insurmountable | just call my name / i'm yours to tame

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just call my name / i'm yours to tame

[Mondstadt was a beautiful country, truly. He'd never been here before, and Tartaglia has wildly enjoyed himself even on the first day. Yes, he's here for work purposes, but that doesn't mean he can't have a little fun while he's at it. Meeting with government officials all day bored him to tears, but it was largely necessary- especially if Snezhnaya were to carry out their plans as intended. A few deals here, a few underhanded moves there, it was all part of the plan. Not something he was terribly interested in doing, and it's not really him to do those kinds of things but...his job comes first and his personal feelings second.

But being able to do all of this while exploring the city was nice. He'd enjoyed the high skyscrapers and big city feel of the nation of freedom, but there was also a part of the city that still took on the feel of olden times, cobblestone roads and houses that resembled cottages. It was quaint and if he's being honest, he loved it.

But the first day of his trip has ended, with many more to go- so it's best to take the edge off. The recommended tavern of the city seems to be Angel's Share, five stars on his travel app. Tartaglia slips his phone into his pocket as he heads there, entering the tavern and heading straight up to the bar to take a seat.

The bartender has some of the most striking red hair and eyes he's ever seen, having to blink twice before he pulls himself together.

He hails him down, waving a hand to get Diluc's attention.]

A glass of Dandelion Wine, to start, if you could.

[Because why wouldn't you try the region's specialties? He's excited for it.]

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[The mood has changed. He rests his hands on the bar and regards Childe again. Sharper than others would think. He finds himself enjoying the dance. It has been a long time since words were entertaining.] He delights in it. We are old friends.

I send him people wary to his games and he gets entertainment. A being of his age doesn’t like to be idle.

Or bored. [His eyes warm a bit of a hint of fondness then sharpen again. He watches Childe like one swordsman studying another across the battlefield.] He’s fond of games. Doubtless he will tell you things about me.

[Diluc Ragnvindr. Who simply goes by Ragnvindr. And is exactly where he needs to be but only at night.] Things other than what you’ve seen.

[Old has to be the understatement of the year. If his memory serves him right, the corruption of Dvalin happened a thousand years or so ago. How long the two of them have been alive is an idle thought on his mind, but the more pertinent question here is simple.]

Why are you telling me this?

[His voice lowers, so other patrons don't hear- the last thing he wants to do is piss of a real, live vampire. He'd call Diluc on his bluff if he hadn't seen with his own eyes the lack of reflection in the mirror. He's not even buzzed yet, and if anything this revelation would have sobered him up faster than getting thrown outside into the freezing Snezhnayan winter.]

I'd say it seems like you're just trying to scare me off. Surely it isn't because of my position? I just got here, after all.

[Since that's pretty much all he's revealed about himself to the man. But countries have always been wary of Snezhnaya, with good reason. Tartaglia finds himself in the ranks of people who make that wariness warranted, and he thought that this bartender...no, this ancient being couldn't possibly know that.

But there's a possibility he's wrong.]

[Diluc’s voice goes low so the other patrons can’t overhear them. This is not for their ears. His voice is smooth and cultured, no longer bothering to hide his old Mondstadt accent or the unmistakeable tone of a noble lord.]

I always tend my bar since it came into my hands after Father’s death. You wandered into my domain. This was merely a warning. I know your rank and what it is called. If you want to be scared off we can take this outside the city.

[And he will beat the seven shades of shit out of you.] But if you raise no hand in violence and seek no harm by word or deed. I will not hinder you, Harbinger.

[His blood turns to ice with how quickly this conversation has turned. It's frightening, and yet his heart beats faster with excitement all the same. There's no mistaking that old accent of his, a mark from a thousand years ago. Tartaglia laughs, he can't help himself. Seems he has no secrets with this vampire, but he doesn't mind.]

Don't worry. I'm not here to ruin your precious Mondstadt. You should know, as one of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, my strength far surpasses those of any normal rank. All you're doing is threatening me with a good time, Diluc Ragnvindr. Or should I address you as Master Diluc?

[Isn't that how they did it back in the olden days? Either way, the Harbinger smirks. Things just got really interesting here in Mondstadt, and he's only been here a day.]

I am well aware of what one of your ilk can do.

[The old term sends a bolt of fire through his veins. It has been so long. He folds his arms over his chest and his resemblance to old paintings and art is unmistakable.] The eleventh has always been a storm in the center of any conflict. But none of them has matched the one of my mortal time.

