Chapter 5
Wanderlust
The trees thinned, allowing the trio of Arcs to see the camp at last, three tall wagons, nearly thirty feet long, arranged in an open box configuration. A large, blue canvas canopy covered the open center of the formation, a single stout pole peaking the center. The wagons themselves were rather flamboyant affairs, the walls painted in rich, if not garish, colors, each panel trimmed in intricately baroque borderwork. The lone concession to modern technology visible were the large rubber tires gracing each pair of axles, front and back, doubtlessly an improvement over simple wooden wheels in locales where torrential rains could turn the ground to soup. A short distance away, a quartet of roan-colored draft horses peacefully grazed without a care in the world.
The entire scene was almost idyllic, a sort of calm, innocent rejection of high technology for a simpler life. One filled with color and warmth, if the decor was to be believed. Yet…
"You left. My father's sword." Renard Arc began, diction cold, slow and measured, his tone that of weaponized paternal disappointment. "With the Tiganii?"
"Umm, yeah?" Jaune replied hesitantly.
"A people with a reputation, many would say well-earned, throughout Remnant as nomadic, thieving tricksters? Those Tiganii?"
"Not everyone says that," Jaune defended as best he could. "Besides, Casian is really friendly!"
"So are Grimm oil salesmen," Renard muttered bitterly.
"Give him a chance, Dad. Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet, right?" Jaune chimed in for good measure.
"Remind me to thank your mother for that one," his father grumbled.
In the center of the box, they could see a swarthy, dark-skinned man working tirelessly with a hammer on anvil, carefully pounding a blade into shape from raw, heated steel. Brown eyes squinted slightly against the orange glow of the metal, the light sheen of sweat beading on his forehead held at bay by a headband of braided red cloth that also served to tie back his shoulder-length, curly black hair, a robust gold ring in each ear. A smith's leather apron hid most of his clothing, and deep blue shirtsleeves were rolled up revealing the hairiest arms Renard Arc had ever seen. Black pants tucked into calf length brown leather boots completed the ensemble, the smith's eyes cutting up briefly to acknowledge the three visitors as he continued to work.
"A moment, please, he said simply, his accent thick, but not unpleasantly or unintelligibly so. He resumed his work with small, precise hammer blows, the pings ringing from the anvil softer now than before. The tongs holding the blade blank flipped it vertically every few taps to check the true of the edge, the gentle rhythm almost hypnotic. After a minute, the smith seemed satisfied, the dull red color of the metal indicating he was done for the moment, and he turned, sliding the meter-long blank into a narrow annealing oven to keep the temperature closer to workable while he spoke.
"Lachi tiri divés, Mister Arc! So good to see you again!" he said warmly, shucking the apron and hanging it on a peg affixed to the tentpole behind him. He retrieved a vest hanging from an adjacent peg, black velvet intricately embroidered in vivid colors, largely forest animals with a background and borders rife with a repeated motif of rose vines. The back, briefly visible as he donned it with practiced ease, was dominated by a wreath of roses, both red and white.
"Casian Râuri, this is my father, Renard Arc, and my sister, Olivia," Jaune began, trying to keep his father civil through polite interaction.
"Vânător?" Casian asked. Getting a blank stare from all three Arcs, he continued. "Huntsman?" he clarified in the common tongue of Remnant.
"Yes! Both of them, actually!" Jaune added hastily, glad that the misunderstanding had passed so easily.
"Ah! An honor to meet you, Mister Arc, young lady. How may I serve you?" Casian asked warmly.
"I understand you're doing work on my father's sword," Renard said evenly.
"Indeed. A wonderful weapon with a rich history, I'd wager. Sanusian steel, finest quality," Casian complimented easily.
"May I see it?" Renard replied, a slight edge creeping into his voice.
"Of course!" he answered, turning about to walk to a small workbench. He returned with Crocea Mors in hand, along with a larger, tablet-sized scroll. Setting the Arc heirloom on the anvil, he slid the sword from its scabbard, presenting it hilt first to Jaune, who took it gingerly under his father's gaze. The both of them were taken slightly aback by the numerous black lines and hashmarks adorning the blade courtesy of a grease pencil.
"Here," Casian began, starting up the scroll tablet and showing both men a set of schematics. "I believe this addresses every one of your concerns, Mister Arc. An enlarged crossguard to prevent overpenetration."
