A/N: Hello, and welcome to my fourth, and final, story-CURRENTLY! (I have ideas. :))
Woo, this one is just a bit ambitious. A smidge. As in more ambitious than what The Beast will be-we've all seen plenty of versions of everyone's personal take RWBY from Volume 1 onwards. Most are really, really good. Some personal favorites that I'd Strongly recommend would be NotScot's RWBY Re:Mix, right off the bat, ClemPRime13's On Silver Wings, Argus456's Best Laid Plans, TexanMagus's Upon You They Break, and, most recently riozard88's Remnant's Greatest Loser. Check them out. They are very entertaining.
As for this story, well, like I put in the summary it's kind of a homebrew DnD campaign. I do this 1) Because I love DnD/Pathfinder, even though I've never played-Have Watched most of Critical Role, though- 2) Cause it give me a bit more freedom with the characters i.e. I don't have to come up with names that relate to a color or are even real (You'll notice a name like that next chapter. Don't worry I made it so that you can pronounce it easily enough.) And, most important, 3) Because I really want to write it.
I do hope you guys enjoy it as much as you seem to enjoy Clout and The Beast.
RWBY is Owned by Roosterteeth and the late Monty Oum
These is no cooralation between this story and RWBY the RPG made by Andrew Diederich. For more informatio please read the wikia for RWBY RPG
RWBY the RPG
Chapter 1
Origins
Though the last few years had been hard of the small border village of Suisen, the many villagers within generally went about their days smiling and being of good cheer.
And, this day was no different.
Why? Because it was harvest season again. Which meant that the village would be making money selling their crops to the larger market town of Kurobu.
And this year, the crops were especially grand.
Enough so that the Elder, one Emmanuel Fox, a red-tailed fox Faunus, felt that they might even make enough of a profit this year to be able to repair the village's Defensive Wall. It had been in a decrepit state for some years now after the village's lifeblood, a local mine, had run dry.
Out in the fields a local farmhand named Oscar of the Pine family raised his gloved hand over his eyes to shield them from the harsh, Mistrali sunshine.
Though it was Harvest season, the heat bore down on him and the others. It would be weeks yet before the cooler, Northern air from Solitas blew down on them, their village so far south of the Northern Bay area and the City of Argus.
He smiled at the thought of the cool breeze that would be coming.
Truly, he did not think that his life was really all that bad. True, he had always been smaller, and more sickly than the rest of children of the small village he had grown up in. And, yes, even at the age of sixteen he was still considered small for his age, even with all the work he did.
Yeah, though he was sixteen as of two days ago he hadn't grown much in the last few years, what with being sick and all. He still stood at less than 5'5 and was maybe a hundred pounds on a good day.
Sickly and weak, indeed.
He sighed at that before taking up his trusty pitchfork in both hands and returning to baling hay. At least, he was near one of the barns today. Usually, they had him out in the fields all day, working on the cabbages and turnips.
But, the older farmers said that they needed real men to help with the loading and hauling of the produce. He smirked at that.
Maybe he'd sneak inside later to cool off, if he got the chance. He could be quite sneaky if the situation called for it.
As his aunt, Karen, had said over the years, take the good with the bad.
Too weak to help out? Fine. At least, he could enjoy the cool of the shade thanks to the barn next door.
He sighed and frowned as he looked back up at the sky under his hat. At least, he would if the Sun would just cooperate.
It didn't move. Instead, the few clouds passing by faded away entirely from the heat.
Ah, well.
At least it was only for a few more hours then he could go home and eat. He paused in his work as he wondered what would be for dinner tonight.
Corncobs and beans? Rice? Maybe some meat tonight, what with the festival right around the corner? Who knew.
"Oi, Ozcar! Git back to werk!" One of the other farmhands hollered, a thin boy of fourteen named Marley. He shrugged and did as he was told.
"Fuckin' weaklin'!" He heard Marley then say to the other boy with them, his thin, high-pitch prepubescent voice being heard clearly. "Always havin' to do his share."
"I know, right. Fuckin' stoopid, too." The other boy, name Peter, said back as he stopped what he was doing to gab. "I mean, wot good are those books, any'ow? They don' got no pictures, either. Can't read that no-how."
