17,476NO UPDATE 4th JULY - Please read if wondering where chapter is
I'm sad to say my beloved dog of ten years, who you've probably been hearing about vet visits of for the last month or two, had to be put down early on Friday 3rd July morning. It was a devastating moment after all we'd done and all the improvements he was making. He lived a good life long past the expectation the vets gave him when he was diagnosed with a raft of illnesses. He wasn't expected to live past 5-6, but survived a happy 10 years. I'm relieved to say that despite the lock down and social distancing, the vets were willing to let me be there with him at the end, and he died with his head in my lap, tail wagging, which is perhaps all you can ask for.
I can't write like this, however. There will be no updates this weekend. I'll pick back up Monday with Null, though even that might be a slightly reduced chapter. It's going to depend on whether or not I'm in the right mood.
Thank you all for understanding.
Cover Art: Jack Wayne
Chapter 113
Hazel Rainart's head lay a small distance from his body, face toward the sky but eyes closed, a calm, almost peaceful, smile set on his lips. Ozpin had seen many people die over the centuries, but he didn't think he'd see anyone look quite so happy to welcome it. Quietly asking and receiving permission to take control of their body, Ozpin stepped forward, cane gripped at his side as Jaune slumped to his knees, panting harshly.
"The parasite approaches," Raven warned. Parasite? Ozpin frowned but didn't bother to comment on it.
"Mr Ashari," he greeted instead. "You have my gratitude for the timely rescue-" He cut off when the man held up a hand. Humming, he remained silent, trusting it was exhaustion and not rudeness that had him cut off. After fighting off Hazel for so long, anyone would need a few seconds to gather themselves. "Take your time. We have plenty."
"We don't, actually," Raven said. "Less than five minutes."
A time limit? He didn't know how that might be the case but Jaune apparently did, swearing and straightening up with a tortured expression. He clearly needed a rest – possibly a doctor as well. When he stooped to pick up his sword, he looked so much like an old man that Ozpin knelt and picked it up instead, holding it out for him.
"Thanks," Jaune rasped.
"Very much the least I can do all things considered. Though I must ask, how much of you arriving here was a coincidence…?" Jaune's grimace said it all. "Ah. None at all. I was to be bait to take him out then." In the mind of any normal person that might have been conceived as a bad thing, and sure enough Oscar was complaining quite fervently. "I have no complaints," Ozpin said. "Well done. How fares Beacon?"
"Jaune," Raven warned again, still refusing to look Ozpin in the eye. "We don't have time for this."
"She's right." Jaune jogged unevenly over to his other weapons, picking them up and storing them away on his body. "Ozpin, can you do me a favour? I need you to take credit for killing Hazel."
Confused as he was, Ozpin nodded. "I'd be willing, but with my bare hands…?"
Scowling, Raven drew out a jagged looking short sword and stabbed it into the dirt. It was a hideous thing – little form and even less function. It looked like it was made to hack rather than to cut. It must have come from someone in her tribe. To imagine a boy his age beheading Hazel Rainart with it was ridiculous, and yet it at least made some sense. It especially would to Salem and her entourage, who knew how dangerous he could be.
"A little crude for my liking but appreciated all the same. I take it, then, that you won't be escorting or providing me a portal to Beacon anytime soon?"
"I'm sorry," Jaune said. "We're needed elsewhere. I have a scroll, though." He took it out, still in its protective black case, and threw it over in a lazy underhanded toss. Ozpin caught it easily enough. "It's got a contract installed. I added Summer's contact as well. She's ready to meet you on any coast of Vale. There's some lien in the box too. Enough to pay your way across."
There was indeed a healthy stack of lien between the scroll and the outer case. It was apparently more than Oscar had ever held before going by his shock. It would be enough to keep them in paid accommodation with food, travel and a little extra for emergencies. "Thank you. Would you care to explain why you're not escorting me to Vale directly, however?"
"No," Raven spat.
"I need to be seen elsewhere," Jaune answered. Raven stared at him like he was insane and then threw her hands in the air, stomping away to let them speak. Ozpin appreciated the candour.
"Plausible deniability as to helping me? That would explain asking me to take credit." Of course, there was only one person he would need such deniability with, and he wasn't an idiot. "I hope you know what risks you're taking."
"Trust me. I'm more than aware of them." He looked back. "We don't have much time. Summer knows enough to be ready with a Bullhead. If you call her, she might even be able to meet you on the Mistral side. Tyrian and Watts are accounted for. They're not in Mistral."
