A/N: I am using elements of the Witcher series, but not a direct crossover. A/U For those of you who don't know anything about the Witcher games, this should still make sense. I'll explain and explore the ideas that have been imported into the RWBY universe. Hopefully it will still be enjoyable.

ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ATTENTION! ATTENTION!

If you don't want to read the prologue, the main story with Jaune starts next chapter. That is all.

I don't own RWBY or the Witcher

Prologue: The Yellow Death always Remembers

"Tell me young man, would you like to go back to the world tortured and unsatisfied, doing what you know will just result in the same outcome? Or would you like to enter this world and make something of yourself?" - Ozpin, to Jaune Arc

The Great War - 80 years prior

Dorian Arc stood over the battlefield. He watched with sullen blue eyes as smoke rose over the valleys of rock and sand. He stood atop a mountain that the Valean army was using as a base of operations. Here it was, Mantle and Mistral's campaign against the desert lands of Vacuo.

He would need to fight soon. They all would. Grimm had broken out between their skirmish. Naturally, humanity had united, if only to quell the far greater enemy. Once the beasts had been slain. They had gone back to how it truly was. People fell back into their ranks.

He and the other generals had agreed to a ceasefire soon after. Now would be a good time to collect the dead. Dorian did not hate the other generals, nor did he hate the soldiers that slaughtered his men. In fact he held respect for them. Especially when a call had come from the other side suggesting the brief cease fire.

They were to have twenty minutes to clear the field of fallen comrades.

Nineteen minutes had passed. He watched with a sigh as the seconds passed from fifty-nine, back down to zero-zero. It was time.

A call came in, he knew who it was from. He answered.

"It's time Dorian."

He felt the life drain out of him. What had he been expecting? Some message that maybe they could stop. End the war. Be at peace once more, all four kingdoms united. It was foolish of him to hope. But he didn't care. In war, hope was all he had left.

"I know, shall we commence?"

The voice on the other end of the line gave back a solemn reply.

"Yes."

The call ended and he turned to face the battlefield once more. With a final sigh, he rallied the men and women under his command. The some thirty thousand he led all let loose a thunderous battle cry as they stormed onward. He watched as the opposing side came to meet them, the same amount of bloody fervor in their eyes.

Dorian reached at his side and felt the familiar hilt. In a flash he drew his sword with a rasp of steel. It was time to put crocea mors to good use. This blade had been forged for this war. He would not sully his own sword with the blood of his brothers and sisters. The yellow death would remain a relic of the war. Never would he use it for anything else. This was a tool of murder. Let it play its use in the war, for that is all it was good for.

He reached for his sheathe and felt it's comforting weight as it spread into a shield bearing his family's crest.

He would fight. He would not stand by and watch as his comrades died. General or not, first of all an Arc was a warrior.

The clash had begun. He could no longer see the frontlines as they were masked by the dust cloud of sand that had been wrought up. Dorian took in a deep breath. He felt the aura creep into his legs as he prepared himself.

In an instant he was gone. He leapt from the mountain, his legs infused with aura as he sailed down to the front lines. He landed with an earth shattering thud as he left a small crater in Mantle's forces with a flash of white light. His aura had taken a hit and his legs wobbled like that of a decrepit old man. He pulled himself together in time to duck the swing of a battle axe as it sailed above his head. Dorian spun in place letting the momentum build up his strike as he cleaved straight through the man's knees with a purple flash.

Blood spewed from the legless stumps as the attacker screamed and fell to the ground joining his fallen brethren. The screams were drowned out from the cacophony of the war around him. Dorian could not be more grateful for that fact.

For a moment, he glanced down at the blood stained blade he held in his hands. Crocea mors was truly created for war. Not against grimm, but against his fellow humans. For it was a blade like no other. A blade that could pass right through aura.

He remembered that flash of purple as he took that man's legs. His aura had exploded as he severed the limbs.

