A/N: Hello, once more! I'm back with a bit more in this story before I start on the next chapter of either The Castellan or The Golden Knight (Actually, it'll be at least one for both) and I just thought, as part of my birthday month, that I'd give you guys a bit more than just one chapter. Should hopefully have the third out by tonight, with two more coming by next weekend.

Anyway, enough chatting. Enjoy!

RWBY is still owned by Roosterteeth and the late Monty Oum

The Catalyst

Chapter 4

Oscar felt himself frown as he looked over the island of Patch while he stood against the barrier of the ferry he was on, his uncle's cane in hand. He didn't like the feeling that he got from the oldest territory in Vale.

It was dark, dreary. Well, what wasn't glowing faintly with greenish light, that is.

A light that he chose to ignore.

He had been seeing that light everywhere after the incident at the mansion.

The dark woods that he could see from the ferry were largely shrouded in rain and thick fog even though it was already late afternoon, and would continue to remain that way. The same was true of the small coastal town on the island. He couldn't see much from where he was standing thanks to all the rain, but it certainly didn't look like what the advertisements suggested.

Idyllic? Scenic? He cetainly didn't think so.

Perhaps things had changed in recent years?

He grimaced as he rolled his shoulder, feeling it pop as he did so. It had only been a couple of days since he had been injured and he was still feeling the effects of that.

Speaking of which, they had informed the local police of Tyrian's attempted murder of Ms. Goodwitch as well as his attack on Oscar's person. Though, they had declined to inform them of the more… odd events that happened during the man's attack.

He wasn't stupid.

All that had occurred, and that he had witnessed, during the fight, was obviously something borne from whatever had given him the concussion he was currently suffering from in the first place.

That, was probably going to be a problem for him in the immediate future, but it really shouldn't matter for what he was doing here. All he was doing was investigating what his late uncle had been researching on the island before his fatal immolation.

An immolation that hadn't reached anywhere else in the room. An absurdity that he refused to believe could be made by anything other than science.

"Besides," he whispered harshly over the pain. "There's no such thing as magic."

/ /

Once on the island he found himself instantly accosted by a man with grey and black hair. He smelled heavily of booze. And, he was awash in the green glow that reflected in the island's mists.

"Oi! You there! Didn't ya see the sign?" The drunkard spat his way, slurring his words harshly as he continued ignoring the various other people getting off the ferry for the young man before him.

Oscar looked to the man's left where he pointed a shaky finger up at a worn, beaten up sign. It read "Gatewatch veteran" in choppy scripture.

He blinked at that, surprised to see such a thing here. He paused there for a moment before turning to the man with a cock his head and asked, "You're a veteran of the war?"

Gatewatch had been the unofficial name for the last brush up between the sovereignty of Mistral and the democratic states of Vale. It had ended in the former nation winning, though at great cost. One so Pyrrhic in nature that the once great nation had then shattered into various smaller sovereignties from the subsequent rebellions from within its borders.

Mistral itself remained, though in a much smaller state these days.

One so small and defensive that it was unable to attend to its newest territory. For which, the Valean states had quickly recovered from its abandoned forces there.

Everyone were waiting with bated breath for the next conflict to arise between the two former allies. That, or for the nation at the top of the world, Atlas, to come down themselves.

The smaller, but highly advance nation had lost its major trade partner in the implosion of Mistral, and everyone knew that they blamed it on Vale, not their overly imperious neighbor.

"Yeh!" The drunk replied before taking a swig from the rather expensive silver flask he pulled out. "Not that it matters al' tha' much these days. Not when you're a Mistrali in Vale. Not when you betray your tribe and nation for the side who lost the war."

He took another swig before staring off into the middle distance as he muttered bitterly, "Not when it means you and your sister end up fightin' on opposite side during the 'ole thing. Fuck."

"And… where is your sister now? Your tribe?" Oscar asked after a moment's hesitation, not liking where this was going.

"Gone. Vanished. All dead." The drunk veteran answered with another swig as he sat there, his tall, gangly frame like that of some old crow.

"The tribe, that is," he clarified then. "Don' know 'bout my sister. She vanished sometime after I heard about what happened to our tribe."

