There are two Smithson characters. One is the modern Smithson, but this is all about the medieval Smithson. Same bloodline, same values.


[spoiler=The Tale of Richard Smithson, Part 1]THE TALES OF RICHARD SMITHSON: FIRST STEPS

Father of Richard; John Smithson
The first chapter of this story takes place in Witherstone, a small old-age village, A prosperous village where the townsfolk hold steady jobs. Jobs like bein a farmer, running the local taverns or- closer to where we're heading to- being a blacksmith.

John Smithson, or Ol' Johnny to the townsfolk, was the only blacksmith in town. His stature was tall, much taller than most. A fierce beard adorned his lower face, bushy and brown, singed to black at several points from working close to the fires. He was visibly tough, his body clothed with scars and decorated with muscles, and he was usually seen with a hammer somewhere on him, whether it be in his belt or his grip. He could create anything the townsfolk needed: horseshoes? Easy. A carriage? It'll take a few days, but it'll get done and it'll get done good. Swords and armour? Well, Ol' Johnny loved them since he was a boy, they're his specialty.

The house he lived in was joined to the smithery, a place which dominated most of the lower floor along with a kitchen and a small table to eat at. The upstairs rooms were mainly for storage and sleeping, but Ol' Johnny had a basement, too. Walking into the place's basement felt like walking into a great armory, with all manners of blades and shields decorating the walls besides wooden mannequins boasting armours, each as magnificent as the next yet all of them were unique, special in their own ways. Some were built for purely for punching, some specifically for shields. One Johnny loved most had a left arm for a shield, and a right arm purely for punching. It was down here, in his hobby room, where John stored his most beloved crafts.

Behind the house was a large garden where a rugged wooden stable stood, populated by a single horse. If you were to stand between the stable and the house and looked around, you would be met with archery targets and wooden scarecrows where John tests out all manners of weapons before feeling satisfied with them. But sadly, John hasn't swung a sword or fired a bow in a long time.

The love of John's life, a plain-looking dairy-maid called Mary, passed away some years ago; It was a terrible accident that shocked the whole village. She was helping the local farmers erect a barn, but some of the barn's construction wasn't stable enough. John only has a few things to remember her by: a wooden carving of her, carefully created for their third anniversary; a clay cup she used to drink out of, now stained with the alcohol John used to cope; and their son, little Richard, the reason why he has not picked up a sword or a shield in such a long time.


Son of John; Richard Smithson

Richard is a sturdy lad. Like quite a few children, he had to grow with only one parent, but the village gave him the love that his mother couldn't. The taverns would give him water and conversation, though he never spoke much. The farmers would give him food and work to entertain him, though he never took much. The blacksmith of the village, Richard's own father, would give him the love of a father and a bed to sleep, though he never slept there much. Richard would rather play in the fields and sleep in the stable, living in his own world, a world he shared with someone else.

During this time in his life Richard was 8 years old, and his friend- Lizzie- was 9. They played together, ate together, explored together and slept together. They were inseparable. At that age, Richard was already gaining some firmness in his muscles from helping around the farms and the smithery; his hair was always ruffled, originally brown but turned dark from coal dust, the same dust that decorated his face like war paint; his clothes were rags, torn in places from playing and fighting. Lizzie's head had short, blonde hair and constantly wore a smirk; her clothes were roughed up, like Richards, but instead of rags they were the dress of a maid; and, also like Richard, her muscles were toughening up, too. Though she did the work of a maid, she and Richard loved to brawl.

Richard's daily ritual was to come down early in the morning and eat his fill of breakfast. He'd go on to help out at the smithery or at some other place in the village, then retire at the barn for an hour or two for a cupful of water and an earful of stories. Afterwards he would rest at his house and eat lunch before heading to the fields with Lizzie. They'd talk and talk, they'd explore together, play together, and even work together doing odd jobs at each others' homes. But what they loved doing above all was brawl. They'd throw themselves down into the fields and have at each other, leaving themselves bruised and bleeding, before helping each other up and laughing it off.

Out of all of Richard's salad days, there is one that stood out. A day like any other, starting off with a regular brawl between the two kids in the fields, like they did every morning. Lizzie won that brawl, as she always did, yet both of them were laughing with happiness in their hearts and bruises on their cheeks. Liz held out her hand and helped Richard up, their laughter dying down as they both rose up.

A few of the local kids saw little Rich and Lizzie brawling in the field. These kids were the bastard sons of mercenaries, 'gifted' to the village because the lazy sods couldn't deal with any responsability. As you'd expect, these children grew up rough and so took on a rough attitude themselves.

"Hah! Beaten by a girl!" echoed from the fence, dozens of meters away.

