Arc I, Chapter III

Memento Mori

Jaune often dreamt of his time at the Huntsman Lodge. The countless days on end he would spend at there, watching and learning from the Huntsmen and Huntresses, just another fleeting memory of the past now.

Jaune never understood the inner machinations of his father's mind. While his sisters were allowed to train and prepare to become huntresses, his father was dead-set on ensuring that Jaune never got so much as a modicum of any kind or form of combat training. Arguments were a common occurrence between them. That is, when is father wasn't off being a war hero out on the frontlines.

Mother dearest, on the other hand, had no problem in helping Jaune as best she could. While she couldn't outright train him, lest his sisters tattle to his father, she did drop hints about the local Huntsman Lodge. His mother had often said that a lot of Huntsmen there were always looking for people to help around the lodge, and chances are they'd be willing to show him a few things in return.

That was how he found himself spending most his hours of the day when his father was away. Trudging the few miles to the lodge, which was a homely three-story log building set atop the eastern hills of Arkend, providing an excellent vantage point of the city.

The Huntress-in-charge, Master Huntress Maisie Talis, was kind middle-aged woman who was more than happy to help Jaune get to work. He did anything from working the dispatch office to assisting the other Huntsmen with whatever they needed help with, and when he was lucky, field work.

His mother had most certainly been right when she told him that the Huntsmen and Huntresses would show him a few tricks. The basics of gunplay, swordplay, and the like. While it was hardly akin to what would pass in an academic setting, whether it be in a preparatory academy like Signal, or an actual academy like Beacon, it was just enough to run and live another day.

Memories of Crowley, however, had always been burned into the forefront of his mind. The roguish maverick of a young and hot-headed huntsman could leave nothing but such an impression on Jaune.

When Jaune had started visiting the range at the lodge, the Huntsman had been so perturbed by Jaune's shooting that he couldn't help but constantly interject himself into his practice. Pointers soon turned into a few minutes of instruction here and there. Soon after, those had turned into hours worth of practice, both of them often exchanging stories- Jaune about his life at home, and the wild maverick, Crowley, about his tales of exploit and grandeur.

They had a good system. Jaune would speak, Crowley would listen, and vice versa. It would seem like common sense that such a system would exist, but Jaune learned that some hunters simply didn't have a filter whatsoever. Crowley had preferred it like that anyways. Had always said it was "easier to let someone finish than it is to drag it on." He wasn't all that wrong, in Jaune's mind.

A year or so after their initial meeting, Crowley had been preparing to leave for another expedition out into the wildlands. Crowley, in all his graciousness left Jaune with a gift. A prized possession of his, in fact. One of his weapons, a revolver. The look on Crowley's dark, roguish face had been ingrained into Jaune's memory since that day. Never once had he seen someone look so proud of him. To this day, he still isn't sure why Crowley had that look on his face, but that was okay. Some things simply weren't meant to be understood.

The revolver itself was a beautifully crafted weapon. The barrel was a sleek, glossy black, that smoothly flowed down to the trigger guard, seamless transition into a hand-crafted wooden grip. A matte grey cylinder rested in its loaded position, each of the polished six sides detailed with an intricate arrow facing towards the barrel. The outline of the cartridge chambers glowed a dim sage green, their faint hue an ever-comforting presence in the darkness. The top strap of the gun was a brilliant ivory white, which ran the upper length of the gun to the barrel. Truly, the weapon Crowley had made so many years ago was a masterpiece.

The memory was vivid. The words, forever ingrained in his mind.

"These guns are special Jaune. And no, not in the "daddy's little precious weapon". They're forged from Vytalian Steel by a master smith. The grips were carved by myself in the recesses of the ancient Vediant Forest.. These guns are magic, and I'm not hyperbolizing. They're the mark of a true Gunslinger, and now I'm leaving this weapon- my very legacy itself, to you."

Jaune had treasured the weapon greatly. It wasn't often that he got to practice with Crowley's guns, but when he did it was one of the most enjoyable experiences of his life. To him, there was nothing else like it in the world.

Weeks on end later, after no contact with Crowley a team of hunters were dispatched to attempt and locate him. After a few days of tedious searching, they had a recovered a (thankfully) intact body.

The news had been devastating for Jaune. Master Huntress Maisie herself was the first to approach him with express condolences. Her usually well-kempt brown hair was frazzled and in a tizzy, while the bags under her eyes suggested that he wasn't the only one to have lost sleep in the weeks prior to today.

"He left a letter for you. A handful of people, actually. Nobody's opened them yet, but they look like he's been hanging onto these for quite awhile now. Needless to say, this one's yours." She handed him the letter and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

"I know he meant a lot to you. Taught you a lot of things. Just know you meant the same to him, and wherever he's off gallivanting around now, he's looking out for you."

