Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) Keith Ahrens (best e reader for epub txt) 📖

begins to name them and explain how they go on. We go basic, nothing fancy. Most of the pieces are mismatched but in decent condition. I strap on a steel breastplate to cover my chest and back, accompanied by steel pauldrons for my shoulders. My forearms get leather bracers with steel bands sewn into them, and heavy leather gauntlets with steel plates are tied to my hands. I strap padded leather cuisses to my thighs, and thick leather greaves buckle around my shins from my knees to my boots. Finally, a steel helmet with a visor to protects my eyes and nose completes the ensemble. The padding in the helmet is flat and covered with cracked leather that has seen better days. I have no doubt it has lice. And it smells… bad.

A thought strikes me, so I turn to Des and ask, “How come these have steel in them when everything else around here is made of brass?”

He stops and looks at me with a hint of surprise. “That’s pretty observant for a new guy. We’re almost sure that most of the monsters here have an aversion to steel and iron. And that fits with the stories my granddad used to tell." His Southern drawl gets a little thicker the longer he talks. "We don’t have that problem with the steel, and they don’t seem to much care how much we hurt each other. We use it because it’s a damn site lighter than the brass and holds an edge better. Stand up now, let's see how this stuff hangs on you.”

I get to my feet, a little slower than usual. This 'stuff' is heavy, but not much more than a full Scott-pack and Haz-Tac suit that I’ve worn during my normal day job. If you don't know what a Scott-pack or Haz-Tac suit is, think of any movie that has military guys in a gas or nuclear attack scene. Adding in the sword and shield, I realize I’m in for a long and sweaty day.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I can’t resist pushing the leather band aside and pressing a finger to my wrist. The circle is fully red now. Instantly, the image projects into the air in front of me. I scan through the changes:

Hit Points: 55

Current Damage/Injury/Affect: None

Armor Class: 23 +1 Dex bonus; 24 Total

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

Weapons Group:

Practice Sword (wooden, weighted): -6 Nonproficiency, +8 / 1d6-2 (Subdual)

Shield, Heavy Wooden: +2 Armor Class, +5/1d6+3

It takes me a minute to remember what the numbers mean, but I played enough D&D to get the gist. Hit Points are the amount of damage I can take before I get killed or knocked out if it’s ‘subdual or non-lethal’ damage. The Armor Class number indicates how good my protection is. The higher the number, the better my chances of surviving a fight. Each piece of armor contributes to the number. The ‘weapons’ numbers are a bit more confusing. I take a big penalty to try and hit something with a weapon I have no idea how to use, hence the -6. The +8/+3 means I can add my Strength bonus and level (aka experience) to hit something and to the amount of injury I can cause. The 1d6+2 subdual means that the damage is equal to rolling a six-sided die. Then -1 from that number and that indicates how many Hit Points I take from an opponent. I’ve always thought the randomness of the dice parallels the real world accurately. Sometimes you land a punch, but it doesn’t hurt the guy much. Sometimes you get a knockout with the same punch.

I also notice there seems to be a few other pages stacked underneath the first page of the projection as I hear Jesse and Desmond begin to laugh.

“It’s okay, Son, everybody does that the first few times. You'll get used to it,” Des says, amused. Embarrassed, I let it drop before I can see what the other pages are all about.

Before I have a chance to reply, we hear loud porcine shouts and grunts from the hallway.

“Shit, get a move on, Boot! Last squad out usually gets whipped,” says Des. “Let's go, now!”

The Gnolls leap past us and into the hall. Right away, they begin barking and growling with aggression. I jog a few steps across the short distance behind everyone else, wondering what all the commotion is about.

As I cross the threshold of the doorway, a large, brass gong smashes over my head, spinning my helmet partway around and blinding me. I crash into someone else on my way to the ground and lose my wooden sword in the process. Loud, angry shouts fill the small hallway, along with growls and grunts, metal clashing and men screaming. I grab my helmet with both hands and pull it off as I try to roll to my knees, my head still spinning from the hit. Haynes and Jesse stand with their backs to us, automatically forming up a wall with their shields and lashing out at blistering speed with their wooden swords. There are grunts of pain every time they land a blow, and I’m sure more than a few would have been deadly if they'd held real blades.

Des grabs my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. In the blink of an eye, he draws his sword and leaps into the fray. Just then, a filthy, pale human slips past Haynes while he is engaged with an ax-wielding psycho. To my surprise, this guy stabs at me with a long, thin dagger. “Hey! What the hell did I do to you?' is what I want to say.

Yet, all that comes out is a less than courageous, “Aaahhh!”

Instinct takes over as I swivel my hips to the left, allowing the blade to slide along the front of my breastplate, it leaves a thin gouge in the metal. I follow through