MARCH 2016

Characters: Pyrrha Nikos

Theme: Happy Endings

Against the Gradient

Description: Sometimes the dead are fated to walk through limbo for all eternity, forever incomplete in death. Sometimes, however, fate grants you your Orpheus.

She continued to walk.

She didn't really know why, but all she knew was that she had been walking for a long time and that all she could do was to continue walking.

Come to think of it, she couldn't remember when she started walking.

But she did so anyway, and so did everyone else.

All these other people – so many other people – surrounding her in their shroud.

She chanced a look at them.

They all seemed to lack color, the same gray arms clutching the same gray cloaks that covered each gray body. Every face, although obscured by the hoods of their robes, was unique to each's own yet somehow featureless to her, and they all stared blankly ahead as these fading wisps of people continued to walk, all in the same direction.

It wouldn't have surprised her if she wore the same dead face with the same dead eyes.

Onward her feet marched, disturbing the wayward mists as the landscape of this plane remained unchanging. There was no darkness, no light. No geological features marked where they had been or where they would be going, and the immediate vicinity was washed black and white by the shadows of the masses as the rest of the plane faded into an unknowing absence of color.

She did not question it, for she had no questions to ask and no answers to gain.

No knowledge to learn, no reward to prosper from, no purpose to be had.

No whats, now whys, no whens, no hows.

Everything just was.

And she was too, as far as she could tell. She was herself, yet she was the same as everyone else. She was something, yet she was nothing.

Still she did not question it. It meant nothing to her.

So instead of pondering why her entire being felt devoid of all emotion or individuality, she continued to walk amongst the mists, its achromatic tendrils never ending and never changing as the lethargic army marched further towards nowhere at all.

She shivered slightly, her hands pulling her own gray cloak closer around her neck and body. There was no actual cold to speak of on the path she walked, so perhaps it was more an absence of warmth that chilled her so, and for a fleeting moment, it made her happy to even register the illusion of feeling.

But happiness did not live in these parts, and the bright hint of a spark inside of her chest swiftly desaturated into the nothingness, and she trudged on. Through the nothing they proceeded, the mists echoing with a deafening silence.

A shoulder bumped into her.

It was the most fleeting of moments, but as short as it was… it was enough. Instantly, her back straightened, and she did something that she hadn't done in what seemed like forever.

She stopped moving.

Halting her weary feet, she turned her head to face the figure who had brushed by her. A new feeling filled her, one that she had perhaps forgotten in the winds of time.

She was puzzled.

Something in the figure's touch had resonated within her. This person, entity, or otherwise stood out vastly from the rest of the mob, who barely noticed its presence. It stood much straighter than anyone else who walked, and even with its own cape-covered back towards her, it radiated with purpose and distinctiveness, so much so that it glowed a faint but very discernible yellow, like a lone lit candle floating down the River Styx.

Amongst the veil of gray, its faint radiance still shimmered brightly, and she had to shield her eyes partially with her arm, which was bathed in its own yellow tint from the glow. But its contrast of color was not what drew the most wonderment from her.

The figure was walking away from the mob, not with it.

Her chest bubbled from a flurry of muted emotions, ranging from confusion, to curiosity…

… And eventually to hope.

She glanced around herself, nervous and afraid, as the specters walked onward, unaware of the sight transpiring before them.

She glanced back at the figure, who itself had not stopped its own walking, and yet even without acknowledging her existence, its presence beckon at her whole being.

Her breath, once slow and monotonous, hitched.

Wide-eyed and groaning mutely with effort, she deliberately turned on her heel to face against the horde.

And with every fiber of her being, she willed herself to walk.

Step by laborious step, she pushed on against the will of the mob as the gray bodies slowly lumbered past her, leaving trails of shadows in their wake. More and more bodies mashed against her in a careless manner, as if apathetic to her plight, assuming they had the capacity to emulate apathy. It took even more effort and willpower than she had initially pulled from inside herself to push past the mob as it shoved her own form every which way.

But she paid them no mind. Instead, she simply forced herself harder against the mist's long, grasping fingers, never once letting the glowing figure out of her sight. She noticed passingly that while she struggled against the mob with a tremendous effort, it seemed as if the sea of bodies had parted for it, as if repelled by it.

Time was arbitrary, but soon enough her struggling against bodies seemed much easier than before and she realized with surprise that she had suddenly reached the last few dregs of the horde. Her surprise melted into relief as the rest of the stragglers finally walked past her, and as she watched them pass her by, the specters continued their desolate march into the gray void of the mists.

