Recommended listening: Unravel (Acoustic Version)

RWBY Backstories:

Hero, I (of 2)

Update: 5/30/18

Hey. been a while. sorry about that. just wanted to say that i'm not dead, just busy and hideously lazy. great combo :P

After writing a bunch of the story for Creeping Thorns, I've finally come to the decision that all of my RWBY Backstories are no longer canon within my soon-to-be mainstory. Sorry to disappoint folks, but chances are the changes made between the Backstories and the actual character backstories won't be big, but will be big enough that my decision to out and out say these aren't canon anymore is important.

As a consolation prize, the first chapter of Creeping Thorns is coming out later this week. So, I'll see you guys then. Ciao

So it's been a while... 7ish months if I'm not mistaken?

Heh. Sorry guys. Had this fully written but then I made the noob mistake of not making a copy, so when my original doc expired on the site... well. yeah. Had to write this again. Lost my inspiration for a while. Wrote speeches because I thought maybe I wanted to make something about the 'Great War'. Decided that leaving it mostly vague was fine for the time being, and finally got around to do this.

Unfortunately, updates aren't gonna be that frequent. School is back, which takes up a lot of time, the usual. I'll make time...eventually. Meanwhile, have this!

"Do you know why they call it 'Yellow Death', Jaune? Because of its wielder. They were the enemy of the very idea of individualism… but nothing that can feel pain deserved that man's wrath."

He stands, unbound, beneath the fading sun and the broken moon. The bloody field protrudes carnage and death, black mounds where countless began and ended. Red his blade is tipped, dripping and gleaming from the fresh coat. A cacophony of laughter echoes as pure insanity rings loud and demonic, pouring from his eyes.

His aura, a yellow monster, tinged red and orange by death and hate, burns as brightly as the sun. Lesser beings are burnt to cinders from a glance, their screams drowned out by the sizzling of their eye sockets.

He rears his blade, slowly, pointedly, forcefully, to the sky.

"LET THEM COME! LET THEM BURN! I WILL SLAUGHTER THEM ALL!"

"His semblance was earned from his arrogance. It was blinding, harmful even, to look at. He considered himself above us all."

He does not care what he burns, just that his trail is left in ruin and fire. His luminescence turns matter into a state beyond melted, into nothing, perhaps less. Cities burning like flares, fires raging –

"He burned Atlas to the ground."

- nothing survived as the surface of the sun walked through.

"We were desperate, so we looked the other way. We let genocide occur because it was justifiable. They always had the advantage, with their technology…"

Standing at the peak of Atlas' highest tower, he watches his domain, previously a sea of silver towers.

He watches it burn, the smoke rising beyond the clouds.

"History records it as the shift the 'Individualists' needed to win the war. I think, having seen it, I would've prefer to lose. We stooped to a low that made us little better – and in some ways worse – than Grimm. Because we knew what we were doing and didn't try and stop it."

He does not return to a warm welcome. He is feared, as he considered due, but he did not care. He lived what years he had left outside, content with isolation.

Until he meets Her, in an afternoon clearing bathed in rose petals and light.

"He was a monster, but it seems even he could fall in love. Some coincidence, like a fairy tale, led to their meeting. I don't pretend to know; I only wonder what she saw that millions of screaming faces did not."

Life was… peaceful. Nothing like just years ago, he knew. A lifetime ago in his eyes. Could a few years be a lifetime? He thought, holding his infant daughter.

Then She returned, her luminescence brightening the room from the moment she entered. But she did not burn where she trod, unlike him. She healed. She loved. Somehow, even him.

She smiled at him, and his sins suddenly weighed a little less.

"He was not an Arc at first, but it was him that started the legacy. He married in, becoming one of us. I wasn't born yet, so I can only imagine what their reaction was to the most dangerous psychopath known to man being in love with their daughter."

But one day her smile fell away, becoming less and less. It was gradual, but the difference between then and now was always noticeable. Something troubled her, and he was going to ask-

And then she was gone, taken. They were both gone.

He'd never gotten the chance to ask. But then it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore, he thought wielding Crocea Mors, intending to stain the blade red once more.

"Birth Complications. Back then, proper hospitals were Atlas-exclusive. If the birth had happened only a few years later, she might have lived… his daughters were taken into the family, the youngest of whom would later become my mother."

