Fight scenes

[Ermol]

If you want to skip the babble, the question is: How do you guys write fantasy fight scenes? Not big army battles but duels, brawls, involving no more than a dozen or so opponents.

I have a fight scene in the short story I'm attempting. This is what I see in my head:

"Thingie dodges the strike. He shoots some magic at the bad guy but the latter doesn't care. They fight (my imagination fails me at this point). Suddenly Thingie breaks his sword and avoids a few killing blows. He lands next to a magic sword he was delivering to the king. He draws that sword and lands a few glancing strikes on the bad guy that he previously shrugged off, but with this sword, oh no, Thingie is getting stronger and the bad guy is getting weaker. Thingie kills bad guy, but unfortunately while his new "vampiric" sword saved him in battle, somehow it negated the magic of the talisman he used to keep himself warm from the deathly magic cold pervading the area, and the life energy he sucked with the sword wasn't enough. Thingie collapses on the corpse of the bad guy and passes out himself."

Obviously my actual script is written in nicer English, but still only about half a page long, and in the middle of the passage I wrote in red "I am not good at writing fight scenes" and highlighted it in yellow.

In my head at the moment it is very much A to B - they started fighting, the plot point re magic sword happens, they finish fighting. That's great, but I need to flesh this out, and my imagination is failing me. I need to think quite hard as to what can happen in a sword fight.

Another one of the reasons why I struggle is that somehow me writing words like "dodge/block/parry" brings me back to when I did WoW maths. Also whenever I attempt to write a fight scene a lot of it is about how my hero "narrowly avoids a fatal strike" etc. A lot. Something like:

"He dove to the right just as the huge blade swung past his ear. Rolling away he threw the dagger at the brute's leg, but missed. The brute bared his blood-covered teeth in a grin and launched himself at Thingie. Thingie raised his shield just in time, though the weathered pine gave in and the axe went through, stopping inches from Thingie's nose."

I also had a think and realised that the more interesting duels/fights I've read are smart, i.e. they involve the unlikely elements of environment, a trick the character learned two chapters ago, an unexpected use of an item he's been holding since the beginning of the book. Cool smart stuff like that.

Incidentally, one of Thingie's allies (and the leader of their little group) wields a flail and you can do some cool stuff with them, like wrapping it around things and disarming people. Doesn't help Thingie much though, not when he's stuck in the North on all his lonesome, with allies who literally are planning to eat him and... I digress.

Now it's not all bad, but it's difficult and somewhat time consuming for me to write these, much more so than other things.

I am just curious as to how do you do it?

PS: As I am writing this I realise that I've never had my characters fighting someone they know well. This takes away a personal or emotional element from the fight. I don't actually have many interesting "action" baddies in my "world", only big demigodly / magic bads, misc henchmen or canny political operators. This is a separate issue, but one I need to have a think about.

 

[T.Allen.Smith]

When I write a fight scene of any scope, I focus more on how the characters react and feel more than what actually happens.

Choreography is important as it pertains to realism or a sense of movement & spacing. Yet, it's hardly as important as how the events effect characters. That's what is truly important.

That's my standard advice regarding fight scenes. As a reader, I don't care about who threw what punch and how. What does interest me, is how it feels physically to get punched in the nose...the burning sensation...what the blood tastes like. I want to experience a character's fear & trepidation the moment before wading into the fray with an axe in hand, the mindlessness of losing oneself in fury or the struggle to survive, the sense of remorse, relief, or pride, of surviving traumatic events.

Those are the feelings that resonate. Those are the elements that captivate & intrigue.

Focus on characters.

 

[Jabrosky]

This morning I was working through a scene in which my heroine, armed with a spear and machete, fights three Velociraptors. Not the wimpy poodle-sized kind known from real paleontology, but the man-sized Jurassic Park kind that hunts in packs (albeit, my raptors still have feathers). Now that is a challenge to choreograph. On the other hand, since it's supposed to be an action-packed adventure, this scene is something I want to show rather than just tell.

For me, writing fight scenes can be a balancing act. Since your characters have to think and act quickly, you don't want your sentences to run too long for pacing reasons. Nor do you have time for a lot of character introspection. On the other hand, too many short and choppy sentences can sound repetitive. In the end I've settled on mixing longer and shorter sentences whenever possible.

 

[wordwalker]

TAS has a solid point, that fights should be about characters. This meshes well with your ideal, Ermol, that the best fights are smart.

