I seem to run on impulse a lot...and I do mean a lot...as in too often. But still, this is a story I want to do, and it's not for the reasons you think. RWBY has a whole world given to us, and we've seen very little of it, that and the history of the world itself.

Though, before this begins, I have to note one major thing...this is subject to the setting that we have as of the 27th of May, 2014. things may change as RWBY begins it's second season, that's something I can't control. However, that being said. LET'S ROCK!

Prologue: Legacy

QUEEN HAS PAWNS

These words seemed to have no meaning unto themselves, neatly aligned on the tablet in his hands. The live feed of the events of the dockyards still in his mind as he read the message from Qrow. Ozpin knew what he meant all too well, simply humming in acknowledgement to himself. No one else was there in the room, and as he sat at the desk, the night air ringing with the sounds of one of the many students at Beacon academy singing. It fitted too well with what had transpired lately. Too well indeed. He put the tablet on the table, grabbing his still warm but half drunk cup of coffee, taking a quick sip.

History had a habit of repeating...though the last time wasn't so kind. The players were much harder to identify, though the pieces were better ignored...except for one. He looked around the office, going from the sturdy oak door to the bookshelf, packed to the brim with books on every topic known to man, from Dust and it's various refinements, to weapons crafting, from Grimm and the methods of fighting them to maps, guides and tourist traps.

But there was one book that stood out, even at a distance. Where as the others were seemingly well used, devoid of dust, webbing and marks, one large tome looked like it had sat on the shelf for far too long. The dust on it piled up in small layers, covering up the title and the author. The spine was tattered, aged, weathered, having seen one too many winters in it's time. The leather itself was blighted, almost ruined, held together by various strings of leather and very determined spiders wanting to keep their home.

The Professor stood slowly from his desk, grabbing his trusty walking stick and pacing slowly over to the bookshelf, his shoes occasionally dragging as he lost his balance at times. Years of this should have taught him better, but at his age, curiosity sometimes overran his common sense, and as he pushed up his spectacles to make sure they didn't fall off his face, his brown eyes looked over the book once more.

"How long have I kept this here..." He asked himself, reaching up and grabbing it with his free hand, fragments of the leather breaking off as he held it, dust coating his hand, fragments of leather flying off. "Too long...too long without reading it at all..." He slowly paced back towards the desk, his feet echoing around the old stone walls. He took a seat once more, placing the tome on the desk, the dust flying up forcing him to wave a hand in front of his face. He waited until the cloud settled, picking up his dataslate once more and navigating the menus, going through his folders until he got to one marked in bold letters.

Black Queen

He opened the folder, the screen darkening, then popping up a window, asking for access code. Ozpin half smiled, remembering how long it had been since he had last accessed this most secret of files. Not even Glenda knew the contents of this folder. And given the fact that he had all night, and tournament practice being more then enough to distract all the teachers from his disappearance over the next few days, he was more then able to deal with a few all nighters going through the contents of the tome.

"User: Ozpin. Password: Black King" He spoke, the data slate then flashing up with a green screen, the words 'Access granted' flashing up along with it before vanishing, leaving him with the now open folder, looking over the contents. Maps of the world marked with movements of troops during the dark days of the Faunus War. Diagrams and Sketches of the grounds of Beacon academy during and after the war, and how it developed to what it was today.

The contents went on, further back in history, back into what no one else would regard as something any creature on the planet would have a secure knowledge of beyond legend, beyond myth. Humans loved their tales of Heroism, of courage and valour in Remnant. And as he opened the tome for the first time in only the dust itself knew how long. Mr Arc's Great Great Grandfather was reputed to have fought. Mr Arc was not a warrior himself, as much as he may have claimed it. Hopefully he'd learn. After all, legacy was an important thing.

And it was on this that he turned to the data slate once more, leaning it against a plant pot on his desk, opening a few files and pictures up and clipping them onto a column on the right of the screen, and when he closed the folder, opening up a program on the base screen, a flat green line with a red circle next to it taking a big part of the screen. He opened the book to the first page, looking over the yellowed page to try and find a title of some sort, or at least a guide of how long the book was. It looked like it was at least a thousand pages.

That was casual...he'd read more for his lessons. Pressing the red button on the screen, a time flipping out. Time for another report.

"Ozpin, Black King, 9 28 14 4 26" He began, flipping the page once more, putting the cane to one side as he picked up a feather from the desk, placing it under the first word of the book.

"How do we define what a life is? Is it one person from birth to death? The adventures they have, the changes they make? Or is it defined by the people they touch in that same time frame? Many people would concur that it is the former. After all, we live our lives. Some would ague the latter. We live in a world where we must work together. Either standing together or falling apart.

"In the past, there was a legend, a myth. One who bridged the gap between so many divides. One who led the fight to save the world from the Darkness that threatened to Envelop it in ages long forgotten. We often choose to forget them not realising the potential they have upon this world, this remnant of land that we hold.

"However, when we forget legends, we make stories. When we forget the deeds of the past, we remember them in the fairy tales that we tell our children. In my youth I was told stories of the Green knight who saved us from the darkness, leading his legion to push it back once and for all. Whilst this is partially true, this is a mix of two tales.

"The first that bears no need to be heard once more is the Warrior of Dust, the one who mastered Dust beyond what measures we have today. The other is a lot more recent: the legacy of Saint Silven, the one that we all forget. This story began before the days of the Faunus Rights war of five generations past. But it's effects are still felt today, whether we admit they do or not..."

He lowered his head once more, looking down at the book, running the feather along the faded ink as he started reading...

Begin records

The rain pelted down upon the scarred landscape, thunder ringing out upon the grassy plains, like a gunshot ringing out from the heavens. The ground was almost flooded, water forming large puddles on the surface of the soil, what grass there was almost drowned by the rain, each drop echoing around as the pitter and patter of the rain resounded around.