"Gut stabbed an Ursa during the breach of Vale. Ended up elbow deep and when it fell and rolled I lost my sword," Jaune sheepishly explained to his father. "Scariest minute of my life," he added, his hand finding the back of his neck.
"At least you learned from it, right?" Renard asked his son.
"Yeah. Don't stab ursai below the ribcage," Jaune grumbled in annoyance.
"You get that, Liv?" he asked his daughter.
"Yeah, I guess," she replied absently.
"As a huntress you can either learn from others' stupid mistakes, or hope that you survive your own. Which do you think hurts less?" he added, Jaune grunting softly in annoyance. "Not everyone can shrug off hits with an aura pool like yours, Jaune."
"How?" Jaune asked in bewilderment.
"You think I wasn't paying attention last night? You unlocked another Aura without even breaking a sweat. Most hunters would have been at least winded," Renard replied.
"Oh," Jaune said simply, his mind wandering back to Pyrrha's own exhaustion during initiation.
"Which one would you prefer?" Casian interjected, swiping across the tablet to reveal a sketch of several different styles.
"Umm, that one. Wait. Can you kind of...mash those two together?" Jaune asked.
"I can certainly do that. Carry the design into the hilt and pommel as well?"
"Sure," Jaune shrugged. Image mattered, but he wasn't obsessed with it.
"Very well. Now to address your other problems," he began, swiping again to move to the next sketch. "New blade geometry will help prevent binding when cleaving through bone plate, and the tip is also an improvement for armor piercing. Should be able to punch through an Ursa skull no problem," Casian assured him.
"What are those for?" Jaune asked, pinch-zooming in to point at a feature on the schematics.
"The blade will be thicker at the spine; they cut some weight and keep the balance the same."
"So...not blood grooves," Jaune added for his father's benefit.
"What? No. What a stupid idea," Casian retorted. "Now, for your last problem. Reach," he continued, swiping across the tablet once more. "A few more inches added to the hilt for leverage and balance should the need arise," he began, pointing to the screen. "And when activated, you've got...this," Casian concluded, swiping to the final picture.
"Nice," Jaune offered with a smile, before he squinted, leaning forward to examine the schematic in closer detail. "Wait a minute," he said softly, drawing his father's gaze in as well.
"Is that what I think it is?" Renard asked.
"Quite," Casian replied with a proud smile. "Minimal additional weight, maximum impact. Also upgrading the attachment points for the scabbard here, aaaand...here. Integrated into a proper baldric, as well as the vambrace, pauldron, and the back of your cuirass. Speaking of, I already have the armor sketched out," he added, one final swipe showing a much improved breastplate composed of several large interlocked plates, gauntlets, full vambraces and couters for both arms, and a much larger pauldron for his shield arm.
Jaune paused for several moments, sapphire eyes darting to and fro over every detail on the display. "So...whaddya think?" he asked quietly.
Renard shot his son a sidelong glance full of disbelief. "Oh, now you care what I think?"
"Dad," Jaune replied flatly.
"Your grandfather…"
"Dad!" He interjected with a growl. "I'm asking for input, not permission."
"Jaune…"
"I would love to have your support and acceptance, but I'm fine without it. I would've thought you understood that by now," Jaune shot back with barely concealed venom. "I'm asking my father, a Huntsman I have the utmost respect for, his opinion on a weapon. That's it."
Renard regarded his son with narrowed eyes, weighing his words carefully for several moments before he spoke. "Well, I'm not going to be a hypocrite, considering my father wasn't exactly a fan of Shadowbane either," he began, unhitching his weapon and resting the pommel on the ground, the top of the axehead providing a resting point for Renard's elbow nearly four feet from the ground. "It's a departure, but not excessively so. Casian is right; this does address all of those issues. But I have two questions," he added, looking the Tigan in the eyes.
"Yes, Mister Arc?" Casian answered evenly.
"First, how do I even know you can pull off something this ambitious? That's a nice blade my son's wearing, but it's not your work," Renard stated soberly.
"No, it is not. I learned to work steel from my grandfather, who forged Trandafir," he began, indicating the blade on Jaune's hip. "Now, I'm no Alastair Shaw," he continued, turning about to work a latch on the bottom of the wagon behind him. "But I make do," he concluded, lifting a ten foot wide panel a full ninety degrees before sliding it back into the wagon to stow it.