With a slight he grimace, he continued. Dorian cut down anyone in his path, he had to make it back to his troops. He had overshot the frontlines. He was close by as he was masked by the dust cloud, but he was certainly in Mantle's territory.

Through the dust, he caught sight of hell. Hell came in the form of a large silver cannon that spat acidic shells. Ammunition from that cannon could eat through a decent sized aura reserve in seconds. Damn Mantle for creating such a weapon. They always had to come up with new more efficient ways of killing each other. Change of plans.

The cannon was on the eastern side of the battlefield, placed on a mid-high point along a mountain. He took off running, his blade ending those in his way. Most did not expect him there, so it was easy kill after kill. Dorian was a general, but he did not wear some fancy decorations. He wore his plate, and that was good enough. He appeared to the world as just another soldier. And essentially, that is what he was.

Normally he would have taken men with him and coordinated an attack against the rising threat, but there was no time. The cannon would start firing any moment now.

He reached the base of the mountain, having left a trail of carnage behind him. A sudden clank signaled followed by a thundering explosion. The cannon fired a single shot into the midline of his forces. A pale shell exploded into a mess of sickly acidic green. A dent in his men and the sight of them writhing in agonizing pain, their aura's being eaten alive, drove him into rage. Fucking Mantle.

Dorian let his aura pour into his legs once more as he prepared for the leap. There was no boom, or dramatic sound of him taking off. There was merely a displacement of air as he was soon upon the mountains ledge, the cannon's crew drawing their weapons.

There were six of them, three guards, and three to operate the mass of metal death. Each with swords of their own. Dorian raised his shield and charged into the fray. There was six on one, none of them expected him to take the initiative. He slammed his shield into one of them, knocking them down as he fluidly carried his momentum into the mountain's side and used it to jump back. The sound of steel on stone rang out as he had dodged the attack.

He spun mid air and caught another off guard, taking his head with a mighty roar. He landed feet skimming the ground as he slid into place in front of them, back where he started. The remaining four still active shared wary glances, and for good reason too. They had come to realize the warrior they faced was Dorian Arc, general of the Valean army and a warrior unrivaled. He has won every battle that he took part in, often being the deciding factor on who was left standing at the end of the day.

He did not smile. Dorian never smiled in war. The looks the enemy soldiers gave him, he hated that. They feared him.

He wasted no time. He changed once more. The soldiers a bit more prepared this time, came at him. Dorian ducked the first vertical swing and kneeled into parry the next one's blade with his shield. It skidded off at the right angle and slammed into his comrades leg. Aura prevented it from going through, but enough to halt the man as Dorian came up from his kneeling in a powerful uppercut. Crocea mors went straight through the man's entire body, splitting him in two.

The fourth soldier stumbled back and fell over as he swiped at him with a quick vertical slash. The soldier held fear in his eyes as he turned and fled down a passage into the mountains. Smart. Dorian was all for patriotism, but dying for something like this? He understood.

He sensed another strike in coming, and rolled to his left. He came up in time to deflect the downward strike of his opponent, driving it into the mountain's base. Dorian took the opportunity and struck his enemy twice. Once across the hands, severing them before spinning around him to drive crocea mors into his back. He pulled his sword from the corpse and the body slumped to the floor.

Five down, one to go.

The last opponent stared him down, his pale blue eyes meeting his darker ones. This one was different. He had sensed it from the start. They had always attacked, but knew clearly how to dodge efficiently. This was no foot soldier.

White and blue trimmed their uniform, along with that was the symbol of snowflake. He knew who he was fighting. If the shiny thin saber was any indication, he knew now. They spoke as they circled each other, the bodies of his foes still lying between them.

"It's nice to see you Dorian."

He felt bile rise to his throat and his eyes darken.

"Alexander." He acknowledged.

The man across from him, white haired, feigned hurt.

"Is that all you have to say to an old friend? How you wound me so."

Dorian growled.

"Stand down Alexander. I have no patience for your jests. Either flee, or fight me."