Oscar ignored the two of them as he made his way away from them. He tried not to frown as their words bit in. Like they usually did. Like they meant them to.
So, what if he was weaker than he should be? He still carried his share of the load. More than they did.
And he did like books. So what?
They let him escape from the dull life he lived here. It was probably the only way he make it out of here. There was no grand adventure in the works for him.
He tried not to let it get to him. Aunt Karen would be crushed if he did. But it could be so hard sometimes.
He sighed.
Many of the Elders whispered amongst themselves that the Pine family was cursed. They gossiped that all the bad things that had ever happened to them over the years was from that very curse. From the death of Oscar's parents to his own various illnesses to the fact his aunt had yet to marry herself, it all stemmed back to that curse.
Indeed, they especially considered Oscar himself to be cursed. Not only had he been constantly ill when he was younger, but he was also considered a strange boy full of strange ideas and stranger mannerism, loving to read and ask questions on anything that came to mind.
A peculiar boy they said.
A strange boy.
His aunt, Karen, told him to ignore them. To ignore all the rumors and side looks, and just be himself.
So, he did.
But days like today? After hearing something like that from someone like Marley? Who proclaimed to already have been with a girl? It could be rough.
He kicked at the pile of hay before him before he began to shovel in more into the cart beside him. He didn't notice the faint bit of green energy that seemed to spark at his frustration as he did so.
Nor, did he see the small green-skinned creatures rush by, past a hole in the side of the barn as they entered it.
/ /
Alright, done with this. He thought as he brushed sweat from his face as he leaned against his pitchfork. Now, I can get out of here and-
"AAAaaahhaahh!"
Oscar's thoughts were cut short as he heard a bloodcurdling scream from within the barn. He jerked around in time to see Marley rush out of the barn, blood splattered across his shirt.
He seemed scared.
He rushed forwards, asking, "Hey! Wha-what's goin' on-Ow!"
Only to be slammed onto the ground as the taller, heavier boy shoved past him, shouting fearfully, "Git ou' of mah way!"
Oscar watched, stunned and confused, as the ruddy blond mop of a boy vanished into the growing wheat field beyond, headed towards the village as fast as his legs could carry him. He stood back up and dusted himself off, gathering his pitchfork as he did so.
Aw man. Just had these cleaned, too. He shook his head, looking down at his shirt and pants, confused as he looked after where the other boy had gone. What was up with him, anyway? Was that blood on his shirt?
Thud!
At the sound of heavy falling against the barn's door he jerked back around again. This time with his tool at the ready.
There was nothing there.
After a moment of hesitation he began to make his way over to the still ajar door, slowly. He held the pitchfork tightly in his hands, trying to keep the shaking to a minimum. He had no idea what was going on, but he was already freaking out.
He was at the door now.
"Please be rats, please be rats, please be rats!" He whispered harshly under his breath as he gathered his courage. Then he peeked through the opening, but saw nothing inside thanks to the angle of the sun. He then swallowed as he grasped the door and shoved.
It didn't move.
He cursed his weak frame yet again before placing his pitchfork against the wall and shoving mightily at the door with both hands. It clattered over the tracks as it rolled away from him. The body of the other farmhand then fell out of the dark interior, his body having fallen against the door.
"Peter!" He screamed in horror as he instinctively caught the boy's bloody, limp form. He quickly fell to the hard-packed dirt outside the building, cradling the body as he did. He looked over the boy before him, swallowing his gore as he did so.
He had been mutilated. His body stabbed viciously, repeatedly. So much so that his guts were coming out.
There was blood, everywhere. On his face, in his hair, everywhere.
"Oh, by the Blessed Tree! What happened to you?" He asked as he took in the horror before him.
He almost screamed when Peter's eyes cracked opened then. The boy rasped something in audible to him then before falling silent. He shook him shouting, "Hey! Hey! What happened?! Peter! Talk to me!"
The boy coughed, hacking up blood-tinged spit and vomit. He gasped, gagged then whispered out harshly, "M-Marley!"
