Chronicles of Sir Bruce

Prelude: The Website

Upon reflection, I probably could have gotten changed out of my armour after the event and headed home. I’d certainly have gotten less weird looks, wolf-whistles and I probably wouldn’t have had to stop for quite so many impromptu videos. What should have been a two hour walk took almost three, but my armour bag has the kinda straps that slice my hands up, and in my experience, wearing the gear is more comfortable than carrying it.

I’ve been trooping in it for so long that I don’t even notice the extra weight or loss of peripheral vision anymore. When I finally reached the top of the hill where I live and stumbled through the front door, I’d been on my feet for a good seven hours now, and I was damn well ready to drop. I called out, the voice amplifier built into my helmet sending out my voice and giving it a nice, authentic mechanical rasp. The silence was astounding.

I dropped my armour bag onto the floor and took a sip from the water hose I’d built into my armour (because damn if I’m going to break character in front of sick kids just to get a drink) and made my way to my bedroom. It was, just as I had left it that morning, an apocalyptic scene. My old ex-army sleeping bag was still tossed lazily into a corner, with my collection of nerf guns and ex-military clothing, right next to the only spot on the carpet without layers of mess on it. That was where the armour would go. If I could be bothered ever taking it off.

Sidestepping the my old larp sword & board and my old practise katana on the way to me bed, I completely ignored both the presence that was staring me down, and the constant click of plastic on plastic that announced my every step. For recon specialists, Scout Troopers were less than stealthy. Collapsing onto the end of my bed and stabbing the power button of my computer with a gloved finger, I mused to myself that at least my gear let me sit.

Something I always made sure to remind the guys stuck in full Stormtrooper armour.

As my computer, held together by spit, a stencilled Omnissiah cog on the side of the case and stubborn determination powered up, I took off my gloves – heavy biker jobs that made typing absolutely impossible – and tucked them into one of my webbing pockets. Force of habit, even at home – if I didn’t, they always disappeared into the gaping, pan dimensional maw of my closet, and I wouldn’t see ‘em for weeks. Ah, there we go, power’s on.

“No, Bruce, I am bloody well /not/ unleashing you on the world today.” I muttered to small, feathery bundle of rage and hate that I shared the room with, finally turning to regard it from behind my visor. It glared defiantly at me with those black, beady eyes that I just knew would one day spell my downfall, and ruffled its feathers. I didn’t need any fancy telepathy to know the exact thought that was rebounding in the great chasm of its skull as it plotted my demise.

“Soon.”

Then, it went back to preening its gunmetal grey feathers, dismissing me entirely from its tiny, malevolent mind. Evil, I had learned quickly since adopting the little bundle of fluff, was patient. I gave him a suspicious glare, to make sure he really was simply cleaning his feathers and not sharpening them somehow, before turning back to the large screen that dominated my bedside table. I wiped the worst of the sweat off my hands on the cummerbund of my armour, affectionately nicknamed the ‘nappy’ before grabbing the mouse and keyboard.

It was time for 4chan. Double-clicking firefox, I booted up facebook and sup/tg/, checking if the missus was online (she wasn’t) and if any interesting threads had shown up while I’d been away. A new instalment of AC Quest had finally appeared, as had a few other quests and some more Warhammer High. Meh, maybe there was something on the new Iron Kingdoms RP that was coming out. Still wearing my helmet, I took a sip of water and headed to the main /tg/ board. Hell yes! Scans of the new character generation system for IK. I’ll download those.

Okay, seriously. What is that? Looks like some kind of spider/drow/pig armoured like one of those tanks from Ghost in the Shell. This I gotta see. Le click.
What the…head…fuzzy…Bruce…damn you!

Part 1: The Awakening

Damn, nothing but darkness in here. Can’t see shit, captain. There’s no light in here whatsoever. I must have been out a while for it to get dark. I placed a hand on my head, and felt the familiar resin of my helmet. First time I had ever managed to actually pass out in my armour. No wonder I was having trouble seeing. Dark visor at night wasn’t the greatest combination ever devised. That was the first thing I noticed. The second thing was that my hands were damn cold. They were probably blue, but it was too dark to tell.

I fumbled for my gloves and found them in my left webbing pocket, and slipped them onto my slightly numb hands. That was a lot better. The gloves were designed for keeping hands warm when riding a motorbike, so they’d warm them up pretty quickly. I placed my hands on the matt-

-hold on. The ground was hard to the touch, solid and unyielding as stone. From memory, the mattress in my bedroom was certainly nowhere near as hard. Or lumpy, for that matter, and I was quite sure I’d passed out on my bed. Being on my bed was the last thing that I could remember, at least. I stared down at the ground below me until my eyes adjusted a little to the darkness, fixing on what little light there was.