Alexander stopped, his feet stiff and his muscled tensed.

"I thought you'd know me better by now."

In a flash of white, he was on him. His saber came to collect Dorian's head. He caught the blow barely on his cross guard, and skidded back from the force. They were close, locked in a struggle of might.

"I never flee." Alexander whispered between blades.

Dorian shoved him back, using his shield arm. Alexander fell back, landing on is feet gracefully. Dorian rushed him, his sword in a lunge. Alexander parried it and went for a slash of his own, only to be halted by his shield. Dorian let loose his strength and the blade whistled across empty air. He had evaded the blow, but was not in time to dodge Dorian's left as he felt a solid wall of metal crash into him.

They traded blow for blow, it was duel that they were used to. Many times they had encountered each other, and each time would end in a stalemate.

Eventually, Alexander's' aura burst, breaking as he was slammed into the far side wall of the cave. He coughed up a dribble of blood, but stood up regardless. A brilliant smile came across his face. The white haired man sheathed his weapon.

What was he up to?

Dorian wouldn't give him the chance to pull something. He was so close to ending this once and for all. He surged forward, a diagonal slash coming to cut the man down. At the last second, he drew his sword and deflected his strike with a flash of green. His blade sailed off course and that knocked him off balance. Dorian stumbled to catch his footing only to feel the sting of a blade grinding into his aura. He fell to his stomach, the saber's point digging into a chink in his plate.

Alexander kicked crocea mors from his hand and stomped on his shield arm till he finally released it. He was bare, exposed.

"Like this new dust Dorian? It's a modified version of what we use in those cannons over there. Father and some egg heads whipped it up. Says markets will be booming once Mantle wins the war and he can establish his company."

Dorian grunted as the blade went further, testing his aura reserves like nothing else. He could feel it, the dust eating, absorbing his aura. The dust he was using was originally used for siphoning energy, however it seems they found a way to alter it so that it may also take the energy of another person. It shown with a malicious pale green, not unlike those shells they fired from the cannons.

He looked to his right, there it was, crocea mors, the blade of war, the yellow death, it was inches from his grasp.

"And I will do anything to make to make sure his plans come to fruition."

The blade suddenly, without hesitation, was slammed into his back. It had eaten through his aura finally. He let loose a strangled cry as blood soon filled his mouth. Dorian spit it out onto his tormentors boots.

"Aghh, look what you've done now. This won't do, not at all."

He gurgled a scream through the blood as he felt the blade twisting. That son of a bitch was toying with him.

"Look it's been fun Dorian, especially when I caught you off guard, how often does that happen? Time to get to the point."

He drove the blade in further, all but pinning him to the mountain floor.

"I have to win this war, for father, for the family. And that means I can't have someone like you running around killing my comrades."

Dorian watched from the floor, his vision fading in and out as the man walked over to the cannon. He knew what was happening. He understood. Alexander spun the giant mass of steel and pointed it down at Dorian.

"If I know my Mantle products, and I'd like to think I do, then I'd safe this will be fairly safe. You're far enough that the blast radius wont get me."

He heard the clinks and clanks as the man above him put a new shell into the beast.

"Ahh, all ready now."

Alexander smiled cruelly at him.

"Don't fret dear Dorian, it's just good business. Regards from the Schnee fami-"

Alexander stopped, blood dripped from his lips as he peered down. A shining steel blade had pierced his back and ran him through to his lungs. Dorian watched as Alexander made to say something, one last quip, only to have the blade torn from his back and quickly used to decapitate him. Blood spewed everywhere as the headless corpse fell to the floor, white now soaked in crimson.

The man who had delivered the backstab, stood before him. He wiped the blood off his blade on his pants before sheathing it alongside another sword on his back. Two swords? He stood tall, taller than him he'd reckon, and he was six feet, three inches.

The man came to his side and spoke. Dorian couldn't quite make out what he was saying, it was getting harder and harder to stay awake. He had lost a lot of blood by now, he knew that. He wouldn't be surprised if he didn't make it through this.

