The Prodigal Princess (Pt.2)

[Sarrim]

Sorry for the delay. A bit more work put into this one. Hope you enjoy!

Samantha still couldn't believe what she had seen only a few minutes before. The little girl, the Princess Amelie, had wet herself...No, *soaked* herself right in front of her. Perhaps more shocking was her own reaction to the sight. Incredibly aroused, a hot blush enveloped her as she saw the lithe girl's wet ass, dripping with pee, the stockings she wore streaked with urine, and the look of almost orgasmic bliss on the Princess' face. After Amelie's rather redundant remark, she asked if Samantha might offer her some privacy to clean up, something that Samantha readily agreed to.

The girl left her bodyguard in the ante-chamber of her apartments, while Samantha played the scene over and over in her mind. Almost involuntarily, she felt her hand gliding down to her most forbidden places, rubbing, massaging her pussy through her linen pants, cultivating that hot feeling of arousal, bringing herself closer, ever so closer to that peak of ple...

A sudden noise, the sound of the door knob clicking caused Samantha to start, and she tried to appear composed as the Princess re-entered, though her face was still flushed, and her breath more than a little...Labored.

For her part, the Princess looked every bit like the royalty she was, as if her indiscretion had never happened. She was dressed in fresh clothes, a beautiful, form-fitting dress in masterfully matched harvest colors - gold, orange and reds perfectly blended to make it seem as if she were a walking storm of fallen leaves. But to Samantha, all she could imagine were the underclothes beneath. She dismissed the thought however, as duty called.

"Your Highness, are you feeling better?"

A sly smile crept on Amelie's face, and she nodded. "I just wish I had a little more time to," she paused and giggled, "take care of things, before my father's pronouncement. But as it is, we shall be nearly late if we leave now! Here, you may take one of the ceremonial swords I practice with. It's pretty, but it'll work in a pinch as well. As for clothing...Hmm."

Amelie clicked her tongue. "Well, they provide cloaks for the Guard, so we won't need to worry too much, but we'll need to get you something a little, well, more 'royal' soon." She smiled, and Samantha felt horribly under-dressed and, well, poor. "Nevermind for now, though Samantha. Grab one of the sabres from the walls, and we'll be on our way." Samantha nodded and looked against the wall, where a number of ceremonial swords rested, carefully placed on varying racks. In Nortmund, it was a traditional gift to give fine weaponry to the royal family, as a sign of respect for their martial prowess and the giver's own fealty. After a brief glance though, Sam wondered wryly at what a noble thought was "fine weaponry". Most of the weapons were gaudy and horribly unbalanced. One had a pure gold hilt, practically ready to bend and break at a good swing. Another's basket-guard was wrought with wires so fine and unreinforced that it would like as not slice the hand of the wielder if the sword swing didn't cut straight through. One, however, stood out amongst the rest, and Samantha's eyes laid down upon it immediately.

The one word that could best describe it was elegant. It was a "new school" sword, slim and agile, meant for fencing as opposed to armored combat, which suited her just fine. The blade was curved just slightly in a reverse S, though it was straight enough for use as a thrusting weapon as well. The guard and hilt were streamlined, a beautiful silver-alloy in an outline of the royal family crest, and the pommel was weighted with a dark blue stone. Despite its beauty, Sam knew it to be a dangerous and deadly weapon, and her belief was confirmed when she held it, perfectly balanced and ready to cut the air. The Princess was too young to know such weapons intimately, but she did provide comment.

"Sir Maxson gave me that for my 10th year of birth. He was always a kind man, and he seemed to put a lot of value in it."

"With good reason, your Highness. He knows his steel." Samantha held it with awe, before quickly grabbing a silk scarf and creating a makeshift wrap for it. The Princess waited impatiently, and after, they were off with due speed. Already, the sun was deep into the afternoon, and the Harvest Pronouncement would begin with the red and oranges of the evening. Amelie led the way, bringing them to a stable where a detachment of the Guard and the Princess' carriage awaited. They saluted the two, much to Samantha's surprise, who was usually on the other end of such service. As Amelie climbed into the carriage, the sergeant of the detachment stood forward and addressed Samantha.

"Madam Greylily, I am Sergeant Hawthorne of the Palatial Guard. I have news from Captain Veridis. He says that there are rumors of southern aggressors within the city. There is little to worry about, but he asks that you remain on your guard. You will find your cloak of office within the carriage, and we will be taking a route outside of the parade path this day."

