Wayfarer of Remnant
Chapter 1
The heartless sun shines overhead, covering the land with unforgiving heat. It's only noon, and it's already proving to be a trying day in Vacuo.
"HELP! PLEASE ANYONE HELLLLLP!" The screams of a poor soul echoed out to anyone who could hear. The sand kicked up behind him as every step he took became more frantic than the other. Behind him, three other men followed closely, dressed in scraps as they hollered loudly. Sweat drips down the man's face, his eyes blinking uncontrollably as he looks for any salvation from his current predicament.
"Look at him run!" One of his chasers called out. This one had a green mohawk and carried a large cleaver.
"We're gaining on ya," Another of the chasers taunted, this one had an eyepatch.
The third, whose mouth was sewn shut, merely clanged two metal pipes together in joy. The metal ringing clearly reached the helpless man's ears as he wailed louder than before shouting incoherent prayers.
"Gods have mercy, PLEASE!" In a poor stroke of luck, the man tripped, falling face-first into the unforgiving sand. With grains of sand in his eyes, all he could do but groan as he wiped them off.
"GAH!" He yelped as he was forcefully flipped over. The chasers, clearly bandits, stood over him. Their faces adorned with devious smiles matched perfectly with the hungry look in their eyes. The helpless man knew there was no escape, this would be his end, killed and eaten by bandits alone in the middle of nowhere. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes and accepted his fate.
Like a sound of thunder, a gunshot echoed over the horizon. The man opened his eyes in shock. The bandit with the eye patch had dropped to the sand; his face lined up to the helpless soul. There was a hole where his one good eye once was. Blood gushed out, spraying the man in the face and coating the coarse, dry sand beside him.
Where had the bullet come from? Had someone heard his calls of distress? Was someone here to save him? All these questions and more rang through the man's head as the two remaining bandits spread apart and looked for the mysterious shooter. The man looked south and squinted. Over a hill, a figure could barely be picked out approaching them. As this figure drew near the first thing, they could clearly see was what looked like a motorcycle helmet. With every second, the figure got closer, and they could make out more of them. They wore a tan jacket with orange lining and gold edging. The jacket was zipped up halfway revealing what looked like plate armor underneath. The jacket had darker brown short sleeves, a thick collar that completely encircled their neck, and two coattails that had gold trimmings. Along one of their shoulders sat a metal shoulder guard, and along their wrists, a matching set of metal gauntlets. Pouches lined a belt along their waste, and they had a singular rifle slung onto their back.
"This is our food! Get your own!" The Mohawked bandit shouted out. The mysterious figure finally stopped a few feet from them saying nothing as they stared the bandits down. The atmosphere was tense; the bandits gripped their weapons tightly, ready to pounce on first reaction.
The helpless man, still lying in the sand, watched helplessly as, in what seemed like an instant, the mysterious stranger reached for a hidden pistol from their back and shot the remaining bandits dead without hesitation. Two shots for two bandits, who minutes ago were ready to kill and eat him now dead and dropped to the ground.
They were dead and yet he did not feel safe. He wasn't truly sure if he had been saved or if he should be even more scared of this new stranger. He was taken from his thoughts by the low sound of shifting sand, the stranger was moving towards the dead bandits. The stranger kneeled down and rummaged through their bodies individually and meticulously; taking out anything that could have been of value, discarding anything else, and throwing it into the sea of sand surrounding them.
"Who are you?" The question came out more as a shout of fear than general curiosity. The stranger's head slowly lifted and turned; the man's heart skipped a beat. He choked up as the stranger stared at him; completely silent, the visor of the helmet they wore was blackened out making their face hidden, any emotion they showed impossible to tell. The stranger stood for what felt like an eternity to the man before they simply turned around and walked away.
The man finally stood up; the sand that had accumulated on him during his time that had not clung to his clothes simply fell to the ground. He kept his eyes on the stranger as they made it over the hill they had come from. After the stranger was gone from eyesight, he heard an engine roar. Jumping over the hill, a yellow and black heavily modified bike cascaded down the sand dune.
