Well, this barely counts but I have nowhere else to post this. This was an assignment I did that I made into something RWBY related because why not. The day of the Great Spring, the start of the Faunus Rights Revolution in Atlas. Here we see the Commandant giving a final speech to the volunteers before they depart into battle because that was what fit the assignment.
Might do a full fic on this someday, a bit of a darker look at the revolution. Let me know what you think as always.
The Commandant's boots sound on the wooden stage as he enters from the left. Immediately the idle chatter ceases. Soldiers stand straighter, grip tighter to their weapons, and shift nervously. The man before them on the stage is a towering figure, broad-shouldered and larger than life. He links his hands behind his back, pulling the long coat he wears back slightly. He wears military fatigues, but there are no badges on his chest. Not in this army. His single eye sweeps over the crowd, taking in the hundred and fifty or so people packed into the hall. His gloved hands come up and adjust his beret as he begins to speak.
"Brothers, sisters, noble warriors of Mantle," he says in a voice that sounded like gravel had smoked cigars. "Before we were nothing. We were caged up like animals. We fought their wars like dogs. Dozens of us died every day in the mines for nothing. No creed. No flag. No identity. Stripped of our most basic rights, we truly were nothing."
Total silence had fallen over the crowd. This was the Commandant's magic. Every time he spoke, people would listen. Many had taken up the gun on his words. A cause might be worth dying for, but no one would take a bullet for a bad leader. The Commandant was not one of them.
"Today, that changes. Today we take back what is ours, what always has been. Far above us they sit in Atlas, ignorant of our plight. The foreman may beat us, but the industrialist is happy to ignore it, as long as his profit margins work. They have all signed the treaty of Vytal, but who will uphold it? Must we always rely on the foreigners to keep our own kingdom in check?"
The crowd was listening with rapt attention. Many shook their heads or snarled at the images of the factories. So many still worked there, chained to their machines. What good were words on a paper if no one could enforce their rights? The Commandant knew this.
"No! That is why we are here today brothers and sisters," his voice boomed, rising in volume as the energy of the crowd rose with him. "How many more must perish in mines? How much more blood must water the fields of Atlas's harvest? How long will we have to wait for the supposed 'wheels of change' to grate onwards? No longer I say!"
The crowd hollered their approval. Boots stamped and weapons banged on the floor. Their blood was rising, getting whipped into a frenzy.
"Today we will imprint our will upon the world! We will exact our vengeance upon the oppressor! If the wheels of change must be oiled by blood, so be it! It is time for Atlas to bleed its share!" He roared, the crowd joining him. "Our people have remained famished while they engorge themselves high above. It is time for us to claim our share at the table! They have sown the seeds of harvest that has been watered with the blood of Mantle. Now they shall reap the whirlwind! Today my brothers and sisters we take back our future!" The Commandant bellowed, raising a single fist in the air. The revolutionaries before him joined in, brandishing their weapons and sounding their own cries. The Commandant turned on his heel and marched off stage, his second in command quickly stepping up to capitalise on the riotous fury that was whipped up by their leader.
Anne Marie was waiting for him in the hallway as he immerged from the door backstage. She held her grandfather's shotgun, the red and black bandana tied on her forehead, and a bandolier of shells across her chest. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was ready for war. She could tell by the look in his that he was tired of it.
"It was a good speech" she offered. It always was. It was what he was good at. Stirring up emotion, bringing out the lust of violence and vengeance. He shook his head.
"Another wave of brave young souls sent off to die for their cause." He sighed, not allowing his posture to falter as they walked down the hallway.
She shrugged her shoulders. "They understand what they were signing up for. They know the price of the revolution."
He fixed her with a sharp look. "They don't. None of them will understand the true cost of warfare until their hands are blood and their magazines are empty. We didn't." He stopped and looked out the window at the fighters pouring out of the hall and into vans in the car park. He knew that there was no time for them to delay any further. They had to strike now, while they had the advantage and public support. Today was the day, and they had no time for turning back. She placed her hand on his shoulder.
"We have sacrificed too much to stop now."
"I know. I just don't know how much more we have to sacrifice."
She sighed and pulled him into a one-armed hug. He returned it, putting his own arm around her shoulders. The Commandant was a figure, stalwart, dominant and unyielding. But to her, to his lieutenants and his inner circle, there was just the occasional peak beneath. Below the Commandant, under the eyepatch and beret, was the exhausted man who and seen too much death, the man who was tired of the killing. The man who knew the price of change.
The man who sold the world.