Without another thought, he took his most trusted weapon and thrust himself upon it.

"…That is why this is not the weapon of a hero. It is a weapon of genocide. To us, he was a Hero, a burning beacon of Hope in our darkest hour. To anything else, he was a monster. That is why you cannot go, not until you renounce this ridiculous notion of becoming a 'hero'.

"'Hero' is subjective. Remember that, Jaune. And don't you ever forget."

[LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK]

Jaune stopped by again.

He knew Rouge could survive without him visiting for a while, but he wanted to stop by as often as he could. So, he did.

He just hoped the flowers weren't a bit much. The guy at the flower shop had given him this weird look and laughed at something, and whenever someone was laughing in Jaune Arc's proximity, that usually meant it was at him. He soldiered on even with the hurt swelling in the pit in his stomach, not letting his own problems get in the way of keeping Rouge company.

Some colour had returned to her little cheeks, once a constant rose and now a lightish red, though it was so faint it might've been wishful thinking. It was strange, he felt, how her skin had paled but her fiery red hair had darkened. Even so, those shining blue eyes, the eyes of an Arc, never dimmed.

"Hey Jaune." She whispered.

"Hey Rouge." He presented the vase. "Got you some flowers. Hope I got the right kind this time. Usual store was closed, so…"

"Nooo," she whined, low and adorable. "I hope Jacq is okay." Wired to half a dozen machines just to survive, and Rouge was still more worried about someone she barely knew. It was heartbreaking to watch, but Jaune hid it behind a smile.

"So how's everyone doing~?" Rouge sang, sitting up and staring pointedly.

He didn't come here to dump his problems on her, so Jaune talked. He let her know of everything that happened, laughing with her, smiling with her. He could never impress what it was truly like in person, as Vert tried to cook again and got cake mix everywhere and Blanc had to clean it up, but she made Noir do it so naturally she used a vacuum cleaner and made it somehow worse. It was a life lived without her, but by talking through every detail, Jaune was hoping she could feel included. As though life continued with her, and not without her.

It was then, between the happy memories and mirthful atmosphere, that Jaune said something he would still regret a lifetime later.

"Ah, man, it was great. You should've been there, Rouge-" His teeth clacked together so fast he almost bit off his tongue, the mental beration coming almost instantly. Stupid stupid stupid stupid-

Rouge's grip on the sheets tightened until her knuckles became white, her head hunched over and eyes shadowed.

"…I wanna be there, Jauney…" Rouge's eyes dripped crystal tears of isolation. "I… I don't wanna live in this stupid Hospital anymore… I wanna mess up making cake with V… I wanna slack off with Blanc… I wanna read books with Bleu… I don't wanna be alone anymore…" She hiccupped, before a deluge of loneliness and sadness poured from her eyes.

Jaune was lost for words, so hopelessly helplessly it felt like someone was squeezing his lungs. There was not a word he could say to apologize, nor anything to fix her situation.

So when all else failed, Jaune did the only thing he could. He stood up, walked over, and held her against his chest as someone far too young and innocent for what had happened to her cried her eyes out.

[LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK]

"I want to become a hunter."

Jaune stood as proudly and determinedly as any 12 year old could before his parent.

His grandfather looked up with eyes that had never lost the killing edge of war, rocking chair swaying gently in the evening breeze.

"No." And went back to reading.

Jaune stood straighter. "I'm serious this time!"

His eyes stayed on the page. "You say that every time. It weakens your argument."

"You don't ever believe in me!"

"The weak should not question the strong. I have seen war, Jaune Arc." He removed himself from the book to stare deep into Jaune's eyes, unblinking, deep enough to see something very few could. "You don't have it in you to kill, and you likely never will."

"I wanna help people! I-"

"-wish to become a Hero," he interrupted with ready disdain. He grimaced. "Have I not told you what we have given up just so that we may live a peaceful life? You wish to throw away 2 generations of work just so you may charge headlong into a conflict you'd much, much sooner die pointlessly in than contribute to." Jaune hanged his head and turned away. His grandfather continued.

"What would Rouge think if she heard her brother had died out of sheer arrogance? What would any of them think?" Jaune's fists tightened and his eyes watered.

"…I just wanna help people," he whispered, sounding very small.

"You can. By picking up a tool and helping us farm, as you always have."

