#thread : crimson agate in the snow

[dukemeropide]

starter for @ragnvinedr

The bustling streets of Mondstadt had more than enough to occupy a few days’ time for any visitor, especially during festival season, but no vacation was complete without sightseeing. Or so Wriothesley had been told by his melusine travel advisor who, as if to ensure that he would indeed make the most of his time spent outside of the Fortress’ iron walls, had requested a few photographs of Mondstadt’s landmarks as souvenirs. A sly one, that nurse, but had it been a particularly onerous request, or an unpalatable idea, Wriothesley would have refused it outright. As it stood, he didn’t really mind it (his reluctance to venture too far into the unknown would remain ever-present, whether it be in Mondstadt or Fontaine, and thus hardly a factor). The snow-capped mountains and the crystal-clear lake had both captivated him on his way to the city, but where he had been content to admire them from the balcony of the hotel, with a glass of wine or one of Mondstadt’s local teas, Sigewinne had insisted on the necessity of getting out. So out he went, spurred by her sentimental request to make use of the sad old kamera that had otherwise been gathering dust in the Fortress’ collection of confiscated items.

While his time in Mondstadt had so far been only a scant few days, the weather had never been less than pleasant - from a brilliant blue sky across which a handful of fluffy white clouds made their lazy treks, to a sun that was neither overbearing nor shy, it was like the nation was eternally a scene captured in a picture book. Wriothesley had snapped a few amateur shots of the landscape from the city gates knowing that he would owe whatever skill evident in the developed photos to this particular quality, but walked the rest of the way to Windrise without the obstruction of a lens. There were some things that simply could not be captured in a photograph - the way the massive tree dwarfed the fields here, for one. And how, in turn, that tree was but an ordinary one in the shadow of the mountain that loomed behind it. Not to mention the smell of grass, the crisp, clean air, and melodic birdsong that all came together to make a bucolic idyll from a simple hill.

It would make a fine place for a picnic one afternoon before he returned to Fontaine, if he could find the company, but there was another place that he wished to see before settling down in any one location. Among the many rumors he had overheard at the Angel’s Share the previous night was one of the fairies in the Springvale lake, which aligned with folktales he had heard throughout his life of the lochfolk that once belonged to the waters of Fontaine. The hike from Windrise to the backside of the village was not a long one, and Wriothesley expected to make a full circle all the way back to Mondstadt by sunfall, but the acrid stench of hot metal and burning grass stopped him halfway, unexpected as they both were here where everything had appeared so at peace. From the cliffs rose a magnificent falcon of flames, soaring into the sky and evaporating into fading embers, with the sound of explosions in its wake.

The decision to change course came without thought, and Wriothesley took off toward the curls of black smoke. Appearing among a scattering of rocks, metal parts, and charred grass was a man with hair as bright as the inferno that bathed his blade, and an activated ruin guard, smoking and sparking but no less lethal as it leapt and landed, dislodging boulders from the cliffside with its weight. Wriothesley curled fingers into fists, dropping his center of gravity as he sprinted into range with only one thought in mind: danger. The ruin guard planted its arms and leaned back. One second. One shot. The eye at the center of its head glowed brighter.

“Mind if I cut in?” Wriothesley called good-naturedly to the swordsman, but if the swordsman had anything to say about his involvement, there was no time. He’d already made a straight-line punch into one of his piston-powered gloves, steam blowing out the back to power the rest of the strike. A blast of cryo burst through the machine’s eye and sent it staggering back, but not down. With the groaning of ancient metal, it tried to right itself again.

Crimson Agate in the Snow [Wriothesley & Diluc]

November Commission | Ruin Guards

[dukemeropide]

"Oi." Wriothesley shakes his wrists out, metal gloves disappearing into scattered light. "Is that how you Mondstadters say thank you?"

Whether he'd been needed or not, the charred metal makes one final groan before settling into a ruined heap, and only when he's certain that it won't get up again does he turn to the swordsman with sheepish shrug and easy smile. Enough cuts from sharp words and prickly personalities would toughen up even the thinnest of skin, and Wriothesley's bears the scars of more than just the fighting arena that had raised him. He brings both hands to his hips and stands his ground, open and undefended against the fire that smolders in the redhead's eyes. It feels just a little like home.

"I appreciate the concern, but I'm only in Mondstadt for a couple of days. It'd be a waste of precious time doubling back now." He glances over his shoulder at the meandering dirt path he'd departed from, still visible some distance down the slope to the cliff where they now stand, curiosity carving a thoughtful line between his eyebrows. He flicks his chin in its direction.

"Do ruin guards usually come this close to the roads here?" he asks, suddenly serious.

Crimson Agate in the Snow [Wriothesley & Diluc]

November Commission | Ruin Guards