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Winter had come to Vale. Record snowfall, roaring winds, and the cold had forced most people inside.
Teams RWBY and JNPR, however, were not most people.
They were out in the Emerald Forest, in near blizzard conditions, and pitching tents, all for a little extra credit over the holidays. The Winter Environment Challenge was advertised every year to prospecting students at Beacon looking to net themselves some extra points for the year. Instructions were clear on bringing as little as possible; just what was needed and the hunter's respective weaponry.
Jaune hadn't listened exactly to instructions per say. He was simply too excited to show his friends his talent for the wilderness.
The leader of team JNPR trudged back through the snow to the campsite panting and carrying a heaping helping of firewood (on top of all the other equipment he already carried). Personally he hadn't felt too bothered by the cold, but once he saw his friends shivering and their aura percentages lowering he had taken initiative, and gone with Blake to get the materials for a fire. He remembered the process by heart, and soon a fire blazed before the two teams.
"Hey!" Yang yelled on the other side of the camp, "You seen Blakey lover boy?"
"She should be back soon!" he yelled back in reply. He grinned conspiratorially. She would indeed be back soon.
Reaching over his shoulder, he unslung the rifle he brought with him. Silently he sat down on a log near the fire, took out a knife, and carved a seventh notch on the side of the barrel. It's what his old man would've wanted. Next, he took out his latest kill he had shot for the night and placed two chunks of meat on the spit to roast.
Suddenly his attention was physically turned away by a pair of gloved hands. Pyrrha turned his head and gave him a chaste kiss before sitting on the log next to him.
"I didn't realize you were so... woodsy," she said with a smile. "I guess you just didn't look like that kind of person."
"Didn't I tell you where me and my family lived?"
Pyrrha shook her head. The tents had been fully set up (despite setbacks from Nora) and more friends were coming to sit around the fire.
"Then I guess it's time for a story," Jaune prompted.
Just then Nora appeared and plopped herself down on a log, rocking back and forth rapidly.
"More Jauney story time?" she asked, "Oh, this is gonna be good. You've barely told us anything about yourself fearless leader!"
Ren, who took a seat right next to Nora, pitched in, "I will admit, I am curious."
Everyone else had taken the opportunity to gather around. Yang nervously glanced around, sitting alone on her own log.
"Well," Jaune began, resting his rifle and knife beside his log, "I grew up in Atlas, far outside the city and deep in the woods..."
It was just mom, my dad, my seven sisters, and me. I didn't know how easy everyone else had it. All I knew was that the family was everything. You help farm, hunt, and fight for the family. My dad often took me hunting and we had a punching bag in the basement.
Life was tough out there.
In the woodland communities we often had our own share of rumors, myths, and legends. No legend quite exemplified the tough life we lived like the legend of the White Death.
As the legend goes, a village in the woods going by the name Aidacra had wronged another village in some way, just as winter was approaching. This village in question, being inhabited solely by faunus, had appealed to the White Fang for a small retaliatory gesture. Perhaps make a few hunters disappear on their next trip or ruin their harvest. Nothing serious.
Instead the White Fang turned Aidacra to ash. Men, women, and children... none were spared among the human population. It is said from recovered records that prominent women of the village, perhaps even the mother of the infamous White Death, were impaled lengthwise through the entire body on wooden poles. Then, while the women were still alive, their breasts were cut off and sewn to their mouths, as to appear eating them.
Understandably none were thought to have survived the attack. The White Fang in particular had lost any favor they had gained with local sympathizers, chastising them for the sheer brutality of the event. Everyone was asking roughly the same questions. How could the careful chain of command give way to such madness in the blink of an eye? How could seemingly rational men and women commit such atrocities?
Such questions didn't matter. You reap what you sow, as the saying goes. And the village who had requested the retaliation, along with the entire regional cell of the White Fang, would reap the monster they had sown.
It started with one man.
His family had been starving, and his six year old daughter, with her little fox ears, had begged daddy to go get some food. So the man set off with his handgun to hunt a rabbit. He never came back.