"Osland, here? That seems a little far-fetched, Sergeant. Are you sure?" Samantha felt the cold silk wrapping on her back instinctively.

"The war has gone somewhat poorly in the weeks since your departure from the front. Our people fight well and valiantly, but there are traitors amongst the nobility, who wish to see the Royal Family deposed. Osland is providing them aid in this effort. You can be confident, however, that myself and my men are loyal retainers to the Palace. We shall see you safely to the event, and home again."

"I have every expectation that you'll do a fine job, Sergeant." Though the man was grizzled, and perhaps twice her age, Samantha's experience and innate charisma lent a commanding air to her, and the man bowed to her as she entered the carriage. Amelie waited, smiling, and holding her cloak.

"Beautiful, don't you think?" It was, though not in the way that the Princess was thinking. Its aesthetics were kind to the eye indeed, a wonderful blend of dark blue and white with the crest of the royal family, but its make impressed Sam. Entirely practical in use, it was made of a stout linen, with a silk underlining. Light enough for constant wear, robust enough for harsh weather, and heavy enough to deflect a blade in combat. Sam momentarily regretted the thought though - in recent days, her eyes were rarely appreciated the innate beauty of the world. It was numbers and function, the value in combat or its danger. Her life was a soldier's one, indeed.

Out of the corner of her eye though, another feeling surfaced. Amelie sat there in repose, beautiful as ever, and her dress was draped carelessly, in such a way that it bared a pale, perfect thigh. A feeling of heat surfaced, and Sam found herself staring for a moment. She drew her eyes away finally, but not before she thought she saw the Princess watching her. Her heart leaping to her throat, she tried conversation to wile away the embarrassment.

"So how do you feel, your Highness? Is everything aright for the festivity today?"

The Princess gave her a sly look, before looking out the window once more. "Of course, dearest Samantha," she talked with a mature air at times, foreshadowing the royalty and power within the girl, "Though I'm somewhat distressed about the plans my father has for me."

Samantha raised an eyebrow. "Is there something wrong?"

"Well...No. It comes with nobility. Sons are kings and directors. Daughters are assets, half-property. The binders of nations. He intends to barter me off, and the harvest will be the first showing of me in true beauty."

"I can scarcely think of you as lacking true beauty at any time, Princess."

Amelie laughed a musical laugh. "Now you sound like a suitor! But no, this dress is the proof of it. My others are lovely to look upon, yes, but this one is meant to portray me as the trophy that every noble will want to wed." She sighed, then looked sideways toward Sam. "But I have a plan that might earn me a little more time."

Fastening her cloak to herself, Samantha nodded to Amelie to go on. But instead of talking, she raised her dress a little farther, exposing the lovely orange panties that she wore. They fitted her snugly, outlining her forbidden parts well. Samantha lost her concentration, and her fastener.

Amelie giggled. "You know my secret, dearest bodyguard. But it is more than a pleasure for me." She paused, fastening her eyes on Samantha. For Sam's part, her eyes were half-locked on the Princess' lower body. Her labia was just outlined in the orange silken fabric, and as she watched, it darkened slightly, as the girl released a two-second spurt of urine into it. Even from her position opposite of the Princess, she could see the goosebumps form on the girl's thighs, and felt her own body rush with adrenaline and arousal. "It's also a weapon for my freedom."

"How...How do you mean, your Highness?" Sam felt on edge, like her heart was walking a tightrope. She was filled with a lust, though she knew it was forbidden. Despite that, she could barely contain it.

"Unlike some," Amelie said, locking her eyes on Samantha, who started, "A nobleman would never desire to be with a dirty girl. My father may show me off this night, but should he pair me with anyone, I have a surprise for them."

"But you've already...Done that, haven't you?"

"I've let my water go, yes. But I've been holding back something else for a few days, and it's begging to be released. I'm not sure that I shall remain clean this night." The girl giggled, and let out a squeaky fart to punctuate her statement, before fidgeting. "It's actually somewhat hard to hold as it is. I may need your help later."

"I am at your disposal, my liege."

"I know you are," Amelie said, with a sly smile.