"What? Marley did this? B-but, how? W-why?" Oscar asked, still in shock and horrified by what he was witnessing before him. He never seen someone die, not even an animal.
Peter shook his head faintly as he whispered again. Oscar was concerned with how weak it sounded compared to the first. "N-no. Marley. L-left me be-behind." He suddenly glared at Oscar as he growled out in anger, somehow rising up from his prone position. "H-he left me! H-how could he?! I taught we were friends!"
Before Oscar could say anything or react, Peter exploded, showering him with blood as a spearhead suddenly emerged from his chest. Oscar cried in alarm and dropped the body as he began to scramble away on his hands and knees. He looked about frantically for whatever had done this as he struggled to his feet in the suddenly blood-dampened ground.
He gasped as he saw several small, green-skinned humanoids creeping towards him, a couple with bloody, chipped daggers in hand. Goblins! He grasped for his pitchfork as he finally got to his feet.
He began to back away from the advancing creatures, their yellow and red eyes glowing in the darkness, before glancing over at Peter's body and paused, struggling with himself over whether to or not to drag him away, or flee himself. Like Marley did.
Then Peter made the decision for him.
The boy struggled, somehow dragging himself up into a sitting position as he stared off into the middle distance, gritting his teeth as he struggled to stand. Oscar looked on in horror as he made it to his feet, as did the goblins, stunned that the mortally wounded boy was able to do so.
He then took a step forwards, then another, towards the barn, his vision distant, blank. He coughed once, bringing up more blood before falling face first into the dirt. As the light faded from his eyes Peter wheezed out breathlessly, "He lef' me."
Oscar took a step forwards, a hand futilely outstretched, towards the boy. Only to jump backwards as one of the goblins suddenly rushed past its fellows and swung a rusty axe at him. That shook the others loose from their own reverie.
Two more charged him.
The rest of them jumped on the dead body and proceeded to hack it to bits. Just make certain it was really dead this time.
/ /
Oscar dodged another swipe of the thing's weapon before stabbing at it with the pitchfork. It ducked under the prongs before swiping at him again. Oscar shifted, moving just enough for the sudden lunge to fall short before instinctively shoving with the blunt end of the pitchfork's shaft.
It shrieked in pain as the wooden shaft cracked it in the face, breaking its bulbous nose in the process. It chittered, grasping at the black blood running down its face, before swinging the axe at him once more.
Once, twice, thrice.
Each time it missed as he dodged out of the way. It then shrieked with rage and charged at him. He swiftly made a stab at it. It dance back, but not before one of the prongs jabbed at its arm.
It shrieked in pain and rage, again, glaring at him as it did so. Its red eyes almost glowing from the hate.
Oscar shuddered at that.
Luckily for him, it's reach, even with the long-handled axe, was shorter than his. And, it was a poor fighter at best. But that luck wasn't going to last much longer if he couldn't disengage or kill the one before him.
Already, the other two goblins were attempting to get in on his flanks. He had avoided that for now by kicking up dirt to blind and distract them. But that wouldn't work for much longer as the creatures overcame their natural skittishness and charged him together.
More over, the rest of the goblins were rousing themselves from the butchering of Peter's corpse. Soon, he'd be overrun.
It was only a matter of time now.
He stepped from side to side for a moment, glancing at the other two goblins before suddenly lunging forwards towards the goblin with the axe. It hadn't been expecting the sudden aggression on his part and left itself open. The three prongs of the pitchfork pierced its chest, penetrating through the poor quality hide armor it wore.
"Eerkk!" The goblin grunted.
It looked at the farm tool sticking out of its chest curiously. Reaching out touch the metal head. Then it fell limp in his grasp.
Oscar huffed a breath out before stepping forwards and kicking out at the goblin. Firmly shoving it off of his makeshift polearm. It groaned as more blood splurted out of the wounds before falling to its knees and finally on its face as its eyes rolled over white.
Oscar twirled then, as he heard the sounds of footsteps behind him from two different directions, and swung overhead. The pitchfork smashed into the side of one of the other goblins just as it launched itself at him with two daggers in hand, throwing it off to the side.
"Hoouughh!" It cried as it landed and rolled away in to the wheat field beyond.
