Chapter Text
“-Oh, but dear listeners! Brave not the dark should you hear hail on a clear night! Shutter the windows, and keep by the hearth- lest you wish to be dragged from your home,” exclaimed a storyteller clad in greens to his captive audience. “A few missing hens, a trampled patch in your fields is far simpler to deal with-“
“And much cheaper!”
A gentle chuckle follows the interruption, before the storyteller continues. “And much cheaper, indeed. Be ye all wary of the peacocks, lest they decide to hassle you and yours.”
With the story concluded there, chatter resumed in the small tavern, along with decidedly simple music. Cheery and idyllic.
The place even had a resident brooding figure huddled up at a corner table, on their lonesome. The barkeep made sure to have a waitress keep tabs on them- because lords knew Diluc himself was all too busy manning the bar. Beer and wine, coin and song all flowed easily at the Angel's Share- and so too did time wick away until hours past the witching hour, when only the bard and barkeep remained.
Despite his slight and lithe stature, Venti could put away impressive amounts of wine- much to Diluc's chagrin. But, it was worth letting the bard stay, even if he dented the cellars something awful.
"... Hey, Mr. Rangdvir," the lad in green chirps up. Met with a silent but attentive look, he continues. "Your family name comes up a lot in old stories about heroes that slew mighty beasts-"
"You should know better than anyone, those stories get exaggerated," Mr. Rangdvir interrupts. Tone low, but not sharp.
Venti pauses, before continuing.
"Sure, yeah. But they're all still rooted in something, aren't they? Maybe that one guy didn't cull a whole coven of harpies, or take on a grown dragon with only his wit and a greatsword… but."
A red eyebrow quirks. "But?"
A sleek hand gestures. "But there has been some nameless hunter dealing with wolves and bears that get too close to farmlands around here. Happens to be when I don't see you here."
Diluc scoffs. Venti pouts.
"Find a room to board that isn't one of my guest rooms yet?"
"Nope!"
"How's the busking? Enough to start paying for that room?"
"Also nope. But I did pay for my own drinks tonight."
"Half of them."
"Hey, it's something! Also, I didn't get an answer about the beast-hunting."
"Maybe you'll get one once you do start paying for the room."
"Hey!"
"It's only fair."
Still pouting, Venti gets off the bar (Diluc had long since given up on dissuading him from sitting there- at least he wasn’t doing it while the tavern actually had patrons) and makes his merry way up to the room that may as well be his own for the keeping by now.
Besides, not like there ever were many visitors to the sleepy little village… at least, not during the winter. An old and famous winery that the village had grown around made sure that during summer and autumn, connoisseurs and city folk would flock there- seeking a taste of country life, pretending like they’re all just a little more important and rich than they really are. The coin they brought was welcomed, but not often was anything else.
At least last year brought a flighty bard whose presence seemed to be enjoyed by all.
One more pass over the now-silent tavern hall was made out of habit- and with merit, for once, as Diluc noticed someone still at a table. Or, rather- on the table. The loner, still at that corner, with their hood still up and gloved fingers curled around the stem of a half-emptied wine glass.
“...”
Diluc clears his throat. Loudly.
“Bar’s closed for the night,” he says, arms crossed and tone sharp.
The figure shifted, only slightly.
“Did you hear me?”
More subtle shifting- and before irritation could rise from annoyance, the fellow laying over the table raises a hand towards the barkeep. Pinched between the index and thumb were four golden coins- far above the nightly rate here.
He does not take them right away, however. He waits, to see if this patron would say anything… and a minute of patience is rewarded with the stranger gesturing a little with the hand, and a voice that would have been lost if even a floorboard were to creak.
“Room for one, if I may?”
The coins are then taken- and even though this stranger had been here for hours, dressed to weather a storm, the coins (and hand) had an odd chill to them.
“Do let me know if Venti gives you any grief,” Diluc states, watching the stranger steadily get up from their chosen corner and venture upstairs. He could swear there was an odd chill in their chuckle, too.
Whatever.
Magicians and alchemists did show up every now and again, and they were known to be weirdos.
And so, Diluc Rangdvir left his tavern that night, failing to notice how frost had crawled along the stranger’s seat, shaping feathers not unlike those on a peacock’s tail. They wouldn’t last the night, wicking away in minutes- but the man had more important things to address that night, as he passed a snowed-in husk of a house, roof long since rotted away and windows empty of glass or boards.
This little village, though cozy and bright in the milder months, was harsh and cold for most of the year. Though it thrived when the vineyards were in full bloom, any growth it had then would be devoured and gnawed away at by increasingly harsh winters- to the point where many families that had been with the little village since it gained the name, were now drifting to the temperate safety found in the city walls of Mondstadt.
The current master of the winery would seem like he cares very little about this, but he’d already known it was a matter of time.
The land the village was on had an old curse upon it, so old that not even elders would carry rumours of it… but Venti’s arrival had only freshened Diluc’s memory of it. How the bard knew of that particular story, he would pry at some other time.
The next abandoned home he passed was in much better shape- and behind it, in a robust evergreen bush lay a greatsword. Diluc’s father would berate him for the way the young man kept his weapons- but the young man had long since stopped caring.
In a box under the sword, lay a mask. Not that the young man had any need to conceal himself further in the dead of night- and yet, habits die hard.
On the fringes of the village was a freshly abandoned farm- the animals were left behind, as the young mistress who had inherited them couldn’t sell them all off to anyone before leaving. The goats had since bounded away god-knows where, and the lone cow remaining…
A lanky creature cackles as it tears into its side, and then screams in tongues forgotten as its own flesh tastes silver, it’s plucky fur setting ablaze. These creatures couldn’t be allowed to get comfortable with attacking whatever they pleased, and it just so happened that the young master of the winery, and lone proprietor of the tavern, was exceptionally learned in harrassing this type of beast and it’s kin. Unwavered by it’s uncanny squeals, the masked hunter continues his onslaught until all that remains is cinders scattered in wet snow.
...Snow?
He looks up, and the sky is clear. Yet, snow falls, thick and fast.
He feels the wind pick up, crackling as it chills faster than was natural.
He hears another two of the strange creatures borne of the curse snicker- and braces, as the strange snowstorm begins to pick up.