A/N: Hello all, PiquedIsh here. Some of you may have followed and read some of my stories in the past when I was known as GamerHD, but as you may know I haven't updated or published anything in somewhere around 2 years or so. I decided that I wanted to give it a try, now that I'm older, a bit better at writing, and with things going a bit better. So this is my Elden Ring/RWBY crossover. I decided to write with these two fandoms as I'm familiar with both and felt that I had a fair bit of wriggle room to work with. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to critique, as long as it isn't trolling of course, and so here the story begins!
[Line Break]
Obsession was a word that He was intimately familiar with. Obsession permeated his being, a deep seated poison that arched its way like lightning through his veins. Obsession was why He was as he is. It moulded him, shaped him, broke him down and built him up again only to repeat the process. Obsession left him sleepless, hungry and alone, it gave him rest, fed him and warmed his spirit. It was an abuser, an enabler, and his closest confidant. Thinking back, in the few moments where his mind was his own, obsession was what kept him here, broken as he was.
It started as simple 'want'. He wanted to survive, he wanted to survive well, he wanted to move from mere survival to living. And then he wanted to live well. But 'want' never stays as such. Want was much like a wolf pup. So innocuous, so innocent, so harmless. Who could begrudge a man a few 'wants'? If raised well, taught well, that wolf pup named 'want' grew into a companion, an ally. But He had been careless. Want soon became 'need'.
Need was far more greedy, far more hungry. It gnashed at his heels and snarled in his ear. What a nuisance, what a pain. To calm Need, He fed it more and more. It was a mistake and He knew it. A foolish, soon to be painful mistake. Because as much as He may have fed Need, it was always hungry. Starving, even. If he did not listen to the creature that was Need, He suffered for it. His skin crawled and writhed across his body, like insects digging through his body just underneath his flesh. It was at this point that Need grew to be Obsession.
Oh how Obsession hurt him. Obsession tortured him.
But He wasn't strong enough to fight Obsession.
Obsession was the puppeteer, He the puppet, his strings pulled taut. Obsession controlled him, led him and used him. And that left him so empty.
Oh how Riachtanas hated how empty he felt.
The tower he resided in was either a new addition or an old one. He didn't remember. He truly didn't. But really, there was little difference remembering would make. Riachtanas slouched over the desk, a few hundred books or so stacked around him, some open, some closed, many old and some older still. He collected these, through guile, brute force, or cruelty, he collected them. He did that a lot. Collected things. Obsession did that to him.
But it didn't matter anymore. Obsession appeared to only be so loud when there was more to collect. How typical. Riachtanas was empty, so empty. Obsession took all the good in him and left. He wasn't so obsessed anymore, no longer slavering at the thought of collecting more power, spells, items, weapons or skills. He collected everything. There was no more to collect. And so obsession finally left him in peace, of sorts. But it didn't matter. Not anymore.
He stood, and shuffled over to yet another desk, this one clean and free of any sort of clutter. Riachtanas opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a small picture, painted by a delicate hand with an ever gentle care. A blue skinned doll, her features soft despite her porcelain appearance. A large hat, almost comical in size, rested atop her head. Four arms sprouted from her shoulders, one pair resting their hands on her lap whilst the latter clasped together, almost in prayer, though he knew better.
Ranni the Witch, or Witch of the Moon, or Ranni of the Full Moon, or some other moniker he forgot. Her eyes, well eye, peered at him through the small painting. It was a loving gaze, the same one that only a lady of Ranni's calibre would give upon her first love. So loving.
For Riachtanas, it was more pain than he felt he could bear.
Ranni no longer gave council for her once consort, nor did she deign to show herself to him. He had failed, so terribly. The thought brought a pain in the spot his heart should sit.
"Oh Ranni, of the Moon, bright as stars. I am so sorry," he whispered. He turned once more. On a wall devoid of paintings, was a sigil of his own creation marked across it, written in a mixture of chalk, ash and Tarnished blood, some belonging to other Tarnished, most belonging to him. It was a symbol forged after meticulous preparation, sleepless nights and tired fingers. It was a long shot.
