Mike Carss

That's the ultimate goal in the overall story I want to tell. ♥️

Yes, that would be the right course of action. Hopefully he'll tell him before Graeme inadvertently finds out on his own. But, knowing how I generally write, I doubt Sam will make the right choice.

In the third part, we'll witness an outburst from Graeme that will shine a light on his own trauma (it was hinted at early in the first part), and we'll finally learn how he sustained those terrible burns.

The afternoon bustled with relentless activity. After departing the inn, Sam and Graeme retrieved Winx and Tusk from the stables in the rear. Given the horses had been sheltered there since their arrival days earlier, both were eager to get moving again. The watchmen escorted them to the safety of Blakenhall Keep, accompanied by the three scoundrels in custody. Duncan received them enthusiastically, confessing their investigation had proved more helpful than he’d dared hope. That was despit

Haha! I thought the same thing while writing it. FWIW, the guard is trustworthy.

Graeme’s gaze swept the streets for hidden threats while marshalling Sam east toward the town market. The effects of the gryphon ash in Sam’s system twisted his instincts into knots of contradiction, making it difficult to understand Graeme’s wariness. “Shouldn’t we be okay?” Sam asked. “We made it out.” “We are still very much at risk, Sam. A guard escaped. Doubtless that woman is aware we’ve managed to free ourselves. There’s no telling how many men she has in her employ. They know o

A hush swept through the cramped room, every eye drawn to Rafe. Camilla’s expression sharpened in indignation as she glared at him, then pointed to Sam. “You know him?” The big man held the silence. His eyes darted uneasily at the guards, but now, none would return his gaze. “Wait!” she cried. “Is this the guy from last night?” “Yes, madame,” he managed to choke out. She gestured wildly at Sam and Graeme as she continued to berate Rafe. “All this is your damned fault. So

I feel seen. I remember a time when I could make mental reminders to do something, and my brain would never fail me. Now, in my late 40s, I can't trust my brain to cooperate. Remember when PDAs were a thing? Being a tech nerd, I bought one, but never ended up using it to its full potential because at that time I didn't need it. Oh, how things have changed. At least we can commiserate in solidarity.

Absolutely. However, the previous chapter explains their decision (even though it wasn't the right choice in the end). “Should we wait until tonight?” Graeme tilted his head as he considered. “It must be a legitimate business, so unlike this private warehouse, visitors ought not to be denied entry. Moreover, caught trespassing during the day would probably result in a request to leave. After dark would promise a far worse fate.”

You're looking at this from an analytical perspective, not one where you need to make a snap judgements as the situation changes second to second. Did Sam and Graeme take a great risk in going down there in the first place? Of course they did. Was it a mistake? Sure, but that's kind of the point. I'm trying to tell a gripping story, and that'd be difficult to achieve if the characters were always playing it safe. You've been reading my stories since I started posting here, so I assume you enjoy them overall, but more than once you've "complained" that the characters acted foolishly. Complained is in quotes because I tried to learn from your comments, but I've no interest in writing stories about characters that always make the right choices. That'd be boring, wouldn't it? For this particular scene, I think we can agree to disagree on Graeme's decision to break through a smaller number of men rather than attempt to take them all on. 😅

I agree moving to a better place to maneuver makes sense, but is it not clear they were surrounded in the stairwell? There's nowhere to retreat to. And doesn't it make more sense to push three men out of the way rather than attempting to retreat back to the basement and deal with seven men instead?

They were trapped in the stairwell with men on both sides. Better to push ahead and attempt escape than get trapped in the basement.