He then used the remaining momentum of the two-handed swing to wheel the pitchfork around, low and back the other way, striking the second goblin as it fast crouch-walked towards him, bashing it in the head.
"Ack!" The goblin cried as it wheeled away, wobbling about, stunned and discombobulated from the hefty blow, before dropping onto its rump and holding its head. Finally, it fell over on its side.
Whether, alive or dead, he didn't know.
Oscar twirled his trusty pitchfork around to have the head facing the remaining goblin as it got back up before looking over at the rest of the group coming towards him. He glanced over to find the one goblin stumbling towards him, clutching at its side in pain.
Now was the time to go.
He turned and fled, booking it into the wheat field as he heard cries and screeches of rages behind him. He ran faster, all but pumping his arms to go faster.
The goblins followed after him.
Before long he was sweating from the exertion, and the heat. He glanced back, but found nothing behind him. Nothing, but wheat. Not that he was surprised, not even the biggest of the goblins chasing him came to his waist.
He kept running.
Had to get to the village. Had to warn, everyone!
The elder! The guards! They would help!
He just had to make it!
He heard crashes and the shaking of the plants behind him then. The goblins were catching up to him!
He started shouting, not cries of help, but just mindless screams full of fear. His panic fully in control of him by then.
He pumped his arms for speed.
He was so close now! He could see the defending wall. And the buildings behind it. The warehouses that they used for storing food stock for the Winter months.
They were on fire.
He slowed as he realized that. Shock and horror in his face at the reveal. He fell to his knees.
No, his home. He buried his face in his hands then and began to weep silently.
As he did so he heard the sounds of many creatures running by him. The goblins past him by, his weeping form too low for them to see.
Or, at least that was what he thought at first.
But, no.
/ /
The goblins were shrieking with glee as they past by. They had seen the flames, the burning buildings, and, enraptured with their beauty, had rushed by, hoping to join in on the sudden celebration before it was too late.
Goblins loved fire. Goblins loved celebrations. Especially when they involved fire, and the hurting of other creatures.
They ignored the boy for the village, and left him behind.
He rose to his feet and sighed, looking at the fires. He wiped at the snot and tears running down his face before taking up his pitchfork. Maybe he could do something, find some way to help.
Someone had to be alive.
He blew a breath out and took a step forwards.
Crack!
"Aaahh!" He cried as something bashed him the back of the head. He fell to his knees clutching at the wound, dropping his weapon as he did so. He hissed out a breath, trying to ride out the pain.
He glanced up, opening his eyes as he did so, at the sound of something coming his way. A goblin was standing there.
It leered at him for a moment in malicious glee before balling up a fist and swinging it at him.
Whack! Thwack! Whack!
Three times it slugged him as he kneel there, stunned. He blinked, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. It giggled at him and his confused look. He glanced over as two more goblins did the same before barking and chittering at each other in their own tongue.
They weren't the only ones there. At least eight more were in his field of view now.
Oh.
It seemed that they hadn't left him behind after all.
He looked on, helpless as the goblin then took up his pitchfork, still wet from the blood of its tribesman on it, and held it out to him menacingly. He raised his arms defensively as it taunted him, thrusting lightly at him before leering again.
He closed his eyes and held his hands outstretched, hoping to somehow ward of the blow.
Sparks gathered at his finger tips.
/ /
The goblin chuckled eagerly. Its foe demoralized. It winced and clutched at its side as it ached. Then it growled. Angry.
The stupid human meat before it had injured it! Had broken something inside!
Had killed its friend and partner. Had injured its brother. Hurt it! It!
It had to die! It needed to die! To suffer!
It'd make certain of that.
It raised the pitchfork up, preparing to stab at the man meat. Then its eyes blinked, distracted by the sparking, green energy at its fingertips.
What was that?
It sniffed, smelling fire.
Its eyes widen in sudden horror as fire erurpted in front of it. Green flames.
Then its world ended, consumed by green fire, as with a whuff of sound, the fire burst forth into reality and struck it, consumed it.
Burned it.
It didn't even get the chance to scream.
/ /
Oscar kept his eyes closed, holding still. Waiting, for the pain.