'I am indeed sick, am I not? If this does not work, I will try again. Is that not an Obsession in and of itself?" Ah, there was that word again. Maybe it hadn't left him as entirely as he thought.
The symbol itself was big, written within a perfect circle as wide as a man was tall. Smaller symbols of Magic involving the Moon, Darkness and Light all mixed together, interconnected and swirling. It was to be a portal, using techniques similar to the ones used on the sending gates that dotted the Lands Between, and yet it was different. It wasn't made to send one man across the acres and acres of land that made Limgrave and all surrounding territories. It was made to send Riachtanas far, far and farther still, away. To somewhere that wasn't here. He had failed this land, so terribly. Killed many who did not deserve it on the path of Obsession. Stole, cheated, a warlord on a path of terror. All to acquire more. In this quest of such selfish desire, his love, and guiding moon had left him. He understood why she would.
He needed to leave the Lands Between. That was what this overgrown sending gate was meant to do. Either that or kill him, Riachtanas would honestly take whichever. The most delicious irony of it?
He was taking all his possessions with him. All the talismans, armour, weapons and what have you. Something stopped him from giving it all up. Perhaps it was because it was all he had left.
"I must leave now. I must go, before I ruin this land further," He whispered, voice hoarse and dry, like a man who has not drunk anything in many days. Almost unconsciously, his eyes drifted to a window, usually covered, but for some reason that he forgot it currently was not. A land ruined. That is what he saw. For so many miles his eyes saw nothing but a land that he failed. Even the sky was devoid of life.
He must ignore it. Today was the day he left. It would surely live again, without him
A satchel, so bland and boring, hung by his waist. Magic left it bottomless. He forgot where he got it, but then again, he forgot much. Regardless, it clashed with the Exile uniform he wore, the red cloth covering most of his face. Whatever. It mattered not.
He turned once more to the glorified sending gate. It would require a frankly ridiculous amount of magic and focus to work. Thankfully, Riachtanas had plenty of that.
Both of his hands gestured to the gate, open wide, palms facing forward. Like snakes, Riachtanas felt the magic slowly manoeuvre its way from his body to the symbol. It didn't work instantly, he doubted it would, but it hummed as it was fed with magic, a strange electricity filling the air. If another was present to witness, they may scorch the feeling to memory, how it shook the room, and caused the atmosphere around them to shiver. But there wasn't, there was only Riachtanas.
Before his eyes the sending gate slowly opened, akin to the maw of some awful beast, a dragon perhaps. A terrible sound filled the room, and hurt his ears. Where this would lead, Riachtanas had little idea. But he was going to go through it. Just a little more magic.
Just a little more and than he would be gone.
At this point, several things happened at once. Firstly, the gate fully opened wide, a disjointed point in space and time, almost as if to laugh in the face of whatever beings had forged this reality, and their rules of said space-time. Secondly, Riachtanas felt eyes on him. They were judging, he could feel. Whether they judged him well or not, he couldn't tell, and a majority of his being didn't care. Third, and most importantly, he stepped forward, and flinched in fear of what was to happen, whatever tiny, almost insignificant part of him that remained human trembling in fear, before being squashed. Throwing caution to the wind, Riachtanas ran forward, and felt himself be eaten by the maw of his own creation.
[Line Break]
A world of bloody evolution should not be this colourful.
It was almost mocking, really, to die in a meadow of blooming flowers. Just a couple months ago, the woman with the broken body had taken her family to a meadow similar to this. An expansive piece of land dotted with solitary trees, long grass that scratched at the skin, and of flowers with a myriad of coloured petals.
Sadly, this particular meadow was dotted with the corpses of Grimm, their bodies of pitch melting with a soft hissing sound. She almost felt sorry for the flowers, having to be tainted by such ugliness. To her right, the severed head of a Grimm -she forgot what type it was- dissolved and melted, long dead eyes staring at her from beneath a white, boney plate.
Summer only wished she could live long enough to enjoy its death.
Red stained the ground underneath her. A blow to her side that her aura could not save. An ambush, it was. Grimm didn't plan. She knew what, or who, did however. Didn't matter now, though. Try as she might, she could not think of ways to drag herself all the way back home in patch, or even to some hospital or clinic where she might find help. The situation was quite hopeless. Summer didn't like the word hopeless. But in this situation, it was truly fitting.