What I do is to start with a sense of what everyone wants (who wants someone dead, or to get the money or to escape, etc). Then I work out the "basic" tactic that everyone would use-- because just banging away with a sword does work better than almost anything else, if the scene's come to that point and if it's the character who's got a good chance of winning. Then the other characters start looking for ways to change that pattern: call for help, throw something in the eyes, offer a bribe, whatever they can. It's who thinks of what and how soon that starts to reinforce character, and makes the scene all about how it changes, although at the same time those twists have to be good enough ideas to make a difference when fighting straight out still works pretty well.

You may also want to read some of our other forums to get a bit more comfortable with what works and what doesn't in a fight. An important one might be that, once people pick up something deadlier than fists, there are only so many reasons a duel is likely to last longer than seconds (maybe the fighters are exhausted or untrained, or more interested in talking/ stalling/ falling back than pressing the attack). Also, thrown "knife" is a typo: it's spelled "axe."

On the other hand, your idea of the sword's magic negating his warmth spell is clever. A good fight helps a story, but what matters most is that it's there to move the story along. Nicely done.

 

[Incanus]

I would also suggest reading things with 'fight' scenes in them.

However much you are currently reading, read more. Read good fight scenes and bad ones, read authors old and new, read fights using different technologies in different settings. That should really help give you ideas about how to handle such things--learn a little from here, a little from there. It adds up.

 

[Caged Maiden]

In this article, I compare love scenes to fight scenes, but the theory is about writing both: A Fine Line Between Love and Death - How to Write Love Scenes

Also, I'll post a fight scene I'm particularly fond of below so you can make your own observations:

The bells tolled one in the distance. Vincenzo, in no hurry, kept his pace steady. Mercurio clomped along behind, the hard soles of cheap boots veritably echoing in the near-empty street.

Vincenzo turned on his annoying shadow. “For a swordsman, you sure have heavy feet.”

Mercurio scoffed. “What do you know? You’ve never seen me fight.”

“I don’t need to,” Vincenzo said, amused he’d gotten a rise out of the young man. “Go get a pair of boots from Leonardo in the cordwainers’ guild.”

“Cordwainer? What do I look like, the belle of the ball? I’m not sure I’m in the market for fancy shoes.”

“Sure, they’ll cost eight times as much, but your speed and balance will improve.”

“You might want to take your own advice now that you have a pocket full of coins. Your boots are worn almost through and caked in horse shit.”

Vincenzo shrugged. There was no arguing with the truth. At least the youth was observant. “I’ve fallen on hard times.” Vincenzo shook his head, thinking hard times didn’t do his predicament justice. “Take it or leave it. It’s good advice.”

Mercurio got into a low ward and shuffled a few steps forward and back, showing off. “I think I know plenty about balance, signor. Maestro Moro says I’m his most promising student.”

“Is that why you’re so eager to jump into a fight with a band of angry foreign mercenaries?”

Mercurio stood straight again and tugged at his open collar. “I’ll jump into a fight with any man,” he said, his haughtiness becoming as tedious as his loud feet. “Besides, they aren’t mercenaries, they’re miners. About a dozen of them live in a workhouse down by the river.”

Vincenzo chuckled. “They’ll be looking for work a long time. The nearest mine is a hundred miles north of here.”

“They work for the church,” Mercurio said, parrying a blow from an unseen opponent. He spun and lifted his buckler hand. “They like to take in Kanassa’s sights when off duty, mostly the gambling dens and brothels. I’ve escorted them home more than once with their winnings since they scarcely know which end of the sword to hold.”

“What makes you think they work for the church?”

Mercurio, still showing off his fancy footwork, lunged at Vincenzo’s back with an imaginary sword in his hand. “Edrian guards posted outside the workhouse.”

Vincenzo, ignoring Mercurio’s antics, kept walking. A dozen foreign miners? Whatever Marcello was up to, it must be worth a pile of gold. Rumors abounded of vast catacombs under the cathedral, stacked with long-dead priests’ bones but never anything of value. Perhaps Marcello was working on a secret escape route. It still didn’t explain why he would hire Fjeri men from across the sea.

Mercurio grabbed Vincenzo’s sleeve. “Damn, I hate it when I’m right.” He nodded toward a group of dark shapes, following.

Vincenzo smiled. “Three? I thought you said they’d try to make it a challenge.”

Mercurio let go his arm. “There’ll be more in the shadows. They caught on quickly after a few of them got their winnings stolen. Might even have a couple hired swords ready to step in.”

