Yang

"Who are you?!"

"A new student."

This 'new student' had somehow gotten into Beacon without attending a feeder school, had walking in with Ruby's uncle looking like a complete badass, got into a fistfight with Cardin and his team, kneecapped someone, and was now sitting down with a mouth full of muffin.

"That was awesome!"

He took on the year's four big bullies like it was nothing, but Ren had to ruin it.

"You fight dirty."

"Like a starving orphan!"

"Nora!"

The new kid finished his muffin before letting his now blackened eyes roam back up to Yang. His gaze was lazy and unfocused, as if he had far more pressing concerns than the idea that he had just slammed his foot into a stranger's knee - and that stranger was now being carried to the infirmary while the others had a variety of bite marks, fingernail scratches, and other wounds. He had aimed for the eyes, knees, and crotches, and his weapon of choice was elbows and fingers.

"There are a few rules of fighting where I'm from. Being honorable isn't one of them."

Jaune's head perked up when he heard the new kid mention his past.

"Yeah, where ya from?"

"..."

His magenta eyes shifted down suddenly and he mumbled something that sounded like "far away."

"Ok, but where exactly?"

After this second question from the well-meaning but imposing leader of team JNPR, Ice Queen spoke up

"Juane, he is new, and this is not an interrogation. If he doesn't want to tell us, he doesn't have to."

The new kid had lost all his appetite, and was mindlessly picking at his food before mumbling a thanks and a question no one really expected.

"What… are the four kingdoms?"

Now it was Pyrrha's turn to speak. It was good because she was the most tactful of all of the students sitting there. Weiss, Ruby, and Jaune would have all exclaimed something along the lines of "WHAT?!", while Yang, Nora, and Ren would have probably asked if he had dain bramage.

"The more populated areas are separated into four kingdoms. Atlas, Mistral, Vacuo, and Vale. If I may ask, how do you not know this?"

"I'm from outside. The north. I hunt things there but Professor Ozpin brought me here."

"As a student, right?"

Pyrrha's tone was soothing and reassuring to the nervous new kid.

"Yeah, sorta. I'm suppose to pick a team to join as a fifth member, but I don't know which one yet."

Now Yang had a really good idea.

"Why don't you spend a few days with each team? Then you can realize that team RWBY is the best and team JNPR is also pretty awesome"

For some reason, Blake bristled at this mention, but he must not have seen it because he let a small smile creep onto his face.

"That sounds like a lovely idea, but first, I have to go to the infirmary."

"Did Cardin and his goons get you?"

His genuine grin was replaced by a sly look as he stood up and laughed.

"Those buffoons couldn't get me if they had an army. But unfortunately, I broke or bruised a few ribs during initiation and I should probably get them checked now."

And he strolled out of the room. As he did, Yang caught a glimpse of something flashy on his waist that looked like a knife.

Cecil:

It was quite nice of them to offer to be his friends. Cecil had been alone for most of his life but he was surprised to find how much he missed his crazy friends. Tariq, the team mom who was actually a dude who liked playing the lute and cooking. His lute was still in Cecil's actual destination, the Blackwagon. He had parked it in a small hangar in Beacon used primarily for teacher transportation. As he walked towards it, he was greeted by a familiar, and hungry bark. Apollo came bounding out, and Cecil hurriedly fed him some of the jerky he had smuggled out of the cafetería. Next, he picked up a potion and restored his health, or Aura, as these people had called it. He felt his bones on the mend, and they no longer hurt every time he breathed. Next, he put away the axe he had retrieved from his room and picked up two more - one was a beautiful set of dual blades. Each blade was made of two horns from a magnificent beast known as a kirin. Kirins, despite looking horse like, were classified as elder dragons due to their ability to control the elements. Kirins were lords of thunder, and their lightning fast footing and habitat on top of the highest, coldest mountains reflected that. Cecil had many not so fond memories of pitching a tent on those bitterly cold mountains and waiting for days or even weeks to hear the thunder before the clap of thunder, the sign that signified one of the elusive beats was close. Each kirin is only the size of a small horse, with gorgeous blue fur and lightning arcing all around. It had a wild, white, mane, strong hooves, and a stunning horn on top of it's head. They were fast and strong, like lightning itself, and now like his daggers. One was made of azure kirin horns, and the other magenta, like his eyes. In between the horns and on the pommel was the white fur of the kirin. It held and generated an electrical charge, allowing him to unleash devastating lightning attacks.

Silently slipping the daggers underneath his jacket, Cecil looked for the other weapon he had came for. He had taken the switch axe and nakarkos armor for show during his initiation, but there was no reason to use such weapons. Walking over to the glaive section of the armory, he picked out one of the glaives sitting neatly in the rows and rows of weapons lined up. It was the second weapon he had come for, and he hefted it with ease. While technically classified as a glaive, the Evening Calm was more scythelike. Made of nargacuga claws and fur, the glaive he held was exceptionally powerful. Around 7 ft long, it had a pole in the middle for a grip, and the bottom weighted with razor sharp feathers to counterbalance the top. The upper section was built with a strong bone as the base, and on one side, it held more rigid and dangerously sharp feathers, extending to lengthen the glaive to its full length. The other side of the top half was a folding scythe made of the same, dangerous parts of the nargacuga. They had been more refined to make a smooth inside for slicing and a hook on the outside to grab onto things. Rather than using brute strength and tiring himself out, the balance and weight of the glaive allowed Cecil to swing it with easy by using it's own momentum. Finally, it was strung tightly together with red lacing, giving it a dangerous and beautiful color scheme of navy blue, black, red, and a bit of white.