He then smirked as he leaned toward Oscar in a conspiratorial nature as he slurred, his constitution clearly having lost the battle with the booze, " 'Eard som'thin' 'appened to the commander in charge of their deta'ch'ment. 'Eard he was found wit' a sword shoved thr'ugh 'is back."

He leered at him then and winked as he said, "A blud red sword, at that."

Oscar frowned at that, not getting the meaning of it. He had been too busy with a case at the time of the border war and had only later heard of the results afterwards.

The case had ended bitterly, by the way.

It was why he had quit from the VPD. Too many years of grief.

"I see," he said instead with narrowed eyes.

The drunkard nodded at that before leaning back in his chair and thumbing at the sign as he explained, proudly, " 'Ere for handouts fer the local ve'erans. If the gov'rnment is too busy ta 'elp out, we'll do it ourselfs."

Oscar nodded at that as he said, "Admirable." before pulling out his wallet as he then asked, "How much do you need?"

The man waved a hand in front of his face like he was waving away a bunch of flies as he said, "Ah, nothin' you can't af'ord to lose. Jus' a mere fiver or so. Not too much fer ye, eh?"

Oscar smirked at that as he said to himself while he pulled out five hundred lien, knowing he had been had, "Yeah. Nothing indeed. Here ya go."

He handed the man the money who took it with a smirk before putting it in the hat he had next to him. It was full of other notes and Lien cards. The man then looked at him crookedly before saying, "I recognize tha' cane. Seen it a'fore."

He then frowned as he glared up at Oscar as he said, "It t'was wit' a nice older fell'or. He do'ated real nice." He stood up then with surprising skill for one supposedly so drunk that he was swaying as he sat there, towering over the younger man and stepping in towards him as he snarled, "Wot ya doin' wit' tha'? Wot ya do to 'im? If'n I's finds out yous did somethin' ta 'im, I'mma gonna-"

"You saw my uncle?" Oscar interrupted, more curious than intimidated. "When? Where? What was he doing? Was there anyone with him? Were they doing anything suspicious at the time?"

The drunkard reeled back at that reveal, and the subsequent, rapid-fire string of questions flung his way. He blinked at that for a second as he was discombobulated by the volley of questioning before rubbing at his head in embarrassment as he asked, "Ol' Oz 'ad a nephew? Ah never knew."

"Yes, that's me," Oscar replied tightly, suddenly impatient. He huffed a breath out in a sigh as he realized that to compose himself before he then held out a hand to shake by way of greeting as he stated. "Oscar Pine."

"Oh, uh, Qrow. Branwen." The man said slowly in answer on shaking his hand. Then he tilted his head to the side as he smirked and asked, "So, wot? Like, es he havin' you do 'is research fer him now or somethin'? Too ol' ta continue?"

"Uh, no." Oscar answered with a small, sad frown. Qrow was quick to pick up on the sudden change and frowned himself as well. Before he could ask, Oscar clarified with, "He's dead. Died only a little while ago. I'm trying to find out the reason why."

"Dead?" Qrow muttered while scratching at his head in disbelief before promptly dropping back down in his chair and shaking his head in bitter disbelief. "Bad luck. Like everythin' else tha' 'appens in mah life. Fuck!"

He then took another swig from his flask, a deep one, as he said, "Don' know much tha' I's can helps ya with, Oscar. He showed up, uh, uh, a while ago. Do'ated without prompting from me, or the others, and was overall a rather friendly chap." He smiled sadly as he said, "We all liked 'im right away. Real stan' up feller. Yah know?"

"Aye. I know." Oscar answered heavily with a sad smile of his own. "That sounds like my uncle alright."

He then handed another hundred lien to the man as he said, "If you can think of anything else that you recall from when he was here - Or, see anyone strange - Pass it along, eh?"

Qrow stared at the money for a moment before shoving it back to Oscar as he said while pulling out a phone, "I'll do ya one be'er. If'n I's sees anythin' strange, or one of the boys recalls somethin' else. I'll gives yous a ring, and thens yous can gives us the bread, ya ken?"

Oscar nodded before saying, "Alright. It's a deal, Qrow."

"Oi, you there!" A voice suddenly rang out.