He looked up, fists tight at his side and tears bearing down. He choked out a sob, as though in response, and ran away.

Jaune's Grandfather sighed deeply, and thought back, trying to figure out how it'd all turned out this way.

[LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK]

A short distance away, Jaune collapsed against a tree on a hill. It was testament to how often – and for how long – he came here that he could ease himself into a groove on the tree's side.

The beautiful night sky of southern vale, far enough from any city to let every star shine together, poured soft moonlight on his usual haunt. Face pressed tightly against his knees, he couldn't appreciate it like he normally would whenever he came here.

Sometimes, it was just him and the sky, silent and unmovable. And the occasional distant roars of blood-thirsty Grimm, which was kind of the significant downside to living this far out from any city.

He'd came here after the worst day of his life, using the solitude as an excuse to cry endlessly. Maybe his family – or what's left anyway - knew where he was, maybe they didn't. He just wanted to get away, but even he knew, amidst the gaping, gnawing void of anguish within himself that this wasn't something you could run from.

It had been a pretty damn bad day, he thought in retrospect. Maybe that's all his life would ever be – a bad day, an empty smile, and just him and the night sky and no parents.

He hated the selfishness that came with coming here, because he knew without a single shred of doubt that everything he felt, his sisters had felt. It wasn't just him; everyone had lost their parents that day. He had no right to act special.

After all, as his grandfather kept trying to drill into his thick skull, he wasn't special. Jaune Arc was a farmboy, in the middle of nowhere, with a dying younger sister and not a friend to his name.

He'd been so caught up it took him a moment to realize someone's hand was on his shoulder, but once he looked over, he relaxed and muttered "hi."

Bleu sat next to him, ever-present book held lazily open by a thumb. Her glasses sparkled in the moonlight, like shimmering water, and she affectionately rubbed his shoulder. He had no doubt she'd heard him, considering her excellent hearing – a feature a number of Jaune's sisters had used to prank their grandfather numerous times.

She didn't say anything, though he suspected if she wasn't mute that'd still be the case. She'd always been quiet, peaceful, well-meant and smiling ever so faintly. Technically in fact, this was her spot, but he'd taken such a liking to it he'd practically declared it as Jaune-land. She didn't seem to mind, though Jaune was sure he could ask her to set fire to it as long as it made him happy and she'd just nod politely.

Despite being perfectly fine with the silence, Jaune felt strangely compelled to break it.

"So… what's the book? Is it good?" She nodded. "New favourite?" She pensively nodded again. "Huh… I thought Ninjas of Love was your fa-"

Face red enough to be a tomato, Bleu belted Jaune in the face with the scorn Hell certainly didn't hath. Groaning, Jaune sat back up, seeing adorable little birdies flying around his head in circles.

"Okay," he breathed, "deserved that. Sorry Bleu, I was just-" Bleu's fist was already raised tentatively, proving again that sometimes the quietest had the most to hide. Jaune verbally backpedaled. "I-uh m-mean… never mind." Her fist lowered slowly, Jaune exhaled in audible relief, and silence reigned again.

It was so peaceful that Jaune almost fell asleep, only the sudden falling sensation of his head jostling him awake.

"Hb-bluh…" he yawned gracefully, casting a glance at Bleu. She was still there, though she was making to leave.

"H-Hey." He breathed out, still not quite all together. Bleu looked back, eyebrow raised.

"Do you…" He took a moment to gather his courage. "Do you… think I'm… not weak?" He almost squeaked.

Bleu blinked in surprise, for all her poise still caught completely off-guard and showing it. After a moment's consideration, she walked back over, sat down, and scooted closer, pressing right against him.

Jaune didn't so much as breathe.

Poke. A single digit, her index finger, poked him right in the nose, shattering the tension completely. Jaune relaxed, though disappointed with lacking an answer. Maybe I don't wanna hear it, though…

That 'said', Bleu stood up, and walked into the night.

Jaune watched her go, looking away and sighing when she was out of earshot – her earshot, that is.

"Not even worth giving a response, huh? Ouch, Bleu. Don't even talk and you-" It was only as Jaune leaned back against the tree that he noticed the item attached to his back.

"…Huh?" He reached back at an awkward angle. After a long moment of tugging, he pulled it off, the item pasted on with a strip of duct tape. It was a piece of paper with elegant writing adorning the face.

