Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer, Vermintide, or the RWBY series owned by Games Workshop, Fatshark, and Rooster teeth, respectively.
Olesya could not sleep; it had been putting out one fire after the other these past few months. The Skittergate was destroyed, and the Weave was now repaired after sending the five into those misbegotten realms formed from the winds broken free of their worldly tether, or as whole as it ever will be.
Ribsplitter, Burblespuke, Ratsnik, and many other lords now lay dead. Still, for every Ratman, Rotblood, and Beastman scheme she found, every Skaven or Rotblood Lord killed, numerous others always seemed to be coming out of the woodwork. She set Saltzprye and the others of the Ubersrike Five after them like attack dogs, and they have yet to fail. She was used to such things as her duty to the world, but there was only so much they could do, so many schemes she and Lohner could bring to light. She had to face the facts. The world was ending. She could feel it through the grey wind just as she could tell Sienna did as well through the bright.
It didn't have to be the end for them, though. The Bridge of Shadows was more than it appeared, more than even the elves knew, for they only had appropriated something beyond their understanding, what was still beyond her. There were connections elsewhere, beyond this world; she could feel it. She'd need to get Lohner on board first, then get the Five drunk enough to listen.
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Later
"So your telling me there is nothing we can do to stop the BLOODY WORLD FROM ENDING? There's got to be something we can do! We're the Fucking Ubersrike Five, for peat's sake. We've chopped up Northlanders and Skaven from here to Norsica for crying out loud, killing multiple Chaos lords between us five." Markus Kruber said in outrage, looking between Lohner, Sienna, and Olysya before him.
"The world is dying, Kruber. There is nothing we can bloody do, but we can still save people. Start a new life, free from Chaos, and Skaven. We can bring the good things, like cheese, brandy, and a dwarven laggard. Barden's practically jumped at the chance, and Olysia's sent him home to fetch what kin would listen. We won't get a lot, but enough to get some good ale," Said Sienna in an attempt at humor.
"There are more things good in life than food, Sienna. Also, it's not that simple, Sienna, and you know it. Packing up your life to get out of the way of war is one thing, but a whole different world?" Kruber spoke, leaving the room in silence.
"Markus, these people will need soldiers to protect them from a new world of horrors, the old world is doomed, but we can save what little we can and start anew. Think not of yourself in this; the cowardly thing would be to go out and get yourself killed for your own sake. Karl Franz is dead, Aldorf burns, and everyone important is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. This isn't about the Empire or us. It's about having our race to see another day, make that races with Bardin bringing most of Karak Norn along, as well as any of his people that listened," Spoke Lohner.
After several long awkward, and tense minutes of silence, Kruber sighed "alright," there was another pause "never liked this bloody world anyway, now for the real question. Who's going to tell Saltzspyre" Sienna went as white-faced as one could for a bright wizard, their face likening to blood-stained chalk. "Well, it can't bloody well be me; sometimes he's still wanting to put me on trial even after all we've been through," said Sienna as the other three looked at Kruber.
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"UNACCEPTABLE!" candles, glass vials, tankards, and the table went flying across the room as the Warrior Priest of Sigmar positively exploded in incandescent rage. "I can understand the dwarf with his people, the cowardly witch, and the elf, but you, Kruber?! We should be over there fighting in the final battle, not fleeing! What are you thinking!" the former witch hunter asked with all the zeal of those of his former and now current order combined.
"Now I know it sounds bad, sir," the Footknight attempted to get a word in. "BAD? You swore an oath to the Empire and its people, and" the Knight cut off the Warrior Priest as he interjected,
"And I'm FULFILLING that duty by evacuating them somewhere safe. Think about it like clearing everyone out before a siege. Sigmar's going to be there at the final battle, right? We don't want his mind on all these civilians. Better get them out of the way so he can focus on the battle, and we can come back after his inevitable victory, right? It's your duty to Sigmar to shepherd his people, after all. Every civi taken out of harm's way is one less sacrifice, one less pox walker, spawn, or any number of things a loyal citizen of the Empire can be corrupted into against their will. We'd do better getting them out of here than being there." Ended Kruber.
"Your words sound Kruber, but what of your motivations? I go to seek guidance from Sigmar. You may continue your work until I receive an answer from Prayer."
It was not long before Victor Saltzpyre received a firm and direct answer from his god. Sigmar willed it, and so he obeyed. Saltzpyre took to the task of vetting the refugees along with the Lohner's men, while the other four of the Ubersriek five took to surveying the worlds connected to the Bridge of Shadows.
Some of these new worlds were of volcanic rock; others complete voids with only the Bridge of Shadows and its protective bubble in place, and some were absolutely teaming with life but had air chocked with pollen, and fungal spores. None of these worlds so far were fit for Dwarven and Elven habitation, let alone human.