As the dust kicks up across the barren desert of Vacuo, the lone rider carries on, a destination clear in their mind, as a small town in the distance gets closer and closer. Pulling into town, the rider departs from their bike across from a dainty bar. They lay their rifle safely along the bike's compartments, confident that no one would dare take it.
Keeping their helmet on, the rider walks to the bar, their armor and gear jingling with each step. There's a weight with each step they take as the imprint from their boot makes out with the sand below. Eyes linger on the rider as they approach the bar doors. Swinging them open it's as if all the air in the room is cut as things immediately becomes quiet.
At the counter, a man waits. He's dressed formally, sporting a fancy yellow vest over a plain white dress shirt. His hair is upswept and spiky, his beard is well-groomed, and his face is clean of any blemish.
"Now, what can I do for you today?" He spoke with a smooth voice. There's a silence between the two as the rider, silent as ever stared at the man before pointing to a bottle behind him.
The bartender looked at the bottle, smiled at the rider, and said, "Good choice." He then proceeded to fetch them their drink.
The rider waited patiently, uncaring of their surroundings, until they felt someone grab their shoulder. The rider turned; behind her, another man stood. He was nothing like the bartender: ginger-haired, his face adorned with scars and freckles. Behind him is another man, dressed the same but bald. The rider could tell they were hunters just by their looks.
"Haven't seen a person like you around here," He spoke with a lisp, his hand was still clutched on the rider's shoulder.
"Don't touch me," The rider finally spoke, their voice muffled due to the helmet disguising their voice.
"Ooo, we got a tough guy," A slight chuckle escapes the man's mouth as he continues to talk. "Now, I don't care if you're new here or some local coming back after some time away, the name Cardin. I've been here about a week's time now and I've made myself quite cozy,"
He eyed the bar, and the onlookers looked back at him, some in disgust, others in fear. "I'm top dog now, and I just want to make sure you know your place," the sleazeball poked the rider's chest as they finished. There was silence as the people in the bar watched the interaction play out.
Without a word, the rider proceeded to take off their helmet, revealing a long set of flowing blonde hair. Cardin looked up, and as his eyes set upon the rider, his eyes widened. He was met with something he did not expect: a woman with lilac eyes and a scar on her right cheek.
Without warning the woman clasped the man's face and head-butted him. Before his little thug could react, she grabbed him by the back of the head and plunged his face into the bar counter. The two men dropped unconscious on the bar floor. After a few seconds of silence, the bar erupted into joyful cheer.
Back at the bar counter, the rider asked, "Was this your idea, Pretty Boy?" The blonde bartender could not keep the smile off his face.
"I'm sorry, Wayfarer. He came into town while you were gone. I couldn't help myself to some fun." He said as he handed her the drink.
"Mm." She mumbled as she took the drink before downing it in a single shot. Pretty Boy whistled, and out the back, two girls, identical in looks but wearing different red and white dresses, came in.
"Would you kindly clean up those two?" He asked politely, like a boss to his employees. They nodded and quickly grabbed the two men, dragging them away, their limp bodies easy to carry around. Turning his attention back to the woman, he waited patiently for her to speak as he poured her another shot.
"So, what do you got for me?" She asked.
"I'm glad you asked," The grin on his face plastered still on his face. "Follow me," He added, opening the hatch along the bar top, letting her in. She followed him, drink in hand, through the back as another bartender took his place. Making their way through the back Pretty Boy led her to his private office. The room was small but cozy, with shelves lined with fancy bottles. Pretty Boy waltzed to his ornate desk in the middle of the room and took a seat. Behind him stood an armoire that housed his personal collection of trinkets and items he had acquired over the years. Above all, a sword and shield were mounted to the wall.
"So, what's this job, Pretty Boy?" As she sat across from him, she set her drink down on a coaster. Pretty Boy leaned back in his chair. He lazily moved his hand over a small box on his desk, opening and taking out a cigar. He lit the cigar, amusement on his face as he indulged in his guilty pleasure. He took a long drag, looking her right in the eye.
"Some lady came by yesterday requesting you specifically," He stated, knowing that his words caught her interest.
"Yesterday? And me specifically? A little convenient no?" She was suspicious grabbing her drink and taking a swig.
