Aiden groaned and covered his head with his pillow. It was morning already, and he could hear the other students getting up and moving around. It's way too early for this kind of thing, he thought to himself, trying to block out the noise.
It was no good. The room was filling up with the incessant chatter of the new initiates, as was to be expected on the very first day of enrollment. Aiden sat up and stretched, his joints creaking from his night spent on the floor. His stomach rumbled, voicing its complaint loudly. He needed some breakfast, preferably a lot of it.
Getting out of his sleeping bag, he knelt and began rolling it up, tying it off at two places to keep it from unrolling. Stretching one more time, he rose, gathering his things. They had been assigned a rocket-propelled locker the day before where they could keep their things. He had been pleased to learn that he could send his locker anywhere based upon a six digit code he typed into his scroll. It would come in handy in future, he assumed.
He changed out of his pajamas into his battle clothes, already feeling the excitement of initiation creeping into his bones. His clothes were relatively simple, a white T-shirt and black pants. He wore a black hooded jacket with orange flames licking up the waist and around his wrists. He strapped on his shoulder armor, and tucked the straps of his metal gas mask into his back pocket. He was ready to take on the day, albeit reluctantly.
He lazily strolled into the cafeteria, the scents of breakfast all around him. Here came the hard part: actually choosing what to eat. He could have easily put down a few platefuls, but he didn't think that that kind of gluttony would have been allowed. After all, Huntsmen learned self-control and restraint for all things, didn't they?
Then, he smelled it, warm and fluffy and delicious.
FRENCH TOAST.
He found the nearest clean plate and proceeded to stack it high, slathering it with butter and coating it with powdered sugar and syrup. He grabbed some clean silverware before speedwalking to the nearest available table. He set his plate and silverware down then sat down himself. Cutting a piece of French toast, he raised it to his mouth.
Oh yes. He lived for this moment every day. Food would not disappoint him, or hurt him. Much better than people.
Once half of the French toast had disappeared off his plate in record time, he then allowed himself to look around the room. Students were busy eating and talking, while others stood in line to get breakfast. The older students were wearing their uniforms, so it was easy to pick out the first years. They stood out in a motley of colors, ranging from hot reds to cold blacks and whites. They carried an assortment of weapons, everything from ranged to melee, dual-handed to single handed to not needing a hand to wield it. Everything was unique and original.
It really just looked like too much effort to Aiden.
Modriot sat at a table by herself, a small glass in front of her. It was filled with a clear liquid that she sipped slowly, surveying the room. To the untrained eye, it looked like she was drinking plain water. In all actuality, she was sipping dry gin, snuck in skillfully from a flask kept hidden deep within her robes, as close to her body as possible. She had developed a taste for it early on, and liked to drink it in her down time. She also knew why she was sitting alone, and it didn't bother her. Most other students looked like they were terrified of her, but they were most likely just terrified of her face. The right side of her face had been branded with swirling archaic mark that stretched from her jawline to her eyelid, even reaching the side of her nose. Her missing left arm was also a noticeable deterrent. The vertical slash over her left eye also added to the image.
"Would all first year students please report to Beacon Cliff for initiation? Again, all first year report to Beacon Cliff immediately!" The disembodied voice of Professor Goodwitch rang over the dining hall, cutting through the chatter.
Modriot hammered back what was left in the glass and set it on the table, then rose and walked away, leaving the glass. She didn't worry about trivial things like that. Her ink blue robe tails eddied around her dark brown boots as she strode with a confident step. The left sleeve was missing, and the right cuff stretched to her wrist. She also wore a lighter blue hooded mantle that had cream colored flame embroidery stretching from the bottom upwards. She wore matching ink blue leggings underneath the robe with metal bracers reaching from her shin to her upper thigh. A brown leather belt with utility pouches cinched around her lower waist, holding up four coattails, two in the back that extended down to her ankles and two in the front that went down to her knees. Her right arm was covered in a light brown vambrace that had a simple design inlaid in metal. Her right hand was engulfed in a scale-mail caestus, and she wore a wine-red amulet on a thin chain around her neck. She knew that she looked intimidating, and she was not bothered by that in the least bit.
There were a few details on initiation that floated around as common knowledge, but not much. There was something about retrieving a relic and making it back to the cliff, but that was about it. There were rumors of students dying during initiation, but Modriot took that with a grain of salt. Surely the instructors would intervene if things go too out of hand.
Modriot joined the throng of students making their way to the cliffs. She could see two figures up ahead, standing near the cliffs. Coming closer, she could see that it was Professors Ozpin and Goodwitch. They were standing in front of a long line of metal plates that were set on top of the ground, each emblazoned with the school's crest. Goodwitch was busy tapping away at her large scroll, her eyes narrowed in concentration behind her small oval spectacles. Ozpin stood by her side, sipping calmly from a mug that was also marked with the school's crest.
As the group grew closer, Professor Goodwitch looked up from her scroll and stepped forward. She indicated the platforms and said in calm, authoritative voice "Will each student step on a plate, and make sure that you are standing on the middle of it. This is the first step of your initiation."
