Here is a “short” story for you. One I got to see up close and in person.
So, there I am, recovering after a hard day’s fighting. Sitting in the shade of the common tent, munching a sandwich, and waiting for the drinking to start. Also, under the tent, AckAck had set up shop with his armoring tools and was helping some young lass with her helmet. Women that strap on armor and delight in hitting people with sticks are not to be called wenches. Make a note. This female fighter thought it was fun to hang out with mercenary scum like us. So much so that she now calls herself a Clovenhead. You know her as Susan the Short. AKA: Nutter. AKA: Thing #1.
At the time, she had a terrible gash under her nose. Not her mouth, she is sporting a split lip. It seems the kinsmen she camped with let her fight with substandard gear. The bastards. So, tink, tink, snip, snip, “ouch, mother fucker”, her and Ack are fervently crafting away at her chin strap.
Finally, they declare “success!” Susan slips on her helmet… And no shit; there I was. It was no sooner than her helm was properly fitted on her bean that… and this is an actual accounting… The Dread Lord seemed to materialize out of the Nether, with his katana in hand, and WHAM!!!! He hit her. He hit her square across the face. He hit her no harder than he possibly could. If you listen to this day, you can still hear the echo of that strike ringing in the gully.
In a flash of light and a cloud of brimstone, The Dread Lord vanished back to the Nether wenst he had come. And once Susan’s heart resumed beating and the color returned to her face, she meekly said. “Yep, it works.”