"How'd this get here?"

Shrugging and muttering "typical Bleu" under his breath, he read her note.

Jaune,

I can't believe that's a question. After everything that's happened, losing mom and dad, Rouge getting sick… you still smile. You can laugh.

You're the strongest person I know.

(also, don't forget your chores. Grandad wanted me to remind you in case you forgot again)

Jaune groaned in agony. Way to ruin the moment, Bleu. A smile suddenly found its way onto his face. The sentiment is nice though.

[LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK]

Later that night, Jaune opened his eyes, blinked, and realized he had no idea where he was.

Just to make sure he wasn't asleep, he pinched his cheek, and the short spark of pain alerted him to the fact he wasn't.

"Well, okay then…" He whispered to nobody in particular.

It was underground, he felt it was safe to assume. The air felt slightly damp, and the walls and ceiling were made of dirt, so… didn't take a genius.

Looking one way, all he saw were spread out torches and eventual darkness. Oh that's not creepy at all. On the other hallway, a ladder leading… well, up. It might not lead directly to the surface, but go far enough up and he'd reach there eventually.

At first he felt the choice was obvious. "Yeah, see ya creepy hallway… I'm just gonna pass on this one. Don't care at all where you lead." Mounting the ladder and climbing, Jaune cast one look back.

Just for reference, he told himself, even when he kept looking far longer than was necessary. "Nope. Not at all... not... at all..." He breathed. Eventually, he managed to tear his head away, but now his limbs felt heavy and useless.

Jaune hanged his head and sighed, climbing back down the later. I'm gonna get myself killed. Calling it.

The hallway wasn't long, but it was damn creepy. The torches cast a shockingly little amount of light, because for some reason every couple of steps another set of torches came into view, when their light should've illuminated significantly further.

Something about that rubbed him the wrong way, but when he was already so far down, it made even less sense to just turn around. Also, it was kind of coward-y, and Jaune already had a lifetime of that thank you.

Finally, he was there, wherever 'there' was.

The room actually had a door – had being the keyword, because it fell over the moment he nudged it – and rusty metal walls, like whatever was inside was worth protecting about 3 decades ago.

Or keeping in, said the part of every person's mind that made things worse.

Honestly, everything he'd thought about running being cowardly seemed kind of moot now that he knew there was nothing-

And then he saw it.

It was deceptively simple, and out of its sheath, laid diagonally on a stone slab which the other half of it rested against. But for all its simplicity, it held an air of importance that even most sentient objects lacked.

It called to him, and without hesitation Jaune Arc answered, compelled by something beyond his reasoning.

He had only a moment of confusion and called it before his hand closed on the hilt of Crocea Mors and his world erupted in white.

[LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK]

For the second time in as many minutes, Jaune had no idea where he was.

On his back this time and staring at a ceiling, he debated the merits of getting up if he was just gonna get… teleported or whatever again. He couldn't even imagine what made him get all grabby with the ancient blade his grandfather had warned him about, saying all kinds of 'do-not-touch-or-else-meaning-die' threats over the years. It's not that he was stupid enough not to recognize it – Jaune just didn't even know where it was. As far as he knew, his grandfather had walked 20 miles in a random direction, dug a hole, dropped Crocea Mors in it and left it for the Grimm to chew on.

But somehow, without even the slightest clue, he'd woken up in front of it. And just as quickly, he'd woken up here.

You know, I really would take a beating from Lanna* and his cronies over being this confused. At least that I know how to deal with.

Sighing, Jaune decided he might as well get this over with.

The cabin, or what looked extremely similar to one, was disturbingly similar to his own home, but many things were off – he didn't recognize the layout, or the choice in wallpaper. Seriously, that beige? Totally last century…

…Not that he knew about the finer points of home Décor. Nope. Jaune Arc didn't even know what you were talking about.

If he had to describe it in one word, it might've been 'impersonal', if he knew what the word was anyway. There weren't any photos, or vases, or something to show that someone lived here. In fact, it was very possible this place was merely abandoned.

It was of course, as most things occur in life, as Jaune was wondered the house aimlessly that he found the body.

On its knees and hunched over, Jaune had first thought it was doing some kind of prayer. When he stepped closer however, he noticed the gleam of metal protruding from its back and all at once the body vomited blood and fell onto its side, blood and viscera and guts spewing from its gutted midsection.

