Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) by Keith Ahrens (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📕

adoption. These two dog-men in front of me are showing classic examples of ‘fear aggression.’ Two different postures but born of the same thing: fear of a new person, a change from what they know as normal.

The black and gray drops deeper into his offensive posture—the old, “I’ll get you before you get me” routine. The brindle one moves to angle for an attack or to run away if he can. He is trying to gather info and assess the new danger (me). These two are displaying feral, abused dog behaviors. They're also about two inches taller than I am, broader in the shoulders and armed with wicked-looking fangs. Yup, there they are.

Both bare their teeth in a low, guttural snarl. Long, sharp claws tip their human-like hands. Not a lot of room in here to run, and I really don't like my chances of fighting the two of them. Not that I won't, if I have to. I loosen my arms and shift my weight to center my balance.

“Easy, Son. They’re friends.” Haynes puts his hands on my shoulders, firm and steady. “Meet the rest of our squad, Nian and Thirax.” He points to the smaller brindle colored one as he says “Nian,” and the larger black and grey one as “Thirax.” He turns to the dog-men. “Nian, we might need him later. Please don’t kill him just yet.”

The one called Nian slowly blinks his bright greens, makes a chuffing noise, and blows a deep breath out of his nose into my face. Yum, rotted meat. He moves away but doesn’t turn his back on me. Not a real trusting soul over here.

“They call themselves Gnolls. They’re locals but in the same boat as the rest of us.”

“Will he be Pack?” asks Thirax, again in his deep growling voice. “He smells of blood and fear. Not all of it is his own. The blood I mean… the fear is all his.”

Wow, that’s kind of impressive…. creepy and insulting, but impressive, nevertheless.

“We’ll see after today. All right, kids, suit up, weighted shields and dull blades only today in honor of the new guy,” says Haynes in a fake jovial voice. A low chorus of groans from everyone comes the reply. What a great way for me to feel welcome and part of the crew. Make everyone resent me by having to work harder. Thanks a lot, jerk.

Covering the left wall are real looking wood and steel shields, some spiked, some banded. On the other side of the room, the right wall boasts all manner of swords, axes, maces, and spears of every shape and size. Every implement appears well-maintained. In contrast, a poorly-made, wooden bench, that looks like it's on its last leg, divides the room in half. The back half of the room contains stands for various helmets and pieces of metal or leather armor. In the far back corner of the room, behind all the armor, I see a pile of blankets, half-hidden in the shadows.

The kid in me kind of lights up at the thought of wearing real armor and holding a genuine sword and shield. The grown-up part of me starts thinking that this is crazy, and someone is gonna get hurt around here.

I look over at Thirax, who still seems to be studying me, both by sight and smell, sizing me up and not looking very impressed with what he finds. I decide to take a small chance and approach him with caution, hands loose by my sides. I move in a slow walk, making no sudden movements. “Why do you guys stay locked in here instead of in the cells with us?”

He stands his ground as I approach, but his ears swivel forward while his head canters to the side.

A moment passes until he replies, “We guard for the Pack. Weapons are in danger left alone, and we cannot take them to the cells. Leader made a deal for us to stay here, locked up at night. Many would see the Pack fail in trials, then no more Pack. Enough talk, human… arm yourself.”

I nod to him and force myself to act like this is part of a normal day for me. I turn toward the weapons wall and stare for a bit. I am more than a little familiar with many of the sword types and various blunt instruments. I admit it—I've been to a lot of Ren-Fairs over the years, and yes, I played plenty of 'Dungeons and Dragons' as a kid. Still read a great assortment of sci-fi and fantasy books. Maybe this is why I’m not freaking out as hard as I probably should be. Maybe I just have a more flexible mind than I thought. Maybe, I’m already insane and haven’t noticed yet. Whatever.

I shrug my shoulders and pick a falchion off the wall, testing its weight and balance. It has a nice heavy basket hilt to protect the hand, and a two-and-a-half-foot blade that widens about two-thirds of the way up before it tapers to a pretty sharp point. This is a single-edged sword, weighty and designed for slashing and the occasional stab.

“Good choice, but not what we are using today,” Haynes says as he takes the blade from my hands and passes me a wooden version. It's heavier than I expect, about three feet long and without a hand guard.

“It’s lead-weighted, to build strength and stamina. So is the shield. The armor is heavy enough without extra ballast, so get used to it.” Haynes pulls a round shield from the wall, wood banded with steel and leather straps. He steps closer and helps me to affix it to my left arm. Damn thing must weigh twenty pounds and the sword another fifteen. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it adds up quickly after you carry 'em around and use 'em for a few hours.

Everyone else is already putting on various pieces of armor. Des steps over with a few shaped metal plates in hand and