This revealed a half dozen drawers running the width of the panel, the bottom-most nearly a foot deep, the others half that. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Casian selected the third drawer from the bottom, pulling it out completely and allowing it to pivot and drop nearly vertical. A panel of green velvet held a grid of holes, mounting points for pegs and hooks to secure nearly a dozen weapons in place. Casian selected a single-headed axe of nearly the same proportion as Shadowbane, offering it haft-first to the skeptical Renard. He laid his own weapon against the anvil before accepting the axe, beginning to evaluate it with a keen eye.
The axe head was the opposite of Shadowbane, in that the bulk of the cutting edge was forward of the attachment point, forming a bulky bayonet for the large caliber rifle that made up the rest of the weapon. A small, spur-like buttstock jutted from the pommel, with a sharply raked, thumbhole-style pistol grip about a foot and a half up the haft, and a short bolt handle protruding from the left side ten inches further up.
"Left-handed?" Renard asked.
"Action is a Mistrali type K. Seven point five millimeter, straight pull bolt action; the pistol grip allows enough leverage to be able to cycle the bolt with a finger on the trigger, so I switched it. Keeps the hand working the bolt out of the ejection path as well," Casian replied, getting a grunt of understanding from Renard. "I've thought of converting it to a pump action, but I haven't had the time to figure out how to make the mechanism simple and reliable enough."
Renard stepped into the center of the wagons and began working through basic training forms with the axe, starting with simple, chopping swings before moving to sweeping, circular motions. Power and grace were on display in spades, Renard Arc a blur of lethal motion before one last sweep brought the blade into an overhead slam that stopped a mere inch from a log that had been placed under the canopy as a makeshift seat.
"Balance seems a little front-heavy," Renard stated flatly, getting a raised eyebrow from Casian before he snapped his fingers.
"Almost forgot. Ten round box magazine," he said, retrieving and tossing it to Renard. He examined it briefly, noting the lack of ammunition, before slotting it home in the rifle's action, a few more experimental swings confirming the problem to be fixed. "Balance is far more important when the weapon is empty," Casian added.
"Indeed," Renard replied appreciatively, stepping back to the group and returning the axe in the same manner he had received it, the smith replacing it in its spot and sliding the drawer back into place.
"And you, young huntress! Which of my wares would you evaluate to prove my skills to your father?" Casian asked warmly.
"Umm, all of them?" Olivia replied hesitantly, not expecting to be put on the spot.
"That's am...bitious?" he replied quizzically. "Let's start with something close to what you wield."
"I don't have a weapon yet," Liv replied sullenly.
"Are you shopping, then?" he asked evenly, not having to apply pressure personally, Olivia's expectant smile doing all the selling for him.
"Yes," Renard replied with a gentle nod.
"Yes!" his daughter echoed exuberantly.
"Very well. Any other older siblings? All the same parents?" he began, drawing raised eyebrows from all three Arcs.
"Three sisters, and yes," Renard volunteered.
"How tall?"
"Umm, Saph is like five-five, Vi and Margie are a little taller," Jaune helpfully added
"So you've likely got a little bit of growing yet, but not so much I need to take it into account."
"Probably, yes," Renard replied, beginning to see Casian's thought process.
"Let me see your hands," he continued, taking Olivia's hands in his own. He examined the calluses carefully before turning them palm down and peering intently at her scarred knuckles. "Boxer?" he asked.
"Savateur," she replied proudly, before she realized she had lost him. "Basically, Savate is boxing, but with some kicks thrown in."
"Does it have any native weapons?"
"Yeah. Dagger, knife, staff, cane. Buuuuut, I haven't learned any of them yet."
"Ah. Show me your combat stance," he replied, watching closely as she complied. Olivia's feet spread shoulder width apart, her right sliding back slightly, tensed on the balls of her feet. Her hands were raised just above the shoulders, elbows and knees bent and primed to strike. "Give me some punches," he added, holding his hands up loosely, palms out for lack of training pads. Olivia gave him her best, and several jabs, crosses and uppercuts later, Casian dropped her targets.
"Differing strengths in your hands; is that style or strength?"
