jabathehut
Resident Troll
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Writing Fight Scenes
- Thread starter LifeContinuesOn
- Start date
CL
Well-known member
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Thinking about a scene like that, I would still flip a table. Instead of throwing chairs, I'd smash a mug over the upturned edge of that flipped table. If the handle of that mug is still intact, I may start punching somebody into a bloody mess with
lehur
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The easiest was to make it like you're commentator on soccer
DreamOfRen
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I'll keep it simple with my tips.
- Keep it logical. Your characters should react within their means. Try to avoid pulling new abilities out of nowhere, aka "ass pulls".
- Use math. It helps keep things more realistic. What I mean by this is some sort of stat sheet or way to measure capabilities.
- Be specific. The more specific you can be about each movement or action, the more easily readers will understand what is happening.
Discount_Blade
Sent Here To Piss You All Off
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BenJepheneT
Syro - Aphex Twin
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- Jul 14, 2019
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"If I'm getting broken, you're getting broken too" type energy. Fucken love it
Erios909
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Anton looked between the two thugs, the larger was play-swinging a banded metal club around, obviously enjoying the attempt at being intimidating, while the other was stroking the edge of a weighty looking machete.
"Oi, mano, this is our alley, and ya took a wrong turn finding yer way in here."
"Just let me go. I've nothing."
That elicited a wicked grin from the larger man and prompted the shorter one with the knife to step forward cautiously, blade at the ready.
Talking, Anton realized, was not an option as the two had a very obvious demonstration that Anton had nothing to steal; he was completely naked after being tossed into the gutter.
"Please." Anton pleaded, letting a bit of desperation enter his voice as he stepped back and then crouched behind a pile of garbage, which led to the approaching thug hurrying forward. The lapse in caution wasn't wise.
Anton sprung the second he appeared around the pile of trash, launching forward at the same time the thug realized his mistake and swung with the machete. Anton's forearm smashed inside of the thug's swing and deflected the attack at the same time Anton slammed into the smaller man's chest sending them both toppling over in a frantic scramble.
Anton found himself on top and immediately pinned the man's shoulder with one knee while reaching down and gouging at an eye. Someone was screaming, Anton wasn't sure if it was him or the thug, or both, when he noticed the shadow approaching from the peripheral of his vision. He flung himself to the side just a second before the large thug's heavy club traced through the air where Anton had been.
Anton rolled and regained his balance, darting forward to snatch up the wounded thug's machete, discarding the ruined bloody mess of an eye he had claimed from the first thug. The sudden aggressive action hadn't been expected, but the larger thug swung down with his weapon savagely with a quick reaction that was only stopped by the heavy clunk of impact.
"Fuck you, mano."
The large man attacked immediately, the rapid flurry of swings and parries taking up both men's concentration to the point they weren't even distracted by the smaller thug's writhing and screaming as he sought to stymie the blood pouring out of his eye socket.
Anton's assailant was huge, and the heavy barely deflected blows were exhausting and he found himself being pressed back into the alley toward the dead-end. There wasn't much more room to retreat, and the thug was grinning evilly as he pressed Anton back in another exchange. Desperate, Anton reached over and pulled down a can of garbage that spilled between them, making a mess and slowing down the thug's approach.
A stream of detritus and random items followed as Anton desperately tried to slow the other man down, and it worked for a few seconds, but then Anton's back pressed into the brick behind him.
"End'o line, fer ya now, mano."
"I think I made it."
The thug frowned but didn't hesitate for long, but Anton didn't have to parry again.
A loud crack erupted from the entrance of the alley and the large thug's eyes widened in sudden pain as he looked down at the bloody line starting to stream out of his chest. There was a momentary pause, and then the man started to raise his club up again, despite the fatal spray of blood coming out of his chest.
Two more cracks followed, and the thug fell to the ground, dead. Anton eyed his would-be savior with wariness before she pulled off a gas mask and confirmed what he had suspected, it was Talia. She wasn't happy.
"I told you to stay in the safe-house."
"I got mugged."
"Obviously."
Another gunshot rang out and the other thug's screaming finally was silenced.
"Maybe you should borrow some of their clothes."
"What, don't you like the view?"
"A third body wouldn't hurt the alley's decor."
"Oi, mano, this is our alley, and ya took a wrong turn finding yer way in here."
"Just let me go. I've nothing."
That elicited a wicked grin from the larger man and prompted the shorter one with the knife to step forward cautiously, blade at the ready.
Talking, Anton realized, was not an option as the two had a very obvious demonstration that Anton had nothing to steal; he was completely naked after being tossed into the gutter.
"Please." Anton pleaded, letting a bit of desperation enter his voice as he stepped back and then crouched behind a pile of garbage, which led to the approaching thug hurrying forward. The lapse in caution wasn't wise.