As he picked up the glaive, Cecil heard the familiar buzzing as something flew and neatly attached to the arm guard he had on under his now rolled up jacket. Most people would jump and scream if an insect the size of their head just lofted over and attached to his arm, but Cecil is not most people.

"Hey Hank."

Hank the kinsect buzzed with joy at being reunited with his master. The glaive he held served as not just a bludgeoning and cutting weapon, but it also served as a conduit for him to convey his will to the oversized monstrosity known as Hank. By spinning, pointing, and blasting certain pheromones, Cecil could command Hank to attack anything or anyone. Whatever Hank attacked, he would bring back to Cecil, and should he get enough different parts, Cecil got some powerful buffs. He didn't fully understand why that worked how it did, but he also didn't understand how a zinogre could be so angry and aggressive without being of the hyper classification.

As Hank settled into his place, Cecil picked up the final thing he had come for. It was a bit beat up, and he would have to repair it in the workshop when no one else was in it, but it's white sheen shone through the low light of the Blackwagon. Known as a heavy bowgun, La Foi looked a lot more like a cannon. It took an inshape hunter to crank the beast back and load another clip into it. It was heavy, slow, and still covered in Deviljho saliva from his last hunt, but it hit HARD. It could fire a range of explosive, both single target and AOE explosives as well as normal and pierce shots. It was blue and gold, with the front shaped like the head of a dragon. It was forged of the heavenly dragon. That dragon was the first job that put Cecil on the map as a cut above eveyrone else. He was told there was a dragon causing problems, so he went and killed it. Once he got back, everyone was gushing about how he was the "godslayer", and how he had "stopped the wheel of life and death", and how "he has etched his name into history with the legends!". The heavenly dragon, the Shagaru Magala, was terrible to fight. It drove anyone near it mad with aggression, similar to the grimm, but it didn't change their physical structure. However, it clouded his judgement, and he was lucky to have managed to kill it.

He had a very painful memory of it grabbing him and rolling around, tossing him about like a rag doll before flying up and landing on him. That alone had put him into the hospital for several weeks while they healed every bone in his chest. During his first encounter with it, it had seemed almost human. When they had first approached, it knew what he was there to do. It calmly analyzed him before launching into a series of brutish attacks that left him dazed and clinging to reality. After one final blow to the head, Cecil had slain it. In its honor, he let it do what it wanted to in the afterlife; kill more things. So he made it into a gun.

As he hefted the final weapon from its resting place, he moved to the armor side, where he had already picked the set he wanted. While it wasn't ideal, it looked damn good and people here seemed to really care about their looks as opposed to the functionality of their armor, but maybe that's because they don't like carrying around a full set. The sleek black and purple armor that stood in front of him was all that remained of a gore magala. Such creatures were shrouded in darkness and mystery. While technically not an elder dragon due to their lack of control of a specific element, gore magalas had 4 legs and 2 clawed wings. When enraged, they could darken the skies around them, and they were fearsome opponents. The armor was made of jet black fur with accents of purple. A black cape hung off the back with his sigil, a small circle with three arrows pointing out to for a Y emblazoned on it in purple ink. The bottom of the cape was tattered from use, imprinting the idea of the gore magala savagery on anyone who would face him. The shoulders each had 3 claws wrapped around them, and the helmet covered his entire face. 2 jagged, purple, horns rose from either side of the helmet.

He slid into the armor and felt himself grow stronger as he put the daggers on his hip, the glaive on his back, and the bowgun in his arm. Apollo happily followed along, and Hank rested, waiting for a command on his arm. The armor gave him a natural cloak - unless someone knew what they were looking for, they wouldn't find him. He slipped into the room Ozpin had assigned him and set down all of the weapons. The room was quite spacious, as they were generally suppose to house 4 people. He sat down and began his tinkering. Dinner had already finished, and Cecil had work to do. First, clean La Foi. Second, feed Hank and Apollo. Third, attend classes. The third task was looking to be the hardest.

Cecil had never really attended a formal school. The academy he had attended was primarily for training hunters. The world went through them like candy. Every day, another monster claimed another hunter. But in the pursuit of understanding and science, humans continued to throw themselves at beasts 3, 4, 5 times their size. So he had spent less time learning math and more time learning how to dodge a frenzied tetsucabra and the name of every kind of variant of every kind of monster, as well as what type of damage they could do and what you had to look out for - because as his teacher who had later slammed Cecil's head into a sink once said: "A stupid hunter is a dead hunter. Hunters who fly and run away will live to hunt another day."

Cecil had always thought it was cowardice. He thought it was all the way up until the day his dad died. His dad was never a great person, but he did his best. His wife ran away soon after Cecil was born, and he was a full time hunter. As the cynics liked to say, he ran around naked in the woods, killing things for booze and whores. And yeah, he probably did. But he did his best.

Cecil wasn't even halfway through cleaning the bowgun before he realized how tired he was. He sent Frank to the arm brace which now hung next to the glaive, and he called Apollo onto the bed. Within seconds, he was asleep.