One of the bastard boys beckoned his friends over to laugh at Richard.

"You little weak sheep!" the boys laughed, "I bet you can't even beat a flower!"

The boys' tasteless insults didn't bother Richard one bit, but what did bother him was that they were calling him that in front of Liz. Richard's small body tensed up, his face frozen in an almost-emotionless gaze, a slight frown tugging at his lips. Before, he was tumbling about and brawling for fun, but now there was an atmosphere of seriousness about him.

Not saying a word, he started slowly walking over to the bastard boys, the leader of them deciding to hop over the fence to further take the piss out of Richard.

"Oh what? You gonna cry?" said the boy, trying to suppress a chuckle.

Lizzie was behind Richard, slightly worried. She knew Richard could take care of himself, but this boy was 12 years old.

The rest of the bastard boys was behind the leader, cheering him on.

"Right then, we gonna brawl it out here, are we?" said the bastard boss down to Richard's face. Raising his arms outwards, he yells "But I don't know if I should! It's awful rude to hurt a girl!" His friends behind him break out into laughter yet again.

Richard just stared at him, both his lips and fists tight. The bastard boss put his hands on his hips and leaned towards Richard, faces nearly touching.

"What you gonna do, slap me?"


In a swift movement, Richard grabbed the boy's hair with his left hand, before swinging in a right hook to his opponent's ear. "Shit!" cried the boy, recoiling away from him, clutching the side of his head. "You'll pay for that!"

The boy ran towards Richard, aiming to kick him, but as his leg swung Richard grabbed his ankle, yanked the boy towards him and punched him again, but this time in the side of his knee. Working at the smith for so long, dealing with heavy metal and hot fires, left Richard tough-skinned and strong. What neither the boys or Lizzie knew about him was that, every night, Richard would practice for hours against the targets around his house. Not with sticks, they could break Not with swords, they were too big for him, but with his fists.

The boy crumpled onto his knees, his leg now slightly numb and unwilling to move without pain screaming at him, he looked up at the little kid towering above himself.

"B-but a girl beat you! H-how-"

His words were cut short as a fist hit his temple. Out for the count.


The bastard boys behind the fence stopped cheering a short while ago, instead looking on at the scene, confused that the biggest of them just got taken down by a kid years younger than him. A kid that just got defeated by a girl mere minutes ago.

"Uh... what happened?" said one of the boys, slowly. "I, uh, think we should get out of here," another one replied, not even listening to the question.

They stood there for a few seconds, motionless, until Richard turned his gaze upwards at them. They darted, swearing under their breath as they did so. Richard swore he heard one of them say "That's one tough girl!" as they scarpered.

He returned to Liz, leaving the mess of a young man behind him, before loosening up his body and letting his face turn from a cold stare to a warm smile. Lizzie still looked shocked, though.

"I.. I didn't think you could take him!" she blurted out, "I mean, he's much tougher than me! And I just beat you! What-"

"Well," Richard interrupted, his voice slightly rough from the smoke he breathes daily, "You just gotta know the places, and besides," he shrugged, "I always hold back with you. Being a girl, and all."

All Lizzie's face said was 'wrong answer' before she stormed off. Richard reached after her, trying to stop her, but she was already away from him. The work makes him tough, but agile? Not so much. He sighed, dropped his arms down to his sides, and just stared at the sky for a while, thinking. Though, shortly after, his thoughts were interrupted by a rock hitting the side of his head. Knowing it was from Liz, he just stuck with it and fell onto the floor.

The sky was getting dark and the air smelled of smoke; from the blacksmith? No, that's too far away. Must be the farmers burning crops. Richard contemplated the world as he laid on it, arms outspread and a trickle of blood running down the side of his forehead. He knew if he waited here long enough, Lizzie'd come back to see if he's ok. She can't stay mad at him. Sure enough, she did come over.

"Hey. You alright?" "Yeah." She squatted at his side, staring at the mark of blood and dirt on his forehead. "I knew you were faking it." "Yeah, yeah." she sat beside him, glancing over to the other boy laying on the grass. Some time passed.

"Well, aren't you gonna get up?" Liz started. "Nah. That rock taught me a lesson, gonna stay here a while an' learn it." "What lesson?"

Richard looked at Liz and grinned.

"Not to piss you off."


All John could see from his window was Elizabeth sitting on the field and giggling, before slapping the floor. Richie was probably there with her. He took a deep breath in:

"RICHIE!" he boomed, "TIME FOR SUPPER!"

Sure enough, the boy rose up from in front of her, talked to her a bit, before darting towards home; after a few minutes, he was there.

"Playin' with Elizabeth again?" enquired his father. All Richard did was smile and nod before heading indoors.