Modriot stepped forward and stood on the nearest plate to her. She was standing between a girl in a red and black duster with lots of ribbon thin tails and a boy in a colonial-looking jacket colored blue and green with black accents. She shifted lightly on her plate, setting her stance. Something about them was setting her on edge.
As all the students stood on their plates, Professor Ozpin looked over all of them and said in a calm voice, "For years, you have trained to become warriors at your respective schools. Today, those learned abilities will be evaluated in the Emerald Forest."
Professor Goodwitch then chimed in. "I'm sure many of you have heard rumors and small talk about the assignment of teams. We will now put your confusion to an end. Every one of you will be given teammates. Today."
There was some uncomfortable shuffling and murmurs from the other students. Modriot just stood there, completely calm. Nothing they could say would rattle her.
Ozpin took another sip from his mug, then proceeded with his instructions. "The teammates assigned to you will be with you for the next four years. So, it will be imperative to you that you be paired with someone you can work well with. That now being said, the first person with whom you share eye contact with after you have landed will be your partner for the remainder of your time here at Beacon."
Modriot just blinked at him. Surely the man couldn't be serious, could he?
"After you have partnered up, you will need to make your way to the northern part of the forest. Expect to meet opposition along the way. If you hesitate in any way to destroy whatever crosses your path, you will die. You will be monitored remotely and graded on your performance for the remainder of your initiation. Our instructors will not intervene in any way. You will find an abandoned temple that will hold several relics. It is your assignment, alongside your partner, to choose one and bring it back to the top of the cliff. It will be regarded, alongside your standing, and grade you appropriately for it. Are there any questions?"
There was nothing but silence.
"Professor Ozpin?" A girl near the end of the line asked nervously. "How will we be getting down?"
"You will be using your own landing strategy. You will be falling."
There were three loud clicks and a crack from the end of the line, and a boy in yellow was catapulted off the cliff. The clicks and cracks got closer, and soon, the girl in the duster next to Modriot was launched into the air, her coattails billowing out around her. Modriot took a breath, counted the clicks, and felt herself being flung into the air at a speed she wasn't quite expecting.
The wind rushed in her ears, but Modriot blocked it out, quickly assessing the situation. She flew past trees, zeroing in on the one she would land on. She needed to land soon. Her boot struck a branch and she used that momentum to flip down onto a lower branch. She grasped the next branch and swung forward, her arm holding all her weight in check. She then bounced off the next tree and landed on the ground in a front roll. She sprang up from the roll next to a sapling tree, and she put her arm up against it, bracing herself. She had not focused on keeping her magic engaged while she was landing, and she could feel the onset of a bronchial attack. She needed to catch her breath; the wind had stolen it on her trip down.
Taking a few deep slow breaths, the dizziness and shortness of breath receded, supplemented by her focusing her magic to keep her ailment in check. She needed to get it together, and move on. She had no time for such weakness.
Mallaithe soared through the air, the tails of her coat whipping around her. She hurtled towards a large oak tree, moving like a rocket. She drew two long dueling daggers from her belt, and slammed into a tree in front of her, plunging the daggers deep into the wood. She hung there for a second, then pulled her feet to her chest. Pushing out, she pulled the daggers out of the wood and flipped away from the tree. The descent down was a short one, and she landed hard on the ground, one knee pressed down and the tails of her coat spread out like tentacles. She rose, sheathed her daggers, and started running.
Gotta find a partner, gotta find a partner.
She didn't know anyone in this school, so it was really up in the air about working well with whomever she paired up with. She didn't like people, so it was a moot point anyway. She streaked through the forest, a black and red blur. She wore a red sleeveless dress underneath a black low-collared shirt. Over that, she wore what she called her mistcoat: a single-breasted tailored black trench coat with red lapels and flared sleeves. The most interesting thing about it was the bottom of the coat. It was a solid fitted piece to the waist, where it then split into multiple ribbon thin strips that reached the tops of her ankles. She wore black sheer tights and back boots with a low flat heel that laced to her shins. She had a brown strap that crossed her chest from over her right shoulder to her left hip, and two more crisscrossing over her hips under the coat. The belts carried her curved dueling daggers and a collection of small ceramic knives that has explosives forged into the tips. Around her neck was a gray choker with black lace, and she wore a pair of blasting goggles on her forehead over her bangs. Near the back of her head, she wore a black mini top hat with a red ribbon and veil.
She was terrified of people, and she blamed her appearance for that; it was what had caused people to tease her most of her life. She had hair in three colors, her bangs and the top of her head being white, and the long growth being a mix of light gray and black. She pulled the black top section back into a low ponytail and let the gray section flow freely. Her eyes were an extremely light gray, almost white, and were marked with a small red slash over each eye.
As she was running, she heard a sharp crack. Stopping immediately, she looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. She drew her dueling daggers slowly, holding them blade parallel to her arm and keeping her head on a swivel. Suddenly, there was a loud roar as a large Beowulf bounded out of the underbrush and stood snarling at her. It was a gigantic creature, nearly seven feet tall, dwarfing her mere five feet. It was jet black, like more creatures of Grimm, with piercing red eyes. Its head appeared to be made out of bone and had the traditional markings on it. It had spine-like protrusions of bone down its back and along its arms. It roared menacingly at Mallaithe, and launched itself at her, claws slashing.