One man became two, then four. Rescue parties were sent and lost. People stopped leaving the town.
Reasonably they assumed that everyone must have been either holding out somewhere else with the rescued people, or killed by grimm. Both possibilities weren't impossible. Winters of such magnitude forced people to stay inside, so if the survivors found another village they were probably there, with no connection on their scrolls, if they had them. On the other hand, winters of such magnitude produced plenty of negative emotion, even if it was unpleasant to entertain the possibility.
After winter ended, efforts to find those lost began in earnest. Soon they found the first camp. Someone had presumably been living out in the woods during the winter. All they found left was an improvised shelter, empty rifle shell casings, and bones.
The bones, after being taken to the village doctor, were found not to be the bones of any regular animal.
After months of waiting for family that wouldn't come back, those remaining in the village prepared to leave. Unfortunately, just before they could, a blizzard engulfed the area. That is when the Atlas Regional Cell of the White Fang lost contact with the village. After days of radio silence it became an utter necessity to send a team of soldiers to check on them, but in blizzard conditions, there was nothing they could do but wait until the storm was over.
When the blizzard finally calmed a team was sent to the village. It was gone. The only remnants were ruins, ashes, and leftover bones.
Months later, by the end of winter, an Atlan military convoy had rolled by an area thought to be infested with White Fang insurgents. When no resistance had been found passing through the area, squads were sent to investigate. The report sent back from the commanding lieutenant makes up the foundation of the legend, the White Death.
One human male, estimated to be around their teens or early twenties from the few pictures found, had been inhabiting the woods of Atlas for some time (approximately a year and a half). Nearly a score of hideouts were found including stockpiles of ammunition, general supplies, and faunus remains... if they could be called that. All that he left behind were bone scraps, with the interior bone marrow all missing.
In any case, due to the general lack of winter clothing or cold proofing found in their investigations, the report insists the perpetrator must have some semblance making them immune to the cold's effects. The name White Death followed somewhat unnaturally, ignoring the obvious resemblance the killer had to the infamous Cannibal Johnson from Mantle. Guess they heard about the cold semblance and just went with it.
In the report's conclusion it's assumed that the White Death's path of destruction spanned one town of faunus, a major White Fang outpost, and more. In one of the hideouts, hidden away in a cave, the severed heads of six highly wanted White Fang operatives were found on a shelf. The White Death's exact kill count is unknown by everyone but him and the investigation is still ongoing. His current location is unknown. It is assumed he fled the scene, or even the country.
In fact...
"He could even be... HERE!" Jaune yelled, throwing his arms out.
...
"I said he could even be HERE ..."
...
Everyone around the fire stared at him, waiting. Nothing happened for a while until Jaune stood up.
"Dang it, Blake, you were supposed to jump out and scare them!"
...
"Blake!" he yelled out into the wilderness. "She must not have heard the cue," he explained disappointedly, "she was supposed to jump out and grab one of you and... yeah."
There was a general murmur around the fire, admiring the set up, reassuring him that it would've been great, but the effect was gone. That cat cunt had ruined it.
"Hey it's ok," Pyrrha said, "the story was pretty scary."
"Yeah, our folks told it to scare us, so that we wouldn't annoy each other so much. Y'know, with the whole 'goes around comes around' moral of the story... didn't stop my sisters though."
He pulled a picture out of his coat pocket. It showed him and his family, including all eight children, out in the snow coated woods. Pyrrha was surprised at how fit Jaune looked at what looked to be only a couple years younger.
Jaune put the picture down and picked up his rifle, helping Yang look for Blake. Pyrrha smelled the roasting meat, wondering what it was. Something bothered her about the picture still. Jaune wasn't wearing a coat. What time of the year was the photo taken? Right before winter? She decided to turn the photo over, maybe there was a date?
Her heart stopped.
OCTOBER 15, 20XX, AIDACRA
PROPERTY OF ATLAS MILITARY, CLASSIFIED, LAST KNOWN PHOTO OF WHITE DEATH'S FAMILY
There we have it people, my amateur attempt at horror. I hope it was enjoyable.