That was a relief. "What about Lionheart?"
Jaune's face stretched into a thin smile. Ozpin knew the answer even before he said, "Dead."
Good. Ozpin wasn't proud of the vindictive little thrill that ran through him, but he wouldn't begrudge it either. The man who had once been Ozpin had been a good friend of his – someone he'd worked together with and truly respected before his mind had taken over. Though the true Ozpin died at that moment, he'd promised to keep fighting for the two of them. Lionheart's betrayal hadn't just killed him, Ozma. It had killed Ozpin. My only regret is that I wasn't the one to mete justice out on him. Ah well, at least you were avenged, old friend.
"I'm pleased to hear that. And Miss Nikos is safe?"
"In Beacon as we speak."
"Wonderful news. I see my absence has barely inconvenienced you all." His eyes slid past Jaune to Raven. "Well, it hasn't inconvenienced most of you. I see she's no less antagonistic toward me."
"Sorry. Raven is Raven."
"It's quite alright. I hardly expect you to feel responsible for my mistakes."
Raven looked over. Scowled. "One minute, Jaune. We don't have time!"
"I have to go," he said. "I need to be seen on the other side of Mistral."
"The enemy knows of Raven's portals."
"We've something set up. Will you be alright?"
"I shall be fine. Will you…?"
Jaune's smile was complicated. "I've no idea. I might be able to explain more in Beacon. Maybe. Good luck, Ozpin." He stepped back, back toward Raven, who slashed a portal open into the air. "I'll see you back in Beacon soon."
"And you as well," Ozpin said, watching the portal close. Suddenly, he was alone once again, stood beside a sword driven into the ground and a decapitated body. "Well," he chuffed, "That was somewhat unexpected."
"Are they our friends?" Oscar asked. "Allies?"
"Friends, yes. Allies…" Well, there were times he wasn't so sure. An alliance implied trust he was not so blind as to claim was there. "We're working together," he settled on. "Mutual enemies and an agreement to pool resources." He pulled out the scroll and checked its signal. They were close enough to Mistral to register some bars from its CCT. "I hope you won't mind me keeping control a little longer," he said, already thumbing to the contacts list. He pressed on Summer's name.
"I think I have a few calls to make."
/-/
Cinder's blood was pumping.
No, it was rushing through her! Parrying a heavy blow from an axe and turning it aside, she stepped in and slammed the flat of her blade into the man's neck. He fell with a cry, followed by a crunch as she stepped down on his arm. All around her, steel crashed, and people roared in anger, lashing out at one another like wild animals.
For a moment, she was one of them. There was no expectation, no mystery, and no subtlety. Cinder snarled her victory over her downed opponent, baring teeth under her scarf and basking in the heady joy of it all. This was power. This was strength. This was the raw and animalistic satisfaction of a successful hunt.
"Cinder," Roland barked. The man's face was a mirror of her own, his discipline thrown aside. His grin was hideous and cruel. "The strongest have holed themselves up in the hall. Come. We're going to break the doors down."
When he'd first dared to interrupt, she'd considered snapping at him, but his words lit a fire in her stomach and she hurried after, leaving her downed foe to groan in the dirt. Buildings had been lit aflame and prisoners were already being herded together. Cinder didn't envy those left to gather them. The true glory, and the satisfaction, was in the fight. She knew intrinsically that those left to guard prisoners were the lowest of the low within the tribe.
The town hall was a big building in contrast to the relative size of the settlement, but small compared to anything in Vale. About the size of a two-storey townhouse, its windows and doors were barricaded and about twenty bandits brayed and cheered outside. One made to throw a burning torch only to catch Roland's fist in his face. The boy, barely as old as she, collapsed with a cry. The other bandits burst into laughter. Cinder was surprised to find herself joining them.
"Don't burn the place down, dipshit!" Roland roared. "There's valuables to be had in there. Marrick, knock on the door. Let 'em know we want to come in."
Marrick was a huge man of some six feet, bristling with muscles, topless and covered in tattoos. He wielded a huge sledgehammer with a wickedly barbed backwards-facing spike. Coming up to the door he gently placed the flat of the hammer against it and gave a gentle knock, looking back to Roland innocently.
As humour went it was flat, but Cinder found herself laughing with the other bandits. His joke done, Marrick swung back and hammered forward, smashing through the flimsy wooden door and the barricade set up behind it. People screamed from within. It was music to Cinder's ears, validating everything she'd never known she wanted.