-----

Hours later, night was settling in and the festival still in full swing. Her father the King was a charismatic speaker, and the citizens and nobility attending were in good spirits. Amelie's prediction had come true, and she was courted by various nobles. She brushed them away with ease however, and Sam saw a good part of the Princess' father in the girl. She had a way with words. Though too young to drink much, she was given a few glasses of wine, which was enough to put the girl into a much more sultry version of herself. But that sultriness was saved for Samantha, and her alone. She was at the girl's side the entire night, never leaving it, and she received quite a show. During the feast, she found her hand being guided down to the Princess' beautiful ass, during the powder pipe show. Caressing the girl's secret place, she felt the Amelie tense, and a warm wetness envelop her hand for a second, before stopping. Looking up at the princess' face, she saw the desperation in her eyes and knew she needed to move quickly. Helping the girl hike her skirt to a safe distance, she felt a cascade of hot liquid pour from her beautiful forbidden lips, through the orange panties and into the grass below. As it slowed to a stop, Amelie ground her pussy into Samantha's hand for a few brief moments before the servant came their way. Giving Samantha a secret smile, she went back to listening to her father.

Soon though, the King had finished his talking, and the formalities of the night were nearly over. However, the dancing still remained. In these times, the nobility used dancing as a sort of courtship. It was rather ironic, but the practice actually grew from the peasant class - the nobles made it all fancified, but its origins were still undeniable. As Amelie and Samantha stood from the table, the orchestra sprung into action. A light melody, an overture, Samantha thought, began.

"We should take our leave before we're delayed for this. I'm really not feeling up to dancing right now. Something rather more...Pressing, calls me," Amelie said quietly. Samantha nodded, looking around for Hawthorne, but he was nowhere to be found for the moment.

"Of course, your Highness. I'll go call for -"

"Ah, Princess Amelie, you look striking tonight, as always." The voice was a youth, barely older than Amelie herself, Sam was sure. It belonged to an ostentatiously dressed noble, who wore the sash of Northcrest. Samantha knew him, being the heir apparent of her home county. The son of Duke Gregory, Isaac Gregory. The last time she had seen the boy, his voice was still high as a choir singer's. She doubted his maturity had followed his physical development.

"You flatter me, Isaac. It pleases me to see you. Did you enjoy my father's speech?" The girl nodded to the boy, as befitting his station. She seemed tense, and Sam hoped the exchange would end soon. The girl must've been holding her waste for some time.

"I did, but I found myself distracted by you. Would you care to join me in the dance?" The boy looked smugly at her, and Samantha was about to intercede, but Amelie gave her a look that said that this was a highborn affair. Sam sighed and stepped back.

"But of course, Isaac. Please, wait here Guardian. I'll return shortly." Taking the boy's outstretched hand, the princess followed him to the makeshift dance floor, where the twirling dresses of the varying aristocracy made the night bloom with the colors of harvest. Samantha was left alone at the table, and resigned herself, grumpily, to waiting. She picked at the things that were supposed to be snacks, according to the maitre d', before resolving to find Sergeant Hawthorne while the princess was occupied. Glancing toward the dance floor, she saw the girl dancing magnificently, though she could see the tenseness in the girl's body. The thought of her desperation made a slight heat erupt in Sam's body.

Finding Hawthorne was not as difficult as she thought it might be. He was chatting it up with the gate guard, who were watching the etrance to the noble's area of the festival, keeping the "unclean" masses from intruding. The man had a mug in his hand, but seemed sober as she approached, and snapped to attention. "Orders, Guardian?"

"Her Highness will be taking her leave soon. Gather the guard and transport, and we'll be along." Sam's voice was commanding, strong. She fell into the role of officer easily, given her previous experience. Hawthorne nodded, as was off immediately. The gate guard remained in repose, and gave her a rueful look when she raised her eyebrow to him. Then again, some authority would have to be built over time. She turned on her heel, back to the dance floor.

However, when she arrived back, she realized to her horror that the princess was gone.

-----

[Sarrim]

A second, frantic glance across the floor confirmed it, and she knew that Amelie was not safe. Thoughts ran through her mind. Could it be the traitorous nobles? Or worse? Calming herself, she knew she had to act. However, raising an alarm here would cause a panic and a scandal, so she would have to move quietly...And quickly. She'd been gone only for a few minutes, so she knew that the Princess could not have gone far. The best plan of action would be to track down the boy first. That task, she found, would be easier than she'd have hoped. Amongst the nobles and their protectors was the captain of the Northcrest guard, drunk as he would be when back home. Striding briskly, and acting casually, she approached the inebriated man, who was regaling a few young guardsmen with a ribald tale of some false nature.

