So this is an idea that was floating in my head for a while, and I've gotten hooked to it enough to write it as a story. The basic premise is my Assassin's Creed OC, Django Kraus, goes from 1876 to Remnant. This idea was inspired by a wide range of influences, but the crossover points are my ideas. I'm not sure when I'll get into Django's backstory, but I will give pieces through this story. More to come.
I do not own Assassin's Creed or RWBY
August 5, 1876
Omaha, Nebraska
Lanterns flickered dimly in the city, their light piercing the darkness of the West. Some illuminated the docks along the banks of the Missouri and Platte, where, late as it was in a city where most people retired indoors with the coming of the night, and those that didn't loaded their guns, a few sailors and dockworkers labored. Lights also glimmered in the bars and inns, but few people actually walked outside.
It had been nine years since Nebraska had been admitted into the Union, and since then Omaha's population was exploding with immigrants from across the world. Political activism had increased, for it was an election year, and the Democrats and Republicans were at each other's throats. Yet the city's location between the busy waters of the Missouri and the Platte River, the gateway to fertile western Nebraska, had brought it a great deal of influence and wealth.
Yet Omaha, Nebraska, in the Year of Our Lord 1876, was not a safe place to be at night. The light from lanterns and torches cast dark shadows in every alleyway and corner, which were excellent hiding places for the desperate and destitute.
The light from the moon illuminated a figure in a dark coat and pants standing atop a small bank. A young man, only fifteen years old, but lithe and silent. Surveying the neighborhood carefully, Django Crawford spied the target he had been spent several days searching for; a rustic wagon pulled by two sullen horses, driving by a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat which effectively covered his face. When one looked closely, they would see a symbol that looked like an X with a line going vertically through the middle.
Django knew what the symbol stood for, and pulled his scarf up to cover the lower half of his face, and leapt down from the roof as the carriage neared its destination. The building was a small, ramshackle storehouse that was held over the river, and was dimly lit by a single lantern outside the entrance. As the wagon pulled up, Django saw three men come out and meet the driver. They all wore similar attire; long coats and wide hats that shielded them from the sun and observers.
The Saratoga Gang were notorious smugglers and raiders who attacked small towns and trains, stealing valuables to purchase weapons from the black market. Jacob had been following the trail of these outlaws for two weeks, but his search had finally ended. He leapt down from the roof and grabbed a lantern from the wall of the bank, slowly approaching. The men began talking to each other.
"What took so long?" one asked the driver, clearly the leader of the group.
"Lawmen are catchin' on", the driver answered, "We better get out of Omaha".
"Don't worry, we are leavin' t'night" the leader answered.
Now, Django spoke up, "Leaving so soon?"
The four men turned around quickly, pulling out their guns and training them on the lanterns light.
"Who the hell are you?" the leader asked, "You better clear out if you know what's good for you".
"Well, I haven't ever been good at that", Django replied.
"Last chance, fancy pants".
Django made a quick observation of all the men. The leader and the two henchmen carried revolvers, while the driver had a Winchester Rifle. Django could see who was left handed and right handed, who would attack and who would stand back. Years of training and fighting had taught him to do this in seconds.
"Oh, very well", Django answered.
He dropped the lantern he was carrying, and as it hit the ground and its light went out, he flexed his left arm, triggering his hidden gun. He quickly fired at the leader, he fell back from the sudden shot. Django quickly leapt to the right as the other three men fired their guns, and took cover behind the wagon. It was too dark for the men to tell where he was, and he took advantage by triggering his hidden blade on his right arm. Sprinting towards the nearest man, he swiped the blade across his neck, then turned to the other man and fired the gun into his chest. With both men down, the only one left was the driver, who was retreating into the storehouse, firing his rifle into the darkness. Django ran at him, jumping and kicking off from a crate, flying through the air, before bringing his blade down on the back of the man's head.
With the enemies dispatched, Django went to inspect the crates in the wagon. Just as he had suspected, there were guns of different calibers and sizes. This seemed like a lot, even for raiders. He wondered who on the black market was selling them these weapons. But it didn't matter now. Using a torch, he burned down the storehouse and, after untying the horses, pushed the wagon into the river.
Mission accomplished.
The Following Morning
The Boots & Bling Saloon was a small establishment on the east side of Omaha. It was a center of gossip and trade among Omaha's residents, and where people could set aside their differences to join in raucous drinking. However, this morning there was only a group of four men, the bartender and Django, sitting in a booth, present. He had chosen this saloon as a temporary base for its normality, and right now was reflecting on the various jobs he had taken since leaving the Assassins in 1875. He wondered how Bass Reeves was, since they hadn't spoken since he left California. He was probably back in San Francisco, working rebuilding the Assassin Order from scratch.