When the door collapsed, she was the first inside, slipping under Marrick's arm and into the dark. The muzzle of a gun flashed, and she ducked low, sweeping her legs into the shins of a man armed with a shotgun. He yelped and fell, catching Marrick in the chest and knocking him back out the door.
There were others in the room – Cinder categorised the dangerous ones in an instant. The huddled women and children toward the back went ignored, while the men and some older women armed with a motley assortment of weapons did not. Cinder ignored the one she'd downed and swung a foot up into the barrel of another with a rifle, knocking it high and causing it to discharge into the ceiling.
The brief distraction she caused allowed the other bandits to pile inside without being kept in the narrow entrance. They still took an assortment of small arms fire, but aura protected them well enough. If it didn't, they were clearly too weak to survive.
The melee was hardly even that. It felt closer to a slaughter. It was wonderful. Cinder laughed as she darted between them, lashing out with fists and elbow, blades and knee, smashing through their defences like a Beowolf in a kindergarten. It was cruel, yes, uneven too; they didn't stand a chance against her.
That was what made it so cathartic. Like crushing an amateur at chess or sweeping money out from under idiots in poker, tearing her way through a force that couldn't compete only made her feel more powerful. Cinder's heart thumped in her ears. Her blood rushed through her body like molten lava. Every crack of her fist into a face was incredible. Every cry and plea for mercy almost erogenous.
Her only complaint was that it didn't last long enough. None of them did. Before long, and after what felt only like minutes, the building was secure. There was no one left to fight – and while the euphoria of achieving such complete and total domination was there, she still wished it could have lasted just a little longer.
This is better than sex, she thought breathlessly. The comparison was so apt too, because she felt like she was coming down from an orgasm and breathily wishing her partner could have gone for more.
Her `partner` groaned on the floor clutching a shattered hip.
"You're all of you guests of the Branwen tribe now," Roland told the downed men and women, and the huddling people at the back. "If you want to blame anyone, blame yourselves for not having the strength to fight back or the will to build bigger walls. It's your own faults for not caring about either."
It was, Cinder supposed. While one might have said it was their own choice to raid this place, and that was true, it went without saying that the villagers could have made it harder on them. They couldn't fight on the same level as the tribe for sure, but the flimsy walls and ornate buildings certainly hadn't helped. Scoffing, she looked around the various paintings, fancy furniture, and finery. They'd wasted time on this when they could have been securing themselves. Pathetic.
A sudden scream sounded from the back end of the room. Cinder looked over in time to see a bandit trying to pull a woman out from the mass. Her mood turned sour immediately and she made to move, only for Roland to beat her to it.
"Oi, fuckface!" It became instantly clear to her where Vernal learned that term of endearment. "What do you think you're doing?"
The swarthy and sweating young man looked up. His face was flushed red, his eyes wild. He was sixteen if a day older and he looked more beast than man. "What's the harm?" he spat back to Roland. "Just having a little fun."
Roland's sword was out and aimed toward him. "We don't do that. Raven's orders. We kill, we steal, and we pillage but that carries the penalty of death." Several of the other bandits nodded.
"Listen to him, lad," Marrick, the door breaker, said. "You lose yourself to the battle and I'll cave your head in myself."
The young man bristled and stared at them all. He was obviously maddened by the violence and desiring more. With his adrenaline high and blood racing, the raw and powerful relief of survival rushing over him, it was clear what he wanted. Gritting his teeth, he looked to the woman whose shirt he had in one hand, ready to rip. Cinder's fingers danced over her blades, prepared to strike.
"Fuck it." He pushed the woman away. She crawled back to the rest, while the bandits grunted and relaxed. "You're all kowtowing to Raven like the sun comes out her ass in the mornings!"
"You want to challenge that, feel free. But so long as Raven rules, we play by her standards." Roland tossed his head to the side. "Get out of here if your head isn't in the game."
Shamed, the boy stomped away. Their prisoners looked relieved and just a little hopeful. They shouldn't have. The Branwen tribe's strange morals might have saved them this time, but Cinder had seen the cages and knew what awaited them. Strength was all the tribe cared about.
This was no kindness.
Marched out into the streets of their burning home, the prisoners were cajoled and forced into clearings outside the walls while Cinder and the others partook in the destruction of their homes. It was wild and stupid. Marrick laughed as he smashed his hammer through tables and doors even though they could have been opened by hand. Cinder shattered pottery in search of valuables, driven to make the loudest sound she could just because it was fun to do so. Like Ursa in an antique's store, they destroyed everything they could for the sheer satisfaction of it.