"Little of both maybe?" she replied ambivalently.
"Hmm. A moment," he replied, striding to the trailer on his left and hopping up into the back.
Jaune gave his father a sidelong glance, trying to discern his thoughts on what was happening. "I see where he's going with this," Renard said softly.
Casian returned, steps light as he practically danced back to the anvil, setting down two small stacks of poker chips, one red and one blue. "Arms out in front of you, palms down," he instructed Olivia. Placing two red chips on the back of her right hand, and two blue on the left, he looked her in the eye. "You need to catch each chip in the hand I have placed them upon, understand?" he asked, getting a simple nod from Liv before he stepped back to give her room.
Without warning, Casian leaned forward to slap the girl's hands from underneath, sending the poker chips flying. Liv's gaze shot upwards, plotting her movements in a split second before she darted into action, plucking the paired targets out of the air, holding them out on display with an eager smile. Casian plucked them out of her open palms, returning her smile with a roguish wink. "Reset," he said simply, placing four chips on each hand and repeating the process, this time angling his strikes diagonally outward, testing how widely she could move in a short span of time. Olivia again managed, but not without some difficulty, catching the last chip at knee height. "Again," Casian said, her targets now up to six per hand. This set was flipped up and slightly inward, causing them to mix chaotically. The budding huntress grunted with the effort, desperately trying to complete her task, only to have one blue chip bounce off her outstretched foot and land on the soft loam below.
"Damn it," she muttered softly.
"Impressive. Not quite two hands, but close," he complimented the girl. "Dual weapons, then. How about ranged options? Close, medium, long?"
"I don't think you've got the patience to be a sniper, Liv," her father offered.
"Daaaaaaaad," she grumbled, his point clearly unwelcome, but not actually incorrect. "Fine. I like up close and personal anyway." Olivia Arc added.
"Type?" Casian asked, drawing a brief, bewildered stare from the huntress. "Firearm, dust, other?"
"Oh, ummmm, yes?" She answered, obviously not having thought this far ahead.
"Hmmm. Do you prefer to parry, block or dodge?"
"Whatever works," Liv replied, not understanding how well her combat training would translate to fighting the creatures of grimm.
"Twinned weapons or versatility?" he asked, getting another thoughtful pause from Olivia.
"Versatility fits me to a T." she replied with a cocky smile, Casian's smile faltering a moment.
"La naiba!" he muttered. "Magda!" he shouted towards the wagon on his right.
A few seconds later, a dark haired woman, slightly lighter complected than Casian though easily his contemporary, poked her head from the door mounted near the front. "Da, draga mea?"
"Tea for our guests!" he called back, smiling wide for the woman. "I cannot believe I forgot my manners!"
"Me mangav tut," she fired back playfully, ducking back into the wagon again.
"Love you too!" Casian called back before returning his attention to the matter at hand. "I believe I may have something for you," he added, slender fingers trailing over the drawer pulls behind him before he drew the top one forward, the panel dropping into a display like it's mate. A smaller weapon was plucked from its perch, and presented gracefully to an eager Olivia Arc. "For your off hand," he stated simply, Renard easily recognizing it as a katar.
The blade was fifteen inches of bright steel, with two thick reinforcement ribs, tapering evenly from four inches at its base to a needle point. The base of the blade also featured a small dust revolver cylinder embedded in the center, a miniature version of the central axis of Myrtenaster providing at least a token ability to utilize raw dust. An inch-thick block of steel added another two inches of length to the base, with two rails extending back from the edges of the base another twelve inches in line with the blade. A sturdy crossbar running between the two rails, four inches back from the blade served as a grip. A basket hilt covered the back of the hand and wrist from the base of the blade to nearly the back of the weapon, intricate patterns of diamond shaped perforations serving as decoration and weight reduction both, along with borders and flourishes of inlaid gold scrollwork. A trio of ring triggers were within the reach of the user's grip at all times, operated by the index, middle and ring fingers.
"I can adjust length of pull on each trigger if need be." Casian added as Olivia tentatively grasped the hilt.
"Yeah, maybe a little. I can reach, but it's a little hard." She said, turning the weapon in her grasp to show him.
