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

“Well, Liam, it seems the situation has changed!” Sarge shouts into the wind, rainwater dripping from his face. “How about you drop your weapons, and get on your knees?”

A peal of thunder rips through the air, loud enough for it to rattle in my chest and assault my eardrums. The scent of ozone is almost overwhelming. The little hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand straight up. A loud buzzing hum begins to crescendo from the clouds.

The look on Liam's face swiftly changes from uncertain fear to downright terror.

The crowded practice field reacts almost at once with shouts of “INCOMING!” echoed from almost every squad. Groups begin to scatter, and I watch as everyone tries to make for the tunnels at once.

Almost before the last shout finishes, and before any confusion can take me, new screams begin as large blasts of forked lightning arc down from the low clouds. The streams of electricity blaze through the crowds, throwing bodies and large clumps of mud into the air. Rainwater vaporizes to steam as the electricity courses through puddles. The tops of the walls are swept with high winds and spidery flashes of lightning, knocking screaming goblins to the muddy ground below.

The impending fight now forgotten, we run for the shelter of the tunnels as an unorganized mob. I grab Jesse, who is still staring down Linda, spinning him around and pushing him in front of me as I urge him to run.

Suddenly the world goes bright white like an old flashbulb to the eyes, and I feel myself being lifted and pitched. Muscles tense and spasm, and excruciating levels of pain wash through me as I roughly smack the ground. Lucky for me, the driving rain has softened the hard pack to thick mud. I somehow land mostly on my back and slide a few feet, having no way to slow my momentum. What finally stops me is a large rock half-submerged in the mud. I hit that headfirst. Stars erupt behind my eyes, as bright as the lightning overhead.

I lay there for hours or seconds, trying to breathe while every muscle in my body spasms beyond control. My head feels like it's splitting down the middle, bit by bit. Hot blood mixes with cold rain, which are both filling up my twitching eyes.

Once again, I feel it’s important to mention a little something about myself. I've been electrocuted before. Several times in fact. Mostly doing ill-advised home repairs, but on one memorable occasion, I got partially defibrillated. It involved a speeding ambulance and a bumpy road, but the details aren't really important right now. The takeaway from this story is I really hate being electrocuted. It hurts like nothing else. I'm gonna label it as 'avoid at all costs,' if you have the option. This current experience is pretty unforgettable already.

Two pairs of strong hands grab me under my arms and rapidly drag me through the mud. I watch the storm clouds swirl above me, and more lightning leaves afterimages in my vision. I'm suddenly able to take a deep breath, and it feels good… for a second. Then the pain really hits. I feel myself scream but hear nothing. The world goes dark, and the pain finally recedes.

8Thorn

The great hall is bright with fairy lanterns and cooled by large, open bay windows set in the northern wall. Soft music from a string quartet plays discreetly in the background. Trivial conversations compete in volume despite their light subjects. Free-flowing wine helps fill the air with laughter, some genuine and some forced, the conversations all but drowned out with the din of scraping forks and knives. Human servants glide silently through the diners, masks covering their faces, with hoods set over their rounded ears. Large portraits of the Royal Highborn Family hang high on the walls, interspersed with large, ornate tapestries.

The elves enjoy breaking their fast with as much elegance and luxury as they do most everything else. The females of several different species are all done up in gowns and jewels, the males in doublets and cloaks, all fashioned from silk and other exotic materials. Delicacies in the form of rare fruits and wines cover the tables and are enjoyed, yet often discarded unfinished.

Boisterous laughter erupts from the largest table closest to the open windows. This is the only table to be served any type of meat, and only to a few of its select guests.

Occupying the middle, most ornate chair at the head table, sits the host of their opulent meal. A scented handkerchief is tucked into his ruffled collar, and his thin crown keeps his long hair swept over his pointed ears. The Lord picks at his food and contemplates his guests, particularly the one to his right. In more normal times, he would never stoop so low as to speak to some of these guests, much less break bread with them. But these are not normal times. Events are building, and time runs short.

Lord Seneschal Arias Dullahan does his best to ignore the lack of table manners from his least favorite hireling, Grimarm the Harrow. As Chief of the Redcap Mercenaries, he's allowed a lot of latitude. His leather cap reeks of dried blood, and his white beard is stained crimson around his mouth. Gray, weathered skin covers his stalwart frame. A large cleaver sits on the table within easy reach, and a short, stout spear with a broad head remains strapped over his shoulder.

His penchant for raw meat and chewing with his mouth open doesn't get him invited to the main table often. When he laughs, spittle and blood spray onto the ornately set table in front of him. His monstrous dog, Cu Sith, lies curled next to him. The size of a small horse, its wiry fur is black as coal. It boasts a murderous temperament to match its master's. Cu Sith yawns in a bored fashion, showing off all of his yellow, jagged fangs.

To the Lord Seneschal’s left