When they did find something of value, the bandits would coo and laugh over it, toss it around and admire. Cinder found herself invited into that all too easily, thrown a pretty silver necklace with a red stone in the centre. It wasn't her style at all, but she could admire the way it shone in the orange light from the fires. It looked expensive, certainly worth a few.
"Nice, isn't it?" a bandit she didn't recognise asked. "Think it'll sell?"
Cinder didn't care for him or his opinion, but the sheer adrenaline had her grinning back wildly. "I'd say so." Dangling it from her hand, she let it spin a few times before tossing it on. "What do you think, Roland?"
He caught it. Admired it. "Real stone. Hmm. It's a nice one."
It was thrown around until someone stuffed it into a sack and then they were exploring more. Cinder found a cellar filled with bottles of wine and kegs where ale was brewing. It instantly made her the most popular bitch in the village and they cracked out some of the metal mugs to take samples.
"Is this allowed?" she asked. The wine was bitter and amateur, but somehow it was also the richest she'd ever tasted. That had to be because of how they'd `earned` it. "Won't Raven be angry?"
"Only if we finish it. A sample is fine."
"It's expected," Marrick said sagely, leaning against a keg. "We don't sell booze when there are so many mouths to keep wet. And it wouldn't do to deliver shit booze to the tribe. That'd be rude."
"True." Someone cackled. "Practically our responsibility to make sure it's good."
"Fuck off, Sparrow. You wouldn't know responsibility if it bit you on the arse."
"Oi. My Rachel is pregnant and I'm out here raiding for her. Isn't that responsibility?"
"You're the one that put the baby there in the first place. Or was it me who did that?"
Sparrow mocked throwing a bottle of wine at the man and they all burst out laughing again, downing their drink before patting the kegs down. Roland ordered them out with the argument they'd send people by to move them safely, and they finished dusting the hall down in short order.
As loot went, it wasn't wealthy. There were a few small trinkets, some paintings and lien, but for the most part it was the beer and wine that had the greatest value, and that was going to be drunk, not sold. No one seemed to care, though. Cinder had the feeling the raid was more for the thrill than the rewards.
They traipsed out together with sacks on their shoulders, dumping them onto a wooden wheelbarrow pulled by some younger children of the tribe – those too young to fight, but who clearly wanted to prove themselves by helping. It was strange to see a burly and cruel bandit like Marrick rub the hair of one and tell them they were doing good work.
The village had been emptied out. Outside, the prisoners were being pushed into cages. They were crying and weeping and even if Cinder enjoyed the attack, she wasn't as fond of that. Not out of sympathy, but because it was an annoying thing to hear. Raven was there as well, she noted, stood on a raised platform with her arms crossed and eyes on the burning village.
Has she been watching the whole time? I guess it would have been overkill for her to get involved. Cinder leaned over to ask Roland.
"Raven doesn't involve herself in the attack unless it's necessary. None of the bosses do. If the boss is already the strongest, then them raiding just takes away the chance for anyone else to strike lucky."
It was a gesture, then? Strange, but it made some small sense. Raven was allowing her tribe to take the glory and prove themselves without her, and unlike anyone else who might have stayed behind, there could be no questioning her strength. Cinder watched as wheelbarrows of valuables were brought up and dumped next to Raven. The tribe were getting antsy, crowding before her as she looked out over them. Curious, Cinder joined the throng, standing between Roland and Marrick, her smaller frame somehow not seeming out of place beside them.
It took some time for the loot to be stacked up and brought on stage. The prisoners had stopped weeping by virtue of growing too tired for it and being blatantly ignored. Before long, the pile of valuables next to Raven was bigger than she was. Crates of wine. Baubles. Stacks of cash. Fancy furniture. Furs. There was a wide range of stuff.
The tribe grew silent. Cinder wanted to ask what was happening, but it was so quiet that she kept her mouth shut. The atmosphere felt electric; almost as much so as it had when attacking the village.
Raven raised a fist. Everyone went silent.
"Strength!" she roared.
The crowd cheered. Cinder did too.
"Tonight, you've proven yourself strong!" she yelled. Another roar of approval. "Our world is one of bloody evolution. The strong live and the weak die. Tonight, you live. Tonight, you drink. Tonight, you are strong!"
"Rarghhh!" the tribe roared, stamping feet and cheering.
"Silence!" she yelled. It took a few seconds for it to come. "Strength for the sake of strength, however, is meaningless!" Cinder frowned. Why-? "Strength without purpose is wasted. Shouldn't strength be rewarded?"