Jaune, having never seen many awful things but nothing quite so shocking, hurried to a corner and threw up in it.

The last of his stomach contents expunged, Jaune staggered back, only then noticing something about himself. He was transparent.

…Am I dead? Oh man I so called it. I hate it when I call it, because I never call it and why can't I breathe is it possible to die if you're a ghost WHAT IS HA-

"Lora."

Somehow, the single, muttered word from the corpse – was it a corpse if it was still clinging to life? – was able to distract Jaune from his chaotic thoughts. He turned, now able to see the corpse's blank express. As though the sword in his stomach was completely irrelevant, so far gone into his own mind he felt nothing.

"I…I'm sorry." He gurgled, and with utterly morbid fascination, Jaune wondered what he would say next. "A-All this power… and I couldn't save… anyone…"

On closer inspection, Jaune noted the man had blonde hair… and shining blue eyes. The unmistakable blue eyes of an Arc.

"Please… I don't know if you can hear me… Crocea Mors." With a start Jaune realized the dying man was talking to the very blade in his gut. "Protect them. Whatever it takes…" He whispered.

Jaune spent several minutes in silent wonder before he realized the man had died, expression and eyes as blank in death as they were in life.

He stepped back, completely numb, legs so useless he fell on his backside. At some point during the man's last words, Jaune had started crying.

Oh Dust…

He hadn't seen something that violent and tragic since… since his parents had died.

Protecting him.

Was that all there was to Death? Tragedy, violence… blood? He hated it as much as any traumatized 12 year old could, so utterly horrified he could only cry and cry.

After receiving such a… fresh reminder, maybe he could see where his Grandfather was coming from. Jaune didn't know if he could stomach seeing something like this ever again. If he did… he might just go insane.

"…Who are you?"

Jaune blinked through his haze of tears. Slowly, he looked behind himself.

The corpse was standing up again. This time, however, he was transparent. But that didn't make any sense, because the corpse was still in front of him-

"I will not ask again." The pale figure said, with a voice that did not need to be raised to be intimidating. "Who are you?"

Stunned and confused and still emotional, Jaune mumbled his name.

The figure blinked in apparent surprise.

"You… have the same name as I."

Now Jaune was even more confused.

"Wha…? You're Jaune too? Oh man. I thought it was only my parents that were bad at naming their kids, but you're 'Yellow' too."

For a long moment, the figure was silent, blinking, mouth opened slightly.

And then he was laughing, endlessly and uproariously, as though he hadn't in decades.

"Of all the things to greet a monster with… I have yet to be met with derision for my name. You, boy, are something else entirely." He smiled, a motion he seemed vaguely… unused too.

"You don't look like a monster." Jaune wondered if confusion could reach a limit, because it hadn't yet and his head was beginning to swim, the juxtaposition of traumatizing and comedic proving to be a little too much for his young mind to handle.

Now the figure's confusion was even more readily apparent. "You… don't know who I am?"

Jaune shrugged and smiled cheekily. "Just that you had parents as bad as mine."

"I… I see." A faintly troubled look crossed his face, before the figure regained his composure. "I suppose it's time for you go then."

In another life, Jaune may have realized how ridiculous he sounded. "But I just got here!"

"And you have already witnessed one of the more egregious memories of my life. Unless you enjoy trauma, I'd recommend leaving."

Jaune blinked before blanching hard. "Wait… this was… so you're… does that mean I'm-?"

The figure silenced the boy with an unyielding look. "No, you are not dead. I am. I have been for… what I'd imagine is almost a century now, give or take 2 decades. It becomes hard to tell time when trapped within one's own sword, endlessly reliving their memories."

After a silence that lasted more than long enough for the figure to admit he was kidding, Jaune promptly overcame his stupefied expression with a quiet "whoa."

Because… well… whoa indeed.

"So… so you fought in the war? The Great War?"

An extraordinarily complex amalgamation of emotions flew across his eyes. Then, he was calm. "Yes, yes I did."

Jaune's smile could've powered a suburb. "I-I-" Jaune swallowed thickly, a thousand questions vying for dominance in his mind.