"Looks like a quarter inch should do the trick. Now, the index trigger activates the dust in the active cylinder, the one along the outer side of the blade, allowing it to take effect over the blade surface." Casian explained. "The cylinder release is that button there." he added, pointing to a spot inside the weapon's frame. Olivia pressed it and the cylinder swung out easily, before she snapped it back into place with a flick of the wrist.
"That felt really natural," she remarked with a smile.
"The ring finger trigger rotates the cylinder, allowing you to advance to the next chamber if you're empty, or have different dusts loaded," Casian continued, the girl before him testing the functionality with a few trigger pulls, the rotation easy and crisply indexing into each slot. "And the trigger on your middle finger...is a surprise," he finished cryptically, arching an eyebrow at Olivia while his lips curled into a soft smile. Olivia blinked once, before her smile mirrored Casian's, and activated the last function on the weapon. The blade sprung open forcefully, separated into three sharp prongs. The center that remained was two inches in width, with the remaining two pieces angled off twenty degrees from the center. A reverse movement of the trigger snapped the blades shut again, the fit so perfect that the seams disappeared unless you knew exactly where to look.
"Wicked," Olivia breathed reverently, her smile broadening into a full, mischievous grin.
"There isn't enough force there to do real damage, but that's not the point. It's a nice trick to pull out on an opponent with a blade. Catch and twist and you've got a real chance to disarm someone," he explained. "A Huntress doesn't only fight enemies that are black and white."
"Ain't that the truth," Jaune groused under his breath, well-acquainted with that unfortunate fact.
"Now for his brother," Casian began, retrieving another katar from the rack. This one was of a similar motif; basket hilt, decorations and all, but held two distinct differences. Firstly, the blade tapered very slightly until the final four inches, where the point swept back at a near ninety degree angle, leaving a chisel-type tip for piercing armor. Secondly, it lacked the dust chamber of its mate, instead incorporating a military style pistol into the grip frame, the slide and barrel just outside the side frame of the weapon, muzzle even with the base of the blade. A single ring trigger in the middle finger position supplemented the trigger for the pistol, and Olivia didn't hesitate to discover what this one did. Nearly poke an eye out was apparently the answer, the blade telescoping from fifteen to thirty inches in length with the same force as displayed moments before with the weapon's counterpart, the blade composed of three nested segments.
"The pistol is an Atlesian CP11R pattern, standard ten millimeter caliber. Four position selector; safe, single, three round burst and fully automatic. Flared magazine well for rapid reloads, an aggressive compensator for recoil reduction, and if you'll press that button there," Casian indicated, Olivia complying and releasing a metal bracket from the left side of the weapon. It hinged at the end of the sidebars, pivoting back to click into place and form a shoulder stock. "Stabilizing brace for sustained fire. You can even use it as a submachine gun if needed. There are plenty of extended magazines available for such a purpose."
"I like to utilize proven firearms in any hybrid weapon I build, and the CP11R has been the gold standard for the last fifty years. Ammunition, magazines and parts are available anywhere in Remnant. Unmatched reliability, with proper care, of course," he added. There were people out there who thought 'reliable' equated to 'never needs cleaning'.
"Yeah, I think those are what my teammate uses. Never seen him have a jam. Ever," Jaune reassured Olivia and their father both. He fished out his scroll and opened his picture folder, zooming in on a picture of Stormflower before turning the device towards Casian. "Same thing, right?" he asked hopefully.
"Frati..." Casian whispered, his eyes wide as he stared at the scroll. "Where did you get this picture?" he asked Jaune, voice full of reverent wonder.
"You know this weapon?" Jaune replied, the tonal shift putting him on edge.
"My dear boy," Casian answered, his face a mask of gentle pride. "I made them." his soot-stained fingers pinched at the picture, zooming out to find the publicity photo Team JNPR had taken for the Vytal Festival. The smith's breath caught as he saw the four hunters, his fingers hovering over the screen as if the image were a soap bubble, unable to withstand the slightest touch. "Magnhild as well," Casian whispered. "When was this taken?"
"Last month," Jaune replied, deeply confused. "How...?"
