Chapter 1: Strength
A circle of stakes separated Qrow from the rest of the world, barring anyone from entry. It stood in the center Branwen Hideout, where the Tribe would reside until a nearby village would wisen up and attack. Sharpened trunks protected Qrow's little world from the horrible continent it happened to be attached to. Their crown jewel was supposedly a city where the rich slept at the top of a hill lulled to sleep by a passing river, and their poor counterparts lived at the bottom of a waterfall, crashing tides disrupting the bustle of their daily lives. Nobody wants to live like that.
"Nature asserts the strong will survive. The Branwen Tribe will survive, and chooses to hone its claws by playing with one another. The tourney shall begin with my son, Qrow Branwen, facing off against Overseer Haathee," the Chief chanted.
A middle aged goliath entered the ring. The gate snapped close, and Qrow bathed in anticipation. The egos seeped out of the ring, infecting the Branwen crowd with a rowdy spirit. Faces familiar to him screamed in awe, but all fell silent when Mother rose from her throne. Her demeanor commanded attention, and nothing Qrow could quite call an emotion escaped her face. Carmine eyes swept over her village.
"Warriors, don your masks."
Fashioned in the form of a Nevermore, Qrow became Grimm. The pointed feathers of his hair swept over his mask, and his aura pulsed beneath his skin. His hide he called clothing was ripped at the arms, and boots bloodied from the previous fight betrayed the naive white he wore underneath his getup. No point in getting his smock dirty, after all.
Overseer Haathee wore Grimm tusks. It might've been intimidating if Qrow could ignore his troubled gaze. Haathee was a nice man, who had brought Qrow along to many different hunts. Funnily enough, he was the one to give Qrow his first swig on wine. Sadly, he had no chance of winning, as Qrow's opportunistic and fleeting fighting philosophy would never give Haathee room to breath. It'd be easy, in fact. Qrow could guess the poor sap's every tactic just by one look over. The goliath stood beside a ball and chain, which would only be effective at range. He must've resorted to simple punches if his opponents got too close. He had no tools in between, which was unfortunately Qrow's strong point.
"Just as nature commands, may the strongest win." Mother returned to her seat, and the Branwen crowd created an uproar. This was the one thing Qrow was good at, so it was nice to be the center of attention. The goliath hefted his chain. In response, Qrow unstrapped his scythe from his back. Haathee began to raise his ball. Qrow gripped Quill's pommel, planning to end it as fast as possible. He pitied the goliath of a man; he really did.
Seeing Qrow's left foot forward, the goliath safely assumed Qrow preferred moving left. The ball sailed through the air at a breakneck pace, aimed exactly where Qrow would step if his stance really did lean to the left.
It didn't.
Qrow jaunted to the right, closed the distance, and swung Quill. Striking flesh. Merciful flesh, to be quite honest, as aiming for the shoulder let the man live if he didn't have aura. To Qrow's relief, he did. Quill bounced back around, and Qrow employed that momentum to a wide swing towards Haathee's chest. It struck gold. With some more fleet footwork and brutal blows, Qrow strapped Quill in its proper place, and walked away the victor.
"The strongest has survived the ring," Mother smiled. The following celebration was a hollow one; even if his opponent had a chance at winning, he'd be condemned if he had. Brutalizing one of Tribe's heirs would have sentenced him to a life of shame and regret, blunting the consequences of his loss. A week of shame was preferable to a life of sadness. It just wasn't a true match of a strength, and Qrow preferred fairness above hollow victories.
He returned to a seat beside the throne, where Raven and Father offered him small smiles. Mother announced the next battle of the tourney, Raven facing off against another mook. Raven rose akin to a queen, chin raised to look at the peons beneath her. She smiled a wicked smile. After summoning a servant to fetch her blade, Raven paced an agonizing speed towards the ring where her opponent had already set up shop. Fastening her belt and sheath along her waist, she was ready to paint her hide red.