With those short words, the Master Huntress had left him to his own devices.

Jaune wasted no time in opening the well-worn letter.

"I'm sorry kid, but it looks like I'm at the end of my story. Things took a bad turn, to say the least. I should've known at some point gallivanting around the wilds alone would get me killed. My team was right after all, I guess. Can't say I'd take it back, though. There are things out here that you wouldn't believe, Jaune. Wonderful and beautiful things that haven't been touched by humans for centuries. Aside from the Grimm, it's peaceful out here. Wouldn't mind settling out here. I can see why your parents did it when they founded Arkend.

Wish I could've patched things up with partner before I had to go, though. Anastasia and I had something special, you know? I ruined that, though. I seem to do a lot, now that I think about it. How do you make that kind of decision though? How can you choose between someone you love and your calling? Something you've strived and wished for your whole life? One of these days, I hope you realize just how special these kinds of relationships are. They're truly something to be treasured.

In the end though, there was one thing I didn't royally mess up on. That was you, kid. Like the little brother I had never wanted, but ended up with anyways. Talented, too. You picked up gunslinging so quickly it made even my head swim. I'm still the best slinger out here though, so don't let that go to your head too quickly, ace.

When you guys find me, and hopefully you do because it'd be so unpoetic if you didn't, there are some things that I want you to have. My trusty cloak, I leave in your hands. I hope it makes you look almost as roguishly charming as I do. Secondly, I leave my apartment in Vale Proper to you. I know we've talked about getting you into Beacon and this happens to tie into my next point. Thirdly, I leave this piece of information with you- Find Roman Torchwick. If you want that chance to prove yourself, find him. He'll help you. And if he doesn't… well, tell him that Scátach will come back from the grave to knock him over the head. Don't think you need to worry about that, though. He's just as much a sucker for the wildcard underdog as I am.

Lastly, I leave to you the other half of my life. When I was fourteen, I forged Memento and Mori with my father. In my mother's tongue, they mean Remember and Death. Together, they imply the meaning "To remember we must face death." Now that I leave Memento Mori to you, it's your task to find a befitting name for yourself.

I'm sorry that we couldn't spend more time together, kid. Wish I would've been there to see you grow up into a man. But alas, memento mori, Jaune. You're going to make an outstanding Huntsman one day. Settle down with a nice girl, start a family, and maybe save the world if you're feeling bold enough.

My home was always out here in the wilds. Yours, however, is not here. You haven't found your belonging yet- your home. I hope you do find it one day, though. Once you find it, never let it go, because it sure won't ever let you go.

Be strong, my brother.

Love,

Crowley

Jaune closed his eyes, struggling to hold back to tears. This pain in his heart was nothing like when Grandpa Alexander died. This, this was something beyond that.

Crowley had put it eloquently. Memento Mori. And to death we go.

Never to return.

The Huntsman Ranking system, according to the accounts of Pathfinder Crowley Shinobu Venandi

For all the good in the world Huntsmen and Huntresses do, for a long time there was no structure to the order. Spend a few years in school, get a fancy piece of plastic showing that you're a certified Hunter, and that's that.

Sure, it's easy to go pick up a mission and do it, but without true coordination, there was no headway in the war against the Grimm. On top of that, you also had your fair share of Rogue Hunters making a mess of things as well. Soon enough, it wasn't enough that you were a certified Hunter. Civilians couldn't trust us anymore.

Well, that was until a certain King by the name of Avus implemented the Huntsman Lodge. An institution designed to band the Hunters together, to give them purpose and direction while simultaneously allowing for Hunters to be trusted again.

The Hunter ranking system was split into 10 different tiers.

Your first four tiers are your academy students. First through fourth years make up these ranks. They're not licensed Hunters, however they are still qualified combatants, if not inexperienced.

The Fifth tier was known as an "Apprentice". A freshly graduated Hunter that's on a probation of sorts with the Lodge. This quote unquote, "probation" varied in time depending on the actions of an individual during their training. Obviously, star students had close to no probationary period, and were assigned to shadow a Huntsman or Huntress for a short period of time to get them acquainted with the job. Morally questionable students have to earn the right to be apart of the Lodge, though. This was a key factor in making sure that civilians could trust Hunters.

The Sixth tier was when you became a bona fide Huntsman or Huntress. Fully licensed and fully endorsed by the lodge. Even though this rank could consist of recent graduates, you also had to take into account the amount of field experience these guys got during their schooling. Would a new Huntsman be able to take down someone who's been a Huntsman for a handful of years?