That was…definitely stone. It was old and cracked, with moss clinging stubbornly to every single nook and cranny that presented itself. My mind raced, assessing the situation. It was night-time, and I was in a stone structure that obviously had no lighting or heating, far from where I had fallen asleep. My armour was still on properly, so at least I could take comfort in the fact that nothing untoward had happened to me during my transportation to whatever this place was.

Okay, that was the first question. Where in the name of Steve Irwin’s delicious accent was I? I pushed myself up off the ground and shakily got to my feet, my legs still a little sore from the walk and from sleeping in armour. I normally did the walk from town to home, two hours uphill, a few times a week, but it was always tougher in armour. Looking around, I was definitely in a stone structure. An old one, abandoned from the look of the cobwebs and the large hole in the roof, an impromptu window to a crescent moon.

“Well fuckin’ ‘ell.” I murmured to myself, my voice amplified by the speaker. I’d gone from a comfy bed to some old, run-down hut. Spotting a slim window, I ambled over towards it and poked my head out, looking down curiously. Suffice to say, I regretted that damn quickly. It was so dark, and I was so high up, I couldn’t even see the ground beneath me. Not a hut then, that was for sure. A castle or tower, maybe. I scratched my helmet curiously. There wasn’t a single medieval structure in the entirety of Australia.
I blinked and sighed, realizing that something had definitely gone wrong.
“Where the bloody’ell am I?”

Deciding to make the most of the dream, I looked around for a way to get out of the room I was in. I bloody well didn’t want to try my luck climbing down the outside wall. Looking around, I spotted a dark patch in the stone that I guessed was a hole, which probably meant a doorway. At least, I hoped it was. For some reason, perhaps paranoia or perhaps feeling Operator As Fuck, I decided to proceed with caution, remembering the feildcraft lessons they’d taught me back at the Army Cadets.

One step forward, nice and slow. Land with the heel of the boot first, then roll your foot so that only the outside edge is on the ground, then gently lower it down. There, no noise at all. Perfect. Keep stance wide so the knee plates don’t rub together, and do it again. One step at a time, nice and slow. The irony of trying to sneak in gleaming white armour was entirely lost on me as I cautiously advanced through the doorway, wondering what I would find as I explored what sounded like an abandoned castle…

How I managed to keep reasonably quiet in my armour, I had no bloody idea. The padded confines of my helmet muffled my hearing, making me second-guess whether I was actually doing a half-decent job of stealth, or if I just couldn’t hear the cacophony of clanks and thumps I was making as I cautiously made my way through the interior of the abandoned castle. After wandering through the derelict building for a full hour, I had no doubt that it was nothing less than a castle.

There wasn’t any sign of life in there at all. No sounds, no smells, no movement whatsoever. There was just room after trashed room of silent, dark emptiness. A part of me was tempted to call out, to see if I got a reply, but the latent paranoia that was starting to creep into my mind told me that it wasn’t the brightest idea I’d ever had. Whatever had brought me to this place likely didn’t have the kindest intentions. So, like a thief in the night, I crept from room to room, trying to ignore the cold sweat on my brow.

As my power-metal damaged ears started to adjust to the quietness, though, I began to notice that the castle wasn’t quite as quiet as I had first thought. The wind blew through the windows and holes in the walls and ceiling, an eerie, whispering sound that sometimes, when I was still, sounded like a soft breath behind me, or a ‘shhh’ sound. I whipped around, reflexively jerking my blaster pistol from my boot holster, but there was nothing there. There never was. I kept walking, keeping my blaster in my hand.

Peeking around a corridor about an hour and a half into my exploration, I finally noticed something that caught my interest. There was a smell that I couldn’t quite describe, a cloying, thick scent that punched clean through my helmet and assailed my nostrils, sticky and sweet. I remembered the smell from my long midnight walks from town to home and back, and recognized it quickly, having smelled it every time I walked past fresh roadkill. It was the smell of fresh blood.

For the first time since I had donned the helmet the previous morning, I lifted up the visor and slowly removed my helmet, my free arm tucking it in by my side as I sniffed experimentally, trying to get a handle on the direction of the blood. That is probably what saved my life, as the slightest ‘twang’ behind me caught my attention and instinctively, I crouched low. The arrow, gilded and ornate, flew clean over my head and clattered against the wall at the other end of the corridor, so close that I could feel the air displacing around my hair.