Turning back around, she realized that the glowing yellow figure, who was a much further distance away, had stopped walking, as if waiting for her to catch up. Like the eventuality of time, she gradually made her way towards it until only a few meters separated them.

She drew to a stop, patiently waiting for the figure to lead on.

From where she stood, she could make out the figure's head twisting slightly, as if attempting to glimpse at her before hesitating. After a long moment, it turned its head back forward and began to walk once more.

She tried to perceive the being's intention of turning its head before following after it. A small part of her lamented that she still hadn't seen its face.

Their journey away from the horde continued, and after what seemed like a while, the gray fog of the world slowly but surely began to clear. It wasn't much longer afterwards that the mists seemed to disappear completely.

As the veil of shadow dissolved away, her fingers began to tingle. Slightly, very slightly at first, but the feeling spread like wildfire, and she felt yet another first in a while as the feeling returned to her limbs and extremities. The tingling became a buzzing, and the buzzing grew until her body felt like it was made of bees. Just before the sensation became unbearable, the buzzing subsided as quickly as it had come, and with its departure, her cold limbs were washed with warmth.

She chanced a look at her hands as they grasped around her robes. Where they once were gray and pallid, color was beginning to seep back through the notches in her skin, and soon her hands were painted a faint, rosy pink hue. Even the cloak itself had grown from gray to faded burlap brown.

She glanced back up at the figure in front of her, who in the moment almost casually discarded its own cloak onto the amorphous ground that they tread upon. Following its suit, she quickly shed her robe and let her curious mind study the being before her.

With its cloak discarded, the being took on the more definitive and somewhat familiar form of a man with a body molded by war. He wore shining white plate armor upon almost all of his body, and his pale hair appeared unkempt and long. A sheathed hand-and-a-half sword swung by his hip, and he carried himself with determination. Furthermore, the diminutive yellow glow that had emanated from his being had now grown into a brilliant golden radiance, and he shined like a beacon among the drab landscape.

Within the depths of her soul rushed forward a symphony of emotions, almost forcing her tired feet to a stagger as she beheld the man before her. Her weak being gave way to hope, to strength, to happiness, to resolve…

But one feeling within her overcame the rest.

Love.

Love that had emerged in her by looking upon this man, this very familiar man.

She loved him.

And suddenly, she remembered why she had to walk.

She had to return. Back to her friends, her family, back to her home, all of which needed her now more than ever.

Back to the man she loved, and had loved her back for all that she was, perhaps without even really knowing it.

As she stared upon the backside of the figure and let her new-found purpose wash over her, a pinprick of light flashed in the distance, and the figure walked towards it.

She followed.

Swiftly, the light grew larger and larger, and before she had time to register its existence, they were almost upon the light as it stretched its blinding reach in through the edges of the colorless plane and up through the cracks in the colorless sky.

The figure stopped abruptly, and, following closely behind, she almost collided into him. Bewildered, her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth as if to silently question him.

Once more, he turned his head slightly towards her without directly looking at her, and still she could not see his face.

Hesitantly, the figure reached out a hand behind him, towards her.

She blinked, staring at his outstretched hand, and placed her own hand within his, the corners of her lips turning upward.

The figure nodded at her, and faced back forward.

Hand in hand, side by side, they walked forward into the light as it bathed their bodies in its quintessence until all that remained of the world was the light and their faint forms within it, him with his thick, scraggly blonde mane, and her with her long, immaculate red hair.

In the back of her mind, she heard his voice.

"I knew you'd follow me, Pyrrha. Thank you."

There was a lot of elements that went into this one. Obviously, with Pyrrha being of Greek origin, you begin to wonder about how big a part the Greek Underworld could potentially play in RWBY lore, especially since Achilles was later found among the dead in Homer's Odyssey.

The Orpheus and Eurydice spin also originated from Greek mythology. It ties in quite nicely with the Underworld ideas, and although the original story was rather tragic in nature, this was supposed to be about "Happy Endings," and also... I like Pyrrha. A lot. I'm not about to send her plunging back down the depths of the Underworld. Again.

Ultimately the overarching theme that I went with here was "Color." I mean, in case you couldn't already tell with me beating the word "gray" over your head every ten words. But in any case, incorporating that into the story was a delight - color is imperative to make a story stand out imagery wise, and it can also effect the way people feel. So I always get a kick out of messing with certain elements to elicit specific emotional responses. The challenge here was pacing it all out so that you'd start with completely bleak and hopeless and gradually filling it with color to (quite literally) bring it back to life.

... Well, now I feel like a real art snob with all these long-winded explanations. Hope you enjoyed reading all that.