"And then, when I...Afffter I rescued her, she of course, hash to pay me back. Shpecial like," Felken, Guard Captain of Northcrest, said, with a shit-eating grin on his face. When he saw Sam, the grin grew even wider. "Well, of all the hells there are! If'n it ain't Slender Sam? Wuz this now...You with the *Royal* Guard?"

"No time, Fel. Where's the boy?"

"Wot boy, girly girl?" Felken reached his knobby hand toward her breast, and she swatted it away. He barely seemed to notice. Hadn't changed a bit in five years.

"You know, Fel. Isaac." Her voice was contained, but the heat behind it radiated from her. Fel's eyes furrowed for a second, but then he shrugged. "Back behind th' Pavvy Tents. Got some young'un in tow. 'Sowin his seed' and all that!" Felken laugh a ribald laugh, but Sam was already gone before the man had stopped chuckling. The last thing she needed was some two bit nobleman of HER county violating the heir to the throne of Nortmund. The Pavilon Tents lined the northern edge of the Green where the festival was taking place. It was quite quiet, as most of the people were at the dance floor. Occasionally a servant would come running about, but would disappear just as quickly. She felt no compunction any longer to play the part of an unafraid Guardian, and drew apart the wrapping to her sword, baring its cold steel to the night. Grasping it in her sword hand, she gliding silently amongst the darkened tents, listening for sound.

A muffled shout was all that she needed. Tents of red and green, purple and gold. But only one of green and white, the colors of Northcrest. And that's where she heard Amelie's voice. Caution held her pace steady however, and she approached it carefully. The flap was hanging loosely, and a lamp light illuminated the edges. Voices could be heard within.

"Oh, dearest Princess, your reputation is well known. Such a..." The sound of a slap rang out, along with a squeal. "Tease." As Sam crept closer, and pulled the flap back, she saw the young Gregory, and two men-at-arms, both engrossed with the visage of Amelie before them.

"You can't do this, Gregory. My father will have your *head*!"

"He'll do no such thing. To lose such a valuable bargaining chip in the negotiations with the war? My father influence is strong, and that makes me untouchable. Besides, what worth is a daughter with no maidenhead?" Snapping his fingers, one of the men moved forward, pinning the girl against a large crate. Her beautiful body was outlined in the dim torchlight, and hear eyes almost glowed with fear. "But if I take that maidenhead, it could bring our families closer together, yes? Just think of it as 'helping' the King. Now, let's get a closer look at the goods, shall we?" Samantha could feel the sinister smile on Isaac's face, and the boy threw Amelie's dress up.

"What's this now? Did the Princess have an accident in her skivvies? You are a dirty bitch, aren't you? I'll teach you the meaning of good ettiquette." With that, he reached out to her dress to rip it off. Amelie's soaked panties darkened anew with urine as her fear got the better of her. Sam knew the time was now.

"Touch her, and you'll never touch anything with that hand again, Gregory." Sam's voice was cold and sharp, icy as the blade in her hand.

Spinning around, with a thrill of terror on his face, Isaac stared at her and, realizing she was alone, regained his smug smile. "Ah, the Guardian comes to save the day. But too little, too late, too few. It will be sad when I have to report that a traitor amongst the Guard itself tried to ruin our courtship. Kill her."

Sam's face was unchanging, as the men-at-arms drew their swords. They were heavy, meant for the battlefield. Dangerous and deadly weapons, but no match for an agile fencer. They had some measure of skill though, approaching her at flank. Even ill-equipped and experienced, two opponents were a serious danger. Sam had to take the initiative. Waiting for them to begin closing up, Sam rushed the man in front, deflecting his heavy blow with ease and sliding right past him, just in time to miss the thrust from the second man behind. As the first spun around to meet her, she let him run himself through on her blade. She was surprised with how easily it sliced through flesh and sinew, allowing her time to bring the sword up and around to knock away the swing of the second man. Realizing he no longer had the tactical advantage, he instead circled, as Sam followed. It was only a few seconds before Sam gave a light swing, anticipating the riposte and spinning around, slicing the man's arm clean off. In shock, he tried to scream, but only a strangled croak came out, before he fell to the ground, groping for his lost arm. The first man already lay still, cut from stomach to shoulder.