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Three days later
The Bridge gate, its purple, protective sheen, gleamed in the night. Kirillian, as usual, was the first to carefully step out of the portal and took a short, then a long breath. "You can come out, Mayflies. The air is clean." Carefully the others stepped out, Bardin with his steam crank gun at the ready, looking about before he went down on one knee to inspect the stone.
"Stone seems normal enough though there is a mineral I don't recognize within it. It's got the power of a sort, but I don't feel any foulness from it." Bardin finished, then Kirillian spoke,
"Not a whiff of the taint of chaos about the place, though this weave be strange. Untainted, less wildly. What say, you wizard." asked Kirrillian.
"The bright wind feels more. . . refined, untainted but distant, Aqshy is. It is hard to explain; just let me show you." Sienna explained as she formed a fireball in her hand, then threw it and stopped it before it hit the ground; then she cast another, then another, another, ten fireballs now lay floating in the air, each cast within the succession.
The others swiftly back away from Sienna as she continues casting, stopping at fifteen, where she looks like she is now starting to look tired. Not straining for control or of the inhuman sensibilities that corrode the psyche of human wizards but winded from overuse. The others look astonished at the wizard, some fear at the back of all their minds falling away. Most of them liked the rambunctious bright wizard, but all feared that her falling to her firelust was inevitable at some point. Some of that fear was gone as she demonstrated a control that was impossible in the old world for a human wizard of her age.
"Well, I think we have a winner here; let's look at the place and see if it's habitable as it first appears. We don't want a repeat of the Mangrove Snatcher plain, do we?" Kruber laughed while the other three groaned. "I thought we'd agreed not to talk about that place, Umgi," Barden said as he hobbled up the steep cave exit with the other three. "Only Cousin Okri could survive in that pit of a place. I've seen Skaven slave pits more habitable."
An hour passes as the Four comrades search the land around the cave. The land is somewhat close to a sea and has been found on three sides of the forested hills, with green underbrush of grass, vines, herbs, and other foliage. It is not long before something more sinister is discovered.
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Kirrillian stares out at the pack of black-bodied, skull-masked creatures. To call them wolves would be a travesty and utterly wrong. They felt like holes in the world, almost like daemons, but . . . different like holes in the weave itself. Kirrillian was about to pull back to warn the others when.
Crack Crack Crack Crack
The sounds of gunfire can be heard in the distance. Likely Krubber's repeater rifle could be heard. The pack of wolf daemons turn their collective heads in sync, sprinting off toward the noise and Kirrillian curses. "Damn, Lumberfoots." Kirrillian knocks her bow and fires as they turn tail; as the first arrow hits, the "wolf" breaks up into dust, the other of its kin suddenly stopping to look as three others suddenly turn to dust as well. The Bayowolves turn and suddenly break off from each other. Kirrillian chuckles as she picks them off one by one with her bow before turning and taking out her pair of knives. The daemon thought it could sneak up on her fat chance of that. Stabbing the elvish steel into what would be its neck and yanking it to the side, the wolf daemon falls dead. "almost too easy," Kirrillian says as she runs off to the sound of the gunfire. As she gets closer, something smells off. The normal bletcherous smoke of the black powder weapons was not present but instead replaced by something that smelled vaguely smells of the aftermath of one of Sienna's fireballs hitting sturdy metal. The elf stoped her advance and stalked into the clearing going down into the base of the trees and out of the canopy, where she saw a mayfly in what appeared to be possible clothes for human make.
Fighting with what appears to be a scythe against a number of those voids in the weave in the shape of boars. She watches in amusement and confusion at what appears to be a farmer fighting for his life against these void daemons, which is what she decided to call the creatures until a consensus on what to call them was reached.
She resigns herself to "helping" the poor worker of the fields to capture him for questioning, she'd rather not deal with the peasant, to be sure, but she supposes these are the sacrifices she must make for the sake of her people. Sending three blue arrows from her bow with a word of power into the daemons facing the farmer, she sprinted to the man. Three wisps of magic race through seven of the boar daemons, each with their accompanying black-masked wolfs and even an ape-like creature, as Kirillian yells in an Etherial tone, "Safernus." All the daemons now lay dead, dispersing into black smoke. The "farmer" looks about confused before facing Kirrillian, guard up A tense silence reigns for but a moment before the man speaks.
"What's cooking good looking? I like the strong, silent vibe you have going on. Goes well with the pitch black eyes, names Qrow, Qrow Badwen. What's yours and do you care to explain what that blue white was just now? That your Semblance? Magic?" The farmer said the last in a joking manner as if in jest.
