted it, you both have some habits in common.”
Mirrandah cooed at the bottle, nuzzling it then slamming another drink then letting it slide from her hands into the other womans as she let her legs out from underneath her large frame and plopped downwards. Hard. The form under her seemed to give as the back could be heard popping and she giggled again. “More brew!”. She looked over at the man still half awake from pain half passed out from shock and crawled over to him.
“Wheredja take the good stuff you dunder. Brica was gonna share the top shelf and you stole it. Mama’s gonna punish you now” and with her hand already at the broken leg she jabbed her thumb into the bone. Her head the struck forward, butting her skull into the man’s nose, finally crushing it and forcing him to pass out from pain, her head ground into him for a moment longer, the blood spurting from the now pulped snout beneath the mask he wore “Bricaaaa. They took the good stuff didn’t they…Why’d the dunders take th good stuff. I wanted to drink with youuuuu~”. Her tone melodic but grumpy as she rolled backwards and fell onto her back again, looking upside down at the other woman.
“Your bleeding your own blood.” She said matter of fact. Her eyes seemed glossy and she could tell the adrenaline was wearing off fast on her face, but the concern was genuine and Mirrandah rolled to her belly, kicking her feet up and down as she spoke again. “You going to be alright?”
Brica reached under the cabinet where a stack of washcloths sat on a shelf next to soap for the dishes. Taking a very long swig of the bourbon, she grimaced as the warm heat made its way through her, hitting her churning stomach hard. “Not my blood, I think he bit his tongue when I head butted him into the cabinet.” She paused as she looked at the hand holding the bottle, her knuckles were swelling up rapidly before her eyes. “Fel, my hand is broke, and I can’t realign the bones on my own.” She took another deep draught of the bourbon. “Oh, and this is the top shelf stuff.” Looking Mirrandah over appraisingly, “you aren’t injured in any way that I can’t see are you?”
Making a burbling sound and shrugging her shoulders at the woman, she spoke. “Y’should get it checked for it gets bad.” laying flat on her stomach as she grunted. It was a good flavor, and she did taste the difference now that she thought of it. “I’m suppose it was good stuff, but it still not as good as kegged and aged barrel Mead. I pose this’ll do.”.
Her slurred speech was getting harder to understand as her head was face down into the wooden floor of the cabin.
She let her hands lay flat in front of her and she sort of just stay still. The snore that came out a moment later was evidence enough that she had drained her reserves and finally passed out from the alcohol and the fighting. So much for helping drag the bodies outside for the ferals to dine on tonight.
Brica took a long deep calming breath as she looked around at the carnage in her kitchen area. Setting the bottle down with care, she quietly climbed to her feet, then rummaged in the cold box for a bag of frozen peas which she put on the back of her broken hand. Pressing her foot to the groin of the dead body, she felt the hard metal protection under his clothes and shook her head. She checked the other body, but he too had expired. She wasn’t sure when, but he was dead now too. She turned and leaned against the cabinet and just sighed in exasperation. She had two dead bodies and a passed out woman on her floor. All she needed now as a partridge in a pear tree. Not to mention she was completely exhausted, the effects of the alcohol were starting to go to her head.
“Mirra? Hey Mirra? Can you wake up please?” she called in a soft but moderately loud voice. She hoped she could rouse the woman, she really was going to need some help.
“But Mahh, the sheep don wanda Tha far from tha fences.”. Mirrandah snorted awake from the rousing, smacking her lips and looking around. Her face doned recognition and smiled. “Oh, hello, morning alrea…”. She burped, loudly “already?”.
Her giggle was sign that she was loopy from the combat and what seemed like the booze and apparent lack of sleep. Her lifestyle of army training and booze was clearly and visibly wearing on her young body already. Her speech was broken and tired but she hefted herself up, catching her palm on the edge of her loose shirt, tearing it slightly as she did. “Ooh, maaaaan.”. She knelt there, hands out, palms up as she looked at the tear. “My favorite shirt”. If you could call a pre-torn and holed filled tank top a shirt.
Mirrandah begrudgingly stood and wobbled to the body with the broken leg and snagging the other leg, pulled the form out the front door. “Whereja wan em, Brica?”. Her Westfall accent was in full display, as she stopped halfway, eyes half closed.
Brica followed the body being dragged out the door, “How about across the yard to the fence close to the road, and here, let me grab a leg, I may have one hand, but I can still help.” She stepped across the body, grabbing the pants of the broken leg in strong grip and helped pull the body across to the spot indicated. Together the two went back and did the same for the other body. The knee of this one was broken as well, again making it awkward to drag the body.
Brica looked up at the moon as they made their way back into the house, where she promptly closed the door. She looked again at the carnage, deciding the rest could wait until the morning. Walking to her room, she stopped in the doorway, there on her bed was a couple of piles of items. Things that could be quickly carried, an heirloom brush here, or comb there, ingots of precious metal or jewelry. Nothing big, nothing that couldn’t be stuffed in a pocket. Gasping at the sight she turned to Mirrandah, “The bastards were sorting loot, they must have heard us when we got here.”
“Mmmhnn. Dunderheads. Can’t make the stew without the meat, the ijits.”. Mirrandah sort of wobbled, but with sleep in her eyes. “Oh, a bed!” Her eyes seemed to close as she took a couple steps towards the couch in the living room. “You don’t mind if’n I borra this, do ya Brics? I’m awful tuckered”. She didn’t really wait for a response as she tumbled forward at the hips and just sort of slipped into sleep like state again. Her snoring started pretty rapidly as she did so. Almost comical enough to put a smile on anyone’s face as she curled into as small a ball as she could on the cloth furniture. At least that was finally a good place for her to be, as she smacked her lips and nuzzled into a throw pillow at the far end.
He glances back to make sure the other is unharmed, after jumping to their rescue. It’s a shame that creatures of darkness can show up even in such peaceful-looking areas… and as far as he knows, this person is defenseless. His stance is firm, shield guarding his chest and blade in front of the snowy-haired stranger, ready to lash out at the monster before them if it comes any closer.
It must have been the first time that the severeness of the punishments wasn’t entirely up to one or two Master’s mercy which was a shame since most of them didn’t seem to know her. Alica coughed several times, trying to relax as she was released from the box. It was horrible, her feisty attitude broken rather fast and for a second she thought they’d let them all die just like that. With teary eyes, she ran towards Mael, wrapping her arms around him tightly and burying her face in his chest, much to the guards dislikes as it seemed. However, she couldn’ watch them all go through that over and over again. “I- I thought I’d be dead..”
I made a mesh mod for the wedding dress. I wasn’t a fan of the chest guard and sash that it had going on so I took them off of the HF mesh. It can be used with on its own or with a retexture. I can do the other races as well if anyone wants it, just let me know.
Untested with Trespasser Requires Ultra mesh settings
I caved. Freezerburn. 1,700 words. Written in like 20 minutes and super sloppy (in every sense of the word).
Weiss repeatedly had to ask herself what had possessed her to partake in this insanity. As if the blue t-shirt that clung to her skin due to revolting amounts of sweat wasn’t bad enough, her pride was being stomped further into the dust with every passing second.