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[hider=The Beginning]
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0ETe5IkP0k[/youtube]
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Overwhelming dread spurred on by the flecks of blood hitting the ground and the sheer hope of the future. That's what drove the remaining few on. No one remembered why they were fighting. Which of the four kingdoms the other's came from was a fleeting thought in their minds. Their reasons; suppressing or preserving individuality had been lost a long time ago. Only four now stood, each with a different mask over their faces bearing the symbol of their respective kingdoms that had been covered in blood, making it impossible to distinguish who was from where. Did it ever matter in the first place?

The four crept around each other, their weapons drawn and pointing it at each other in fear. In anticipation. Grimm surrounded them, their comrades corpses they stepped on and across. They all stopped, panting and shaking, the exhaustion of their long battle having taken their toll. Seeing the weakness and fear spreading between the four, the wolf-esque Grimm lunged with roars that shook the ground around them. All four warriors turned as they were upon them. One, however, was able to react. She used her staff to pole-vault out of the way, allowing the Grimm going for her to crash into the monster attacking the warrior across from her. The staff-clad warrioress and the fist fighter she had saved went back to back for a moment before running in the opposite directions, the fist fighter leaping off the ground into the Grimm attacking the third, an archer. His fist cracked into the Grimm's skull and sent the monster flying. The Archer shot three arrows into a small Nevermore approaching the fist fighter from behind, sending it crashing into the ground. The staff wielder flung her impressively sturdy weapon like a spear into a wolven Grimm whom the dagger-wielder warrioress was backing away from on the ground. The Staff warrior offered her hand to the dagger warrior, and she took it.

For hours, the four fought back against the legion of Grimm going against them, forgetting their causes and joining forces somehow. They fought bravely. They fought hard. They were steeled, but they were not enough. The Staff wielder had broken her leg and shrieked in pain with every motion. The dagger warrior had suffered impalement and was bleeding out even as she fought with rage on her breath. The fist fighter had suffered a slash across the neck and was now holding the wound tightly as he fell to his knees and gasped for air. Above him, a bear-like Grimm was rearing up slowly. This was the end.

And in the center, stood the archer. Behind his mask he looked between them all. Their kingdoms were forgotten. Their names were forgotten. He knew none of them yet fought against them and beside them all at once. His hands trembled... and then they didn't. With a determined, and sick feeling in his gut, he knew what he had to do. He pulled out one arrow and pulled back, aiming, with a silent calmness to his form.... and let go.

The arrow went straight through the temples of the fist fighter just before he was eaten alive by the Grimm. 

The archer turned, looking at the staff wielder who met his gaze. She did not rise, and did not look away. She simply nodded. The arrow went through the center of her forehead, and her body slumped to the side. The dagger wielder turned just in time to see the life fading from the staff clad warrior, the staff rolling away peacefully down the sheer crags of the mountain they fought on. 

Panting, angry, confused, tears and blood and sweat all rolling down from the contents of her mask, the dagger warrior screamed and ran for the archer, her weapons high in the air. He looked to her and unleashed an arrow. It hit, right in the center of her chest. The warrior stumbled, gasping in pain... and then raised her blades and ran for him again, screaming bloody murder until another arrow hit her in the chest. This one caused her to fall to her knees, and she quivered in pain. The warrior dropped her daggers--she no longer could feel her fingers. The Grimm grew closer, feeling her fear.

When she looked up at the archer, he stood directly before her, arms at his sides. An awful gurgling sound filled the suddenly still and silent air. The dagger warrior reached up, her face hidden by her mask, her fingers clawed and desperate and covered in blood as she reached for the archer. This all continued for a moment... and then the archer quickly pulled back his bow and unleashed an arrow through the center of her forehead. The gurgling warrior was cut off, and her head his his feet with an unceremonious 'thud.'

The Grimm watched. They reached out to sense fear only to find none. The archer stood alone, his shoulders slumped as he stared down at what he had done. At what they all had done. Miles around them, as far as the eyes could see, weapons and bodies and traps made up the gray landscape. The rocks he stood on, were gray. The sky was overcast and filled the world with a sense of dread.

The Grimm, still intrigued, approached the archer with a snarl. The Archer looked over the edge of the cliffs they had fought near, ready to accept his fate. 


The clouds broke.

The rising sun shone through, causing the overcast sky to illuminate with purple, blue, orange, red and several other variants of color. Seeing this, the archer removed his mask slowly, his eyes wide. His red hair matted around his face and his freckles pale from lack of sunlight. Reflecting in his eyes, he saw the end of the war. The end of the gray looming over his entire generation. Tear streaked cheeks, which looked to have aged several years ahead of how old he truly was since the war began, cracked into a small smile. He closed his eyes as the Grimm approached him from behind, and turned his back to the dawn. The creatures upon him the archer slowly reopened his lids, revealing silver eyes shining beneath them. The world around him shook and filled with a light so blinding it consumed the land before him.

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[h1]R.W.B.Y.[/h1]
[h2]The Colors of Dawn[/h2]
Chapter One: Palette

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[b]Several Years Later...[/b][/center]

Professor Ozpin stood on the very cliff the archer had those many years ago overlooking what was now the Emerald forest. The wind blew his silver hair slightly as he stood rigid, his cane in one hand and his coffee in the other. The students arriving today had all arrived late to the school year and were the only ones able to work together for their team challenge. His student assistant, Glynda Goodwitch, approached him from behind, her long blonde hair down and her spectacles rectangular. Even from a young age, she had worked for the clockwork professor. 

"Ozpin..." She began to speak in her usual motherly tone of voice. Ozpin, before she could continue, closed his eyes and smirked.

"Glynda, I know what you're going to say." He took a sip of his coffee as he spoke while behind him Glynda folded her arms patiently with her riding crop in hand. "I assure you that even though this batch of students are a little... rough around the edges, I think they could become the best representations of Beacon yet. After all we've so many recognizable faces, with a little team balancing I'm more than certain even the most difficult of them will be able to become an exemplary students in time." Satisfied, he fell silent and rested his eyes. Glynda slowly raised an eyebrow.

"I was going to say, you didn't tell them what time they needed to meet here for and some of them haven't even arrived at the school yet." 

"...Oh." Ozpin opened his eyes, surprised. With the opening ceremonies, set ups for the Vytal Festival and working with his staff he'd been very preoccupied. "...That... could be a bit of an issue." 

"I will handle it." Glynda sighed. As she spoke, she flipped open her (at this time a bit of a prehistoric version of) her cellphone, sending out a message to all students in question to meet at the Emerald Forest border immediately or risk their opportunity attending Beacon Academy.