She looked up, her silver eyes gazing at a clear, blue sky. If she knew her husband -and she surely must, she married the man after all- then he would most likely take their girls to the pools, or the park, or anywhere outside. Good. That was good.
She was tired now. She needed to sleep.
[Line Break]
Instinct drove a man to great heights. As a Huntsman, someone like Qrow had instincts as sharp as a beasts'. It came with the job. Instinct was sometimes the only thing that kept him alive. Machines can fail, and training only prepares you for so much. But instinct was ingrained into people. It was natural, and ancient. Even before Dust, those with the best instincts often reached the loftiest goals.
So when Qrow's instincts screamed at him that something horrible had happened, he skipped doubt and moved straight into action. It was at a very inopportune time, too. His little nieces were just about to invite him to a picnic that his Brother-In-Law had forewarned him of beforehand. He would make apologies later.
There was only one person he knew of who could even possibly be in danger. Well, technically two but the other didn't matter as much.
Summer was known to sometimes be reckless. It was a habit she had ever since their first year of Beacon. He and the rest of the team had long gotten used to it, and accepted it. It was only in recent years that Summer's recklessness had been tempered, and this innocuous mission of clearing a small Grimm pack not 30 miles from Patch mainland reflected that. They took riskier missions in year one, at 17, let alone now at 29, at the peak of physical health and mental fortitude. It was supposed to be so simple.
But nothing could ever stay simple where the silver eyes were concerned.
Qrow flew to the ground at a breakneck speed and ran forward to the fallen body. He didn't need to peer at her distinctive eyes to know it was Summer. Her crisp white cloak alone was telling enough, but the blood was far more concerning.
The red eyed man would freely admit to never liking blood much. He preferred it when blood was where it belonged, inside the human body. Summer's blood, however, was everywhere, a stain on the flowers and soil.
He fell to his knees, and felt a sob escape his lips.
Oh Summer. Oh Ruby, oh Yang, oh Tai, oh dammit!
Dammit . . .
Qrow looked up and noticed a figure. The figure was in relative proximity to Summers' corpse. That was all the confirmation he needed to draw Harbinger.
[Lime Break]
A body laid across the meadow, and Riachtanas observed it with a detached interest. Long used to bodies, his only real surprise was that it was less than 200 yards away from where the teleporting gate had left him.
What was once an attractive young woman laid with a hole in her side that leaked with blood. It had yet to dry, so Riachtanas estimated the time of death as only a few hours ago, at most. After finding so many corpses, he got good at guessing.
Another surprise lent itself to the shape of a crow transforming into a peculiar man of dark hair and red eyes. Some weapon was attached to his lower back, partially covered by a cape of deep red. Peculiar indeed.
Another, far more concerning surprise was when said man drew his weapon. Riachtanas watched it morph, and shape into a great sword of some make, one he was unfamiliar with. But it was coming at him, swung but the peculiar man.
The swing was wide, and wild, with Riachtanas stepping back and out of its range. And then doing so again when the man swung once more. A diagonal slash was also avoided, and the follow up attack too. It must be frustrating for the peculiar man, he thought, as every swing was circumvented, predicted and dodged. He imagined that his attacker was better than this, though that was based mostly on intuition alone. The shock of finding whom he can only imagine as a close compatriot to the red eyed man probably caused him to swing with reckless abandon and little technique.
Riachtanas didn't particularly feel in danger, and wasn't particularly inclined to kill the man, yet.
Qrow didn't particularly care. He attacked the perceived murderer of Summer Rose.
"I'm going to kill you, you bastard!" Qrow screamed, face twisted in fury. Regaining a modicum of rationale, he gave a furious thrust to the hooded man's torso, intending to skewer him through. Just as quick, however, Riachtanas slipped a hand into his satchel, grasping the first stave that came to mind.