Anton sprung the second he appeared around the pile of trash, launching forward at the same time the thug realized his mistake and swung with the machete. Anton's forearm smashed inside of the thug's swing and deflected the attack at the same time Anton slammed into the smaller man's chest sending them both toppling over in a frantic scramble.
Anton found himself on top and immediately pinned the man's shoulder with one knee while reaching down and gouging at an eye. Someone was screaming, Anton wasn't sure if it was him or the thug, or both, when he noticed the shadow approaching from the peripheral of his vision. He flung himself to the side just a second before the large thug's heavy club traced through the air where Anton had been.
Anton rolled and regained his balance, darting forward to snatch up the wounded thug's machete, discarding the ruined bloody mess of an eye he had claimed from the first thug. The sudden aggressive action hadn't been expected, but the larger thug swung down with his weapon savagely with a quick reaction that was only stopped by the heavy clunk of impact.
"Fuck you, mano."
The large man attacked immediately, the rapid flurry of swings and parries taking up both men's concentration to the point they weren't even distracted by the smaller thug's writhing and screaming as he sought to stymie the blood pouring out of his eye socket.
Anton's assailant was huge, and the heavy barely deflected blows were exhausting and he found himself being pressed back into the alley toward the dead-end. There wasn't much more room to retreat, and the thug was grinning evilly as he pressed Anton back in another exchange. Desperate, Anton reached over and pulled down a can of garbage that spilled between them, making a mess and slowing down the thug's approach.
A stream of detritus and random items followed as Anton desperately tried to slow the other man down, and it worked for a few seconds, but then Anton's back pressed into the brick behind him.
"End'o line, fer ya now, mano."
"I think I made it."
The thug frowned but didn't hesitate for long, but Anton didn't have to parry again.
A loud crack erupted from the entrance of the alley and the large thug's eyes widened in sudden pain as he looked down at the bloody line starting to stream out of his chest. There was a momentary pause, and then the man started to raise his club up again, despite the fatal spray of blood coming out of his chest.
Two more cracks followed, and the thug fell to the ground, dead. Anton eyed his would-be savior with wariness before she pulled off a gas mask and confirmed what he had suspected, it was Talia. She wasn't happy.
"I told you to stay in the safe-house."
"I got mugged."
"Obviously."
Another gunshot rang out and the other thug's screaming finally was silenced.
"Maybe you should borrow some of their clothes."
"What, don't you like the view?"
"A third body wouldn't hurt the alley's decor."
NotaNuffian
This does spark joy.
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2019
- Messages
- 5,287
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- 233
*time to toot my own bugle*
Looking back from his shoulder through the crowd behind, he can already spot the usual two idiots sent by the armored men, funny as it can be, they are the ones who cause him so much pain in the first time he is here.
Walking past the stalls and shuffling through a group of passer-bys, he manages to lengthen the distance between his chasers and casually strolls into one of the alleys, the one he used the most to kill them.
He mused at the crates and debris all over the place, further down the alley is a dead end.
"Still here as always," as he picks up a rock size of an adult's fist and some worn cloth to fashion a simple sling, then takes a plank broken off from one of the empty crates, sharpens one end by snapping it further down, leaving a plank at half of an arm's length and slightly wider than a adult's palm.
Carefully, he grips tightly the splinter filled plank wrapped with the remaining dirty cloth with his right while holding the sling with his left, hiding his obese form behind a stack of crates at the left wall that piles up to his height, he looks at the sky to spot if there is anyone up in the roof like the last time.
Going through the process of how he is going to execute them and factoring out their reactions from all the previous encounters, he psyched himself in order to get that adrenaline pumping as failure is always an option whether he likes it or not.
Footsteps and whispers can be heard as he relaxes himself and sticks close to the crates and the wall the crates are leaning on.
"You sure this fat garbage is in this alley?"
"Totally, hmph, HIDING NOW ARE WE!?"
There are trash littered all over the alley, with Dylan hiding at the second most inner pile, "who… who are you? What do you want from me?" Croaked Dylan and now waiting for the stooges to pop in with their fangs showing.
He hears their snickering and daggers unsheathing as they tiptoe their way further in, a little retarded for Dylan's taste, but though from the previous multiple times when he interrogated them, he can already understand their full thoughts and why.
Otherworlders are weak in body and mind, there is no way they can fight back.
Smirking to himself at the understanding, he agrees that they are right, peaceful eras spawn weak men and he is grateful for them to have such thoughts.
As one of them steps close to the crates Dylan is hiding, he readies himself and starts to flex his left hand to get the sling going, he has missed shots before but he prefers not to for this one at least.
A dagger first makes its appearance at the edge of the hiding spot alongside of the leading right foot, Dylan holds his breath for a while and lunges at the exposed side of the assailant, a quick swipe with the sharpened plank at the jugular and blood spews out instantly.