"Warriors, don your masks. Just as nature commands, may the strongest win," Mother announced. Her indifference was replaced by a certain sense of pride, and before Mother could sit back down, Raven was in action. Her blade was one-sided, iron folded over itself inspired by Kuo Kuana. A vicious edge begged for blood, and it got it. The match was over in an instant, Raven drinking from the aura of her enemy until it was brutalized to the point of exhaustion. Her opponent still stood, and Raven refused hesitation, ramming her blade through his thigh. It caught meat, and her opponent bowed down. If she noticed Qrow's abhorrence translated to his face, she kept it privy to herself.
The crowd stayed relatively quiet in response to the excessive performance, but Mother clapped. Raven's mane of hair bobbed from side to side as her hips swung to and fro. A servant offered her a bead, to which she added to the chain around her neck. Once she returned to her seat by the throne, the tourney tarried on.
Surprising nobody in the tribe, the Chief's children were the last challengers left in the ring of thorns. Qrow and Raven became twin Nevermores, perched for their fight. He noted that Raven had painted two read beads below her eyes, and her mask crowned much higher than his. She gripped her sheath longingly, wistful for the thrill of battle. It was horrifying. Qrow refused to show it, though. Hopefully his horrible Semblance would prove to be of some use.
"Just as nature commands," Mother smiled to Qrow, "may the strongest win." Raven rushed Qrow's way, her hand sitting on her hilt. He planned for this, though; Qrow's aura flared, and he spent some on causing some misfortune. The energy wisped away, and he was left with drawing up Quill to take a slash. Unlike Overseer Haathee, Raven's expertise was the specific distance of an arm-and-a-half away, where Qrow couldn't swing. This led to a solid encounter of ducking and hiding behind Quill, which led him down the path to losing.
Raven began to push him to the edge of the ring. As Qrow backed himself closer to the stakes, his hopes of winning began vanishing into the vast black of Raven's waves. She continued her assault. Instead of a slash, she opted for a stab. A disrespectful stab, one her weapon wasn't made for. Just to show she could afford to make mistakes. Sadly, she was right.
Qrow's right foot braced back, creating a perfect opportunity for Raven to topple him over, back against the stake. Atypical of his retreating style, Qrow shifted his weight from his back to his front, and his right hook connected to Raven's jaw. A section of her mask broke off, revealing a smarmy snarl and a renewed vigor in the crooks of her mouth. The bone sputtered to the floor, and Qrow used her passionate anger against her. She resorted to bigger swipes across the chest, which were easy to duck under and bunt her stomach back, creating space for him to escape back to the middle of the ring. It was obvious she'd win if she could stay close. Qrow just had to stay far.
The twins silently eyed each other. The crowd didn't get the memo, their awe being a voice of the conflict. They couldn't understand how far Qrow was playing behind. Mother did.
"Son, you've seem to have forgotten something." A broadsword dropped into the circle, moving the dust. A thick blade, dual sided, seemingly designed to quell back quick fighters. Easy to defend with, and enough weight to break through the meek constitution of a thin, folded sword like Raven's.
"Use it well."
"No. I'm fine."
Qrow wasn't fine, though. Raven's snarl returned, and she pressed the attack. Again, shoving him back, she wizened up to his cheaper defenses and shunted him into a corner. Quill held its own, but any lapse in his defense would be a straight loss.
By some stroke of misfortune, Raven's sheath fell from her belt, demanding her attention. She was too close for a scythe swipe, so Qrow's hips threw a nasty hook towards Raven's unbroken side.
He smashed bone into bone, staggering Raven's onslaught. There was a critical decision to be made: slide back and hope Quill could end the fight, or teach his bitch of a sister some humility. The latter was too delicious to pass up.
His weight moved once more, following up with an uppercut to her chin, forcing some bone shrapnel into the bottom of face. Her aura wasn't expecting an uppercut, it was expecting some escape maneuver. Tiny cuts formed on the bottom of Raven's countenance, and the crowded oozed with glee. The shame bubbled up Raven's rage, and the match was soon over. Qrow was easily overpowered now that his adrenaline gave way to laughter, and Raven wanted to pick his carrion clean.
The Chief's hut was grand in comparison to the rest of the camp. While Raven was out parading her win, Qrow smugly returned home. Yeah, he lost the tourney. But second place wasn't bad, especially when Raven's high and mighty chin took an unexpected hit. She'd have to meet all of her -admittedly not too crazy about her- fans with blood dripping from her chin. In exchange, Qrow's head buzzed with euphoria and the solid thwacking his sister beat into him. Completely worth it. Qrow reached beneath his bed, drawing out a bag of celebratory wine.