In a turn of events almost utterly random, Jaune had gone from sleeping soundly to pouring endless questions at a stranger he barely knew. Sometimes the figure was pensive, and responded calmly. At times, it was all he could do keep up with the absurd quantity of words spewed his way.

Jaune remained with the blade, asking the original wielder about his life, his society, and his opinion.

It was the first contact Joune Arc had in almost a century, for which he was grateful. However, that gratitude began to wear thinner and thinner as the hours stretched on, and he contemplated when Jaune's vocal cords would give.

Then he realized they couldn't, not in here, and with a motion born of extremely unbecoming fear Hell himself held up his hands and said "that's enough for now. We will talk later. Goodbye, Jaune of Arc."

Jaune's mouth was caught halfway between "wait-" and "later-" when his vision erupted in white once more.

[LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK]

"-waitbutIhavesomanyquestionsokaygoodbye-"

He was no longer inside the blade.

"DARNIT! I… I had…"

Jaune's eyes drooped closed, exhaustion overwhelming him almost instantly. Something about being inside the sword drained his energy like nothing else.

"Me sleepy… night other-Joune…"

He collapsed, falling quickly into dreams of where he'd never been, and those he'd never met.

[LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK][LINEBREAK]

So part of my Headcanon for RWBY is that Jaune's great-great-grandfather was Pyrrha's inspiration growing up, and while I liked the idea (because full circle ftw) I had this idea while browsing Imgur. (which is sort of the adorable younger brother to bro-and-sis 4chan-and-Tumblr while distantly related to its weird Cousin Reddit)

There is a TL;DR at the end, but +10 points to Gryffindor for every person that makes it through.

Basically, I found some gifs showcasing Adolf "Jews are not my Spirit Animal" Hitler doing something you might not expect. Flirting.

And so there was this big comment chain about how History is sometimes interpretable, and how even Hitler could act human sometimes... that sort of thing.

So it got me thinking, and it made me realize something. (+10 points to Gryffindor to the cheeky asshole who just remarked to himself 'yeah, that I don't effing care!')

What if we never thought there was another side to the story? The thing that becomes integral to all 'if Hitler won' style theories - the suppression of outside influences and messages. Quite simply, what if we were only told one story? How would that reflect our impression of history? (+10 points to Gryffindor to the cheeky asshole who just said 'badly, I'd imagine')

While the consequences and effects of this on our society are... well... I'd need a lot more than a couple hundred words to convey, the effects on the RWBY-verse are actually more apparent than you think.

Ozpin says the Great War 'was ultimately about individualism'. Which, yes, is an interpretation. But there's wiggle room in that interpretation - some could say that it was more about a clash of ideologies, as I dun did. Our understanding of the Great War is based only on what we're told and can learn. We, and the cast, will likely never learn the 'full' story, though some things may be clarified and become plot points etc... but the Great War could've been because Adam Mothertrucking Jensen went for Chicken Wings at Space McDonalds, realize how hard he'd fucked up and blew up one of the Wings of the Citadel for the travesty. We dunno. Just that it happened.

Which brings me to 'Joune Arc.' One part amazing wordplay, if I do say so myself, and B) what I was getting at when I was talking about 'interpretation'.

The entire time, everything you hear about him reflects pretty much Satan-Hitler but with Super Saiyan-esq powers. You might've kept thinking that too, except then Jaune meets him and... well... he's not actually that psychopathic. Maybe a little intimidating, but if I wasn't so obvious that it was him you might think they were different people.

To the people of Atlas, he is a monster beyond words. To the rest of the world, he is only 'the man who won us the war'. In canon, Jaune only knows and looks up to his great-great-grandfather as a War Hero. In here, he soon finds out Joune Arc was a War Criminal. And even then, that's not the whole truth.

TL;DR: I was trying to make a point about how history and interpretations but you only proved that people are lazy. +10 points to Slytherin if you skipped here.
(But maybe that's too mean so basically all I'm saying is this: the only story not told about Joune Arc is his own. Listen out for it)

See ya later, Space Cowboy

REEEEVIEWWWWW... please. Part incoming... soonish.

*Laana is from a Native-American Language called 'Alabama' (+10 to whatever to the cheeky asshole who, once again, makes a snarky remark by saying 'WOW, never heard that one before') meaning either Yellow or Brown. I'm not that cultured, I used Google like a normal person, thank you.