RUN.

⠀⠀⠀❛ ⠀That's new,⠀ ❜⠀⠀she remarks, brow raised as she glances at the decidedly tame drink he's barely touched. It wasn't just bottom shelf — it was no shelf.⠀❛ ⠀Good thing I didn't go through the trouble of buying this time.⠀ ❜

— ⠀RAVEN BRANWEN : ⠀ R ⠀ W ⠀ B ⠀ Y⠀ ⠀

certified remnant mother of the year 19 years running, emphasis on running

former member of team strq. rumor has it their interpersonal relationships inspired fleetwood mac

has a twin, qrow. scraggly, mopey, messes up his hair on purpose. maybe you've seen him

she and said twin originally went to beacon academy to learn how to kill huntsmen, as instructed by the bandit tribe they were taken in by. he became a full-fledged huntsman himself; she's maintaining the family business, so to speak.

also has a daughter and ex-husband, don't worry about it

her semblance involves portal-making, linking herself automatically to those she comes to care about emotionally. it's the biggest tattletale ever about how she actually cares a lot, like A Lot a lot, although she ( allegedly ) limits herself to one 'save' per person.

she can turn into a bird!!!!

not now tho. but soon

Delicate figure and a tendency to freeze up in the face of danger. She’s not built to be out in this mist, not in the slightest, and even still she can’t help but grab the glasses that fell from her face, kept bound by a chain around her neck, and shake her head at the woman who came to save her. “I… I… I must kn-know what lurks out here,” she says, voice thin from fear, “I have never s-s-se-seen-s-seen-seen anything like it… th-the way it pulls a-at the very fabric o-of this reality…”

“I w-want… I want… I want t-to understand it,” she says, her stammer worsened by her anxiety, visibly stuck on every word she tries to spit out, before she realizes she’s yet to show any gratitude. Gloria quickly clutches her notebook tight to her chest and lowers herself into a bow. “Th-th-thank.. thank you,” she says with sudden urgency, “You are… you… you are v-very strong.”

          THE   studious type, huh ?  She picked a hell of a time to chase a new subject. She’s seen her share of timid people who had no business being in the wild, but this was a whole other level... and considering mere hours ago this hadn’t been ‘the wild,’ Raven supposes she held some begrudging understanding. 

      ❛   I am strong.   ❜   A simple retort, but not a boast; there’s a point she’s getting at, although her steady scan of the surrounding mists causes her to give a slight pause.  ❛   But not the strongest thing you’ll find in this mist. And the weaker ones flock in numbers.   ❜  Her gaze is shrewd as it rakes over her form, lingering on the book she carries. What good is any data she collects if she’s dead before she can do anything with it ?  Surely she knows that... 

           A   harsh command, but not without good reason. A flash of black all but glides past the young woman, and with a screech of steel her sword collides head-on with the Boarbatusk that had been barreling towards them both. It skids backwards a bit, dragging its hooves against the barren earth. She waits patiently, attempting to ignore the noticeable trembling in her peripheral vision — and as soon as it lunges into a roll, a swift slash to the stomach ends the fight before it starts. 

           Raven exhales sharply through her nose as she flicks blood off Omen’s blade before sheathing it, although she’s not sure what purpose it really serves; odds are she’ll have to draw it again soon enough. Has the woman ( Faunus ? ) stopped trembling ?  … A sparing glance tells her that’s a resounding no. 

       ❛   You don’t ever want to be caught standing still in this mist,   ❜   she cautions, although she knows she’s under no obligation to. Her voice is rigid, chiding.  ❛   It makes you easy prey.   ❜

          SURPRISING   no one, Raven will be prioritizing finding a pathway to escape. Having said that, even a raven tends to circle or stay put when it’s foggy out; her sense of direction and experience in the wild aren’t entirely helpful when it comes to navigating a city overcome by mist. Her powers will be fully unlocked, but sporadically so; you may even run into a very agitated raven that perches on your shoulder for a quick way out !  

RESIDUAL DATA IMPRINTS   will entirely focus on the past. Specifically, her golden days as a member of team STRQ. Pranks gone wrong ( or right ), exploits worthy of shock and awe… Occasionally, a baby crying. Occasionally, another mother’s final words of hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.