The citizens of Blakenhall continued to prove themselves considerate and friendly, offering directions to the glassworks with a smile. It stood on the western outskirts of town alongside other industrial establishments. Rather than streets lined with buildings, each operation stood alone. With fire and forges central to their craft, the reasoning was clear. A fire sparked here would find difficulty in spreading. The familiar ring of a blacksmith’s hammer echoed in the distance, bringing Mr Kent—

Flat grey clouds obscured the noontide sun. Sam and Graeme—wearing their cloaks and hoods—stood under a battered, worn awning of what appeared to be an abandoned building. Across the street lay the brick-faced warehouse. They’d been watching it for a quarter-hour, ignored by passersby travelling on foot and horseback. There’d been no sign of activity within. Sam straightened his shoulders. The weight of the maille hidden under his cloak continued to bring a level of surety and confidence wi

After the "chaotic evil" nature of the bandits in part one, I was aiming for more slightly more nuanced antagonists this time. Part three will expand on this more.

Despite the shirt’s loose weave across his eyes, Sam struggled to map his way while the four men led him. Street lamplight was sporadic, disclosing that their passage remained held to the alleyways. With his senses muffled, Sam contemplated—with bitter clarity—how he’d managed to foul up the operation. Rather than heed Graeme’s urgent call, he’d run blindly into the dark. The most logical decision would’ve been to follow together rather than split up. Sam assumed he’d tamed the gryphon ash’s inf

He's partially aware. To quote: He took the nearest path, aware that rational fear should have taken control of his actions, but the gryphon ash had renewed its hold on him. Perhaps he was rid of his anxieties and nightmares alike, and the excitement of such a prospect only urged him onward. He knows better, but at the same time he's deluding himself. The ash has partially metabolized in his system, so we're seeing its effect on him come and go.

Hmm... Perhaps make the best of a bad situation. Indeed. Hindsight 20/20 and all that. 😏 No doubt, as well as a bit miffed having Sam ran off like that.

A distant holler coaxed Sam to stir awake. He couldn’t comprehend the words, but the voice was friendly—an enthusiastic greeting followed by laughter. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he scanned the room. While Graeme’s armour still lay on the floor, the man was gone, and the opposite side of the bed was cold. More chatter drifted on the wind, mingled with the stamping of hooves and the creak of waggons. A narrow stream of sunlight pierced the gap in the curtains. Judging by its angle, it was lat

I had no interest in writing such scenes myself. 😬

To allay any concerns how Sam's story might unfold from here, the ash isn't addictive as heroin (as an example). Consider it more like marijuana. It can be addictive, depending on how often it's used. In Sam's case, yes, the draw to keep using it could grow, but as you'll soon discover, he's also cognizant that he doesn't want to be become reliant. It's a slippery slope, to be sure.

Dust rose in a sudden plume as Sam flinched awake. A threadbare blanket threatened to trap him, and he struggled to free himself. Casting his gaze about the room, he blinked in confusion to find himself in his bed, back home in Reabury. Night was upon him, yet an unearthly white light emanated from between the wooden floor slats, allowing him to see. Shutters nailed from the outside barred the window, yet served as a paltry defence against the howling wind and icy sleet battering the house. Sam’

The sun had fallen hours ago. A sharp wind cut through the street, funnelled by dwellings on each side. Sam shivered in spite of the layers he wore—his tunic, the maille, and a thick woollen shirt pulled over to hide it. He stood in the shadow of an alleyway, unseen by the few roaming passersby. To his side, Graeme crouched. He wore his armour, obscured by a black cloak and hood, but the faint blue glow of the magickal steel seeped through the gaps of the material regardless. Dim street lan

I've also recently encountered random slowdowns on GA, where a page would take 10-20 seconds to load. The issue wasn't site-wide, though. IIRC it's when viewing a list of stories to read. I assumed the server was just getting overburdened with database queries. But don't take that as a complaint, merely an observation. This is a wonderful "free" service and a few slow page-loads aren't going to ruin it for me. (Free is in quotes because it's free to use, but certainly not free to operate.)

Duncan seems to know a lot, but there's a difference between "knowing" and "assuming" 😉 Also the town is fairly modest (akin to a very large village) and doesn't have any fortifications or walls. Any attempts to control what goes in and out of the town is essentially impossible. If the baron was a wise man, he'd ought to rectify that. Perhaps that's why the gryphon ash is such a problem there. It's easy to import and sell.