"That's what I thought too so I had the girls check around. None of Cinder's men are in the area, and she came into town alone. She ain't from around these parts either, dressed all fancy and clean, could be from Vale," He replied as he continued to smoke. The Wayfarer still had no idea who this mysterious employer could be.
"Did she seem legit?" She asked.
"She didn't give me any reason not to think so; as far as I can tell, it's just her here. She seems like the type to have deep pockets," Now that interested her more.
"Where is she?" She got right to the point.
"She's waiting at the inn down the street, room 2-0-2," He sounded the last part out.
"Alright then," She spoke, grabbing her helmet, ready to put it on.
"Nuh-uh! Sorry, Beautiful. She knows quite a bit about you. She asked for no helmet. There's no negotiating around that either," he told her, taking one last drag of his cigar before putting it out.
The Wayfarer let out a small grunt before putting the helmet on his desk and said, "I'll be back."
"Of course," Pretty Boy said leaning back in his chair as he watched her exit his office.
The Wayfarer made it back to the back where a small group of people were huddled by the back door waiting for her.
"Please, Wayfarer, it's a simple job," an elderly man said. The Wayfarer pushed past the elderly man.
"Miss Wayfarer, I think they're out past the ridge." This time, a woman spoke, probably about some missing relative or the like.
"It'sss just thesse couple of guysss giving me trouble. What do you sa-sa say Wayfarer?" This time, it was snake Faunus dressed head to toe.
'A Faunus, that's new to Oasis.' The Wayfarer thought, but in the end, it was another desperate soul looking for the easy way out of their own troubles. She walked past them all ignoring their request. She didn't mind the odd job here or there but she knew better. You do one small job for someone, you'll find yourself with 20 more. She couldn't do those, not anymore.
Exiting the bar, she made her way down the bustling street. The town of Oasis was small but lively, a decent establishment and the only rest spot in miles; it was the Wayfarer's personal spot. As she walked the streets of the town, people made way for her, letting her pass and greeting her kindly. It was clear she was well respected in town. Reaching the end of the street the Wayfarer found herself outside the Lavender Inn. Wasting no time, the Wayfarer entered the inn and approached the front desk, where Mrs. Lavender; mother of three and owner of the inn, tended to all those seeking lodging.
"Room 202?" The Wayfarer asked.
"That way, Miss Wayfarer. Third door from the right," Mrs. Lavender pointed to the right down a hallway. The Wayfarer nodded and walked down said hallway. Reaching the door, the Wayfarer knocked twice.
"Come in," An older voice spoke out from inside the room. The Wayfarer entered, and inside the room in front of her, a woman dressed in white sat cross-legged on the bed. She was old; her blonde hair was starting to turn white, her green eyes looked a bit dull, and crow's feet were prominent on her face. She sat there with the look of confidence of someone who knew what they were doing as she watched the Wayfarer walk in.
"You must be the Wayfarer. I've heard a lot about you," she said softly and calmly.
"You requested me for a job? "The Wayfarer didn't care for chit-chat in these scenarios.
"Well, I won't lie to you. You're not the only one I asked for. There was a hunter by the name of Cardin, but he never showed up," The Wayfarer supposed she would have to thank Pretty Boy for that.
"I'm here now, and I don't usually get requests like this so don't waste my time. What's the job?" The Wayfarer asked, cementing her position in this transaction. She wasn't here for games. There was a small silence as the lady smiled at the Wayfarer.
"You can come out child," She kept constant eye contact with the Wayfarer as she spoke. A closet door beside her creaked open, and as the Wayfarer turned to look, her hand subconsciously reached for her pistol. From out of the closet, a small boy emerged. He was young, about 12, maybe older; he had white hair and bright blue eyes, his skin was pale white, like snow. He was wearing black shorts and a short-sleeved white dress shirt. He cautiously approached the two.
"This is Whitley Schnee."
Author's Notes: This is an AU that I thought of. It is a post-apocalyptic Remnant. Dust is no more; semblances aren't a thing, and Grimm are basically mutated animals that are few in number. More will be revealed as the story goes along.
Some characters will be slightly OOC, others more so.
Certain characters, specifically our titular character, will rarely be referred to by their actual name, so I'll leave this here to clarify.
Wayfarer - Yang
Pretty Boy - Jaune