XxX-XxX-XxX Official Supporters:
Fanatical Fucking Reader, ScrubLord Yoda
Adeptus, Private Wilger
Commissioner, Gib, Espa Cole
Settled Reader, Xager the Chaos King If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM me for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen :
Second link here, remove ( and ) and it SHOULD work : D(i) (slash)kfhkfUb
I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.
Beta(s) :
XxX-XxX-XxX
Requested by:
Scrub Lord Yoda
XxX-XxX-XxX
Traveling had always been something Jaune wanted to do, when he was younger. At least, before he took Crocea Mors and the seat of his House, whenever his father decided that the time had come to retire. At the end of the day, that ship had sailed a little over a year ago. But Jaune of House Arc was ever the optimist, and always reminded himself that he could at least travel like he wanted to.
Even if the cause was different, that was nice.
What wasn't nice from the freezing cold rain pouring down on him, blown in from the sea between northern Sanus and Mantle's chill. His traveling cloak kept the worst of it off him, thankfully, but it only covered his back and shoulders, and his head once he'd drawn the hood up. The rest of him, mainly his legs, didn't fare nearly as well, unfortunately and for one of the rare times he did it, he thanked the Gods he didn't have metal armor. That would have gotten soaked and needed to be hand-washed, oiled and dried by hand and, without his House's servants or a squire, he'd have had to do it himself.
Still, the old gambeson, covered in leather and cloth stitches as it was, wasn't nearly as protective as he'd have liked. What he wouldn't have given for a good coat of mail…
"If we kill everything then you don't need armor, you know." The familiar voice said, as always starting out as a whisper just behind his ear. It was like someone was riding behind him, even though he couldn't feel their weight or heat. "And besides, we're doing this to get you something more fit to wear."
"And to help people." He murmured under his breath, hands shifting to grip the pommel of his sword gently as he looked right to left. In the rain, it was hard to hear everything around him, so he needed to stay wary while he talked. "Don't forget the important part, Mort."
"Sure, yeah, and to help people." His distinctly strange, even now after a year's time, companion said quietly, "But mostly to get you some proper clothes."
"This is proper."
"Sure, and I'm a beautiful maiden trapped in this sword." They said in answer, letting out a harsh, whispering laugh that as always grated on his ears. Even as used to it as he'd grown over the last year or so, it still left him with the slightest of headaches to hear it. "For now, don't worry too much. I'll keep you alive."
"Because we're friends?" Jaune smiled, raising his sword to look at the red gem inlaid at the end of its hilt. The closest he could get, really, to looking them in the eye. "Or because you don't want to lay in a cave somewhere for a decade?"
"I mean…" The sword-trapped spirit, or whatever it was murmured, "At least it's better than that asinine box."
"Yeah." He murmured as his horse shook itself suddenly, tossing rain off of its mane and then snorting agitatedly. Laying a hand on its neck he laughed, "Don't worry, Triomphe, when we get there I'll make sure the stable has a blanket for you." She whinnied and stamped a foot as they walked and he chuckled, nodding, "Yes, and some oats and nuts like you like. Arc's honor."
"I still maintain that nuts aren't proper food for a horse, Jaune." The Black Blade of Ansel, Mort Noire, said quietly, its amusement reverberating oddly through their whispering voice and setting the hairs of his neck on edge. "Oats, grains, grass- That's horse feed. Nuts? Not in my day, at least."
"Robots didn't exist in your day either." He pointed out, "Or guns like we have. Or movies. Or-"
"I get it, I get it." Mort Noire sighed, the sound rasping out rather distinctly like a sword being drawn from a scabbard. Which was pretty appropriate, given that they were literally a sword. "Honestly, your kind care far too much for the flash and flourish of things. I don't really understand it. Dead is dead, for Grimm or for Men alike, so why all the pomp?"
"You're one to talk." He grunted, ducking under a low hanging branch that had grown into the path. "I'm pretty sure that's a ruby on your pommel."
For some reason, mentioning the ruby - or the hypocrisy, he couldn't tell, really - had always carried a solid chance of making the sword go quiet. Touching it didn't, and others remarking on it - usually to ask why such a plain sword had been fitted with such a fine gem - didn't either. As always, that lead him to once again considering the same question that so many people had asked. The one he had no answer for, aside from wry chuckling and unsure shrugs.
Why such a plain looking design for such a mysterious, powerful weapon?
Mort Noire, or very literally the 'Black Death of Ansel' was a simpler weapon than anyone would have imagined. Simple enough, in fact, that when he'd taken it from the hidden chest tucked away as it had been, he hadn't thought it was valuable at all.
Its grip was long enough for two hands but balanced enough for one and made of simple wood, wrapped in soft, grip-furrowed old leather and capped by a plain, in places dented, dark steel crossguard. The blade itself was just as simple, around the same length and breadth as Crocea Mors, for which he'd trained. Above the guard the silver of the sword gave way barely half an inch up to blacked steel as dark as pitch, covered in scars and nicks that leant the weapon a weight of history alongside the weight of the steel.
