It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Grog Strongjaw, a goliath barbarian . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously,  The party completed the venture of taking the Horn of Orcus to a place of safety and sealing it away, hopefully for eternity, with the help of Lady Kima and two of the Scalebearers. After heading to the basement of the Platinum Sanctuary in the city of Vasselheim, they succeeded in doing so.
DM: That's going to be a 21. A 23. And a 19. All right, that's a six, seven damage. So total of 13 damage. As he reaches up and slams you, slams you again. And as you start backing up, he goes to slam you a third time, and you catch his head in the middle of your mitt, and he's now face-to-face with you, just like (snarls). You guys are both snarling at each other like two rabid beasts. It's your go.
Player: I would like to keep his head right where I have it and take my elbow and drive it down into the bridge of his nose. So that's 25?
DM: 25 hits.
Player: 22?
DM: Hits.
Player: And 17.
DM: 17 does miss. All right. So go ahead and roll damage for the next two strikes.
Player: With this thing again? Six.
DM: Six, all righty.
Player: It's hard to get above a six. And six.
DM: Six, nice. So as you hold him down, his face, (wham). Head goes, cracks against the ground of the Crucible. As he starts picking his head up again, you drill back again, (wham) hit him a second time. This time, you can see now. His nose was already busted before. Now it's nearly concave. It's like he didn't have a nose before and there's just a bloody void where it once was. He's still smiling in a weird, twisted way. He seems to be enjoying this almost as much as you. You go down for the third one, and this time he reaches up and grabs your elbow. He's going to take his turn to attempt to break your grapple as his action. Go ahead and roll either an athletics or an acrobatics check.
Player: 12.
DM: 12? All right. He kicks you up back onto your feet, and as he does, he kip-ups onto his feet, as well. Looks at you with a smile, wipes the snot and blood from the front of his face, licks it off his hand, and with that same hand he rears back, almost like he's winding up for a punch, and then just kicks you right in the center of your stomach.
Player: I like the feint, I like the feint.
DM: That's 22. Yeah, that'll hit. That is eight points of damage.