Ah. Now she knew what Raven meant. Cinder nodded along. She didn't want power only for power's sake, but to use that power. There was always an end goal to work toward. An ambition. In the case of tonight, and with the loot stacked next to her, it wasn't hard to figure out what that might be.
"All who participated will get their tithe," Raven announced. She waited out the whoops and cheers. "Those who craft for us shall take theirs too, as will the tribe for food and drink. But before that, it's time to recognise!" Raven looked out over a suddenly silent crowd. "Roland."
The crowd stamped their feet. Smirking, Roland left her side and stepped up onto the stage. He looked tall and proud. Cinder watched, curious, while Marrick slammed his hand against his chest respectfully.
"The first in." Raven noted. "The first to strike. The first to hold one back from breaking out laws." Raven gripped Roland's shirt by his collar, almost as if she were going to break his jaw. Yanking him close, she said, "I saw what you did. The tribe recognises you, Roland." Pushing him away, she laughed. "Take your pick. Chosen's rights."
The first choice of the loot. Cinder's eyes widened as the crowd roared their approval. This was a ceremony? It was so bizarre and unexpected, and yet also a perfect way for Raven to reward loyalty and performance. In a way, it was no different than some `employee of the month` plaque, except much more meaningful. Roland approached the loot with a hungry gleam in his eye. He rummaged for a little bit, then came out with a jewelled dagger. It was an ornamental thing that would snap if he tried to use it, but it would sell well.
Raven nodded. "Wise choice. Go, Roland." He left the stage. Marrick was there to slap his shoulder and even Cinder felt pleased for him. He showed them the dagger and they admired it greedily.
"Aldon!" Raven shouted. "When the gates were closing, you breached them with your body. You took a spear to your side and couldn't fight for the night – but without your brawn, the village might have sealed itself away." A man limped up. His skin was a rich black like dark chocolate and he was heavily bandaged. Despite that, he looked proud of himself. Raven still grabbed him by his throat regardless of his wounds. "The tribe recognises you, Aldon. There is strength beyond battle. Strength to keep the gates open."
He took a fancy coat lined with fur, swung it over his shoulders and posed for the crowd. People laughed and cheered. Others were called up. Not many, but each had a story to tell. Miriam had stood over her fallen brother despite only being fifteen, fighting off a man twice her age and dragging her brother to safety.
"Cinder."
Her heart skipped a beat. Roland gave her the push she needed to start again, and then she was walking up the wooden steps, up onto the stage, eyes wide and smile stretched wider still.
"Not of our tribe – broken and weak." Cinder almost snarled only to gasp as instead of her neck, Raven gripped her shoulder. Cinder's entire body shivered as pain wracked her. "Yet even with a broken shoulder, involved in the heat of the fighting. The first to enter the final stronghold. Present from start to finish. All of you should dream of the strength required!"
Through tears of pain, Cinder felt her ego swell. Gritting her teeth, she refused to show any of it as Raven's hand moved from her shoulder to her neck, squeezing it threateningly. Cinder staggered back as she was pushed, somehow bot offended and proud.
"Take your pick, warrior. The tribe recognises you."
Recognition. Approval. The Branwen tribe roared its fury, its pride, and Cinder swelled up, smirking victoriously out over all the people she had proven herself stronger than. Of over two hundred hardened warriors, she was among the best. First to pick from Raven's personal stash.
It was the necklace she chose. Not because it was special or interested her – she needed not the money and would never wear it – but it had been something she claimed with the strength of her own hands. It was special. Cinder took and held it out so the people could see. The bandits whooped and hollered her name.
This, she decided, was true power. The power to take. The power to keep. The power to be recognised and admired.
True strength.
/-/
Barbarism.
Jaune bit back the bile that threatened to spill past his lips. His hand clutched the hilt of his sword so hard his fingers ached. Were it not for his waning strength, he thought he might charge into the dray hacking and cleaving. It had been easy to forget what the Branwen tribe was when he and Raven worked together so often. Raven was a drunk, a pain in his ass and a rude bitch who would come steal his alcohol, crash on his couch, and antagonise Emerald.
Seeing people – real people – locked in cages reminded him of what she truly was.
Her eyes met his over the heads of her people and she smirked. They had begun to disband, to go here and there to drink and make merry outside the ruins of the village they'd destroyed. Cinder was among them and saw him. She hurried over, heavily bandaged on one side and with a broken arm or shoulder.
"Ashari!" Breathless and yet obviously pleased with herself, she wore a silver necklace over her chest. "The SDC camps have been silenced. Did you have any fortune on your end?"
