Mike Carss
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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.
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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
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I had no interest in writing such scenes myself. 😬
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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.
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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’
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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
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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.)
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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.
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With a tired sigh, Sam shielded his eyes from the morning sun as he and Graeme approached Blakenhall Keep. Despite the shared bed, he’d slept terribly, although the knight’s warmth was not without its comfort. Upon riding through the open portcullis, they greeted a guard and stated their names. Expecting their arrival, the man gave a friendly nod, and with established efficiency had them swiftly escorted into the keep proper. This being Sam’s first time within a keep or castle, his fatigue soon
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Yeah, more details about the gryphon ash, including where it comes from and how it's made, will be revealed in the next chapter.
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Aside from how it affects the user, gryphon ash is that much different than alcohol. Both can dull preservational tendencies. The ash is just more potent in comparison.
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@drpaladin, @drsawzall, your speculations give me a chuckle 😁 Fair warning: there's one more chapter to go before the "investigation" begins in earnest. They still need work out the contract details (bureaucracy amirite?) with Duncan. And in the process, they'll learn more about this substance.
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While Graeme did mention this back in chapter 4, you're right. Sam doesn't fully comprehend how much he's helping, and Graeme is learning much about himself in the process.
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The aroma of spiced meat pies hung in the air as Sam and Graeme rode through the market square. After days of plain fare catered by the wayinns, it was enough to cause Sam’s mouth to water. Upon finding the source—a cramped stall tucked between two loftier booths—Sam pointed it out to Graeme. A queue of customers, crowding around the edges, attested to its popularity. Sam dismounted and handed the reins to Graeme. “I’ll get you one, too,” Sam said, and the knight nodded eagerly in a rare sh
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No doubt. More willing meat for the war machine.
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An interesting prospect, but a lack of self-preservation coupled with not fearing the enemy could end disastrously. Like any recreational drug: for money.
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The western afternoon sun kept them warm despite the cool wind at their backs. They’d left the forest behind an hour earlier, alleviating the apprehension Sam endured while keeping vigil over their surroundings. The remaining highwaymen appeared to have abandoned their two comrades to their fate. Farmland marked the final approach toward Blakenhall, and sure enough, in the distance lay a broad expanse of dwellings and structures. They nestled upon a broad slope, curiously unprotected by any form
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The northwest road out of Brasbone proved to be a popular route, more so than at any other stage of their journey. Of all the riders they passed, most were traders, judging by their waggons. As a result, the wayinns were busier, which kept Graeme in his usual state—hidden from view. Sam longed to be alone with the knight again, to urge him to feel at ease with his helm off, his hood back. Unfortunately, he deemed that would be impossible until they found proper accommodations in Langscott.
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Prepare yourself for the slowest of slow-burns. 😅 And even then, whatever happens behind closed doors will mostly be left to imagination.
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Over the course of the next five days, their distance from the Rothgoraian mountains grew, bringing with it warmer weather. Rough hillocks and bluffs receded to vast forests. Instead of bare branches, the trees still held their leaves. It was as though Sam and Graeme were travelling backward in time. One particular morning, the rising sun cast its rays upon the yellow and red leaves, bathing the forest floor in a golden, enchanting glow. The beauty of it captured Sam’s heart, lifting the we
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The second part of the series is currently being posted:
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For those curious, the inciting incident for the story begins on chapter five, however the upcoming chapter contains an important scene, answering a question I'm sure many of you have.
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Sam jolted up in bed, heart racing as he escaped the nightmare that had seized him. That damned bandit remained trapped in his mind—a forbidding presence he couldn’t shake. His clammy hands felt slick with blood, but in the dim blue glow of Graeme’s armour, he realised it was just sweat. Shadows spilt across the room, drawn out by the unnatural light, conjuring unsettling illusions. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up in bed, confused as to how sleep had managed to claim him unknowingly. He was st
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Graeme and Sam rode into Reabury later that afternoon with the six extra horses in tow. The inn’s stables offered ample space for them all. Gabrian accepted the sacks of turnips graciously, then led them both to their room, completely unfazed by Graeme’s choice to remain concealed by his helmet. Perhaps Sam’s request to not question the knight’s eccentricity had spread. “I trust this will serve your needs for the night, gentlemen.” At that moment, Sam realised they would be sharing the
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