The angered Qrow, with a calmer mind, may have made note of the stranger's odd satchel, which apparently had enough room to house an entire staff in its confines. But a calm Qrow he was not. All he noticed was the stranger holding a possible weapon and prepared accordingly, adopting a more defensive stance, Harbinger's blade tipped forward.
Riachtanas on the other hand prepared to go on the defensive, the Carian Glintstone Staff grasped tightly in his right hand. For a moment, they were both still. It was a matter of eye contact, angry red eyes peering at cold, pale eyes of indistinct colour. Riachtanas made the first move, dashing forward with a speed that belied in his slight frame.
He rolled under another wide swing, this one more measured however. His opponent was calming down. Bad.
With a chiming sound, the Carian Staff was encased in the magical shell of the Carian Slicer spell, the magic longsword flashing once, twice, thrice as Riachtanas slashed against the other man's weapon, sparks flying and Qrow being pushed back, to his surprise.
Things were still again. Riachtanas tilted his head to one side, switching the Carian Staff to his left hand instead.
". . . I may very well be ignored, but, I feel compelled to defend my case and tell you; I did not kill that woman," He spoke, the first of either of them to do so. Qrow's eyes narrowed at the stranger, misplaced but righteous anger welling up inside him.
"I don't believe you."
Riachtanas nodded with a roll of his eyes.
"I thought as much," he bemoaned, right hand reaching into his satchel and pulling out the Carian Knights Sword. The action confounded Qrow, who by now, if not calmer, was more steady. Last he checked, Satchels shouldn't really do that.
The two stared each other down once more. The air was tense, filled with static. Qrow stepped to his right, whilst Riachtanas did the same. They both stepped again, and once more. Qrow was far more wary now, the blows to Harbinger had been strong, and practised. Not good.
Once more, Riachtanas dashed forward and attacked first, thrusting forwards with the Knight's Sword three times in quick succession, each attack aimed for a vital spot along Qrow's body. The dark haired man placed Harbinger in front of his body, the flat surface of the blade acting as an impromptu shield and blocking Riachtanas' blows. In retaliation, Qrow rushed forward in a charge, forcing the other combatant back, giving Qrow room to make two large swings, one from the side and aimed at Riachtanas' midriff whilst the other was a slice downward.
The wide swing to his body was easy enough for Riachtanas to roll under, a practised technique, with the follow up attack being sidestepped, and leaving Qrow open to a counter attack.
Riachtanas' Knight Sword was thrusted into Qrow's undefended belly, the tip hitting him right under the ribs. Wincing in pain, he stepped back to gather his breath, only to be followed by his opponent. What happened next was what clinched the deal, and ended the rather short bout.
Riachtanas followed Qrow, not allowing the other man to catch his breath, thrusting the Knight's Sword before following up with a short swing from shoulder to hip. It shook Qrow's arms and forced him to hold Harbinger's blade up as a shield again. That was what Riachtanas had hoped would happen.
He suddenly dashed back, giving himself some room to manoeuvre. Lifting the Carian Staff high, he summoned Glintstone Stars. To Qrow's shock, a trio of small, star-like objects shot forward like bullets. Unprepared, Qrow could bring his sword up to block one of the Stars, the other two slamming into Qrow right after. Now hit, Qrow quickly found himself being bulldozed by Riachtanas.
It had been some time since Qrow had taken such a hard beating. Caught off guard and winded by the Glintstone sorceries, he found that his opponent was now almost constantly in his space, quick thrusts or sharp swings from the strangers longsword finding their way past his guard. Wary of a repeat of the stranger star like objects attacking his person, or worse, he dared not give Riachtanas room to summon them again. If only he could gain just a little space to use Harbingers longer reach, but the stranger seemed unwilling to let that happen.
Riachtanas on the other hand was fully calm, and felt most in control of the two. This was good. The more in control he was of the situation, the less likely he was to accidentally kill the grieving man.
It was a painful, sharp, and quick swing from Riachtanas' sword to Qrow's throat that ended the bout. Qrow's aura protected him from getting his throat slit, but that did little to stop the feeling of his throat having been crushed. Gasping for breath, Qrow felt a kick to his stomach that knocked him on his ass, Harbinger following suit and being kicked from his grasp. Choking, grasping at his throat and in pain, Qrow felt shame well up deep inside him.