As the man kneels while pressing on the wound, Dylan has already stepped to his front, just slightly out of reach from his dagger and hurls the rock at the second man who is just behind the first.
The rock manages to land square on his face, bruising the eyes and nose as intended. Before he can let the curses out of his mouth, Dylan has already use the long cloth in his left hand to wrap and bind the blade of the dagger of the kneeling man and stab the plank at the base of his thumb, a weak groan and the dagger is in Dylan's possession, he bolts past the man and kicks his side with the ball of his heel to gain some downtime.
The second man can only slash in panic with tears and blood from his nose filling his face, by then Dylan has already use his left forearm to deflect his dagger wielding arm and smacks the plank at his temple, followed by a dagger to the throat seals the deal with Dylan twisting the inserted blade to gouge the wound.
Blood sprayed on Dylan's face and smudged his glasses, he backed off immediately to prevent the second man's retaliation with his still functioning right arm. He watches as the disoriented fool drops the dagger and tries to close the wound but to no avail, Dylan then takes his time to trip him, rend the ligaments of his four limbs and walks to the first man, pushes his face down from his kneeling position and rips the throat of the struggling man, bleeding him dry.
It took awhile but the two idiots finally bleed dry, by then Dylan has already done rummaging through their corpses for the loot, even their underwears weren't spared.
Looking back from his shoulder through the crowd behind, he can already spot the usual two idiots sent by the armored men, funny as it can be, they are the ones who cause him so much pain in the first time he is here.
Walking past the stalls and shuffling through a group of passer-bys, he manages to lengthen the distance between his chasers and casually strolls into one of the alleys, the one he used the most to kill them.
He mused at the crates and debris all over the place, further down the alley is a dead end.
"Still here as always," as he picks up a rock size of an adult's fist and some worn cloth to fashion a simple sling, then takes a plank broken off from one of the empty crates, sharpens one end by snapping it further down, leaving a plank at half of an arm's length and slightly wider than a adult's palm.
Carefully, he grips tightly the splinter filled plank wrapped with the remaining dirty cloth with his right while holding the sling with his left, hiding his obese form behind a stack of crates at the left wall that piles up to his height, he looks at the sky to spot if there is anyone up in the roof like the last time.
Going through the process of how he is going to execute them and factoring out their reactions from all the previous encounters, he psyched himself in order to get that adrenaline pumping as failure is always an option whether he likes it or not.
Footsteps and whispers can be heard as he relaxes himself and sticks close to the crates and the wall the crates are leaning on.
"You sure this fat garbage is in this alley?"
"Totally, hmph, HIDING NOW ARE WE!?"
There are trash littered all over the alley, with Dylan hiding at the second most inner pile, "who… who are you? What do you want from me?" Croaked Dylan and now waiting for the stooges to pop in with their fangs showing.
He hears their snickering and daggers unsheathing as they tiptoe their way further in, a little retarded for Dylan's taste, but though from the previous multiple times when he interrogated them, he can already understand their full thoughts and why.
Otherworlders are weak in body and mind, there is no way they can fight back.
Smirking to himself at the understanding, he agrees that they are right, peaceful eras spawn weak men and he is grateful for them to have such thoughts.
As one of them steps close to the crates Dylan is hiding, he readies himself and starts to flex his left hand to get the sling going, he has missed shots before but he prefers not to for this one at least.
A dagger first makes its appearance at the edge of the hiding spot alongside of the leading right foot, Dylan holds his breath for a while and lunges at the exposed side of the assailant, a quick swipe with the sharpened plank at the jugular and blood spews out instantly.
As the man kneels while pressing on the wound, Dylan has already stepped to his front, just slightly out of reach from his dagger and hurls the rock at the second man who is just behind the first.
The rock manages to land square on his face, bruising the eyes and nose as intended. Before he can let the curses out of his mouth, Dylan has already use the long cloth in his left hand to wrap and bind the blade of the dagger of the kneeling man and stab the plank at the base of his thumb, a weak groan and the dagger is in Dylan's possession, he bolts past the man and kicks his side with the ball of his heel to gain some downtime.
The second man can only slash in panic with tears and blood from his nose filling his face, by then Dylan has already use his left forearm to deflect his dagger wielding arm and smacks the plank at his temple, followed by a dagger to the throat seals the deal with Dylan twisting the inserted blade to gouge the wound.
Blood sprayed on Dylan's face and smudged his glasses, he backed off immediately to prevent the second man's retaliation with his still functioning right arm. He watches as the disoriented fool drops the dagger and tries to close the wound but to no avail, Dylan then takes his time to trip him, rend the ligaments of his four limbs and walks to the first man, pushes his face down from his kneeling position and rips the throat of the struggling man, bleeding him dry.
It took awhile but the two idiots finally bleed dry, by then Dylan has already done rummaging through their corpses for the loot, even their underwears weren't spared.