"What?" He managed to mumble.

"This is going to hurt." The voice that came was strong and hollow, "Can you handle it?"

A jolt of pain lept through him as he felt the man grab on to the saber lodged in his back.

"Yes, do it."

In an instant there was blistering pain. Every inch of steel that scraped against the hole in his back felt like he was being stabbed over and over again. Luckily it was over quickly, but that did not stop the howl of agony that bellowed from his throat.

Blood was seeping from him. He could feel the warmth leaving him. The man tending to him quickly tore off his armor.

"This is going to hurt even more, I have to cauterize the wound."

"Just… do it." He whispered hoarsely.

"Igni."

Fire burst from the man's hands and seared the wound shut. Dorian couldn't even scream, the pain felt like a blot of ink on a pure white paper. It was there, it was glaring, but it hardly mattered. It was only an ink spill on paper.

"Other side."

Dorian felt himself being shifted around and suddenly he was face up, staring at the man. He hadn't gotten a good look at him till now. He was an older warrior by the looks of him, grey hair and a tired face. But he could see experience in those brown eyes. However, he wasn't sure if it was his pain addled, blood lost brain, but he could have sworn that the man had cat eyes.

"Igni."

Once more, another ink blot. The paper was getting heavy with its saturation.

"There, you'll stop losing blood. Now only to get you back to…"

"Crocea…" Dorian mumbled.

"What?"

"Crocea mors… we have to…"

"Understood."

The man collected the sword and shield and put it back into its sheath form. He attached it to his belt and returned to Dorian. He couldn't help but think how funny that looked, a man with three swords.

"Come on, let's get you out of here."

Dorian felt himself being lifted by the man, his arm being slung around the man's shoulder. His head swam, it was hard to think clearly, but he walked, or stumbled. With the aid of his new friend they managed.

It had been a long journey, with many fights and skirmishes, but they had made it back to the base. Well, close enough. They were but a few steps from the mountain that housed the Valean command center. Dorian was thinking clearer now. He was eternally grateful to this man whoever he was.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Your name, what is it?"

"My name is… call me Vesemir."

"Well then Vesemir, I owe you a life debt. You may have anything you so desire that is within my possession, or will be in my possession. I give you my word. I am Dorian Victor Arc, and an Arc never goes back on their word."

The man paused for a moment, and then gave him a kind smile. He knew that smile was half there, this Vesemir was thinking. But then again he could care less, this man had saved his life. That was enough for him.

"I think I'll take you up on that," The man named Vesemir replied.

Dorian nodded, and they slipped into a simple silence. They had finally reached the base. Armed guard came rushing towards them.

"Sir! Are you alright?" A guard asked.

"No he is not, take him to the medical tent now." Vesemir spoke.

The guard turned their attention to him and they suddenly went stiff. They looked ready to draw their swords at a moment's notice.

"Who the hell are you?" Another guard questioned.

"Calm yourselves, this man saved my life. Treat him with respect. Show him to some food and drink." Dorian interjected.

The guards looked startled, but eventually complied.

"Yes sir!" they all said at once.

One of the guards took him off of the man's support and helped him to the medical tent. Last he saw of Vesemir, was the guards giving him wary looks as they led him to the provisions tent.

Once inside the medical tent, they examined his wounds and concluded that whoever the battle medic was that patched him up, did a crude, but effective job. He wanted to defend his savior but found it to ultimately be pointless. He was suffering from aura exhaustion, which was new to him. No one had ever gotten past his aura, no had saved his life before either. Seems like a day of firsts.

What had he actually done? What was it the man had said, ig- something or another. Maybe this Vesemir was a dust mage of some kind with word activated crystals.

It wouldn't due to think about it now. For now he needed to rest. He needed to heal. It was only when he closed his eyes that he came to realize how tired he was. The drain left on his body from a depleted aura wore him down. In seconds, he was asleep.