"We found Nora and Ren lost in the woods, alone. Lucky we did, or we might have wandered into Kuroyuri blind. It was...a bloodbath," he faltered, taking a deep, shuddering breath to collect his emotions. "We took them in, with the promise of finding their families. One of our oldest traditions. It's the reason we Tiganii travel as we do. One of them, at least," He added with a smirk. "The peregrinare. They were with my family for five years, part of my family," he corrected. "Not that it was easy. Nora hit me in the pulă with a hammer when I tried to get close to Ren the first time," Casian offered with a nostalgic smirk.
"That sounds like her," Jaune confirmed, well used to Nora Valkyrie's casual usage of violence, especially when it came to Lie Ren.
"We covered all of Anima twice over in those five years. Not a single village had a lead on their families. I even risked going into Mistral itself and came up empty," he added with a hint of frustration. "As much as we didn't want them to leave, they wanted to be Huntsmen, and I was unable to train them to their full potential myself. I called in a favor and got them both into Harbor Academy on Anima's western coast. We stayed for a few months before the chemare took us away. I haven't seen them since," Casian confessed sadly. "A few letters managed to work their way through the Tiganii clans. It's a slow system, but ultimately more reliable than scroll signal out in the wilds," he added, proud of his heritage to be sure.
Jaune listened with wonder, gaining insight into his teammates that neither of them had ever been able to share with him. He looked aside for a moment, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he saw his father watching Olivia slowly moving through her training forms with the pair of katars, a broad grin on her face.
"How are they?" Casian asked, breaking the Jaune's reverie.
Jaune pondered for a moment, wondering exactly how to answer the man properly without a prior frame of reference. "Good. Happy," he said simply, knowing the concerns an adopted family would have. "Ren is the brother I never had, and Nora is, well, Nora. Never a dull moment," he added with a smirk.
"Really? She was always so shy," Casian replied.
"Are you sure we're talking about the same person?" Jaune asked, cocking an eyebrow skeptically.
"Yes, she was…" he began before a crackling snap could be heard behind the group, and the four of them turned to see a woman kneeling on the forest floor, arcs of electricity dancing over her body before fitfully flickering out after a second. "Elena?" Casian asked, voice already on edge.
"Papa!" she sobbed, standing to show that she was cradling a boy in her arms, no older than eight, and obviously bleeding badly. She stumbled forward towards her father, and the Arcs could easily discern the familial resemblance between all three. Of greater concern was the sodden, bloody mess that was the boy's right thigh, his trousers shredded and dripping. Various other scratches were visible on his arms, and a nasty knot on his forehead likely the cause of his lack of consciousness.
"What happened?!" Casian demanded, beckoning them under the canopy before Elena drove an icy dagger into the hearts of all present with a single word.
"Grimm."
"Fecior de curva." He muttered as his daughter set her brother down on an empty workbench, the boy groaning softly in pain. Renard immediately retrieved his weapon, Shadowbane's handle coming to rest on his right shoulder for the moment.
"I can try and get a tourniquet on that, but I don't know if it'll work. That wound is really high up the leg," Renard added to clarify, already casting his gaze about for suitable material.
Jaune instead opted for a more direct approach, pulling his gloves off and gently placing his hands on the boy's leg. A soft, white glow began to emit from his hands, but did not extend beyond them, a grimace of frustration curling the boy's lips after a long moment.
"Is his aura unlocked?"
"No."
"Damn. Thought that would be a problem," Jaune said darkly. "My semblance amplifies aura. I can heal him, but…" he added, trailing off.
"The shock could kill him, Jaune," Renard advised all present.
"Papa, I'm so sorry," Elena sobbed, tears streaking her face.
"I can heal him, Casian. I've dealt with worse," Jaune interjected, voice full of steely resolve. Casian's deep brown eyes met his own, seeing their own intensity reflected back in deep sapphire, and he nodded once.
"Elena? Nicolai needs you to be strong. You can do this," he said, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Where are the Grimm?" He asked, already looking towards the forest.
"That way," she pointed. "Not sure how far," she added, moving towards her brother.
"Nothing in the immediate vicinity, but I can't push my semblance beyond two hundred yards without burning through a lot of aura," Renard piped up. "Thankfully, I have a full field of vision. Makes it hard to be ambushed at least," he added with a grim smirk before his eyes flew wide, a gasp escaping his throat. Looking down, he could see Jaune's hand on his forearm, white aura mingling with dark blue. "Holy shit," he said, voice an awestruck whisper.