"No." If she noticed his fury, she must have ascribed it to his failure. "Ozma avoided Mistral. He must have thought Lionheart was still in charge there. He would have made himself known to me otherwise."
"Hm. He must have skirted north or south around it," she reasoned. "That could mean he's just about anywhere."
"I know. If he's in Mistral at all." He shook his head and spotted Raven approaching. "We'll leave it to Tyrian and the others. Good job on the SDC camps. Why don't you go and get something to drink while I talk with Raven? I think I see Roland and a few others calling out to you."
Cinder turned to see them and nodded, moving over with a confident swagger, to be swallowed up by the stronger members of the tribe and taken to their personal drinking hole. Jaune ignored them, staring down Raven.
"How could you…?"
"How could I what?" she asked mockingly.
Crocea Mors slid free with a rasp. "You know what I mean!"
Raven looked down on the sword point resting against her breastbone but didn't appear bothered. She knew he was low on aura and exhausted, even if he didn't show it. Raven knew she could take him.
"You asked me to distract Cinder in such a way that she wouldn't notice me slipping away to help you kill Hazel and bring you back here."
"I meant you should knock her out in training and get it done before she wakes up! Or – Or something!" He pointed to the people in their cages. Luckily, it was too great a distance for them to see him with any surety. "Not attack innocent people."
"And do you think she would believe I hadn't slipped away while she was unconscious? Don't be an idiot. That girl is smart. Enough to fool you, Ozpin, and Beacon all at the same time. I had to make it something big to keep her busy."
He ground his teeth together. "There had to be other ways."
"There were. I chose this one."
"Raven…"
"We're a bandit tribe, Jaune." Her finger poked his chest, batting Crocea Mors away. "Remember that. I'm not one of Ozpin's tame huntresses. Don't force your culture and your `civilised ways` on us and I won't force mine on you."
"This is evil."
"Evil? Evil?" Raven snorted. "Evil is undoing the sacrifices all your friends made to kill Salem because you decided it was too much. Evil is bringing her shit back to the world when she was dead and done. Don't talk to me about evil."
"You're a real piece of shit."
"And you're a fucking idiot if you didn't realise it sooner," she returned, spreading her arms wide. "Because I never claimed otherwise." Letting her arms fall, she said, "The job is done. Hazel is dead and Cinder can account to Salem where both of us were when it happened. Or she thinks she can. This is your chance. There's an opening in her employ now. Room for an ambitious middle manager to rise up the ranks. I think we're done here."
Jaune caught her wrist. "We're not done. Those prisoners. I want them released safely."
"Fair enough."
Her answer surprised him. His eyes narrowed. "And the catch?"
"No catch. I'll deliver them to a nearby town as refugees." Raven held a hand out, palm up. "You just need to pay their ransom."
"I hope you're joking."
"Do I look like I am? I'd say half a million will do. I know you're good for that. Don't bother claiming otherwise."
"You're extorting me for people's safety!?" he all but hissed.
"That's what a ransom is. Half a million. Or you can waste my time and watch me up it to three quarter-"
"I'll pay," he snapped. "Feed and look after them. Medical attention too." Jaune stomped past her, making sure to swing his shoulder into hers. Raven staggered back, but it didn't have the desired effect. She laughed at his anger. "I'm disappointed in you," he said. "I thought better of you."
"Really? If that's the case, then I'm disappointed in you, too." Her eyes burned. "Because you shouldn't have."
Kind of in the same way it's fun to think up ways to make Adam interesting and vaguely sympathetic in "Beast of Beacon", it's interesting to think up ways for the Branwen tribe to work and not collapse at the smallest problem. They'd need healers and cooks and people to repair weapons, and presumably they aren't treated as slaves or they'd refuse to do anything or make things worse. Therefore maybe I can argue that Raven's tribe accepts "strength" as also applying to strength in a craft.
Like if you're a good healer, you're considered strong "for" the tribe, even if you're not strong individually. And maybe if you're old and can't fight any more, but you were once a strong warrior, you're considered strong for surviving, or valued for your wisdom and expertise. Little things like that are fun to think up because it lets you think outside the box and dive into the world building that RWBY so often relegates to separate videos not even shown in the main show. Things like how does the economy of the Branwen tribe work? How does it remain self-sustaining? How does it replenish its numbers? What does it do with all the children inevitably orphaned, or even its own people injured in action? Things like that.
Next Chapter: 11th July
P a treon . com (slash) Coeur