These were only broken by the footsteps and pants of a dark robed figure, dashing with all due haste away, the occasional clinking of metal coming from her, her feet and hands covered by the robe. The figure sounded feminine, at the very least that was given from how she sounded. The thunder clashed around her, occasionally stumbling as she lost her footing in the sodden mud.

She looked back once, seeing the large, black, Grimm coming at her, known as an Ursa Major. It was chasing after her with purpose, with speed, it's claws digging into the earth, slowly but surely catching up with her, barely making a sound as it chased after her. The figure turned away from it, focusing on where she was going, seeing the tree line in the distance. If only she could make it to the trees, she'd be safe. Ursa''s don't go too far from their hunting grounds.

The beast roared, slamming into her, shoulder first. The woman crying out as she fell over onto her chest, mud splashing up around her, the Ursa falling over forward, not anticipating the slip of the soil. Her hood fell back, revealing a blond haired young woman, her hair short, but dirtied by mud and blood. She groaned as she started to pick herself up, moving a hand over her head, trying to recover from the impact.

The beast turned back upon her, the thunder crashing down once more as they exchanged looked once more, the Ursa not taking much longer then that to charge her once more. The woman gasped, backing up as quickly as she could, trying to extend her life by however long she could. The beast reared up a swipe with it's sharp claws, the woman falling over onto her backside, covering her face with her arms, crying out in fear.

Splishsplashsplishsplash BLING!

Thunder crashed down once more, the woman still panting as she tried to work out if she were still alive or dead, or dying. She opened her eyes slowly, seeing her dirtied arms first, then moving them apart to look at the beast, seeing something she didn't expect to see at all.

Another woman was standing between her and the beast, standing at around half it's size when fully stood, sword and shield raised to block the blow, feet digging into the ground as best as she could muster, grunting as she held the arm back. Her green hair stood out as the first thing she saw of her head, but her red eyes were the second. Her face bore a small scar on the right side of her beautiful face. She had silver armour coating her body, mark with scratches and dents from numerous fights. Her sword had a silver blade, the handle was gold with a blue outline, the centre piece of the hilt being the white cross. Her shield, however, looked strange. The sections that normally attached it to the arm were missing, with one band around her forearm and a revolver pistol attached to the front.

The woman on the ground looked dumbstruck as she looked up at her saviour, frozen to the spot. The green haired warrior gritted her teeth, forcing back the claw slightly, then throwing a kick a the creature's chest, forcing it back slightly. She got her bearings once more, taking a defensive stance in front of the other one.

"Kaine" The green haired woman spoke, keeping calm despite the mass amount of rain soaking her, and the massive beast before her. "Go...I'll take this down"

"B-But Silven-" Kaine started, reaching forward before Silven reinforced her stance, getting ready, her steel shield almost shining despite the damage it appeared to have taken.

"Go!" The beast charged them once more, Silven raising her shield up to block the claw, the pair colliding with a resounding clash, the woman almost sinking further into the mud. "GO!" Kaine reluctantly nodded, running past the pair to the tree line, Silven still gritting her teeth as she held her ground against the beast.

"What I wouldn't give for a Gunnir right now" She admitted, pushing the claws back once more before jumping back, the beast throwing a second swing at her.

She rolled under the claw, running straight at it and swinging, the blade colliding with the beast's hide, but failing to break through it. It cried out still, feeling the steel biting into it, trying it's best to do a counter swing, the warrior rolling backwards under the swing. The beast dashed back, starting to circle the warrior, Silven pacing as well to circle back, moving her thumb to pull back the hammer on the revolver.

"Please let these things work" She said to herself, looking at the revolver, seeing the white bullets contained within. The beast saw her looking away, charging straight at her at this point. She looked back up, thunder ringing out as the creature swung at her, claws slicing through her armour, cutting into her as the paw itself threw her to one side. She flew along the ground, slamming into the sodden dirt multiple times as she did so. When she eventually stopped, she was face down, her sword right next to her, blade embedded into the ground right next to her head, shield still stuck to her arm.

She coughed, shaking her head and pushing herself up, grabbing the handle of her blade and looking at the beast, wiping her mouth. She stood up slowly, putting a hand to her chest, coughing once more. "That's going to sting" She spoke, shaking her head, water flying everywhere around her. "Come on, focus..." She spun the chamber of the revolver, lining up the bullets as the creature charged once more.

She swung her gun forward, firing a round at it's leg, ice forming around the foot where the bullet hit. She quickly pulled the hammer back with her thumb, firing off a second shot and freezing it's other leg, the beast stopping, save for sliding along the ground. She emptied the rest of the chamber at it's head, ice quickly forming around it. The creature thrashed and twisted, trying to free itself from it's icy bonds, Silven calmly walking forward.

She eventually got within reach of the beast, holding her sword up, swinging with all her might at the neck, coated in ice. She cleanly cut through the coating and it's hide, it's head falling to the ground, the body crashing down, blood flowing onto the ground in small spurts, some of it spilling onto her steel boots. Thunder crashed down once more, the warrior putting her sword away slowly into it's black sheath, taking a breath.

"Damn things" She spoke, turning away and walking, the shield folding away, forming an outer guard for the revolver as she holstered it. "Least I can tell them the Dust ammo works..."

Many histories describe Miss Silven as a woman of unimaginable beauty, intelligence and skill, but as we all know, history has a habit of embellishing details of notable figures in history. Where as with more recent histories, we can know the details about such a person due to how our technology has developed, we rely upon accounts and paintings to ascertain what they were truly like. There are no truly accurate accounts of who Silven was, but indeed, we know of what she did.