Richard's 13th Birthday

"Happy birthday, son," said John, patting Richie on the shoulder as he walked into the room, who just smiled and nodded at his father. "Here," uttered John as he searched around on the floor next to him, "I made you somethin'."

Now thirteen, Richard was a teenager; though young, he stood as tall as any man in Witherstone, save his father. His hair is constantly filthy from his work, keeping it a dirty blonde. His skin is as tough as ever, his lips thin and rough. Though he was a vision of toughness with his body covered with toned muscles, his grey eyes were kind ones, eyes that said "It's alright. I'm chill."

Richard sat down at the table next to his father, eyebrow raised. What could he be getting? He doesn't reall need much in life. He's got his friend, his father, a job. He's comfortable. Though, this train of thought ended quickly when his father placed a pair of iron gauntlets onto the table.

"Here you go. The first pair I ever made. Sturdy as anything. Go on, try 'em on."

Picking one up with both hands, Richie inspected the gauntlet. The metal was dented in many places and was rusting around the edges, weathered from decades of use. The leather was worn out, but still strong. There were iron plates covering the forearm of the gauntlet, the plate on top sticking further back than the rest, designed to cover one's elbows. The hands themselves were covered in metal plates, one per finger segment and several on the back of the hand to help with articulation. The knuckles were studded and the most worn-out part of the whole glove, and he could bet why.

"I often see you at night, punching away at the targets and air. I used to be a bit like that myself, so when I took up the business of blacksmithing from my own father, I worked hard and made these. They were designed to punch, as you could see from these studs there. Here, put them on already."

John gently shoved the other gauntlet in Richard's direction. Looking in his fathers' nostalgic eyes, his own expressing happiness, he took the gauntlets and slid them on. They were slightly tight around his muscles, and yet were comfortable. They were heavy, sturdy. He clenched his fists, getting a feel for his new armour. Richard loved them.

"Hey!" echoed a woman's voice from outside. "Richard! Out here!"

That familiar voice belonged to no-one but Lizzie. Richard's best and only friend.

Richie stood up out of the chair and moved towards the door; as he opened it, Lizzie just jumped into the house, hugging him for a short while before releasing her grip.

"Thirteen, eh? You're a young man now!" she grinned.

At first glance, Lizzie seems more male than female. Her hair was dirty blonde- like his- and very short, giving her a tomboyish appearence. Her skin was lightly tanned from working in the fields, no longer being as dirty as it used to from her and Richard's daily brawls. Nothing about her lively nature had changed through the years, not her hazel eyes nor even the mischiveous smirk on her face (which Richard eventually noticed only appeared around him.)

"Hey, Ol' Johnny," she said, walking to Richie's side, "I'm going to borrow your son for a while, alright?" She smiled warmly. "yeah, sure. But bring him back soon, he hasn't had breakfast yet," replied the father.

As Richie and Lizzie left the house, John could hear Lizzie say "Oh, wow! Those are some tough lookin' gaunts you got there! Them from your father?" as they walked off together.


"Those seem really cool. You ever think you'll make the rest of the armour one day? Maybe even a sword?" questioned Lizzie as the pair walked out onto the field.

"I don't know about a sword," replied Richie, "I just like punchin' stuff. Though I would like to have my hand at my own suit of armour one day." He punched the air a few times, a fighting combination against an invisible enemy. "Man, I love these."

Lizzie giggled, an act that would seem strange around anyone but Richard. "Well," she said, smiling, "Remind me to not brawl with you whenever you're wearing those."
"But we haven't brawled in years, you know that."

"Yeah, but only 'cause I'd beat you," retorted Liz. She stopped walking.

Richard moved on a few steps ahead before realising she was lagging behind. He turned around and faced her.

"Hey. What's up?"

Lizzie fidgeted slightly. "Well, y'see... my family."

"What about them?"

"My father. He's a merchant, though the rest of our family are farmers and maids." She paused. "But... he was offered a better job."

"Really?" replied Richard, "What as?"

"I don't know yet, but it's in another town. Woodstone."

There was a pause between them. Richard never really contemplated life without her. But maybe she isn't-

"Are you going with him?" Richard spoke, breaking the silence. For once in his life, his words came out faster than his brain could think them through.

"Yeah. I have to."

"When?"

"Uh, Next week."

Richard sat on the damp grass, uncaring of the coldness flooding into his body.
He paused, letting his brain think. After a short period of silence, he spok

Part One? This is just the beginning? For me, this already feels like an entire story neatly wrapped up and it's magnificent that you actually have more planned. I also liked your take on the usual heartbroken romance plot and the ending really clinches what's going on. This message was supposed to be longer but most of it's just me restating story progression.

