Disclaimer: i do not own Bloodborn or RWBY. Further more this is just my thoughts inspired by Varangue's story Rose born in blood. My work is not a side story or have any sway on the original story. That being said i recommend reading Varangue's work, it is a good story.
I stood there at the edge of the cliff; a flat grave rests in front of me. It's a simple thing; flat save for the slant of its shape. The face of the stone is decorated by the symbol of a rose, just beneath is the words summer rose thus kindly I skater. As the snow swirls around me in the winter snow I look up at the figure flouting above the grave. I can make out little other that the long white cloak wrapped around her. We say nothing to each other, connected only by the care we share for my charge.
As summer terns her gaze behind me I turn and see her coming up the hill toured the grave. I cannot help but once again examine her. In the dream, every aspect of her form taken from others, a throne together mess of the strongest hunters. Here she is herself in form and even attire. That said there are still signs of her time in yharnam, inhuman things carried over by her new pale blood.
Her skin is a deathly pale color, and her hair is a red so deep it seam black with hints of the red mixed in. well rare these are not the traits of pale blood. First are her eyes, an odd sight of either brilliant silver or eerie deep blue. What color they appear depending on the angle from which you view them. Sometimes her eyes are even caught in a brilliant bright blue boor of both shades. This is not the only mark left by the city. Atop her head there are the black ears of a hound with red tuffs at the tips, a like colored tale rest upon her back. Smiling she revels four sharp canines. Most of these things are commonly concealed by her new clothing though as to avoid unwanted attention.
Her clothing is mostly simple like most hunters attire, but still she has other thing for utility and some style. Thick black boots with red lacing and lining cover her feet. Simple strong thick black pants and a like shirt cover her body now. A bright red hooded cloak wraps high around her shoulders like a scarf, concealing her tail ears and mouth. A belt hangs loose around her hips marked with the same symbol that rest upon the grave. Hanging from said belt on the right hip is a string holding all but one of the many badges she found and earned during her time in yharnam. Each is either an achievement or a reminder of a harsh lesson, or in the case of the old hunter badge hanging from her neck both. Around her right arm is a pure white ribbon tied in a bow with my tear tied in the center.
Like all hunters she is of course not without arms. Resting upon her back over the cloak is the holy moonlight sword, it like the hunters bone and other arcane mediums now fueled by her aura. On her left hip is the blade of the burial blade, the longer handle on her back beneath her cloak. Just behind the blade is the only weapon that did not come from the dream, her pistol blood thorn. I don't know of which to be more amazed this world's technology or her ability's. So little time in this world and already she has made a marvel of a weapon for herself. Its big, more a hand held canon than a pistol. There are several small containers of dust held within, designed to hold the same effect on the rounds as yharnam's fire and bolt paper. There is even numbing mist, added for its effect of aura, an effect she experience first hand.
She smiles at both of us, it is no surprise she could see summer. In her eyes I see many things, fear, joy, longing. I see as she looks upon her mother, I see as she walks this, her home world for the first time in years. I see not before me the good hunter, I see ruby rose.
AN: As said this is only inspired by varangue's story. This was made when only up to chapter 20 was out. This is just my personal thoughts of what could be nothing more. I have no say or knowledge in/of how the story will progress.