Disclaimer: These are fictional characters, admittedly based on real people, but with their express permission to be based upon. This is a fictionalized and heavily dramatized depiction of the RWBY: Ship Survivor event on the RWBY subreddit.

That out of the way, enjoy the story.

He should have known something was wrong. The signs were all there. Eerily quiet, twisted, gothic architecture. Stained-glass windows with shades of deep crimson and red fixed in the frame. This was a trap. It had to be.

Inferno CLXVII, King of Crosshares, Leader of the Fan-Art League, was a long way from home. At this point, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to go back.

He walked with his guards through the foyer of the mansion, the red-tainted moonlight illuminating the room. They stopped in front of two massive oak doors, their foreboding aura accentuated by the dimly lit patterns engraved in the wood. Behind him, all nine members of his personal escort halted and stood at attention. Inferno craned his neck, glancing over his guards. Even though they stood rigid and tall, he could feel their fear. Not one of them would exhibit any outward sign of it, but they were utterly terrified.

He turned his attention back to the massive oak doors which barred his progress, reaching out and grasping one of the rusted iron knockers. As he gripped the reddened metal he hesitated, weighing his decision in his mind.

The king swallowed hard, bit his lip, and brought the iron knocker down on the door as hard as he could. A loud echo reverberated throughout the chamber, startling him and his men. His hand let go of the vile knocker as fast as it could, and retreated to the sword at his side. Inferno's men, seeing this, placed their hands on the hilts of their weapons as well.

The door slowly opened, its hinges emanating a horrible screech. After a few tense seconds of waiting, a man appeared out of the unlit hallway, dressed in full armor, short dark blonde hair gracing the back of his neck. He raised his hands up to the sides of his head to dissuade the king and his entourage from acting rashly.

The man advanced towards him calmly, yet also in a strange, peculiar way that put him on edge. He stopped a little more than a meter in front of the king, and extended his hand. It clicked and whirred ever so slightly as he did so, its jerky movements inhuman, as if it was made from metal and steel instead of flesh and blood. Inferno paused for a second, then shook his hand, the cold of the envoy's metal gauntlet piercing the soft velvet of his own. The king withdrew his hand quickly and awkwardly, whereas the envoy simply folded his behind his back. At last, the man spoke, in a strange accent unlike any he had ever heard.

"Greetings, my liege. I am Jokey. We have been expecting you."

They looked each other up and down, inspecting every detail. His voice was rough and coarse, as if he had rocks lodged in his throat. At his side were two swords of a most peculiar design. Across his throat were strange scars, curved and erratic, most likely from some sort of burn.

Jokey smiled, an unconvincing grin stretching across his face as he gestured towards the foreboding passage ahead of them. "Follow me. You may bring one bodyguard."

The king nodded and beckoned for the Captain, his most trusted lieutenant, to come forward. Jokey turned and walked down the hallway with Inferno and the Captain in tow, the oak doors swinging shut behind them.

The hallway was long and ominous, with shadows eerily crisscrossing the floor despite there being no obvious source of light. The Captain kept a close grip on his sword, while his master folded his hands behind his back to keep them from fidgeting. Jokey remained unfazed.

"So, who is your master?" Inferno asked, all too innocently. Jokey's face contorted once more into an unsettling grin, genuine this time. "My master is—or was—known by many titles. King of Night's Watch, Priest of Emberald, Honorary Lord of Nuts and Dolts. You may call him "your Honor", and if you fall into his good graces, you may call him by his real name."

"And what is his real name?" The king stuttered, curiosity overcoming his better judgement.

Jokey chuckled weakly, stopping in front of another, smaller set of identical oak doors. "If he takes a liking to you, he'll tell you himself."

The envoy pressed his hand on the door, pushing it with great force until it gave way. Behind the doors was a circular chamber with a round table directly in its center. Instead of the ominous lighting of the main hall, this room was well-lit with a large skylight illuminating their surroundings. Seated at the table were five men and a woman, a sixth empty chair directly in front of Inferno, across from Jokey's master.

"Our ambassador has acquired fleet and army basing rights in Nuts and Dolts, as well as full military support. With these allies, our ascent will be…" One of the men, currently in conversation, trailed off as he turned his attention to the newcomers. Jokey beckoned towards the empty chair and walked to the right side of a man in an ostentatious throne. All eyes turned to look at Inferno and his armor-clad Captain.

"Well. When you said we would procure powerful allies, I admit I underestimated your abilities. You really have outdone yourself this time."

The voice came from the seat directly to the King's left. There sat a man, dressed in a cloak, simple in its design, but somehow almost royal in its intricacy. Concealing his face was a white bone mask shaped in the form of, or perhaps made of, a wolf's skull. The voice was dark and menacing, and slightly muffled, yet accentuated by the helmet. "It is an honor, my liege."

"Never doubt me, Yukon." The leader stood up. He was dressed rather modestly for someone of his influence. His robes were those of a minor noble. His crown was plain and simple, with no jewels or gemstones embedded in it as any true aristocrat would have done. Despite his intimidating height and beard, he seemed to be rather approachable. Was it genuine or part of his façade?

Inferno stood up from his chair, taking stock of the nobleman, analyzing and scrutinizing him. The man smiled and laughed. "Inferno, your reputation precedes you. Oh, but where are my manners? I am Celtic."