When he awoke, it took him a few moments to recall where he was, and why he was there. Then it came to him. As did the questions. How long was he out for? Did they win the battle? Who exactly was this Vesemir? Instead of answers, he got a statement.

"Powerful blade you have here."

Dorian sat up and winced, his injuries have yet to heal, so he couldn't have been out that long. Beside him, was the man who had save his life, who he now is indebted to. Had he come to cash in his debt? Does he wish to take the blade? If so it was all his. He would have no use for it once the war was over.

"Yes, a fine blade. I had it made specifically made for the war."

Vesemir held the open blade and seemed to be examining it. He then turned to him, as if asking for further explanation.

"I didn't wish to sully my own blade with blood of my fellow man."

"Quite noble of you. I take it you don't approve of the war?"

"Not in the slightest. I would have prefered to stay out of it entirely. However, this war grows ever stronger, like a raging fire. If I don't help put it out, it may find its way to my own home where my wife and children may be at risk."

Vesemir nodded and sheathed the mighty weapon, setting it down leaning against the bed. The fact that his weapon was close gave him comfort. He never wanted to feel that helpless again, and he had the suspicion that this Vesemir knew that.

"Understandable, joined out of love, and now here you are… a general."

Dorian merely nodded.

"This blade, it was forged with dust, am I correct?"

"Yes."

"A very risky process if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes."

"Most dust can explode or react when exposed to heat. This blade… however it was forged, is truly one of a kind."

"Do you want it?"

Dorian pointed the question simple, but almost like an accusation. Vesemir had been asking and talking about it. Had he been trying to hint to him that he wanted it?

"No."

A brief bit of shock overtook him, but he soon recovered. Who would not want a blade that could pass through aura? Even the mightiest of warriors would crumble should you be able to get a single strike in.

"Then what would you like, I owe you a life debt. And I must repay you."

Vesemir took a long sigh, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Dorian was puzzled. Does this man want nothing of me? I am a warrior yes, but I also come from a long and noble line. I have plenty of money, I have estates and houses to give. What does he want?

Finally Vesemir opened his eyes and met his own.

"I do not want anything, I have everything I need in life. But perhaps my descendants may need something. I do not ask anything of you, only that you and your family promises to give something of your house to a descendent of mine if they should require it."

He supposed that made sense. A man who is happy in this life, but wishes the safety of his family further down the line. He could understand that. The Arcs have plenty to give. If anything, this was something he could agree with passionately. A man looking out for his family, respect.

"I can agree to that. However, it might be best that we draw up a contract. So that the farther generations will know what and why this happened, and what will be happening."

"Yes, splendid idea."

Vesemir drew forth a piece of paper and a pen. In elegant hand writing, they wrote the terms and agreements of this contract. It was word for word what Vesemir had wanted. Something from the Arc house later down the line.

"Tell me, how will we recognize your descendants, do you hail from a specific house?"

"No, however… do you see these?" He leaned closer and pointed at his eyes.

"Yes, quite strange. I take it you're a faunus?"

"I'm afraid not, I have a certain… genetic trait that gives all who are my descendants eyes like mine."

Dorian nodded. He supposed traits like that are very uncommon, even among faunus.

"Alright, and if it's not too much trouble, do you mind coming up with a password. I want to be sure we are giving our aid to the right person. I wouldn't want a faunus with eyes like yours taking advantage of us."

"Of course, anything in mind?"

"The yellow death always remembers."

Both of them nodded. It was very fitting.

"Thank you for saving my life, my debt to you shall be paid upon the request of our descendents."

Dorian stretched his hand out. Vesemir took it heartedly and smiled.

"You are most welcome, and it is I who should be thanking you."

After all, the future held so much promise.

A/N: I hope you liked this. I am a big fan of the witcher series, once I noticed the similarities I couldn't help but explore this idea. This is but a prologue, the real action will be kicking off next chapter. Leave a comment if there's anything I can improve upon. Thanks for reading.