Any sane man would probably have run for it. Instead, before I realized what I was doing, I slammed my helmet back on my head and turned, my blaster pistol already aimed squarely in the direction the shot had came from. Looking through the grim anonymity of my visor, I rounded on the shadow that I spotted behind me. Damn it, this was /my/ dream, and I wasn’t going to have some joker turn me into a pincushion. I’ve spent three years in the Australian Army Cadets, one of them as a Drill Instructor, so I know how to intimidate. My voice rang throughout the castle, amplified by the speaker built into my helmet.
“WHAT IN CRIKEY FUCK ARE YOU PLAYING AT? DROP THE BOW BEFORE I GARROTE YOUR PINDICK WITH IT!”
Looking back, I’m pretty proud of that one.

As my challenge reverberated off the stone walls of the castle, echoing into infinity, the shape recoiled. It clung to the shadows better than I ever could have, a deep, hooded cloak masking its shape and breaking up the familiar, recognizable silhouette, but there was no mistaking the recurve shortbow that was aimed at me. It jumped back a little at my response, clearly not expecting a show of defiance from its prey. I grinned a little inside my helmet at the response, and took a step forward, pressing the advantage.

Emerald green eyes stared out from the shadows of the hood at my blaster pistol, pointed squarely between them as I took a bold step forward, knowing that if I showed any weakness, I was a dead man. From the way it took a step back, it hadn’t seen anything like a fully armoured Imperial Scout Trooper before. If I was lucky, my assailant wouldn’t realize that the armour was nothing but thin plastic and resin, and the firearm I threatened her with nothing but a well-crafted prop. “Drop it, or I drop you.” I elaborated, not even knowing if it understood me.

in a hunting store, but with my gloves, it would take a good twenty seconds to get out and ready. Other than that, my repair kit on my thigh box had a Stanley knife in it. That’d take even longer to ready. Damn it, I had nothing but a fake gun and my laughably poor unarmed combat skills if things went south.

The shadow tightened the grip on its bow with gloved fingers, and the bow wavered a little, but it didn’t lower, still aimed right at me. It didn’t look like there was an arrow nocked, though. That was good, meant that if I had to, I could still make a run for it if I had to. Again, I was thankful that I had gotten Scout armour – you couldn’t really run in a full Stormtrooper rig. I took another step forward, and this time, my hunter held its ground. After a few, tense moments, its free arm snapped backwards, probably to its quiver, and I took off at a dead sprint.

My heart pounded in my ears as I started to sprint as hard as I could towards the cloaked assailant, who even now was drawing an ornate arrow from a quiver that was hidden in the shadows. My arms pumped and adrenaline soared through my system as I raced to close the distance as quickly as I could, an amplified roar on my lips as I bore down on the shadow. Step by step, I closed on the assailant, brandishing the ridiculously small blaster pistol in my hand like a set of brass knuckles, pushing the thumb-trigger ineffectually.

Ten paces out, I saw the shadow nock a black-feathered arrow into the bow and raise it, drawing back on the string at the same time. My eyes went wide as I realized that I wasn’t going to make it in time! A ‘twang’ reached my ears just after blinding pain lanced into my shoulder, sending me twisting a little and damn near enough to knock me over. I kept my feet, though, my free hand moving towards the arrow embedded in the meat of my right shoulder. My roar turned from fear to pain to anger, growing in volume as I closed the last of the distance between us, yanking out the blood-slicked arrow as I did so.

It happened faster than my mind could keep up. One moment, I was reeling from the pain in my shoulder, and the next my fist, knuckles covered by the oversized handguard of my blaster, smashed into my foe’s face, knocking the hood back and revealing refined, feminine features and pointed, angular ears. I’m not usually that good in a fight, but damned if I didn’t put everything I had into that punch. She took a step back, her auburn hair framing her face as blood spurted from her lip.

I saw her eyes go wide with shock and fear as she reeled back, raising her arms to defend herself from another punch. Too little, too late. The arrowhead that had just before lanced through the gap between my shoulder and chest armour stabbed upwards into her armpit and punched through flesh and organs, sending a spurt of hot blood lancing down my gloved hand. Her eyes grew wide with pain, and a gasp left her blood-slicked lips as I, running on adrenaline and bloodlust, pushed her own arrow even further into her frail body.