For his world to end.
He didn't want it to. He wanted to live. He needed to live! He couldn't just die here! Not like this.
And something awoke from that need.
A power inside burst forth, rushing through his body, and out from his fingertips. And out it came, as green fire.
Whuff! FwaaHH!
…"Aaahh!" "Bleck-Aack! Aaaahah!"
At the sounds of screams, Oscar opened his eyes to find the goblins burning!
He looked on, stunned as the last of the trio fell to the ground burning from green flames. It whined and meeped in pain as it curled in on itself then was still.
He blinked and looked around.
The field was empty. There were no more goblins.
The ones before him were dead, burned to death by those unnatural, green flames. He rubbed at his head before wincing from the pain.
What had happened? He didn't know.
He stood up only to stumble and almost fall over again. He shook his head. He felt dizzy. He blinked and looked around for his pitchfork.
Finding it, he reached for it and almost collapsed onto his face. Catching himself at the last moment. He shook his head and grabbed for the shaft.
It burned.
"AAAHH!" he clutched at his hand, dropping the tool. He looked down and whined tunelessly as he saw the pitchfork fall apart after he dropped it, destroyed by the flames.
Clutching at his hand, he started away.
/ /
Somehow, some way, he made it to the gates. He didn't know how he got there, his mind was foggy.
One of the guards ran up to him, scared.
For him, he wondered?
The man said something to him, but he couldn't understand. He said something else, but it was as muffled as the first.
He shook his head and pointed behind towards the field. Towards the barn, and the body still there.
Oh, Gods! The body! Peter! They, they had to go get Peter. His mom! Oh, Gods, his mother. Needed to know.
The man, the guardsman said something then.
He was muttering. Couldn't think. Tried to stumble passed. The guard grabbed him. Shook him.
He blinked. The man made a sound, a shout, and waved at someone else that he couldn't see. He couldn't really see anything.
For some reason, he found that funny.
He idlely noted that the man's armor was bloody. Black blood. Like a goblin's. Wasn't there something he needed to do?
Why was there smoke? Was something burning?
His world spun. Gravity lost its hold over him. He felt weightless.
And then the ground caught him. Hard.
His world dimmed as his eyes closed. And he knew no more.
A/N: Well, I hope that that was exciting for you guys. As a special addition for this chapter here is Oscar original Character sheet. Note that most of it is unfinished, mostly because I couldn't be bothered to-sorry to the purest out there-but also because its a homebrew, like I said. Very homebrew.
And, yes, I put level zero because he's just unlocked his abilities. Never really understood why no RPG has a level zero character option-except maybe the Commoner NPC. Everybody has to start somewhere, you know.
Alright, Essiter out.
Character sheet for Oscar Pine
Oscar Pine
Human Commoner, Nascent Sorcerer
Level 0
Small Human, NG
Background: commoner
Class: sorcerer, unknown bloodline
Occupation: Farmer
Armor Class (AC): 11
Hit Points (HP): 5
Speed: 25 ft
Str: 10 (+0) Dex: 12 (+1) Con: 8 (-1) Int: 12 (+3) Wis: 10 (+0) Cha: 9 (-1)
Saving throws: intelligence (+2)
Skills: History: (+1) Insight (+1)
Damage resistances: none
Senses: Passive Perception 10
Languages: Common, Mistrali
Challenge: 1/2 (100 XP)
Frail: Due to chronic sickness in his life Oscar is one size smaller and has a -2 to his Con and Str. And a -5 to his speed.
Learned: due to reading extensively Oscar gains an automatic +2 to his Int.
Farmer: Oscar is agriculturally inclined, additionally he gains and automatic +2 to his Str and Dex.
Weird: Others around him find Oscar to be strange, -1 to Cha; situational, only in and around the immediate area of his home town.
Spells:
Cantrips: Burgeoning Flames (as Burning Hands): 2d6 damage, fire, dexterity save for half damage, in a ten foot cone. Additionally 50% chance for target to catch fire, 1d6 additional damage for one round.
Actions:
Pitchfork: Melee Weapon: +2 to hit, reach 5 ft, one target. 1d6 piercing damage, two-handed.