Disregarding his suspicion that Mercurio could be working with the Fjeri, Vincenzo kept his pace steady. If the swordsman was in league with the ruffians, it would only make besting him that much more satisfying. When two of the foreigners stepped to intercept, Vincenzo stopped.

“In Fjera, we don’t look kindly on cheaters,” one of them said. His face lay somewhere under a fur hat and thick beard. “Give back the money or we gut you like dogs.”

“I’m no cheater,” Vincenzo said. It was only fair he give the men an opportunity to save face and retreat before they bled on his blade. “It’s a game of chance. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. No hard feelings.”

Vincenzo’s gambling opponent, the one with yellow teeth, stepped from behind his comrade. “You paid dealer to slip you cards.”

The accusation stung, even though Vincenzo wasn’t a professional card player. No one wanted to have his victory cheapened. “Even if that were true,” Vincenzo said, keeping a level tone, “I couldn’t have forced you to bet a pair to the end. We both played a loose hand and it just so happened, this time, I came out on top.”

The gnarly foreigner scowled while the bearded fellow said, “Give István his money and we forget your face.”

“Tempting as your offer is,” Vincenzo said, wrapping his fingers around his sword grip, “I won it fair. I’ll give you a chance to leave peacefully, before I have to spill your blood.”

The foreigner guffawed, throwing his head back. He stood a head taller than Vincenzo, a testament to the hardy stock of the eastern land, but Vincenzo was hardly intimidated by the motley assortment of axes and clunky swords the men boasted between them. He hadn’t tested his new shiavona against another blade and anticipated an opportunity to try its mettle. Giving the miners more chances to retreat than he would ordinarily entertain, he said, “I’m not adverse to a late-night brawl, in fact, I welcome it.”

From out of the shadows, a man with an axe approached, dressed in the same style as the other Fjeri, and flanked by two Kanassan men. Vincenzo recognized one of them from the card house, a spectator who had accepted his free beer. The bearded brute pulled an axe from his belt while the other two drew rapiers.

Mercurio, a step behind, put his hand on his pommel. “Last chance, signor, or I’ll clean up what they leave behind. A few florins for your safety?”

Vincenzo smiled. “Watch and learn. I was swaggering through these streets with a buckler and blade, before you were a glimmer in your father’s eye.” He drew polished steel and assumed a low guard, still out of measure but ready to close in on his target.

The bearded man hefted his axe, bringing it over his head. Sure, it might appear more intimidating but he’d be at a disadvantage against a fast opponent. First blood, Vincenzo told himself. Killing green fighters, even bold, stupid ones, verged on disgrace.

The foreigners fanned out, one more joining his friends from behind Vincenzo. Grossly outnumbering him, they exuded an air of confidence. Vincenzo maintained his posture, presenting the smallest target possible.

A burly foreigner wielding a sabre swung first, a sloppy slashing motion utilizing shoulder strength but little skill. Vincenzo shifted his weight and let the blade pass harmlessly by. While the attacker recovered from the momentum of his miss, Vincenzo caught one of the rapiers against his blade, twisting his wrist to immobilize his opponent with his quillons. Vincenzo punched the swashbuckler on the chin for good measure, watching him drop to a knee.

Still hoping to avoid deadly force, Vincenzo grabbed the fallen sword with the toe of his boot and flung it up. Dueling, for as much as it appeared a test of physical strength, was more a mental game. Opponents could easily be demoralized when they saw they were outmatched. Sometimes, it was more effective than showing them their own blood. Worth a try, anyways. He caught the blade in his left hand. István and his bearded friend grimaced, unimpressed as Vincenzo spun the two blades over his head and brought them to bear.

He used the light sword like a dagger, low and to the outside. Regaining his stance, Vincenzo advanced toward the bearded fellow, obvious leader of the band. Never one to deny stupid men the chance to learn a lesson, he prepared as his attackers all came at him as one. The four governors: timing, perception, distance and technique, were less a conscious strategy and more an instinct. Hundreds of hours spent in practice against well-trained opponents, ensured gut reactions were the right calls. Counters to every movement an opponent made, predictions of action based on the smallest twitch. Even in the dark street, Vincenzo could decipher enough indicators to know which men hesitated and which were confident enough to strike first.

István’s friend and the other hired local man darted in simultaneously. While the sword proved an easy parry, the weight of the foreigner’s axe carried Vincenzo’s left hand off line, that arm being notably weaker after an old injury.

Vincenzo disengaged the axe and retreated to regroup. With senses heightened from adrenaline, he caught the sound of shuffling feet behind him and narrowly dodged an incoming axe. He regretted giving the men the chance to walk away. If he had attacked first, one would have been dead before the others could react. Perhaps he had grown soft with age.

