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crows. qrow. bringers of bad luck. harbingers of death.
something he’d been called his whole life, and actualized each and every day. pale skin and poppy eyes peer through enough shadows and rain surrounding him to fill the fabled river styx.
at 17, he’s already sent some souls to cross over at the mercy of a skilled blade.
couldn’t the same be said of The Reaper in so many ghoulish stories told in the dim, flickering lights around a bandit bonfire?
dark and cold and lonely.
someone no one likes to see.
…and yet she’d turned it all around. the mysterious woman who reclaimed a title of destruction into the bane of it. took the tale of a curse and made it something good, something worthy. something that protects. with her cloak and her kama, she eschewed her very name until known only as The Grimm Reaper.
qrow and Raven are being sent to beacon for reasons that may one day pit them against someone like her. the tribe would have his head if they knew the thought of her spawned admiration in his eyes over belligerence. that he thinks the world might be bigger than their scattered lands with much larger threats to deal with than people fighting and forsaking each other.
he doesn’t know of the myriad of knowledge which lies ahead, of all the support which awaits, or the freedom of choice he’ll one day find.
he knows that for now - he must keep his head down and his mouth shut as he always has when the elders are talking, until its time to nod and complete the task given.
but as the ferry takes the twins from anima to vale, qrow also knows somewhere deep and unspoken that as good as they are at holding their own, he has more love in his heart than malice for his fellow man. has been on the beaten down side too many times to believe that picking off of unfortunate people just doing their best makes someone strong.
he knows the intended outcome of attending the academy, but can’t help but think he’d rather make an honest living over a killing.
reflected right down to the construction of Harbinger.
qrow forged a sharp and dangerous sword, yes, but she hides her truest form - designed not for death but in tribute to a hero; a scythe.
a tool.
meant to reap solely what is sowed, made a weapon only when necessary.
more likely to harm himself before others.
an armament befitting not a hunter,
but a huntsman.