Lets Write A Book Together :)

Apparently not as he was found prancing with Delilah under a fig tree.

Although I knew not who this Delilah was, the thought of she and my trusted friend prancing beneath a fig tree filled me with a kind of jealous anger, and my muscles tensed against the cords binding my hands and feet. The cords tightened for a moment, and then snapped, as if they had long been rotting.

"I am awake", I answered. "And who are these cultists which presume to worship Gravin? I thought the god of the Philistines was Dagon?"

"I am woke."

The first time it was funny, now just insulting but alas I suppose one should always have the honor of ridicule. I'm glad your amused at my expense and yes I like a good story people pick up the slack.

LOL this literally made me laugh

I could sense Azrael smile at the words, although the darkness hid it from view. "These are philistines, Samson. We're on our way to see your special friend, remember? That philistine was Hanun, and he has a speech impediment. He would probably be quite aggrieved to hear you call him a cultist. Now to untie these..."

Azrael's voice quickly stopped, and when he spoke again, it was in a confused tone. "The cords... How did you loosen them already?"

Disclaimer:

LOL it is evident that the title of this post is a bit misleading as I would not be able to carry on the story but please any writers help thy fellow young Moses continue the story

No offense, but your story is an editor's nightmare.

that's the problem when you have multiple authors

Most assuredly.

I was hoping you would continue the story

Right! The heathen cultists and Philistine to boot, were worshipping the 'Graven' image' of doggone Dagon....and btw beware of Delilah and her enticing but yes, too eager scissors🤦‍♂️

" said Azrael.

For the first time that morning, Samson looked worried. Or at least, he would have looked worried if anyone could have seen him, but they couldn't, because it was too dark. "Scissors?" he asked, worriedly.

Azrael nodded enthusiastically. "Scissors!" he exclaimed again, gravely, enjoying the drama.

"But I thought... the Philistines.. didn't..." Samson's voice trailed off in a confused tone.

"Oh no!" Azrael went on. "You would be surprised. I'm sure the deadly but enticing Delilah would be able to out-snip some of the fastest mohels in Israel. Although, all else considered," Azrael continued "I dare say that... Oompff."

There was a sound as if something hard had come into contact at speed with something soft, which in fact, it had. Engedi the anxious goat, who, until this point in the story, had remained reasonably quiet in the dark cellar, had finally made a decision that Azrael was encroaching upon his territory, and had charged at speed in the direction of Azrael's voice. The curve of Engedi's antlers had impacted neatly in the central region of Azrael's paunch, resulting in the hollow, muffled "Oompff" sound.

Too, I suppose it is an honor to have a goat named after you 😒

said Engedi.

Samson looked at Azrael, and Azrael looked at Samson.

"A talking goat?" they asked each other in unison.

However, by this stage, all the commotion had attracted the attention of the Gravinists, who burst through the cellar door. Immediately, the room was flooded with light. Samson at once saw his mistake - Engedi was not, as he had first envisaged in the dark - a goat - not even an anxious one. What he had perceived as antlers, more fitting for a stag, were actually the four curved, wooden legs of an upturned chair. What he had perceived as a thick pelt was actually a well-crafted woolen cloak. And what he had perceived as territorialism and anxiety were simply the natural defenses of cornered woman, who had perceived herself to be in danger in the dark. And what he had perceived as a he, was in fact, a she.

Samson had little time to process these thoughts, before the Gravinists were upon him. Well, before the Gravinists were upon Azrael, to be more precise. The Gravinists - or were they dirty doggone Philistines? - fell upon Azrael, as Samson was the meaner-looking of the two, and each Gravinist thought it would be better if he dealt with Azrael, whilst his fellow cultists dealt with Samson. It didn't take long, however, for Samson to dispatch the heathens with several, well-placed blows. Within moments, the cellar was quiet again, a broken and motionless Gravinist occupying each corner of the cellar floor, and a bruised and winded Azrael catching his breath.

Samson looked at Engedi expectantly, as if she were about to introduce herself, or at least, explain her attack on Azrael. Or scold him for an honest mistake, that in reality, could have been made by anyone.

A little child, clutching her doll, was passing by... Azrael? I dont like his name, pouting. Can we change his name?

She walks away, picking some flowers on the hillside, running here and there, talking with the flowers and critters with her singsong voice.


Oh dont be angry... we just ask for an editor's help to fix this up

After recovering and wondering how he Samson could have possibly mistaken such a endearing young lady for an old battered upturned chair or worse a bearded goat, he promised himself never to drink Kombucha again! Gave admiration to Engedi for brushing it off so honorably👏
So onto more pressing matters, like the 4 Gravenists, who were feverishly figuring out their next move. This left the two guys with a dilemma. They locked them up in the dungeon for now and feed them kale😆😆😆

It had been hours, and the trio had been silent. Samson was wondering whether Engedi really did talk afterall. Azrael was pouting about the passing street urchin who had complained about his silly name. Engedi, was, well... chewing on something... she might have picked up some of the kale spilled from the load dumped in with the Gravinites... but otherwise, was not making a noise.

It was Azrael who finally broke the silence. "My parents named me Azrael. It is a very special name. They said that one day, one of my descendants would be a distinguished scientist, who will rid the Earth of verminous blue creatures who are depleting the forest of its food..."

"It sounds like a child's story," interrupted Samson unkindly. "That street urchin was right. I think from this day forth, I shall call you Gargamel."

Engedi finally stopped chewing. "I think you really need to do something about those Gravinists. Didn't they try to kill you?" She looked at the blade injury in Samson's side, which had all but healed. "Did I imagine it? I thought you were stabbed deeper than that," the endearing young lady asked.

"Samson has a special blessing from God," answered Azrael eagerly, quickly forgetting his friend's recent jibe. "He is extra strong. And when I say extra, I mean super. He has the strength of ten men. At least. And seems to heal from injury at a supernatural rate, too."

Engedi nodded, and recommenced chewing the kale thoughtfully.

"Samson is a Nazirite, see? That means he is set apart for service to God. But it also means there are simple pleasures we take for granted that he can never, ever... ever..." Azrael paused to emphasise the last "ever", to everyone's annoyance but his own, "...enjoy. He can never drink. He can never touch dead bodies. And he can never have his hair cut," Azrael continued.

Samson frowned. He didn't mind a degree of complimentary comments in the presence of strangers, but he didn't like so much information on himself being divulged. The two barely knew this lady - a mere several hours ago, they had mistaken her for some type of goat.

"Ah!" exclaimed Engedi suddenly. "That explains the fear I saw when you mentioned scissors. I thought there was something wrong with him."

"No," laughed Azrael, patting Samson amicably on the back. "This one is 100% healthy - the finest example of a man I'm sure you would ever find."

The pleasantries were interrupted by a banging from the door to the dungeon. It appeared that the Gravinists (or Gravinites, depending on one's persuasion) had figured out their next move.

In all the commotion, Engedi wondered, "Simple pleasures we take for granted?" "How can touching dead bodies be something we take for granted?" "I suppose I've never seen a dead body" she thought. Maybe only a wild man would desire drink and a nice beard is alluring, she supposed.