Malacal sees a wall of text before him posted by someone he vaguely knows enough to possible give a slight amount of care too. He sits up and pops his knuckle's in preparation for the not-so daunting task ahead. It has come time to nitpick.

You can thank me later.

Quote from Malacal

Malacal sees a wall of text before him posted by someone he vaguely knows enough to possible give a slight amount of care too. He sits up and pops his knuckle's in preparation for the not-so daunting task ahead. It has come time to nitpick.

You can thank me later.

Take your damn CnC (Click to Show)

So first off...

I put in the dialog in order to make this part easy to identify as you drastically scroll through your story trying to find it. What got me here was the "Some time passed." part. It feels kinda awkward and out of place and just shits all over your flow, like a rapper gone crapper (ba-dum-tss). It would have been much better to put it in the next part with something even as simple as "After a long silence, Liz blah blah." It allows it to flow easily into the next part.

"Then daddy died and yeah, he has smith now"
I feel like I'm being ripped off on the emotional aspect of this part of the story. A major life event lasted two sentences. This should have had an entire paragraph dedicated to it. Maybe detailing the funeral and it's immediate effects on not-Richards and Richards alike. As opposed "So he is lonely man with hammer and forge."
Like maybe, "Two years had come and gone since the passing of Richard's father. It was inevitable, but there would still be weeping. After all, smoke will age a man at a far more rapid pace. As a result of the event, Richard took over as the town's blacksmith and blah blah"
Actually, even my example is bad... Agh, I wish I was better at this so I could look superior to you Waffle, but it seems the creativity part of my brain is currently laughing at my frontal lobe. SOMEONE HELP ME HELP HIM!
Actually, after reading the rest about Richie's 20th Birthday, you need to group the stuff about daddy's death a little (a lot) better. We jump from "a day in the life" to "I have no dad" and back again consistently in such a minimal amount of time.

This is yet another example of a simple sentence that seems out of place. I don't know how to fix this one though. I would suggest it's removal entirely though as you've already established a handshake and the scene demonstrates the exceptional difference between the two men and then would flow nicely into the next part with Alex being a dick.

OH OH OH, THIS is what needed to be put at the beginning of Richard's b-day. It's better to establish things and then have them impact the story a while later. Unless of course, you're writing a story that is driven by convenient flashbacks that push the story in the right direction for you at that moment. This is the style of writing I like to call "Plot-Bullshit Writing" where things are established so Batman can somehow fight Superman (this is a nerd argument for later). But yeah, having a detail like that before makes the story feel more complete and you don't have to keep awkwardly bouncing back to the moment of John's death. You could instead insert the details of his mother's death and then say "and just as it was at his father's funeral, Richard didn't cry." Then you call back all of those memories of the death and people begin eating ice cream to cope with book character death. Unless they're Game of Thrones fans, they've been desensitized.

Now for the final piece, your dialog in general. Don't worry, you do a shit ton better than most... but that's not setting standards high when I've seen high school girls write "stories" that was a bunch of girls talking about the new guy. It was awful, I never wish to repeat that moment.
It's not that the words themselves were bad, it's more what surrounds the words. The last thing that is wanted in a story is for the dialog to make it look as though you're reading script for a play. There is a reason that I frequently dip into the F range in English classes, I really do not want to read Antigone. When all you have is two people trading words, nothing is felt. There still needs to be action going on while dialog does. You have some good examples of it, but a few times you had "Boy says 'bleh.' Girl retorts "blegh bleh." If you have something happening around it, like the girl stomping as her face zooms in towards Boy's face, then you've a far better and more entertaining/ terrifying/ whatever scene. Granted if you need to have a long drawn-out conversation between two characters then you make accidentally make the first volume of a trilogy just two guys talking while fiddling with calligraphy pens or whatever protagonists carry with them.

Cheers, man! This'll really help me out! I'll make sure to get on this in the next part. :D

Really appreciate this.

Well, it took me longer than intended to get around to posting but I think this is a fantastic piece. Your characters have unique personalities, and while I'm not personally a fan of having a story be composed of different chunks of time, you've made it into a cohesive story. No significant errors that I could see either, and the spacing and dialog are clean. I look forward to seeing the next one.

You did a nice job at this, only got a few nit picks. First nitpick being just all the missed chances for euphemisms.

Okay fine, I'll be serious. I find that you could have expanded a bit more with the fathers death, since I found him slightly lacking in caring. I understand that he doesn't really care about his mother since she died when he was so young, but his dad? huy huy huy.

My second one being the convenience of Lizzie's leaving on Rich's birthday, you would think she would've mentioned it earlier, or at least have the understanding of not saying it on one of the few happiest days of his life.

Overall though, you did an amazing job at this. Would love to check out more in the future!