SENTIENT DATA IMPRINTS   … well, there’s a sense of unfathomable, soul-crushing dread. Wherever you go, a shadow follows close behind. It’s an understated dread most of the time, something just outside of your periphery that makes you feel as if you’re constantly on the run— because you are. Creatures of Grimm, monsters of destruction that are drawn to strong emotions, will launch out from the mist over and over and over again, seemingly without end. But you know deep down that these aren’t the real threat. The real threat lies just beyond, waiting for one wrong step before it strikes without mercy… and its name is Salem.

     strange. out of all possibilites to emerge within these mists, she had not once considered that Cernunnos would be among them. thought it is nothing more than a faithful recreation of the deity, it perfectly displays what might be at work here. the deity was harmless. if it had not been, then half the city would have been leveled by now, leaving nothing in its wake but ruin covered by a thick fog. but it wasn’t, choosing instead to remain stationary, presumably minding his business. nothing like that which tried to lay waste to her kingdom long after her demise.

            though a threat to her kingdom within the Lostbelt, there is no danger here. as such, there isn’t any need to try and destroy him. Morgan’s initial erasure of the deity from within the history of Fairy Britain was not without cause– the fae had twisted and tainted it to fit their narrative, using Cernunnos as a scapegoat. the damage had already been done and the fae weren’t ones to willingly change their minds without having something in it for them. typical. the woman glances around, as if trying to see if anyone was nearby.  it seems impossible that nothing has encountered the giant beast–          

                 is what she thought before she heard a loud squawk, gaze moving upwards as a woman falls from the sky. 

   in the silence, she can hear her speak and hear something whir and click. eyes narrow in on the hilt of a weapon and it is now that she chooses to speak. “ Stay your hand. He will not bring any harm to you and your weapon will be nothing more than a pinprick.. “

          THE   sudden interjection causes her to tense, head tilting slightly in the direction of the sound. Her eyes are wary to leave this... … Whatever it was— but there seems to be some truth in their claim. After all, it probably could’ve steamrolled her with little effort in the time it took for the woman to speak. 

            Albeit stiffly, she turns — angling her body so that she might still keep this behemoth in her peripheral vision. There’s a firmness to this woman’s voice, and that authority is evident in her posture. Her response alone suggests she knows plenty about this creature, if not outright responsible for its presence in this damn mist. So she’ll cant her head in acknowledgment, but keep her chin high all the same. After all, when is she not projecting more control than she has ?  Fake it ‘till you make it. 

    she knows they aren’t real. she knows they are a product of this mist. these truths remain clear in her mind, but it doesn’t change the most important thing: she is their mother. and she has an obligation to them (one she’s already failed before.)

  “ Stay here! Both of you stay here and stay quiet and no matter what you hear, do not come out! “ a gentle, yet worried smile to cover the panic. quick to lean down, quick to press a kiss against each head of white hair. then, a whisper, “ Mommy loves you both, okay? “ and then– she shuts the door. 

          they are safe there. they will be okay. a mantra she repeats in her head before she bolts out of the empty bedroom, taking care to close the door behind her. breathing rapid from the rush, with what strength she can muster, Eva runs. runs down the corridor, around the corner, bursting through half-broken double doors. they will be safe. after all, the demons aren’t focused on her sons. after all, he isn’t focused on them.

                             no, the one he wants is her.

           the sound of glass shattering and wood snapping under a powerful blast has her ducking behind a bookcase to avoid the debris. she can hear the shrieks of the inhuman creatures as they swarm the half-ruined manor, searching and searching and searching. she does not need to be anything more than human to feel him-- to feel that horrible, horrible energy drawing closer. 

          SMOKE.   

          Her knee-jerk reaction is to wonder if there was a Grimm attack, only to remember where she was. If any Grimm were to be found, they were only just beyond her shadow. Their attacks have slowed, too, as of late... But Raven can only assume it’s intentional. Luring her into a false sense of security ?  Perhaps conjuring up some new horror meant specifically to hunt her down… Anything was possible in this neverending mist. It was surprising, then, to come upon the source of the blaze before even realizing it. It’s as if mist and smoke conspired with one another to hide it almost entirely from view until it was right in front of her: a once-grand house now converted into a bonfire, shrieks of the damned echoing from its walls. 

         Grimm ?  No. … But inhuman all the same. These weren’t wails of pain, but screeching of hunters— or scavengers. … Good. The less she has to stop, the better. So, naturally, no sooner does she loosen her grip on Omen’s hilt than she hears it. It was tiny by comparison, an instinctual yelp at best... 

         But it was human. 

         If these grotesque creatures are hunters, odds are they rely on something like scent. If they catch her scent, they’ll follow her into the mist. Grimm were enough of a hassle without adding these into the mix... So it’s to her best interest to exterminate them here and now. 

         That’s what she tells herself, anyway, as her blade is released from its chamber— a surge of lightning immediately arcing toward the creature lying in wait near the busted-down doors. Its cry was cut short before it even hit the wall; its anatomy isn’t even a little recognizable to her. But it bleeds. 