It had been a few months since he and Reeves had taken their quest to liberate America from the Templar Order, and they had done a damn good job. The leaders were all dead, and the Order itself had retreated to Cuba. Even though their ally, President Ulysses Grant, was leaving office soon, Reeves hoped that the next president would at least be oblivious to the fight between Assassin and Templar. All in all, things were looking up for the Assassin's and the people they protected.
Suddenly, an old man wearing strange clothes and small spectacles sat down in Django's booth. Django looked at him bemusement, as this man had white hair but seemed quite young and spry. Django asked the obvious question:
"Um, can I help you?"
"Actually, yes you can", answered the old man, "I am in need of someone with your particular set of skills and past."
"My past?" Django asked warily.
"Indeed. You are an Assassin, are you not?"
The whole saloon went quiet, as the group of men seemed suddenly interested in their conversation. Django looked at the man incredulously, for how could he have known? He had never seen this man before.
Django leaned in close: "If you go around lookin' for an Assassin", he whispered, "You should know that people don't take kindly to them."
"Ah," the man responded, "You may be right." Even he seemed to realize they were attracting unwanted attention. He leaned in closer and spoke quietly this time:
"Let's start over. I am Professor Ozpin, and I am hoping you will accept my request, on your honor as an Assassin."
"First of all," Django responded, "I'm not an Assassin, not anymore. Second of all, why would I help you?"
Ozpin seemed disappointed to find out what Django was, or rather wasn't, but went on:
"My home is in great danger, and I hope that you can help me defend it, regardless of who you are."
"Where is your home, is it in Nebraska, Colorado?" It wasn't the first time he had been asked to defend a town from outlaws since he had taken up the bounty hunting business, but it was the first time a potential client had referenced his past as an Assassin.
"Oh it's quite far from here, farther from the United States even." Ozpin smirked as he said this.
That caught him off-guard, since he had never been outside of the U.S. and this man sounded like he might have come from New York.
"Why the hell would you come to Nebraska, from whatever country you're from, to ask for the help of one bounty hunter who happens to have been an Assassin before?"
"Mr. Crawford, I will be honest with you. I come from another world, where the everyday dangers of life are more extreme that what you may be used to on Earth."
Django decided right then and there that this old man was completely insane. It was odd how the man knew he had been an Assassin, but in a land where your past defines how much respect people have for you, it shouldn't have been too surprising for word to spread. Django decided to let him off easy.
"Okay, look, you seem like a nice guy. But I'm not the person you should be telling this to. I'm sure the nice people at the Lincoln asylum would love to hear your story."
"I'm being completely honest with you, and can assure you I am completely sane," Ozpin said, as if he were stating an obvious fact.
"Sure, and in your world there are terrible beasties who are fought by people who use swords, that are also guns."
"Actually, that's completely accurate."
Before Django could respond, the four men who had been casting them suspicious looks came up towards their booth, and Django realized these men were bounty hunters, just like him. But these ones seemed to realize there was still a bounty on Assassin's in America. The biggest one spoke up first:
"Alright, kid, yer gonna come, nice and easy, with us to the marshal's office," he said in a way that must have intimidated the average outlaw but had little effect on Django.
"Listen, gentlemen," Ozpin spoke up, and calmly said, "While I am sure the price for an Assassin is quite substantial, I would appreciate it immensely if you could leave us in peace."
The men looked among each other humorously, and Django gave Ozpin a look that said, are you crazy?
"You should get outa here, grandpa," the big man responded, "You might get hurt."
Django thought Ozpin was crazy, but didn't want him to get hurt for it.
"Just go," He implored to Ozpin.
"...very well"
Ozpin calmly got up and politely asked the men to excuse him. As they changed their focus from him to Django, Ozpin spoke up once more.
"You can't make the claim I didn't warn you", Ozpin said. As he talked, he lifted a chair into the air, but not by carrying it. He seemed to be...levitating it, and directed it with a cane. He swiftly brought it down on the lead man, sending him and debris flying everywhere. As Django covered his face to protect himself, the three other men charged Ozpin. Two of them tried to attack Ozpin at the same time, but they were sent flying back when he pointed his cane at them. The final attacker picked up a chair and tried bringing it down on Ozpin, but he ducked under it effortlessly and tripped the man, before bringing his cane down hard on his head. Finally, the barman pulled out a revolver, pointing it directly at Ozpin.