And he waited to die.
Riachtanas gazed down on the defeated man in front of him. His eyes looked over the man's form and came to a most fascinating conclusion. The man wore no armour. He had noticed it after the red eyed man had been uninjured the first time he had struck him with the Knights Sword. He wondered how that was.
"You, what is thy name, warrior?" He asked, voice still scratchy after disuse. Still, Qrow had heard him, and narrowed his eyes up at the stranger, staying silent. Unabashed, Riachtanas continued;
"I am Riachtanas, of Limgrave. I have spoke mine own name, does thou have the courtesy to speak his?"
Still silent, Qrow furrowed his brows at the man's odd manner of speech. Spoke just like those knights in kings in all those mediaeval TV series that circulated the network. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Qrow spoke back.
"The name's Qrow," he simply said. Riachtanas rolled the name around in his mind, and committed it to memory. He kept the Knight's Sword in hand, but decided to point the tip away from Qrow, and instead to beside the fallen man's head.
"Qrow. I see. Thou has come across a scene of some murder, but I can attest that it was not of my doing. I am a mere wanderer, and have come to this meadow by virtue of accident, not malevolence," he continued. Qrow querked an eyebrow at the continued speech, but let it go for now. He instead gazed over to where Harbinger had fallen. Less than 10 metres. He could make that, if he was quick.
Riachtanas seemed to follow Qrow's gaze, his own eyes hardening.
"Careful, Qrow, thou hath been bested, nothing more would come of this bout except your own misbegotten death. If thee will stay composed, than ye may rise." Riachtanas eyes seemed to convey a message.
'Don't test me.'
Sighing, annoyed at himself as much as the situation itself, Qrow slowly stood, his hands raised to his head in surrender. Both men stared at each other a moment, waiting for one foul movement. This time, Qrow spoke first.
"That woman behind you is-," he took a breath, "-was, my friend. And mother to my nieces. If you didn't kill her like you said, then who did?"
"Hm, yes, a perplexing question. One I am unable to answer to thy satisfaction. I am unknowing to this woman's fate, only that I hath not been tied to it. I give apologies for your loss, but I will not answer for crimes not my own," Riachtanas answered, gaze hardening and daring Qrow to refute him. Nonplussed, Qrow scowled at the other man, temporarily forgetting their situation.
"And just how in the hell am I supposed to do that?! I show up to see my friend dead, a hole in her body with you standing nearby! What else am I supposed to imagine, huh?!" He shouted, arms flinging outwards in anger, Qrow's voice rising high enough in volume to frighten off a flock of birds resting in the branches of a nearby tree. The meadow was silent for a moment.
"Thou anger is justified, Qrow, but misplaced. I know little I say will sway thy mind on the matter, so I instead offer a truce. I will let thou live, and thou will not hound me after the fact. Leave me be, Qrow. And I shall leave thee alone as well." It was a fair offer, in Riachtanas' mind. He knew he did not end the woman's life, but he also knew that what information Qrow had would be limited, if all he saw was the aftermath. If he took the offer, the both of them would be better for it.
Qrow stewed in his anger for a moment. He considered, however briefly, to shift into his avian form and fly for his weapon. But he threw the idea out as soon as he had it. This guy, Riachtanas or whatever, was dangerous. Speech pattern aside, he was fast, composed, and deadly. That weird attack with the star like objects was also really painful. Damn him for it, but Qrow saw little ability in changing the outcome of this situation. He instead nodded, and hung his head in abject shame, eyes closed in frustration.
It was soon after that he heard a sharp whistle, followed by the sound of hooves galloping away. Raising his head, Qrow was startled to find Riachtanas gone.
For moment he just stood there, breathing heavily.
This was the shittiest, unluckiest, most painful situation he had ever been in.
Reaching into his pocket, Qrow dialled for Ozpin.
"Good evening Qrow, I trust you are well?"
"No, not really Ozpin."
"What happened?"
At least Ozpin wasn't wasting time, and decided to get to the crux of the moment. Probably for the best, Qrow thought.