Isaac looked at her with horror as she shook the blood from his blade. Her steps came like thunder as she raised her sword one more time to strike.

"Sam, no!" Amelie held up her arm, and the command resonated through Sam, her sword arm held in stasis, her eyes burning a hole through Isaac. "We cannot be associated with the murder of a noble, no matter how...Repugnant."

Isaac stood, staring at Sam's sword, his mouth agape.

"He won't speak of this. It would destroy him and his father were it to become public knowledge. Instead, you will return to Northcrest and remain their for your days, won't you Gregory?"

The boy nodded, just barely, terror outlined in his eyes.

"Good then. Come Guardian, we must leave before we are seen." The Princess grabbed Sam's hand, leading her from the tent and through the maze of the others, before stopping suddenly, and embracing Sam deeply.

"Thank you...Thank you so much Sam. I was so afraid." Tears were in the Princess' eyes.

"Of course, your Highness. Of course. Are you alright?" Sam held the girl close for a moment before she moved away.

"Please...You will call me Amelie, Sam. You deserve it. And yes, I'm fine. He didn't touch me at all, though I'm sure he meant to. We need to - ugh." The girl suddenly bent over, holding her ass tightly. "Mmmm...I can barely hold on Sam. I need to poop so badly, and this didn't help at all. We need to get back." As if to mark the point, the girl farted loudly. Sam saw the outline of the girl's delicious ass through the fabric of her dress, and could barely keep herself back.

"Of course, your highness. I've already arranged for the carriage back." Sam could use a break herself. It had been some time since she had released her own water, and combat always made her need worse.

"Mmph...Good. Lets go." The Princess led the way, and they wandered their way through the tents toward the edge, where the lights of the festival twinkled merrily still. Amelie stopped suddenly, and gasped. "Oh no! It's going to come out!"

The princess bent her knees slightly. "Sam, please! You must help me hold it!" Amelie begged. Sam quickly strode behind her and slid a hand under the girl's dress, feeling her tight ass. She put her hand on the girl's panties, and pressed up against her anus, which was puckering with a barely held log. "Got to poop so badly..." Amelie mumbled. Finally, Sam felt the turd slide back, and Amelie relaxed somewhat. "Thank the gods. But we *must* hurry."

They crossed the Green quickly, and made their way through the mingling crowds. Soon, they came upon the carriage, where Hawthorne stood, ready.

"Home, Sergeant." Amelie commanded, tersely.

"Of course, your Highness." Hawthorne snapped a salute and went to the head of the group immediately.

Sam opened the door for Amelie, who climbed in quicker than lightning. Sam followed, to find the girl desperately holding her behind.

"Quick! Close the door! I can't hold it any longer!" Sam did so, as the carriage rode off, and Amelie kneeled down against the bench, raising her dress, and then giving a smoky glance toward Sam. "Guardian, I'm afraid my ordeal has fatigued me so. I just cannot hold it any longer. I'm going to have an accident..."

Sam knelt as well, mesmerized again by the Princess. Her delicious ass hung in the air, clad by a slightly damp pair of orange panties. The lace around the edges only seemed to accentuate Amelie's natural curves. Suddenly though, the girl tensed, and she saw her cheeks spread. The smell of feminine poo filled the air as Amelie farted one more time, a quiet, sneaky one, and then a tiny bump appeared at her bottom.

"Mmmph..." Amelie's face was one of concetration and ecstacy. She bore down, and the bump began to grow as the thick, firm log of poo slid out into the girl's panties. She grunted, and it grew even more, to the size of a large ball, and then a wet fart came out, sputtering from the confines of her soiled underwear. "Oh gods," she said, "I'm pooping myself like a child. I just can't hold it. It's so big."

Sam agreed. Her hand, moving on its own, reached for the Princess' bottom, feeling the bulge, it warmth and softness. Suddenly, the girl let loose with another fart, and she bore down again, expelling more poo into her loaded panties. "I can't stop it, Sam."