Oscar and Qrow looked up to find a brutish-looking man in the livery of the local PD stalking up to them. The brown haired and eyed man stopped just before Oscar, glaring down at him as he stood there towering above him in silence for a moment before turning to do the same at Qrow, who stared back stoically. "I's sees that your messing with the tourists agin, eh? Well, I's warned ya before on what I's do to ye if'n I's caught you at it agin!"

Saying that he then raised an arm to strike at the man with a cudgel of some kind. Qrow remained sitting there in silence, though Oscar noted the tensing of his shoulders.

"Wait!" He interjected as he caught the cudgel on the way down with the shaft his new cane. "He's not disturbing me. We're, merely having a conversation here. That's all."

The brute glared at him for a moment in silence before he then yanked his cudgel out away from where it had been trapped by the cane as he sneered, "Very well then."

He then prodded him in the chest painfully with a thick, meaty finger as he said, "But, I's advise ye of gettin' what'ver business ye hav' 'ere done in a quickist man'er, got it?"

"Aye, sir." Oscar returned stiffly. "I'll do that."

The officer jerked a nod at him in acknowledgement before turning to stalk away as he gave one more lingering glare at Qrow and whispered, "Fuckin' Mistrali scum!"

The two watched him go in silence before Qrow eventually said dryly as he turned to Oscar with a crooked grin, "Well, tha' wasn't pleasant, now was it?"

Oscar shook his head as he answered with, "Well, he didn't seem to like you all that much."

The drunkard shrugged at that before taking another extra long swig from his flask and said, "Tha's Officer Winchester fer ya. He 'ates ev'rybody! Mistrali, Val'an, Islander. Ev'rybody."

"Hm, well, I still have things to do here, so I'll take his advice, for now." Oscar returned.

Qrow nodded at him silently before saying, "Well, I's didn't quite agree ta it, but I's keeps an eyes out fer ya, eh?"

"I'll thank you for that," Oscar returned with a smile and a nod before shaking his hand and took off for the town itself.

Qrow watched him go in silence for a moment before returning to his heckling of the tourists.

/ /

After the brief confrontation with the local constabulary, Oscar decided to quickly make his way towards his objective, the abandoned Valean Asylum for the Mentally Ill, after asking for directions from the locals, for fear of Officer Winchester, or someone like him, interfering with his investigation.

As he made his way there he refreshed himself on what he had found out on the institute.

Officially abandoned due to severe negligence and abuse by the faculty on the part of the residents, the truth, however, was far more… supernatural. At least, that was what his uncle's research had suggested, anyway.

He found that to be ridiculous, of course. Ghosts, like magic and all the other supernatural things that went bump in the night, didn't exist.

Not to a logical mind such his own after all.

After all, there was obviously something, some logical way, in which he could use to explain what had befell between Ms Goodwitch and Mr Callows during their fight.

He rubbed at his chin in thought, ignoring the ache at his temples as he did so while he pondered over the situation. What had his uncle's research said about the actual cause of the institute's closing?

Ah, yes, something about an apparition of some kind killing the residents and staff during the last Blood moon. It had stood empty ever since.

He snorted at that and what it meant for him as he came to the road that led up to the asylum, making his way up it towards the structure in the distance.

Great. An abandoned mental institute he thought. One that was apparently haunted, too.

Just where he wanted go today.

At least, that's what he thought as he looked over the crumbling facade of the asylum itself. It was old. Very old. As in, decades at least.

He watched from where he stood outside the asylum's rusted, iron wrought gates as part of a dusty brown brick broke off from somewhere near the roof to imbed itself in the soft loamy soil, still wet from the rain last night. He shook his head at that and opened the gate to wander around outside in the garden before starting off inside. Albeit, with a cautious glance towards the roof as he did so.

No need for another concussion, right?

A/N: Hoped you enjoyed it. bit of a backstory for this chapter, was thinking about not telling you who the old drunk was originally. Also, Gatewatch is this reality's version of the Faunus Revolution since no one believes in the race of beastfolk (And, no, I'm probably not going to make them descendants of The Black Goat with a Thousand Young, But I also haven't decided yet.)

Alright, bye for now. Essiter out!