When he'd decided to take it along, his first and only thought had been selling the ruby and using the Lien to replace the blade with something newer. But after that, well…
"You're thinking about selling my gem again." Mort interrupted his train of thought, as he always did, and then chuckled when he yanked his hand off the pommel. And away from the gemstone he had, as he always did, been rubbing with his thumb. "You know you can't, Arc. It's part of the magic that binds-"
"You to the sword." He finished with a grunt, "I know. I was just thinking while we ride, that's all."
"Yeah." Mort sighed, again setting the hairs straight on his neck and earning a sigh in return from Jaune. Quietly, the sword asked, "How much further until we get there? Empty, wet forest is scenic, and all, and I'm sure those of us with noses enjoy the smell, but I am getting rather bored out here."
Like it had been prompted, Jaune suddenly saw the tree-line begin to approach and smiled. A heartbeat passed and they reached it, the narrow path they'd been following dying a muddy death as soon as they did. Beyond the forest, the land rolled gently, covered with spatterings of trees and brush and bush holding out against the storm. Everywhere else, though, the trees had been long since cleared out for several miles around the settlement they were headed to. Paths wound through the area, circling the gentle hills and capping them through the trees, and sometimes vanishing underneath tolling torrents of mud and rain. A few hundred yards away, cutting South as opposed to his Eastern approach, he could see a massive 'proper' road stretch down, roughly towards Vale, lit up by bright streetlights.
It was muddy, sparsely vegetated by sad, lonely oaks and pines, and miserable looking.
And, beyond it, Jaune could see the cluster of mountains that he'd been told to search for. And at its base, as promised, a squat little town that wound its way meanderingly a third of the way up the mountain. Through the rain and the dark, he couldn't really see but, he was sure, he could see the lights of it following the shape of the settlement. They made it look a lot like a giant, sparsely illuminated hand was holding the mountain up, fingers wrapped around it like a man holding a mug from the bottom.
As always, he had to laugh at his own over-creative imagination.
"Lavender Town." He nodded, "Just as promised. And, as usual, it showed up right when you got bored."
"So?"
"So," Jaune smiled, kicking Triomphe forward, "maybe you should just try and stay bored. Maybe there's some strange magic at play there."
"Ha. Ha." Mort grumbled, "Oh yes, let's make fun of the magic sword for being a bit impatient. I don't remember you being locked in a tiny box for decades, boy."
"Jaune."
"Boy."
"Do you want to go back in the box?"
"…No, Jaune."
Laughing, the two fell into a comfortable silence as they made their way along the winding paths. A few times, Jaune considered cutting between them, across the rocky, muddy ground, to cut his time down. But something about it all gave him a bad feeling about doing that, told him that it would be dangerous to even try. After so much time traveling, he'd learned by now to heed instincts like that, so he stayed on the path.
Eventually, finally, they began to near Lavender Town. In contrast to its kinder name, it was a mining settlement of some thousand and change people, carved into the ancient mountain by decades of miners and workers. At the base were refineries and protective military bases, both pumping out smoke that even from a hundred yards out had the air smelling just a bit acrid and sharp. He grimaced at the smell but, if the people living here could handle it, so could he.
At least long enough to do his job and leave.
"Approach slowly, keep your weapons away and prepare your identification!" A loud, static laden voice ordered as he meandered onto and up the empty road in front of the gate. He held a hand up, palm towards the gate, to silently signal he would obey the guard's commands and then began meandering his way forward.
When no one told him to stop again, or shot at him, he assumed that the message had been heard.
The gate was open when he went through it, and wide enough for a few cars to pass through abreast. A few guards milled about around it, watching the inside of the settlement as much as the outside. All of them were men, and Human, dressed in old looking Atlesian uniforms that had been painted black with blue highlights around the plating edges and carrying just as old looking Atlas Pulse Rifles. Their helmets were fronted by what looked to be riot masks, with large, circular air filters to either side, that obscured almost all of their face, aside from their eyes behind their visors.
They probably didn't have to smell a thing… Bastards.
They were chatting amongst themselves as he approached, but straightened on seeing him. Rifles held at the ready across their chests, one stepped forward and asked, "Ident-card?"
"Here." He answered, kicking Triomphe forward and then turning, holding out the weathered plastic card for him. While the man looked it over, Jaune looked the squad over, asking, "When did Atlas change their uniforms?"
"They didn't." The man answered, hefting his rifle so Jaune could see the stock. A little symbol like a red flower, set on a field of green edged in gold, greeted him instead of the normal Atlas symbol. "Private firm. Rose 'n Grass Security Holdings. Garden or home, city or country, for all your home security and asset defense needs."
"Company line?"
"Company line." The man answered, standing straighter as he handed the card back and nodding, "What brings you to Lavender Town, Sir Arc?"