"You don't have to, Amelie..." The poop continued to come out for a few second more, pushing the limits of the girl's panties. As if waiting for the cue of her finishing, Amelie's bladder released again as well, pouring liquid gold onto the wooden floor of the carriage. A soft patter accompanied it. It caused a similar, desperate twinge in Sam's bladder, and she felt a spurt dampen her own leggings. Sam's arousal grew almost exponentially, and her hand moved on its own volition, sliding along Amelie's pussy, eliciting a gasp from the girl.

"Oh *gods* that feels good." Amelie's breath came hard, in gasps, and before Sam could stop herself, her hand slid past the girl's wet panty crotch and began massaging her clit. Amelie grinded herself against Sam's hand, and in no time was shuddering with an orgasm. She fell to the carriage floor, holding herself with her arms on the bench. Her butt made a squelching sound as it hit the floor.

Some time passed, neither saying a thing. The combined growing desperation and arousal in Sam made her hold her own crotch. Amelie didn't seem to notice, lost in her own world. Finally, Amelie spoke up. "Oh dear. I've had a terrible accident in my panties. I *am* such a dirty girl, aren't I?" The Princess giggled. Then, seeing Sam's plight, she said: "Oh dear, I have barely let my guardian have the time to take care of her needs. What a terrible mistress I am. Here, let me help you."

Before Sam could react, Amelie was on top of her, fiddling with the straps of her pants, revealing her leggings and underwraps, already damp with her own pee. She moved deftly, but then 'accidentally' pressed against Sam's bladder, making her lose another spurt, this time soaking her underwraps. The golden trickle ran under her ass, warming it. She could barely hold on, and squirted again, for longer. A soft hissing sound filled the carriage as pee soaked her wraps and leggings, going on for seconds before Sam could get her bladder under control.

"Oops! I'm sorry, Sam. Let's get those off." She undid them easily, revealing Sam's shaven pussy. It made her more comfortable on the hot days, and she like how she looked with it trimmed. Amelie regarded it admirably. "You must need to go so badly. Am I right?" Sam nodded.

"So badly, your Highness. I've been holding it all day." The Princess nodded, but then did something unexpected. She leaned down, and began licking Sam's pussy. The feeling was ungodly, and Amelie was a natural at it. Her juices oozed from her crotch, and the Princess lapped it up. Pausing for a moment, she said, "That feels better, doesn't it? We'll make you feel all better." Before Sam could respond, she dived back in, and Sam's words were turned into moans. Her bladder was at the limit, but she tried to hold on - she could pee in the Princess' face! But as Amelie continued, her need grew greater. Only the continued ministrations of the girl allowed her to hold back. But she could feel the orgasm coming, and when it did, there would be no holding back the flood.

"Please, Princess, I need to pee soo badly. I won't be able to hold it, if I come..." Amelie only responded by going harder, sending Sam over the deep end. The orgasm was so sudden, so powerful, that it took the breath from her and nearly caused her to pass out. Waves of pleasure racked her, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming in ecstacy. The floodgates fell open though, and a cascade of pee fell into Amelie's waiting mouth, where she drank greedily, still sucking Sam's secret place.

The relief was so great, releasing herself into Amelie's mouth, that the orgasm continued for as long as she peed, until finally she slowed, and fell back against the carraige, completely spent.

Amelie climb up on her, straddling her, and kissing her deeply. Her shit-filled panties rubbed against Sam's pussy, eliciting another wave of pleasure. And, as a final gift, Amelie released her last bit of pent up urine, the golden liquid running down into Sam's pussy, wetting it and warming it.

When their lips released, Amelie smiled at her. It was mischievous, and alluring. It was too much. "Not bad for a first day, hmm?"

[Mr. Cool]

Your writing is phenomenal. But isn't it bad to have an S-bend in your sword?

[Sarrim]

Her sword doesn't have an s-bend to it. It's a fighting sabre, single-edged with a slight curve, thin but heavy enough for sustained combat.

[Serika]

Good job on this one. It was a nice read.

You may want to add a [SCAT] tag to the subject in this topic so that the scat fans here don't miss it. ;)

[Sipplewat]

You write very intriguing fight scenes. They show a knowledge of swordsmanship.

[wetypd]

I am almost stunned by the density of your story - the only word that comes to my mind is "wow".

Again, all these details make the scenes so living, it is a real delight to read them. And I also like the fighting scenes very much - I haven't learned fencing, but in larp you can at least gain a small glimpse of melee-combat.

Wolf