"What the hell are you?!" he shouted.
Ozpin calmly spun his cane, and Django noticed a bottle on a shelf above the barman slide down, and just as the barman looked up, crashed on his head, knocking him out. Django's mouth was wide open, but Ozpin looked at him like the fight was easier than flicking away ants.
"Perhaps now you'll want to reconsider my request?" he said.
Ozpin had lead Django to a decrepit tenement in North Omaha that probably hadn't been renovated since the Civil War. Nevertheless, Ozpin waltzed into the building like he owned it, which Django was starting to suspect he did. They didn't see anyone else, which meant it was probably abandoned, and the staircases were almost pitch black without the slivers of fading sunlight coming through broken windows and cracks in the wall. Every step creaked and groaned like they were about to fall apart under their feet, which didn't help the fact that the building was as eerie as a ghost town.
Django had a lot of questions on his mind. What had Ozpin done back there? What world was he from? Why did someone with powers much greater than Django's need his help for? Ozpin promised to answer as many questions as he could when he got where he wanted to. He seemed to know exactly where he wanted go, and they climbed three flights of stairs before Ozpin went into a much brighter room than all the others. Going inside, Django saw a single backpack lying against a table, upon which lay a map of the United States, coffee in one of the nicest porcelain cups Django had ever seen, and a small, rectangular device made of glass. Ozpin then calmly sat down in a chair next to a relatively well-kept fireplace, and pointed his cane at the wood, which somehow lit the fire.
"Well," Ozpin said, "You said you had questions."
Looking at Django, he gave a smile that radiated understanding, which calmed his own nerves. He slowly sat down in the chair facing opposite of Ozpin, settling in and thinking of the first question that came to his mind.
"How did you find out about me, or where I was?"
"I'm afraid I can't divulge the entire answer to that question, but what I can tell you is that a mutual aquaintance gave me information about you. He knew a lot about you, including your life as an Assassin, your age and where you might be. He didn't mention that you were no longer an Assassin."
"Yeah, that's been a pretty recent thing," Django left it at that.
"Very well, do you have any more questions?"
"Well, you're obviously much stronger than me, so why would you possibly need my help?"
"Well, there aren't many people with my exact abilities, but we work to train young people like yourself to become warriors that protect the common people. Does it sound familiar?"
"Yeah. So what war are your people fighting that needs children to serve as soldiers?"
"We aren't fighting a war, but our people fight to survive against the onslaught of the creatures of Grimm."
"Creatures… of Grimm?"
"Dark creatures that have no souls or Aura, and live only to destroy civilization."
"What's aura?"
"The manifestation of a person's soul. It grants people abilities unique to their personalities, and even provides as a shield against danger."
"The Grimm aren't the only danger our civilization faces. A radical group known as the White Fang fights against any government by committing acts of terrorism, all in the name of Faunus' rights'."
"What's a Faunus?"
"Beings who are almost entirely similar to humans, but have animal features and traits. For example, a Faunus with cat ears might have excellent night vision, while another with a monkey tail would be more agile than the average human."
"... I guess that's not the strangest thing I've just heard."
"Indeed. In my world, which is called Remnant, I am the headmaster of Beacon Academy, one of the schools that trains young men and women to be the greatest warriors in the world."
"And I want you to join my school as a student, learn to fight in Remnant, and use your own skills to defend it. I know about what you did as an Assassin. You freed this country from the control of the Templars. I hope that if you helped this world, you could help mine."
Django thought about it long and hard. It was crazy to think that he would simply go to a whole nother world, with nothing to help him understand it except this old wizard. But then again, was there really anything left here for him? He wasn't an Assassin, and the bounty hunting business gave him enough income to pay for a hotel room every few nights.
"Alright… I'll do it."
Ozpin gave a smile that almost looked relieved, "Good."
Ozpin got up and went to the table, and packed up everything splayed on the table into the backpack. Django just stayed sat in the chair, feeling numb from the realization of the gravitas of his decision. Fortunately, Ozpin was done quickly, and sat back in the chair, and put the fire back out. Except his cane, which he didn't seem to need for any physical problems, was glowing with energy. He held it horizontally between them, and when Django didn't move, he motioned towards him, encouraging him to hold onto it to. Django quickly grabbed onto the shaft, and felt buzzing on his hand. Ozpin spoke again:
"Now, this will be disconcerting for you, so just be prepared to land."
"Wait, what?"
Then the world bent before his very eyes, and the two seemed to get sucked into the handle, and for a brief moment, there was nothing but blackness.