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

“Oh, well, mystery solved, I guess. I’m still gonna call it Underhill,” I say with a grin.

Of course, this offends Thorn. “Idiot. You mock things you can barely comprehend!”

“Oh, I comprehend all right. I just think the Fey are making us pay for something we had nothing to do with. Not sorry if that and the whole kidnapping and forced to be in a slave army thing makes me respect the Fey culture just a little bit less!”

“All right kids. It’s getting real late. Let’s get some shut-eye. That damn horn seems to sound earlier every day,” Des says, drawing attention away from the building argument.

He and I trade glances for a second, and I know I’ve stumbled on a taboo subject for. For a minute, I wonder how that deep of a resentment will affect Thorn’s and Haynes’ budding relationship. Even though we argue a lot, I still want my friends to be happy for a change, even if it’s only for a little while.

12

Things begin to accelerate as we attempt to survive day-to-day, overshadowed by too many unknowns. A sense of urgency seems to be building as tempers get short and suspicion runs rampant. The more we are required to trust others, the more paranoid everyone else seems to become. Or maybe it’s just us.

We've been trying to develop a signal, a visual cue so we know who is 'in the know' and who we can rely on. We ultimately decided on a single blade of grass, freshly plucked every day and tied to the visor of one's helmet or the collar of a shirt. The grass is easy to find, even in the hard-pack dirt of the practice fields, and it remains inconspicuous. We see more grass blades each day as it starts to catch on.

Just a few nights before, it felt like this nightmare would never be over. Now, it seems that we are speeding headlong into a dark tunnel with nothing to light our way, unsure of the outcome, but we know it will be soon. What we can be certain of is that we must keep preparing as best we are able and hope the tunnel opens up into our freedom instead of dead-ending into a wall of living corpses or something just as nasty.

I find myself looking forward to seeing the flashing red tattoo with the arrow in it on my arm. It’s kind of like validation of all the intense training and hard work we've put ourselves through. I'm still not on par with the others, but I’m getting there. I’ve even pumped up a few of my stats and increased the skills I already have. I’m a respectable level 12 by this point:

Cell# K4644

Prisoner # 5925

Fighter

Name: Caleb Bastion

Race: Human

Class: Fighter

Level: 12

Attacks/Round: 3

Hit Points, Max: 136

Hit Points, Current: 136

Special Conditions: None

Strength: 16 (+3)

Constitution: 14 (+2)

Dexterity: 12 (+1)

Intelligence: 16 (+3)

Wisdom: 16 (+3)

Charisma: 12 (+1)

Saving Throws For:

Fortitude: +10 Reflexes: +4 Willpower: +7

Armor Class: (Base) 10+1

Bonus Armor Proficiencies: All Light (+1 Dex), Medium (+1 Dex), and Heavy (+1 Dex)

Armor Class Total: 24

Armor Equipped: Helmet +1 A/C, Breastplate +6, Greaves +2 (both legs), Pauldrons/Gauntlets +2 (both arms/shoulders), +2 Round Shield (Heavy, Wooden),

Ranged Weapon Proficiencies: (None Equipped) Firearms, Specialized

Melee Weapon Proficiencies: +11/+7/+2 (3) attacks/round, +3/+3/+3 Damage (Str)

Unarmed Combat: +14/+10/+5 (Level + Str.) /+3/+3/+3(Str.)

Weapon Group: Maces/Hammers, Specialized, Focused

Mace, Iron: +15/+11/+6 Attack, 1d8+5/1d8+5/1d8+5 Damage

Weapon Group: Shield, Specialized, Focused

Shield, Heavy: +15/+11/+6 Attack: 1d6+5/1d6+5/1d6+5 Damage

Misc. Weapon Proficiencies:

Spear: +14/+10/+5 Attack: 1d8+3/1d8+3/1d8+3 Damage

Dagger: +14/+11/+5 Attack: 1d4+3/1d4+3/1d4+3 Damage

Skills: Animal Handling 5, Profession (Medicine) 12, Driving 4, Swim 1, Sense Motive 6, Intimidate 5, Survival 6, Alertness 5, Toughness 5

Equipment Carried: None

Base Movement: 30 feet

Property of Lord Dullahan of Terram Caeruleum

One night, Thorn stops by to put some of us back together. For a change, I'm not the only one messed up. This time, I get off light with just a bad slash across the upper arm from a missed block. Des isn't so lucky. He broke his forearm when he tried to stop a Berserker’s hammer cold. It didn't work the way he wanted it to. Physics… laws that simply cannot be broken no matter where you are.

I don't shy away from taking a few cheap shots at him. After all, he was the one who taught me to use a shield to redirect a blow, not stop it dead. He isn't as amused as I am.

Anyway, Thorn brings her healing, a few insults, and… a few surprise gifts. When she pulls her satchel around, it seems more bulging than ever. She opens it and begins dropping items into a pile on a pallet. I stare, wide-eyed… things are definitely starting to look up. She unloads tools and equipment foreign to this Fey world, stuff I thought I'd never see again.

I get my duty belt back with some of my tools still on it. I'd been wearing it when I was dragged through the mirror. I just assumed it was gone for good. I smile as I go through the pouches and pockets. A small suture case, a pouch of sedatives and narcotics, trauma shears, bandaging material, and my portable radio. The radio is useless here, but I decide to hold onto it. It may come in handy if we make it back to our world, you know, the world with radio frequencies and electricity and hot food…

I heft the belt onto my waist, and it falls off right away. Guess I've lost more weight than I realized. Still, I feel better with the belt’s loaded mass sitting familiar on my hips, after I adjust the buckle, of course.

That’s not all she's brought, but it's what is the most significant to me. I'm kind of sentimental about my belt and gear; I’ve carried this stuff almost every day for years.

Now for some other important stuff, we begin to rifle through: two .38 revolvers with six rounds in each cylinder; a .45 ACP Colt semi-auto with eight rounds, complete with a spare mag