"Better?" Jaune asked with just the barest hint of sarcasm, Elena beginning to work on her brother, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," Renard replied simply, before he closed his eyes in concentration. "Damn. I hate Cacklers," he muttered. "Twenty-seven, with three beowolves. One of them is an alpha. Two miles, closing at a fast lope. Five minutes or less before they're on us," he pronounced, opening his eyes again.
"Casian!" Jaune barked, tossing Trandafir to him. Casian caught it easily, sliding the scabbard home on his left hip.
"I'm done," Elena whispered, fighting to stay upright. Jaune returned to Nicolai's side, his aura flaring brightly as he desperately tried to save the young boy's life.
"Dad, Casian. Meet them close enough that you can fall back if you need to. If your wife can fight, I'll need her here. Liv, stay behind me, watch my back. If you have ammo on hand, she'll need it, Casian," he added, the smith pulling several magazines from the weapon cabinet in response. "Dad?" he asked, nodding his head towards Crocea Mors. "Little busy here." He clarified, his father retrieving the heirloom and sliding it into the frog on his son's belt.
"You act like they're going to get past me," Renard said with a friendly smirk.
"Magda!" Casian shouted. "Lock down the wagons!"
Moments later, armored skirts dropped beneath all three wagons, sealing the underside and giving the defenders a somewhat secure position, though one without an escape route. Casian drew his blade, his off hand fishing in his pocket to retrieve several small objects. These were quickly placed back into the spine of Trandafir, a soft glow emitting from various dust crystals for a moment as they slotted home.
"Axe/shotgun, I usually stay low and grounded," Renard informed his impromptu partner. "Semblance lets me sense Grimm, so nothing you need to worry about," he added.
"Single blade, some dust effects. I try to stay mobile, especially against large groups. I've already done what I can with my semblance. I hope it is enough," he replied, offering Jaune a long gaze before turning to leave. "Keep him safe."
"Funny. I was about to tell you the same thing," Jaune snarked back.
"Since when were comedy classes offered at Beacon?" Renard sniped back with a wry smirk as he jogged off after Casian. "Anything about the surrounding woods I need to know about?" he asked, before they fell out of earshot.
Jaune looked to his other companion, finally taking in the girl's appearance. Elena was his contemporary within a year or two, and complected much like her father, her ebony hair much more curly. Curiously, she wore a small, pink feather dangling from the left center of her bangs, which nearly reached her eyebrows. Irises the color of melted milk chocolate regarded him skeptically, unsure of his promises but unwilling to give up hope for her brother. Her nose gently sloped, with a slight curve up at the point, her dark cheeks even rosier with exertion. Her pants and boots were likewise a reflection of her father, with a cream-colored (now bloodstained) shirt instead, the neckline plunging just enough to be enticing without being revealing. A dark red corset served to add color to the outfit as well as tastefully lifting the girl's modest bust, white ribbons criss-crossing the front of the garment. A pair of ghurka knives were at on her belt, blades over a foot long, with an integrated revolver built into each.
"Cover me?" Jaune asked hopefully. Elena looked past his eyes, gasping softly as her brother's wounds were slowly beginning to close.
"They will not touch you as I draw breath," she pronounced with grim determination, taking a few wobbly steps towards the forest to gain better visibility.
"Liv, grab those mags on the table and load one, put the rest in your vest pocket where you can reach," Jaune ordered, getting his sister moving. Olivia took a few tries, but finally managed to get the magazine oriented properly, slamming it home with the heel of her hand. "Grab the serrations on the slide, pull it back as far as you can and then let it go. Now rotate the switch by your right thumb so that the tab is all the way back towards you. That's full auto," Jaune clarified to her, ridiculously happy that he'd had the foresight to have his team familiarize each other with their weapons, should worst come to worst. Granted, his portion of instruction lasted the few seconds it took to convey 'the pointy end goes into the Grimm', but at the very least, he could fire every gun in JNPR's arsenal if he had to.
Not that he could actually hit anything when he did, but he wasn't about to complain right now.
"Hold back unless you absolutely have to engage, all right?" he added, hoping to reassure the young blond.
"Y-yeah. You got it," Olivia replied, failing to project beyond what little confidence she had at the moment.
The sound of not-so-distant gunfire starting up certainly didn't help matters.