 

[Caged Maiden]

Continued...

Loathing being called an old man, even by himself, Vincenzo beckoned for vitality he knew he still possessed–even after years spent telling himself he had nothing to prove. Lies. The sacrifices he made were the price of freedom. After all, what good did a seat in the senate do for a man who felt more comfortable in a sweaty shirt than a velvet doublet?

Vincenzo pushed back the bearded leader. Flexing the muscles in his better arm, he pounded the flat of his blade against the axe handle, right under the head, jarring the wood shaft in his opponent’s grip. He sidestepped as the local swordsman lunged, catching Vincenzo’s leather doublet with the tip of his sword, but scoring no wound.

He had given everything up to join the Radan church, forsaken an education for the opportunity to become a man of the cloth. And where had it gotten him? Thrown out on his ass when he refused to see things Marcello’s way. The frustrated miner retreated when Vincenzo bound up his axe and stripped it from his hands.

Vincenzo didn’t have a chance to press forward, the swordsman lunging again. Dancing the scandiaglio, Vincenzo feinted and probed to test his adversary. Perhaps it was a bit indulgent, the amount of flourish he put into his movements, but just then, he felt ready to prove something–maybe only to himself. After Marcello decided Vincenzo was more valuable as a weapon than a spiritual leader, he presented a choice: work as a glorified guard or remain a nameless priest forever under Vescovo Ranosi or Vescovo Vioni. Vincenzo took the only choice he thought he had and signed on as Marcello’s personal guard.

But he wasn’t hired muscle, or even a priest any longer. Years of loyalty washed away as soon as Vincenzo refused to murder one of his friends. Near the age of forty, he took up his blade for himself for the first time. Men like Massoli didn’t offer a retirement security, but they paid well and always had work for a swordsman embittered by the world.

Vincenzo reverted to a low guard, turning up his knuckles on his left hand to use the flat of the blade to parry. The hired swordsman disengaged Vincenzo’s parrying blade and almost scored a touch to the slow left arm, but Vincenzo pushed in with his right, trying to slip under the buckler. It wouldn’t do to distract himself with laments for his lost life. Dueling angry could be a fatal mistake. He filled his lungs with air and darted in, sweeping the blade aside and crouching lower to avoid the buckler aimed at his face.

Time seemed to slow as Vincenzo pressed forward, striking. His opponent gave ground, unable to block every thrust and cut. Bleeding from two gashes, one at the elbow and the other at his hip, the swordsman’s movements became frantic.

“Yield,” Vincenzo said, sweeping his opponent’s blade off line again and lunging. His sword struck the shoulder. The buckler clanged onto the cobblestones.

“Desist!” Two city guards approached, swords drawn. One of them held a lantern, illuminating the street and brawlers.

Vincenzo kept his eyes on the swordsman.

The Fjeri, like whipped dogs, retreated to the outer edges of the light. When the swashbuckler’s hand dropped to his side, Vincenzo sheathed his blade. He tossed the other on the ground.

“What’s going on here?” a guard asked.

No one said anything.

“Someone starts talking or you’re all under arrest.” He spoke with conviction, though Vincenzo doubted two guards could arrest eight men in the street. The guard glanced at the bleeding swashbuckler and shined the lantern toward the miners. “I told you lot if I caught you fighting again, you’d be in prison for disturbing the peace.”

The bearded fellow opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again in good judgment.

“Who drew first?” the guard demanded.

Mercurio shuffled his feet and István shifted uncomfortably.

“I see.” The guard handed off the lantern to his companion and sheathed his sword. “Go home, all of you. If I see any of you again tonight, I’ll cart you off to prison. Is that clear?”

Heads bobbed silently. Vincenzo motioned to Mercurio. “That’s our cue to leave.” With Mercurio following like a lost pup, he strode north. It wasn’t but a few blocks before the young man laughed. His feet fell notably softer. “I stand corrected. You could do better than me.”

Vincenzo reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins, not bothering to count them. “I still aim to pay you for your services.”

Mercurio stopped walking. “But, you took care of those men by yourself.” He shifted his belt and adjusted his sword. “Hell, you didn’t need my help.”

Vincenzo grinned, holding out the coins. “Not bad for a man with shit on his shoes?”

“That move, where you beat beardy’s axe and pulled it from his grasp… that’s one of Maestro Moro’s specialties.”

“I was one of Antonio Moro’s tutors for a short time when he was a cocky youth with a hard head. I hope he’s a better teacher than he was a student.”