The entrance curtain drew back, to reveal Mother.
"You should be out parading yourself."
He didn't bother responding. Qrow hated people, and she should've known that.
"Still, good work Qrow."
"You mean great work. Second is nothing to scoff at," he responded with, words filled with angst. Mother took her spot next to her bed, in a regal chair nobody dared to touch.
"It is, when you had two opportunities to be first."
Qrow reached for the bag of wine and let slurps be his retort.
"The strongest didn't win. If you had simply used my gift, or struck Raven instead of destroying her mask, you could have proven yourself worthy of being Chief."
"I don't want to be Chief. Let Raven."
"Your sister is weaker than you. We must lead by example. Allow me to mold you into the man you can truly be. A man of power. A man of finesse. Let go of your ridiculous mercy and follow the path I've made for you."
"No."
Mother sighed. "I hope you change your mind. If not, you've doomed the Tribe, Qrow. Your home." And with that guilt trip, she was gone.
No wonder he had to drink.
Once his brooding was finished, Qrow appeared in the feast hall to an uproar of cheering. Men and women he had known his whole life circled around him, praising him for the work out in the ring of thorns. He swapped out his battle hide and leather for a decently ceremonious white tunic, unmarked and untainted by anything Branwen. It was a miracle he didn't stain it wine red.
"You showed Raven quite a thrashing, didn't you?" Overseer Haathee claimed, joining in the mini-crowd. Qrow liked him, and that was saying something. People are annoying, and a pain in the ass to deal with.
"Ishh no big deal," he smiled happily.
"Ya damn kid," he said, slapping his back. Instead of causing Qrow any pain, Overseer Haathee's back seized up and his face contorted to comedic pain. His friends laughed, but Haathee eyed Qrow with some discontent.
"Damn bad luck charm," he laughed. Except it was the kind of a laugh that was only made to seem like it was comedy. It was a thinly veiled accusation in actuality, and it was sad and it sucked. Qrow followed Haathee to a circular table in which they shared some mirthful conversation, but Haathee still seemed sore. One less friend, Qrow guessed. The men ate their fill, mostly food grown from the nearby villages. Maybe Mother even bought the meat; that would be something.
The hall's conversation came to a close as Mother entered the feast hall with Raven at her side. Haathee and his friends dropped their meat as a sign of respect, but Qrow was too hungry to care for that.
"Today, everyone of the Branwen Tribe fought with fortitude and dignity. We eat in their celebration."
The tribe cheered.
"However, only two fought with strength."
The tribe listened intently for when they were to react.
"My twins, Qrow and Raven, have proven themselves to be the brightest the Branwens have. We eat in their celebration."
The sheep cheered with glee.
"To secure a stable future, we will cultivate our strongest to be the strongest in all of Anima. Tribe, eat as a celebration of Qrow and Raven's departure, as we will send them to Haven Academy to turn the strong into the strongest. And upon their return, let them lead us into a golden age for the tribe!"
Raven bowed and her eagerness infected the entire tribe. They cheered and cheered and everyone turned to congratulate Qrow, envious of his pilgrimage to see the rest of the world.
Qrow dropped the bone he was picking at, horrified.
A/N: Thanks for stopping by! I'll be updating the fic the 1st and 15th of every month, and if I'm not, I'll make sure to tell you a chapter in advance.
My editor advised me to use less convoluted language. For Chapter 2 onwards, I'll do just that.
Obviously, we're not in the fun stuff yet. The love story, team STRQ's shenanigans, and the power dynamic Ozpin will have with the team, etc. is going to be fun to explore. But, we need a solid base and establish the difference between our twins: mercy and brutality. The dense prose of this chapter will be typical of action scenes, but that's such a small portion of what I have planned. That'll set the stage for the juicy conflict we all know is going to happen.
It'll be unfortunate if the next volume refutes everything in my fic, but oh well. We'll keep going.
We have fun character drama coming up in the next chapter. Hope you stay with me!
-ahugebox, edited by Aeonflux III