RWBY: Legacies

TIK TOK... TIK TOK...

The wind whistles past Theodore's ears as he plummets toward the Emerald forest, one hand on his umbrella. Waiting as the trees get closer... and closer. Just before they get too close for comfort Surtur prods his friend's back with his snout. Theodore immediately opens his umbrella and is whisked upwards. 'I knew that would work.' He smirks as he and Surtur glide gently just above the trees, the forest eerily quiet below them.

"Fly ahead and see if you can find the temple." He tells the wyvern as he climbs onto Theodore's shoulder. Surtur shuffles and spreads his wings, letting the air flow beneath them for an easy take off, but he looks back around and lets out a burst of flame beneath the umbrella to give his flightless friend some extra lift.

"Thank you." Theodore smiles before the red beast catches the wind and disappears behind his head. Hearing the wing flaps get fainter and fainter as he floats beneath the tree line, he alights on a thick branch and carefully makes his way down to the grass below.

Straightening up, he starts slowly walking deeper into the forest, now hearing the occasional volley of gunshots or distant roar echo through the trees. Taking note of how far away they are and what kind of Grimm he can identify from the sounds, mostly Ursa and Beowulf's he thinks. There are Grimm much closer to him, but none of them have noticed him yet, so the hunter in training keeps going, his eyes and ears scanning for trouble. Despite the dangers that lurk within, the Emerald forest does hold a form of beauty, a strange yet alluring combination of tranquillity and danger that permeates the very air around Theodore.

A twig snaps. Theodore stops dead, knowing for a fact that there is no twig under his own foot. He focuses on the trees around him. Some of the Grimm feel very close, but they're keeping their distance... circling him. Theodore slowly grips the handle of his umbrella, the shaft resting by his hip as he closes his eyes and listens.

Bushes rustle around the edge of the small clearing, but he's listening for the silence. While supernatural, the Grimm still behave like animals, predatory instincts fuelling their minds and bodies. When a small wolf pack finds prey the one wolf alone creates a distraction. The bushes rustle again. Then the second wolf instils fear, hoping to unsettle the prey. A low growl comes from through the trees, followed by a howl. But the third wolf is silent, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

His blow is swift and brutal.

A Beowulf crumples behind Theodore, a large gash running from its throat to its shoulder. The black fur around its head and white mask, as well as the grass beneath its head, turning dark red. Complete silence fills the forest for a moment as the pool of blood creeps slowly outwards. A last low whine gurgles in the creature's mouth, before it goes silent. Above the monster stands Theodore, the blade extending from his umbrella handle glinting slightly in the rays of light poking through the canopy above. He flicks the blood from the blade and returns it to its sheathe, a gentle click assuring him the umbrella is whole again.

'The strength of the pack is the wolf and the strength of the wolf is the pack. Which means...'

Another Beowulf lunges from the underbrush, swinging its claws at Theodore and gnashing its huge sharp white teeth. He quickly rolls away and fires a round into the monster's side, receiving an angry snarl in return. Theodore is given no time to recover, a third Beowulf lunging from the right, trying to sink its teeth into his shoulder. Instead, Theodore's blade takes out one of its glowing red eyes. Theodore opens his umbrella, using it as a shield. Both parties back off slightly, the two Grimm growling at him.

"Bad dog." He scolds.

Each Beowulf barks before charging at him. Theodore lunges once they're close enough and manages to cut the first on the shoulder, causing it to recoil slightly. The second swipes at the young man's leg, missing by inches. Bashed away by Theodore's shield, the creature staggers, but recovers quickly, trying to manoeuvre around the umbrella. The hunter keeps the other at bay with his sword tip, jabbing out whenever it gets too close. A howl alerts him to another Beowulf very close by; it either heard the fight or smelt the blood of its now dead kin.