Mercurio scratched his throat. “What are you paying for if you don’t need a swordsman?”

Vincenzo clapped Mercurio’s shoulder. “I want you to show me where the workhouse is.”


Sorry that was long, but I think what leads into a fight and how it ends is important. Hope it helps. I love fight scenes and I think they're strongest when they combine character with setting and scenario. Use the objects around, use the weapons, thoughts, and actions to expound on the character. Does he make a silly mistake? Is he outnumbered? How does he feel about that? It's important to learn more about the character while he's in a tense situation, whether that's an argument or a fight.

 

[Caged Maiden]

BTW, that segment appears in chapter seventeen of the book, so it's full of information without an introduction to anything. I hope even by the small section, a reader would get to know my character and be able to tell me loads about who he is, just form this one fight.

I think the article hits on all the points I would make, things like "Avoid choreographing" and the example above shows HOW I would execute it. Advice is good, but learning how to execute is more than half the battle. I'm sure I could stand to do some cutting, but I just love how it goes together and at this point in the book, it's really the first time we've seen him fight, a middle-aged swordsman who turned assassin. I did get a bit indulgent in places. but as a whole, I like how it works to pace the scene. I mention pacing in the article, too. It's a good place to start anyways. I've read a fair bit on fight scenes and the majority of advice out there warns about proper pacing and avoiding disconnected writing liek choreographing without internal thoughts. Second to those bits, I've seen a fair amount of articles devoted to avoiding "Hollywood" fights, as in where unbelievably lucky shots turn the tide, etc.

Best wishes.

 

[Ermol]

Sorry that was long, but I think what leads into a fight and how it ends is important. Hope it helps. I love fight scenes and I think they're strongest when they combine character with setting and scenario. Use the objects around, use the weapons, thoughts, and actions to expound on the character. Does he make a silly mistake? Is he outnumbered? How does he feel about that? It's important to learn more about the character while he's in a tense situation, whether that's an argument or a fight.

That's awesome, thanks. I also really liked the idea about similarities in love & fight scenes.
There's no chance of me being able to write any kind of dazzling choreography, so I just have to work the character's feelings and history into the fight. It is effectively now a challenge from me to me to make this fight scene interesting to me!

 

[SM-Dreamer]

Just as a thought.

A friend was once raving about the writing of a certain author, how great the work was, the detail of the fight scenes (something about the exact detail of the sword going through the minion's skull, brain matter, etc).

Taking his advice, I picked up the book and read it.

It dragged. It was really, really slow. And I'm a person that generally likes reading details.

But a fight scene is action, and the pacing for that generally ought to keep the reading moving.

 

[Caged Maiden]

you know, that's exactly what I did in my fight scene above, so I hope that gave you some ideas of how to accomplish it. I don't think I'm great at it, but I like to say what I do and then show what I do, so you can make your own judgement. I mean, if my fight scene doesn't impress, I'm not bothered. I like it and it serves a purpose to my book. I encourage people to try things a few different ways.

For example, if you're just beginning this journey and aren't totally sure what style works best, try something sort of choppy. Quick. Sentence fragments. Short thoughts.

That style of writing keeps the reader interested because it's short, immediate, and direct to the point GOING ON RIGHT NOW.

Then, try it slower, with some feeling. Slow down the senses and see what you explore when you languish in the moment a touch more.

In my example fight scene, I combine those two, slowing down where not much physical action is happening, but the character is thinking/ Then, I push the pace a bit more when he moves or acts.

Pacing is key to fight (and yes, love) scenes, for the reasons I went into in the article. A punch takes a second to execute. But no one would want to read a choreographed, written of rock 'em sock 'em robots. Here's something to consider: "I punched Billy in the face, my knuckles splitting his lip. Billy socked me back, bloodying my nose. My fist connected a second time with the ugly bastard. How dare he call my sister names. I'd show him who the bitch was. A quick left, then a right. Jab, jab. My left fist went low, buried in his soft midsection. Billy doubled over with an "oomph."

deep third person is best for getting all cozy in the character, and fight scenes have to strike a delicate balance of internal thought, opposition for the character (a fight that's over in two seconds might be realistic, but it needs a certain amount of challenge to be good reading), and interesting actions. That's how to make a fight engaging.

Avoid the choreography, lousy ring-announcer-type narration, details upon details (in a fight, a person only notices certain things, stick to those), Hollywood-ness (which also blends with the next one), one-in-a-million shots. Those things are mistakes that will weaken the scene and harm the story.