Her eyes bulged a little as the arrow punctured something important, before she started to go limp, the strength leaving her body as her gaze met my visor, reflected in the polarized material. She was surprisingly heavy for someone so thin, and I let go of the arrow shaft immediately, unmoving as she fell backwards onto the blood-slicked stone, already coughing up blood and gurgling. I’d never seen anyone die before, not for real, and I found myself fascinated by the macabre show that I had created. Her lips moved as she tried to speak, raising a hand weakly.

I just stood there and looked down at the dying elf, unable to move or speak. I still, to this day, don’t know what she was trying to say, what her final words were meant to be. It just came out as a wet gurgle. Was she raising a hand for help, or salvation, or was she denouncing her murderer? That clouded look in her eyes, the pale skin offset by vivid red blood that pooled around her and lapped at the tan soles of my boots, has woken me from a fitful sleep many a night since. I just stood there and watched helplessly as she died.

It took a long time.

Side Story: The Victim

Green eyes stared out from under a dark hood, a bright pink cut that was only just beginning to scar standing in contrast to pale skin. A gloved hand with delicate fingers gently rose to stroke the scar, a physical memory of cruelty and oppression. A soft sigh left even softer lips as those piercing green eyes regarded the stone structure around them, observing the stone sanctuary with an expert precision. A long, slim nose inhaled, noting the riot of new pheromones that had not existed the previous day.

The lips curled in distaste, and the gloved hand fell down towards a leather-bound quiver filled with black-feathered arrows, drawing one out softly and nocking it against the string of a fine, ornately carved recurve bow. Stolen arrows, and a stolen bow. Recompense from the cruel suitor whom had cut that scar into place. The nose twitched again as it identified the scent it was sampling. Human. Male. Filthy and sweaty and unclean, intruding upon what was now a home.

Bare feet padded silently against the stone floor as the cloaked form melted from shadow to shadow, years of hunting experience serving well as the scent grew stronger and stronger, the warm spoor of footsteps visible to eyes more sensitive than any human could hope to possess. Pointed ears twitched as they picked up footsteps. Quiet, for a human, but easily loud enough to betray position. There was an odd clanking sound, like armour, only quieter. Fingers tightened around the bowstring, as the figure stepped through a doorway and gasped aloud at what it saw.

Black cloth hid under gleaming, reflective white armour, smooth and polished to a degree unlike anything those emerald green eyes had ever seen before. It had a hump on its back, and geometric black stripes along its armoured carapace. It held a small object in its hand that looked like a crossbow without a string. Its shape was vaguely human, but the armour seemed…wrong, somehow. Alien. It didn’t belong, and before the shadow knew what was happening, it had loosed an arrow straight for the back of the armoured thing’s head.

The arrow whistled harmlessly over it as it ducked, then fearlessly turned and pointed its own weapon squarely between those green eyes, rising to a somewhat respectable height and glaring coldly through a faceless mask. It was lithe, but not quite as thin as an Elf. Its mouth made no movement as it spoke, a distorted roar of angry, aggressive words, thick with indignation and authority. Exactly like how the males had spoken, back in the village. Breath caught as the shadow took an unsteady step back, surprised by the sudden, fearless wrath.

It advanced onwards, speaking again in its distorted way, clearly making an order. Surrender, it called out in its weird language, the intent unmistakable. Submit. Do not resist, or it will not end well for you. Teeth gritted in defiance as a gloved hand reached for another arrow, the action sending the faceless monster thundering forwards. Fumbling, the shadow nocked the arrow and fired it into the creature, the arrow impacting solidly with its shoulder, in a gap in the armour.

It didn’t even slow down. A gloved fist lashed out, smashing against the pale face and opening up those soft lips, sending a spurt of blood onto the previously pristine armour and glove. The hood fell back, and she gasped from pain as she looked indignantly at him, hissing in pain. Too late, she realized that its shoulder didn’t have the arrow in it anymore, and its free hand was racing towards her armpit. Suddenly, pain lanced up her side, as the arrow bit home. She gasped, and felt her strength leave her as her blood spurted free from her body. Then, her lung popped.

She gazed up at the faceless mask of her killer as she felt the ground rush up to meet her back. The stars danced before her eyes, as she looked up at the unmoving statue that had a moment ago been an explosion of rage. Now, it felt cold…numb. Everything felt cold. She tried to raise a hand, tried to speak, but her strength failed her as the colour began to bleed out from her world. Damn it…she’d fought so hard for her freedom. It didn’t matter now. As her eyes closed, she gave in to death’s cold embrace.
It was kinder to her than life ever had been.