Mallaithe ducked to the side, her boots sliding along the ground. She sprinted forward and then went to the ground, using her momentum to propel herself on her hip. Her blades slashed at the Beowulf's legs, taking its legs out from under it. It went down hard, thrashing in the dirt and wailing. Mallaithe jumped upright, daggers at the ready. The Beowulf got to its feet and growled, brandishing its claws. She jumped back and up, her hand at her belt. She unhooked two knives from her belt and threw them, embedding them in the Beowulf's hide. She flicked her fingers toward them, and the explosives embedded in the tips detonated, taking chunks out of the Beowulf's hide. It howled again, and leapt after her. Its slashing claws knocked her hard in the stomach, and sent her flying backwards into a tree. Her back hit the tree, and she slid down it, coming to rest at the base. She somersaulted out of the way as the Beowulf slammed headlong into the tree and knocked it over. Mallaithe got to her feet, holding her stomach, one dagger held ready.
The Beowulf stood snarling, its nostrils flaring as if scenting for blood. Mallaithe slowly moved her hand from her stomach to her belt, trying not to draw its attention. She lightly held two daggers between her fingers, grasping them by their handles. She pulled them up slowly, then flung them at the Beowulf, aiming for the neck. One was swatted away by a large paw, but one struck true, burying itself to the hilt in midnight fur. The Beowulf clawed at its neck, but it was deep enough that it could not easily be hooked and pulled out. Mallaithe reached for small black device, shaped like a watch, high on her wrist under her sleeve, and tapped the button.
The knife exploded, its ceramic tip becoming shrapnel that lodged itself in the Beowulf's neck and flew out in various directions. A brilliant crimson spray, shining like silk in the sunlight, fanned out from the neck. Mallaithe barely missed the spray as she sprang at the monster, launching herself up at it. Her daggers, drawn and held in an x, reached up and crossed in the flesh of the Beowulf. She slashed down and hard, putting her weight behind it. The flesh and connective tendons severed, and the Beowulf's head toppled to the ground, landing with a dull thud.
Mallaithe had landed with one knee pressed to the ground, and now she rose, scanning the area for more Grimm.
Instead, she made eye contact with a dark skinned boy in a flame embroidered jacket who was leaning lazily against a tree and had been watching from behind. He flashed her a brilliant smile.
"Yo."
"Where in the blue hell is this temple?" Jacen grumbled as he walked, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He kicked a loose stone and watched it bounce along the ground. He seemed to be going uphill, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. He hadn't encountered any Grimm, so he supposed that was good. He hadn't found a partner, and he mentally catalogued that under "not certain if good or not."
He was sure he'd find a partner en route to the temple. Maybe a single person had made their way to the temple on their own, and he could just partner there. He pulled one hand out of his pocket and used it to touch Starduster, who was slung across his back. It was a scouting semi-automatic rifle that had the ability to shift forms into either a greatsword or a crossbow. He found it to especially useful, especially when it came to hunting Grimm.
Snap!
Jacen moved fluidly, unslinging Starduster and flourishing it with a low tight flip into his palms. He dropped into his firing stance, his barrel aimed in the direction of the noise and right at a girl with long dirty gray hair and straight bangs. She stared down the barrel at him with midnight blue eyes, then shrugged and kept walking. Surprised at the nonchalance of the encounter, Starduster dissolved into thin air as Jacen lost his concentration on its tangibility. Shaking his head, he chased after the girl, who was now his assigned partner.
He slowed down to a walk alongside her. Putting his hands behind his head, he attempted to strike up a conversation with her.
"So, I guess we're partners now, huh?"
Silence.
"Well, my name is Jacen. What's yours?"
"Modriot," came her clipped reply.
"So. . . Do you know where the forest temple is?"
Silence.
Suddenly, he was struck with the desire to stop talking. He chewed on his lip and followed her silently, noting that she seemed to have a ghost of a smile at his sudden silence. They walked along, both of them taking care to continually check their surroundings.
Jacen and Modriot crested a hill, and there, down below them, stood the ruins of a long-forgotten building with a circle of small pedestals lining the interior. That must have been it. Jacen narrowed his eyes, noticing there was two figures already moving into the circle. The colors of their clothes indicated that it was the girl in the ribbon coat and the boy in the flame patterned jacket.
"Let's go." Modriot commanded, breaking into a run and leaping down the hill. Jacen didn't like the tone in her voice, but she was right. He followed her, right on her heels, down to the ruins. The other pair were there, looking confusedly at the small item in ribbon-coated girl's hand.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Modriot demanded coldly. She has a small green gear in the palm of her hand, and she was staring at it. "No, we have one just like it." The boy in the flame patterned coat said, taking the gear from his partner and holding it up where Jacen and Modriot could see. It was identical to theirs, a small six-toothed gear painted emerald green.
"I don't know if it's a joke, but we have our objective. Get a relic and make it back to the cliffs." Jacen said, pointing back in the direction they came. Suddenly a loud roar shook the forest, and it seemed to be getting closer. "Besides, I think we may have some company."