Medieval (Fantasy if you want)

[queen_of_doodles]

It was one of the worst fights Abigail had ever seen. She had barely been able to get them out of her house before the punching started. Sure, ale tended to make people a little raunchy, and bad feelings sometimes came to the surface. But there were at least six people rolling around in the street, and no particular sides as far as she could tell.
She peered anxiously out her window and winced as a spray of mud and blood splattered the glass. One of the men had finally stumbled out and down for the count. Neighbors were leaning out of their doorways. Martin, the beefy blacksmith, trundled out of his house, shaking a hammer and followed by his pet goat. “Shut up, already!” he bellowed. “Unless you want me to break--”
He was interrupted by a fist shooting out of the melee. He staggered back, clutching his jaw. Three or four burly farmers ran up to help him, and the group of them was finally able to pry apart the main combatants. Two of them were, predictably, Hank and William, the town drunks. It was the third that had everyone staring.
Abigail had never seen another person like her. She was in her early twenties and, even with blood pouring out of both nostrils, breathtakingly beautiful. That in itself was not unheard of; Abigail had seen her share of lovely, feisty women. What really made the woman stand out was the fact that she was at least six feet tall and built like an ox. Martin, despite his tremendous bulk, was barely able to hold her back. The woman and the blacksmith were engaged in a sort of vertical wrestling match, Martin bear-hugging her from behind and the woman straining to throw him off.
Even as Abigail watched, the woman slid one foot back in the mud, rammed her hips under Martin's gut, and pushed upwards. For one instant, Abigail saw Martin bent over double on the woman's back, toes pointed almost daintily towards the ground and eyes bulging in astonishment. Then the woman flipped him over her shoulders and launched herself at William. Abigail screamed as the pair of them went crashing back through her door, dragging half a dozen men behind them.
So much for a quiet evening. Though when you were the maker of the best beer in town, there really wasn't such a thing.

[InvisibleFlames]

(sorry for just bursting in like this, but I really like how this story is going)

Brian stared at the woman as she flipped his father over her shoulders. There was nothing he could do, but as he watched the fight continue, rage slowly overwhelmed him. He grabbed a whip from the house and ran out the door to Abigail's house. The woman was still fighting. Abigail was screaming, and the smell of beer mixed with blood burned his nose.

The whip fell upon the woman's back, making her cry out in pain. Brian hit harder, not caring who was struck. Abigail stayed out of the way, which was all he could have hoped for. His heart longed for the woman who stood on the sidelines, and he fought for her and his father. Rage blinded him to the pain he felt as a knife stabbed into his side. He struck again and again, until someone's strong arms were pulling him away from the pile of bloodied, bruised people.

The whip flew back, hitting Brian's attacker. He cried out as the whip was taken and his arm was twisted behind his back. Brian fought, but his attacker was too strong. Brian fought until he could barely stand. By then he had calmed down, but his attacker didn't let him go. Instead, he was dragged to the town jail.

Brian was thrown into a cold, smelly, dark cell. Rats scattered as he landed, and high-pitched screams came from the few who weren't fast enough. Brian curled up to block out his surroundings, tears streaming down his face.