Probably not. Unless you're cool, like me.

The Seventh tier is where shit starts getting serious. A Master Huntsman or Huntress was someone who's honed their craft for years. The rank is bestowed to exceptional fighters, support units, and tacticians alike. These people were in charge of managing different holds throughout the Saunan continent, and the Hunters beneath them. These people knew the land, the people, and most importantly, the Grimm.

The Eighth tier is when we really get down to who's the best at what they do. These guys are known as Rangers. While Master Hunters could be in charge of these guys, the title of Ranger was more so aimed towards a combat standing, of sorts. Didn't matter how long you've been a Hunter for. The Ranger title was reserved for the deadliest and most efficient of us. Whether it be in terms of fighting the Grimm, or other humans, Rangers were the best the Lodge had to offer. I've seen some Rangers cut through Grimm hordes without breaking a sweat. Sometimes, I don't even think they take more than two breaths before they've cleaved through dozens of Grimm. Some Rangers, though, like my buddy Roman, knew their way around fighting humans a bit better. While they weren't specifically aimed at combating Rogue Hunters, the underlying feeling was still there.

Rangers are truly a unique and elite bunch. One Ranger may be able to wipe out a few dozen mid-class Grimm in scant seconds, but another may be able to fell a Goliath in a single strike. Trying to compare Rangers to each other is nearly impossible, due to the inherent uniqueness of the title.

The Ninth tier of Hunters could be considered the most important to some. If Rangers were a rare animal, then Pathfinders were an endangered species on the verge of extinction. You'd be lucky if you'd see two or three different Pathfinders in your lifetime. Pathfinders are a myth, to most. A bedtime story you tell scared children at night. Tales of Hunters who strayed from the protection of the Kingdom's walls, away from settlements, and away from the safety and comfort of civilization.

Pathfinders lived in the wildlands, mapping, charting, and scouting the Unknown Regions. While the Wildlands, if you remember correctly, were away from civilization, they weren't quite out in the middle of nowhere, truly. The Unknown Regions were things became truly dangerous. Out there, you had to your own eyes in the back of your head. There are things out there in the Darkness that the most seasoned of us wouldn't believe. The true threat lied out there, and it was our job to find it and eliminate it.

I was lucky in my time, as I trained with multiple Pathfinders that graduated from Beacon. The only ones I knew of were myself, Qrow Branwen, Summer Rose, Ozpin Izunia, and Scatatch Greimne. As I mentioned earlier, you were lucky to see more than two in your lifetime. I guess things were really looking up for humanity if I were so fortunate to know that many brave souls.

The Tenth tier is the absolute pinnacle of what it means to be a Hunter. The Lord Commander. The title given to the single individual who commanded the Huntsman Lodge. To be Lord Commander meant you have the absolute trust of every Huntsman out there. Personal opinions about each other didn't matter. You're trusted because you're the best of us, the pinnacle of all Hunters. Trusted because we know that the Lord Commander will make only the best decisions possible. Even if they don't make sense, even if they don't work out at first, you had the unwavering backing and support of the Lodge. Such is the power of the Lord Commander, that if we were told to turn on the Kingdom itself, well...

Let's just say I'd hate to be the reason person responsible for making the Lord Commander come to such a decision.

Apologies again for the delay and short chapter. I'll do my best to put the next chapter up sooner, and hopefully it's a longer one.

Extras in this chapter:

Crowley's name:

Crowley comes from the name of the leader of the Ranger Corps in the Ranger's Apprentice book series, Crowley Meratyn.

Shinobu comes from the name of Himura Shinobu, a Hunter who formed the Six Coyotes, a fireteam of six Hunters that were the first to scout out the Russian Cosmodrome, and beyond its walls, from Destiny.

Venandi comes from the Latin word Venandi, which translates to "Hunter" in English.

Memento and Mori

While not only a Gundam 00 reference, it's also a reference to the name of the perk that the hand cannon, The Ace of Spades has, in Destiny. To Crowley, it's a reminder that everyone faces death eventually. Even Pathfinders.

Vytalian Steel, the steel the revolvers are forged out of, is an allusion to Valyrian Steel.

Rowan Wood, the grip material, is an allusion to the wood that Spooks make their staves out of in The Last Apprentice books. According to European mythology, the Rowan tree was also known as "wayfarer's" tree or "traveler's" tree, because it supposedly prevents those on a journey or quest from getting lost. It's also believed the wood has mystical/magical properties that ward way evil and malevolent spirits.

The guns share a striking resemblance to "The First Curse", a hand cannon from Destiny 1. That was the basis in which I designed the gun.

As always, thank you for reading! If you enjoyed or have criticisms, please leave a review!