Kirillian was baffled, to say the least not only was this man speaking Riekshpeal in what was supposed to be another world, also his manner of speech was a travesty even against the crude language of the humans. On top of this Mayfly no, this gutter trash had the audacity to flirt with her. She would hand this reprobate to Saltzpyre, for his way was much cruder, crueler, and drawn out than outright killing him. A punishment to match his crime, for she did not wish to sully her hands with the farmer any more than she had to. All these things were going through his head when Kruber, Bardin, and Sienna popped out of the woods.
Damn, mayflies, she was so focused on repaying the child's crass comments that she wasn't paying attention to footsteps. "What's this now? An Umagi here? I thought this was supposed to be a whole different world. What gives? You wouldn't happen to be one of Lohner's men now, would you? No, Kruber wouldn't let one of his trainees be caught dead with a weapon like that," Bardin chipped in as they caught up to Kirrillian.
"You got a problem with my scythe, shorty?" asked the farmer
"SHORTY! BY MY FATHER"S BEARD, I'LL." Bardin screamed before getting cut off
"Not now, Gorrekson. We have a prisoner to interrogate." Kirrillian said as she suddenly set upon the "farmer" with her two knives. She was fast, and the "farmer" could barely keep up. Surprisingly enough, the fight was going okay for him, with him having some barrier about him, keeping him from harm and giving him strength and speed surpassing that of a baseline lumberfoot, "Stop playing with him, Wetelgi. Finish the Wozzack up," said Bardin before two cracks rang out and something shattered over the man as Krubber fired off his repeating rifle, one barrel cycling over to the next the bullets came in too fast for the man to dodge; the "farmer" doubled over. Surprisingly unharmed.
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"You will only speak when spoken to as it is I who will ask the questions HERETIC." A solid punch hit Qrow cracking his aura just a bit. Qrow Badwen was having a bad day. Having been kidnapped by what appears to be medieval fantasy cosplayers, he was questioning his sanity.
The man asked about things involving some Empire, Daemons, and other things that made no sense to him. The portal of purple light, the primitive rifle of that man who fired bullets with such a high velocity it was just outright impossible to dodge. Thinking back on that, he might have been able to dodge if he was aware despite the bullet's increased speed, but even then, it would be a close thing, especially at that range. What was that 30 meters? "You will speak or die, heretic!" The extremely large man in plate armor caught his thoughts short by another punch to his now sore and bruised gut. This now being the twelfth or so punch, Qrow's aura was now broken, shattering like glass. This guy, whoever he was, was strong even without an aura.
The man in plate armor looks quizzically at the shattering aura for a moment. "What matter of sorcery is this? The elf did not tell me you were a witch 'farmer." The man in plate opens the door to the cell where Qrow gags at the site. There he saw a dead thing. (a Faunus?) It looked like a bipedal rat, complete with face, tail, and even fur, strapped to a stone slab. The man in plate unrestrained the rat-faunas thing tossing its limp, bloated corpse to the side as he moved Qrow towards it. There at the side of the slab was a box containing strange implements more at home in a high school biology lab. Then it suddenly hit him, the dank smell of blood, the gothic architecture. This man wasn't just some insane cosplayer. He was a serial killer and would die the same way that rat faunas did if he didn't do something fast. Qrow was about to shift into a bird when a tunk, clink, tunk, clink noise was heard, footsteps. Another one of this madman's friends? How many even were there?
"I think that is enough, Saltzpyre," An old, raspy but firm voice sings out like music to his ears. An old woman on a peg leg of all things, complete with an eye patch and cane, comes walking down the stairs into the dungeon.
"The elf put this man into my care, woman. Don't you have another expedition to be planning?" said Saltzpyre. "I supposed, but that can wait as I feel my methods would allow us to be more. . . Punctual," Finished Olesya. "You have a flock to attend to, and I feel your time would be better suited there. It has been a while since you have applied your more." Olesya paused, looking at the dead rat-man "Gracious talents."
The man in plate, now identified as Saltzpyre, took a bit more convincing from the one-legged woman, but he eventually left. "Now, young man, my name is Olesya Pimovea. What is yours?" said the hunched woman.
"My name is Qrow, Qrow Branwen. I work as a professor at Signal academy. Now, if you could tell me what this all about, what are a bunch of cosplayers doing in the woods, fighting grim, kidnapping, then torturing people for!" Crow said, framing it more like an accusation than a question.
Olesya cocked her head to the side in consternation "what is a cosplayer, no never mind that on to the topic. What is this device." Olesya plops something vaguely brick-shaped onto the hay of the cell. In the light of the candles, he barely makes it out.
"That's my scroll. Be careful with that."
"A scroll? It does not appear to be paper, and whatever cipher you have placed on it has averted my eyes from its contents. Tell me, what does this 'scroll' do?" She questioned. Qrow had a long, long night cut out for him, and not the good kind.