          She recalls that this mist was once used to keep citizens of this island from going where they shouldn’t; straying too far would cause you to lose yourself, among other side effects. How long can she continue to search for an escape route before those effects start to take a toll on her as well... ?  She refused to go out like this. She refused to slow down long enough for her to catch up. So long as she can keep moving, it’s likely that———

          SQUAWK— ?!

          Her train of thought has been effectively derailed by a freight train she nearly flew directly into. A very furry, very large... freight train. The raven found itself so startled that it shifted back into Raven herself, having the presence of mind to use her Aura in order to break her fall. ( One never outgrew their landing strategies. ) She prided herself on being prepared for damn near anything, but this was... Was... 

      ❛   What the hell is this... ?   ❜   Raven asks no one in particular, mouth agape. No, seriously— what the hell was this ?  Her blades rotate in their chamber, the hand on her hilt twitching. How would she even go about attacking this thing... ?  Maybe if she stays perfectly still, it’ll continue on its way... 

               IT’S   a waste of effort. These Grimm have varied widely so far; she lost count after six different types. She can feel her there, just beyond her periphery... Observing, as always. Pulling the strings, as always. Waiting for a single, solitary moment when her guard is down — as always. Raven has yet to see her, of course... But she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t want to.

               She nudges the last Beowulf over with her foot, peering down into its face. She doesn’t need to be looking to cut down the one that lunges at her while her guard’s seemingly down; all it takes is a duck and a slice, one fluid motion. By the time it hits the ground, she’s inspected them both. 

               Crimson eyes. Good. 

               Fight, run, fight, fly. It’s the same rinse and repeat, and Raven’s lost track of how long she’s been playing this game of stalemate. Occasionally she runs into others; occasionally she joins them, although ‘safety in numbers’ can be flimsy at best. It’s jarring, then, to come across a horde of something that isn’t Grimm. Typically the people she finds are alone, or chasing ghosts; she leaves the latter be. But this was unique in that she quite literally ran into the line of fire. 

               Her instincts are what save her; no sooner had she realized there was a monster in her path did someone else’s glowing blades appear to encircle it, and bending backward as she slid out of the path of its outstretched claws had spared her from both. At the very least, it spared her from a steep bill at the mall when this was over. Her shoulders bunch together in agitation as she stands upright again, crimson gaze nearly aflame... But the full picture gives her little choice but to let it slide. After all, not only were there many more of these... things she didn’t recognize... But she hears familiar screeching and howling in the distance. The Witch would have a field day with this. 

           ❛   It seems I’ve brought my problems with me.   ❜   Raven’s met this man before, mostly in passing. It’s clear he’s capable, and that’s all she really cares about. Blades rotate in their chamber, and one coated in glimmering red Dust emerges.  ❛   You can handle a bit of a challenge, can’t you ?   ❜

          SURPRISING   no one, Raven will be prioritizing finding a pathway to escape. Having said that, even a raven tends to circle or stay put when it’s foggy out; her sense of direction and experience in the wild aren’t entirely helpful when it comes to navigating a city overcome by mist. Her powers will be fully unlocked, but sporadically so; you may even run into a very agitated raven that perches on your shoulder for a quick way out !  

RESIDUAL DATA IMPRINTS   will entirely focus on the past. Specifically, her golden days as a member of team STRQ. Pranks gone wrong ( or right ), exploits worthy of shock and awe... Occasionally, a baby crying. Occasionally, another mother’s final words of hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.

SENTIENT DATA IMPRINTS   … well, there’s a sense of unfathomable, soul-crushing dread. Wherever you go, a shadow follows close behind. It’s an understated dread most of the time, something just outside of your periphery that makes you feel as if you’re constantly on the run— because you are. Creatures of Grimm, monsters of destruction that are drawn to strong emotions, will launch out from the mist over and over and over again, seemingly without end. But you know deep down that these aren’t the real threat. The real threat lies just beyond, waiting for one wrong step before it strikes without mercy… and its name is Salem.

@stormslayer​  SAID   :

❛ Oh, is that a challenge? ❜

(  X.  ) 

               THERE’S   an unspoken rule all life follows: the weak die. The strong live. It’s very simple. But there’s a subset of that rule: never pick a fight you aren’t absolutely sure you’ll win. Over the years, Raven has become something of a master when it comes to pulling as many strings as possible to avoid an unclear fight... But times like these, when the victor is murky at best ?  That’s fair game. The only determining factor to whether or not she’ll proceed is her pride. 

                As she clicks her tongue and throws one palm skyward, it seems the answer’s already been decided. After all, by asking if it were a challenge, he’s all but made it one.