"I had this bad feeling, yah know, the same one I got just before my sister left? Well, I went to check in on Summer just to be sure, and . . . I, well. . ."
"Is Summer well?"
"No . . . she's-, she died, Ozpin."
"I see, that is . . . that is awful."
Qrow remained silent. Because it was. It was really awful.
"Listen, do you mind if I make the report face to face? I don't feel good just talking about it over Scroll call, and I-, I just don't think I could put this off without losing my mind. Can we just, get it over with?"
"Of course Qrow. I'll send a Bullhead immediately."
Qrow appreciated the urgency. With a few more words quickly said, he ended the call, and went to pick up Harbinger. For a moment he stared it, frowning as he thought about how handedly he got his ass beat. Even Raven would hit at least a few roadblocks facing Qrow, but this was a beating of monumental proportions. It stung, actually. It stung a lot.
Taking a shuddering breath, Qrow reached the spot where Summer was laid. He blinked a couple tears away, and thought on what to do with her. He couldn't leave her here, that was for damn sure.
Gently, he took Summers cloak and laid it across her body, at least covering her face. It felt better than just gazing at her now cold features.
How was he supposed to tell Tai, and the kids?
[Line Break]
Glynda could admit to being slightly unprepared for being Deputy Headmistress. In truth she doubted anyone could be fully prepared for the responsibilities that came with such a position. It was one she strived for, yes, but it was also one she was afraid of. So many eyes rested on her, expecting her to perform to the highest standard. She thanked her lucky stars that Headmaster Ozpin was such a benign man.
He had helped her acclimate herself to the job, the first year being the hardest. But he led her with a steady hand and knew best when and where to intervene. It cemented his image of a guiding leader, with an approachable smile on his face at all times.
That smile was missing, currently.
Headmaster Ozpin's face was set in stone, hard and unyielding. The Bullhead trundled on, shaking with minimal turbulence.
Despite what one may think, deaths in the Huntsman community via direct combat with Grimm were rare. Most often it was a case of infection, starvation, or some environmental factor. Huntsman had to spend long weeks or months out in the wild at times, so unfortunately it was unavoidable that some would succumb to mother nature's wrath. Many times, when a Huntsman is recalled from active duty it's for a couple reasons.
One, is that the Huntsman in question suffered a debilitating injury.
Or two, they instead retired of their own volition, as she did, becoming teachers for the future generations, sometimes even as guards for villages out in the wilds.
So when a Huntsman died to a Grimm in direct combat, those in the know often shuddered as one, a sort of collective agreement that this was, and was to remain a complete and utter outlier in the average flow of time.
So when a Huntsman like Summer Rose died on what was supposed to be an easy mission, some would raise a few eyebrows.
This was one of those times, and Ozpin looked the make of a man taking part in something he'd truly rather not do.
"ETA 5 minutes to designated LZ, Headmaster, prepare for some turbulence ahead."
Glynda let out a small breath that she didn't know she was holding in. The school year was yet to start, and that would most likely be for the best. Gave her and the other faculty more time to process without compromising their students' education.
With its own shudder, the Bullhead landed with a hard 'thud' on the meadow grounds. A trio of Beacon Academy security hopped out and began securing the perimeter, whilst their commanding office followed just behind and directed them. A pair of medics disembarked after being given the all clear, a gurney mechanically lowered to the ground to collect Summers body.
Qrow stumbled over to meet them, worse for wear and looking it.
First came Ozpin, who gently laid a hand on the haggard man's shoulder and whispered something she couldn't hear. From the deep breath Qrow had to take, she imagined it to be something along the lines of condolences. Glynda supervised the medics as they gently lifted Summer's body onto the gurney, at least moderately pleased that they did so with proper respect.
As they led the gurney over to the Bullhead, Glynda finally came within earshot of the conversation.
"-can't give you too good of a description. Wore some sort of cloak with a hand and his face covered. Red coloured, a little like mine, except it fell over the shoulders and chest more."
"Just give whatever details you can, however seemingly insignificant," Ozpin assured.
"Yeah, right. Ah, uhm- anyway. Had kind of greyish eyes. Body had some sort of light armour over it, so I couldn't make any details there. Voice was real raspy too, come to think of it."