Inferno swallowed. "Greetings. I would list off my name and titles, but it seems that you already know them." He laughed meekly as the other residents of the room kept their eyes dispassionately trained on him. His halfhearted attempt at humor crashed and burned.

Celtic gave no heed to it. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions. Please, ask them now, while you have the chance."

The king cleared his throat, sat down and folded his hands in front of him. "The note you delivered to me, it gave instructions on where to meet. How did it get there?"

The man in the Arkos uniform raised an eyebrow. "Note? I never heard of any note." He smirked mischievously. "I assume Jokey had something to do with this?"

Jokey stifled a laugh, another devilish grin contorting his face. Celtic, too, chuckled ever so briefly. "Yes, that was Jokey. He is my personal… assistant. He specializes in infiltration and assassination, though he has a wide skill set."

Inferno grunted. Well, that explained the two guards that disappeared without a trace that night. He silently thanked the universe that Jokey was only delivering a message, and moved on with his questions.

"Who are you people? What is your purpose?"

Celtic cleared his throat and began introductions.

"The man in the bone mask is High Priest Yukon. He is the de facto head of the border state of Emberald, which is currently under heavy foreign pressure for being 'abusive.' Whatever that means."

Yukon nodded silently, the mask bobbing down and up as he did so.

"General Vulpix is a military strategist from Arkos. He has a small web of political connections, as well as influence and experience in the Arkosian military, which will assist us in our efforts."

Vulpix turned towards Inferno, bowing his head and opening his palm as a sign of respect.

"Greatness CMXLII, who is seated to your left, is the current leader of a steppe horde banished from the east. His tribe came here looking for blood and money, and I have given him an opportunity to obtain both."

Greatness crossed his arms over his iron breastplate, long brown hair falling over his eyes.

"As for the one in the hood, we call her Maker. She has certain… talents that are of use to us."

Maker turned her head to look at Inferno. At once he felt like he was turning mildly ill, his stomach churning with discomfort. She looked away, and the feeling subsided.

"So, what exactly is your goal?"

Celtic exhaled forcefully, a hint of hesitation in his breath. He smiled, opened his palms on the table and looked straight into his eyes.

"We are going to overthrow the Mod Council."

Inferno sat up straight, his heartbeat rapidly increasing. Greatness and Vulpix exchanged worried looks at his reaction while their leader coolly scrutinized the situation.

"Was that a little on-the-nose?" Celtic rested his head on his fist while Jokey's strange hand slowly inched towards his curiously-shaped blades.

"No, no. It's just that, if I give my support, thousands of my people would die. It-"

Yukon slammed his balled-up fist into the table, startling everyone and earning him a scornful look from his compatriots. Nevertheless, he began to speak.

"Your people? Our people already suffer under the tyranny of the Mod Council. Emberald is in the grip of poverty, Arkos has been stripped of its might and military after losing the Third Ship Wars, Night's Watch suffers in anarchy because the government set up by the Mod Council is riddled with corruption. Your people are not the concern here. We are trying to replace the system, to make it better for everyone!"

Maker looked up from her lap and turned her unnerving gaze to Inferno. "Chaos. Order. Good. Evil. In times like these, lines are blurred."

"The only blurred line I see is the line between patience and inaction." Greatness stood up, frustration imprinted on his face. "When are we going to rise up? My men and I have been here three months, and we haven't a single coin to show for it. They grow impatient, and so do I."

Celtic beckoned for him to sit down while he trained his eyes on the king. "The time will come soon enough, my friend. The only thing we need to go ahead is his support." He extended a finger at Inferno, waiting for him to respond.

"And if he doesn't give his support?"

"Oh, he will. He's already made up his mind." Greatness and Vulpix turned towards him as Celtic smirked devilishly. "He sees the potential for more power, more riches. He knows that with the Mods out of the way, there's nobody holding him back from claiming what he deserves. At the very least, he knows that he won't walk out of here alive if he doesn't pledge allegiance to us. And he knows that if he does betray us, it will end very badly for him." He punctuated the last statement with a motion towards Jokey, whose hands were menacingly wrapped around the hilts of his blades.

The Captain tightened his grip on his sword, while his master merely smiled. "Well. You've got it all figured out. Fine. I will join your conspiracy."

Celtic brought his hands together, proud of his success. "I knew we could make a deal. Jokey! Fetch the wine! We celebrate."

Jokey procured a bottle of wine from a cabinet directly behind Celtic's throne, twelve years old and in fine condition. He poured a glass for everyone at the table, sneaking a sip as he placed the container back into the cupboard and advancing back to his master's side.

Vulpix stood and raised his glass, offering a toast. "Drink now my friends, for tomorrow we fight. Drink to the old world, for tomorrow we enter a new one. To victory!"

The rest of the Council raised their cups in response. "To victory!"

Inferno looked down into his cup, contemplating his decision. He felt a tug of conscience, or perhaps his better judgement, as he thought about the consequences of his actions. Was it worth it? Yes, he thought, it was. "To victory!" he cried, and sealed his fate.

A special thanks to Austin2050 for putting up with my bullshit long enough to edit this garbage fire. More thanks to the RWBY subreddit for inspiring this madness.

One of my first writing projects, so be somewhat lenient. Don't coddle me though!