"Lord, not Sir." He corrected quietly and automatically, explaining simply when the man gave him a look. Or gave him as good of one as he could from behind his visor. "I haven't been knighted yet, and I'm not military either, so I'm not a 'Sir'."
"Apologies, Lord Arc." The man corrected professionally, clapping a fist to his breast in a greeting salute and bowing his head. Straightening, the man asked again, "What brings you to Lavender Town?"
"Work." He answered, nodding up, towards the mountain. "I heard there was Grimm trouble in the mines. Nothing major, from the reports, but not something normal miners can handle. And not something the town wanted to pull guards off the wall to, either, from what I was told about it."
"R'n'G are paid to guard the perimeter." The soldier answered with a small nod, "Contract says we aren't meant to be guarding inside the mine, too. So while we could, we don't have the manpower to even if we did want to. We don't, of course, fighting in those mines is hell for us normal people sometimes."
"Who is supposed to handle it then?" He asked, "If you don't, I mean.
"Mine management is supposed to prevent it. Miners are supposed to use seismics to scan for tunnels before advancing 'em." The soldier answered, turning to lead him into the settlement and out of the way of the… Well, no one was behind him, but they were probably supposed to keep the path clear. Laughing, the man shook his head, "Those animals probably couldn't read the regulations, though."
"Or something dug in." Jaune growled under his breath, fighting the always hard fight not to bite the man's head off for his typical Atlesian crap. Instead, he took a breath and said, "Point me in the direction of your garrison commander, Trooper. He'll tell me all about it, I'm sure, and I have to sign in to take the assignment."
With a shrug, the soldier pointed up at the mountain and answered, "Big building up towards the top. See the big block o' lights at the tip of that climb?"
"Yep, I see it." It looked like when his sister, Aqua, would put those little cone shaped chips on her fingers and then bite the top off. Bigger and brighter than what was around it, with a smattering of red lights amongst the normal yellow. "Is that where the mine management stays?"
"And the garrison officers." He nodded, "Just head up there on the main road and you'll be fine.
"Alright." He nodded, "Good… Afternoon?"
"Evening." The soldier chuckled, "But I can only tell because my HUD has a time on it. Weather like this…"
The road leading up the mountain, towards the management center, was winding and wide, and covered in sheets of water that made the surfaces awkward and slick. Off the side of each, roads. Stairs and foot-paths spider-webbed sharply up and down between weathered, dark businesses with sparse customers and old, battered looking living complexes. The main road was clean, and well-made, with just gentle enough of an incline to ensure that travel was if not easy possible. The side roads, though, were cluttered by old cars and trash that seemed not to have moved in forever, and old, beaten down buildings that even with the rain had people curled up outside them under awnings and outcroppings trying to rest.
Some were even wearing miner's uniforms… With Faunus features obvious almost on each and every one of them.
"Suddenly, I don't want to do this job anymore…"
"The work is good." He grumbled, sighing and turning away from the Faunus, as he always did. As he had to do, without a title to hold or inherit that he could leverage for help. "And end of the day, these people will do better with money than without it. Even if I can't help any other way, I can do this."
"We could do more…"
"We could." He nodded, laying a hand on the pommel comfortably and sighing. He knew what Mort meant, what they were suggesting. But… "That's not the honorable way to do things, Mort. I have to earn a title, not steal one."
"If you're certain…"
"No, I'm Jaune." The spirit of the blade laughed it's whispering, hair-raising laugh again and Jaune smiled. More seriously, he said, "I'm sure, Mort. My ancestors did this too, back in the day, and without your help. I'm sure I can do it with it."
"As you say." The sword said and he was sure they would have shrugged if they could. "Just putting it out there. Racists don't like fire any more than anyone else."
"I'm sure."
"And I have some fire spells-"
"Mort," He chuckled, murmuring, "we aren't burning anyone, racist jerk or not."
"Can we singe 'em at least?" Mort faux-pleaded, drawing a wider smile to Jaune's lips that almost made him feel guilty, with the surrounding misfortune he was passing by. "Just a little bit. Maybe so they have to get a better haircut."
"Mort…"
"Fine, fine, it was just a suggestion." They said with a rasping laugh that trailed off as they approached a larger building set against the mountain and, seemingly, carved into it. "It's… Well, impressive, at least."
"They always are, yeah." He sighed, eyeing the four story complex with its bright lights, tall windows, and finely dressed businessmen walking along where he could see inside. Outside, guards came and went, heavily armed and watching everyone that passed by like hawks primed to come down on them. "Even if the source of the money for it is horrible, big places like this always look pretty impressive compared to what's around them. For one reason or another…"
"Yeah." Mort agreed, "For one reason or another."
"Let's just get our work done." He sighed, watching a Bullhead, painted a stark white with an orange underbelly and wings, lift off and soar away silently. "Once we're done, one of those and we'll be in Vale."
"Yeah." Mort said, "And from there, Beacon."
And, hopefully, the acclaim he needed to do what he wanted to with his life. And bring honor to his family besides.
XxX-XxX-XxX