The Headmaster rose an eyebrow in curiosity at that.
"Raspy, Qrow? Can you please explain more?"
"I mean, exactly as I said, really raspy. Like he hadn't had a drink in days, made it hard to pick up on any sort of accent. Did speak real weird though," Qrow added, adopting a vague approximation of whoever he was talking about, "Be careful, Qrow, thee have already been beaten. Thou should consider thy next move. Ahem- like that, something along those lines."
Humming in thought, Ozpin tapped his cane against the ground with a thoughtful expression, his brows furrowed in thought. He then turned once more to Qrow, and spoke in a hushed whisper.
"Did he make any mention, any at all, to her, Qrow?" Qrow seemed to at least have the horse sense to reply in an equally hushed tone of voice.
"Nah, not even a peep about someone who could be her. No 'goddesses', 'mistresses' or 'queens.' Do yah think maybe . . .?" Qrow's sentence tapered off, his eyes flickering to his surroundings. Mimicking him, Glynda was pleased to see that the Security team and Medics alike were all conducting their own business.
"I won't discount anything just yet. But the coincidence is of course there. Summer, a Silver Eyed warrior KIA, a stranger of some sorts within the immediate vicinity, and on an almost novice level mission? It seems . . . coincidental," Ozpin whispered, his eyes sharp behind those black wire frame glasses of his. Glynda decided to chime in with her own question.
"Was there anything particular about his movements, maybe a limp or any other peculiarity?" She questioned. Qrow shook his head, before reconsidering.
"Not exactly. Thing is, we scrapped a bit. I got my ass handed to me, much as I hate to say it. It wasn't something peculiar in his fighting precisely, though that alone was pretty high class. Fast, quick, and hits like a truck. But what I mean is that it didn't follow any Kingdom's swordsmanship that I know of. And he had this really confusing semblance too," He muttered, scratching at his jawline with a confused expression on his face. Ozpin and Glynda both querked an eyebrow. Without needing to be asked, he went on to explain.
"He had this satchel on him, real bland looking thing. He reached inside and pulled out the longsword he used, and this weird staff, I guess? Weird part is that it somehow summoned some sort of sword around it to attack me with, as well. Plus these sort of small stars that rocketed at me. Shit hurt like hell, aura or no aura."
Racking her brain for any ideas, Glynda pursed her lips in thought. Maybe some sort of inventory semblance for the satchel? She was less sure about these summoned swords and stars but perhaps it was a form of hard light technology?
"Headmaster Sir, perhaps you could ask that new General about any new technologies that may fit the description? I feel if any Kingdom could make similar armaments, Atlas would be the best guess," she inquired. Nodding, Ozpin gave a small, almost unnoticeable smile, the first of the day.
"That may be a good idea. We can concoct a story of a rogue Huntsman for the moment, but only tell General Ironwood of that. For the moment, to avoid panic and inquiry, we'll list Summer's passing as 'Combat Related.' Would that be acceptable Qrow?"
Biting his bottom lip, Qrow gave a tentative nod.
"I think so. Do you mind, when I tell the family, that I let them know, though? I mean if anyone should know the truth, well . . ." He trailed off, but Ozpin was already nodding, giving Qrow the go ahead.
"Of course, that will be no trouble at all. You're right, they should know the full story. For now, let us reconvene at Beacon. Qrow, we will provide transport for you to reach Patch, if you need it," Ozpin assured, gesturing for everyone to return to the Bullhead.
In the coming days, news of Summer's death would come and go, earning a spot in the papers for a while before eventually being replaced by some other story, as was so often the case. Those outside the Huntsman community would bemoan the fate of the young woman, but they would move on, of course. There was nothing that could be done, not in their position after all.
Those inside the Huntsman community, of course, took it a little harder. They would give a toast, even those who didn't know Summer, and take a moment to reflect. A comrade in arms had died, after all. It was hard not to feel something, really.
But those hit hardest would of course be the woman's family. Her two daughters especially. They would not sleep or eat well for days, and not become cheery for a few weeks afterwards.