In fairness, that was before I crossed into the darkness forever more. What is your purpose in my city if not to do harm. I am not convinced it is merely a vacation. [It never is. It could be a fact finding mission.]

You wound me, Master Diluc.

[He holds his hands up, shrugging back at the man. Even as terrifying as this is, his demeanor is still calm and collected. All part of that warrior's instinct that he's cultivated after years of fighting. He can't give Diluc an inch.]

I haven't done a single thing, and you're already assuming I'm here for the worst? I already told you, I'm working within the Snezhnayan delegation with the Knight of Favonius. Though I am a warrior like yourself, I'm only here in a diplomatic capacity. The only fighting that will be done here is if a certain vampire gets a little too antsy to rip my throat out. Which, I wouldn't mind.

[Always itching for a fight. A trait he's unaware that he shares with the former eleventh.]

[It has been so long since he felt mortality. It is a faded memory exchanged in words between himself and Kaeya. He drinks animal blood because he can’t bring himself to bite another. Humans are flames that he can’t be anymore.

There is no more Dawn for him. But he thinks he can feel it once more against his skin. The way it warms him. A warrior’s instinct telling him if he fights this one, he can once more hold fast to the light.

His fangs itch. His blood - a cold thing - is beginning to burn. His eyes narrow like a predator sighting prey.]

We are both warriors. There is only way for us to truly prove your honesty. Do battle with me this night.

[He turns his head and calls out to another of his kin, a young red haired man that looks so like his father it hurts.] Victor, take over. I’m going to be out for a while.

[Victor nods and takes the other side of the bar as Diluc grabs his coat and gloves. As he pulls them on he looks closer and closer to the old paintings. He lets his hair down and just ties it back as he comes around through the divider. In that moment he is a legend come to life, eyes taking the measure of Childe and seeming to deem him wanting in the same measure.

His voice is smooth, the tones of a noble lord who is used to others listening to what he has to say.] Fight me and you’ll get a glimpse of your predecessor.

The typhoon that you have to surpass.

[Now this is a surprise.

Calling him out by challenging him to a fight. He can't argue with the method, everything comes out in the heat of battle, transparent and exposed as if there was only a thin film that covers the truth. And yet, he doesn't care, he's been given the opportunity to fight what might possibly be the hardest opponent he's faced yet.

Tartaglia's fingers twitch in anticipation- this will be an incredible fight, and it may even turn into a fight to the death- his favorite kind.

He stands from the stool he's been occupying, taken in by how Diluc seems to transform into an image of what he truly was, a creature out of myths and stories told for centuries. Never could he possibly have imagined that people like him were real and not simply literary devices.]

Oh? [Tartaglia responds, intrigued as he follows Diluc out of the tavern.] So you knew him? You know, I've been told that I'm the first person in a thousand years to claim the title of the eleventh since he died.

[A typhoon, huh...he can relate. And he thinks he'll be able to surpass him, even if it isn't right now. Eventually, he would.]

Why don't you tell me more about him while we walk? There's plenty of stories to go around but I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone who knew him. But, then, I didn't think there were still beings alive from when he walked the earth.

Many of us accompanied a traveler from time to time I encountered him.

[He says as he leads the way out of the bar. He stands under the stars for a moment. He doesn’t look back. He feels closer to being alive than he has in centuries. It’s like snapping awake.

He leads his companion through lesser known streets. His voice calls back to another time.]

We fought each time. He was vicious, as ruthless as the ocean itself. And just as playful. He enjoyed fighting.

He lived for it.

If he were to live again he would immediately find an opponent and challenge them. I felt all of this each time we crossed blades. Kaeya would tell you the same. Fighting him you had to give everything to the fight. Or die.

[He had respected his strength. Come to respect him as a warrior. The only Fatui to gain his respect. They were on opposing sides but one could respect an opponent who wasn’t evil. The Tartaglia had a code of honor and moral reasoning. It was iffy at times but he stuck to it.]

…I had heard none could gain his title. But I thought it hearsay.

[He makes sure to observe where they're going, what streets are being taken, as he listens. Sounds like the former Harbinger was someone he'd be able to get along with really well, though it very well may have been a single encounter between the two of them. One to see who was stronger, and the the loser would surely die.]

You can consider this as your proof then. You must be impressive yourself if you could keep up with someone like him and live to tell the tale.

[And the idea of that makes his blood pump faster. He's going to get to fight this guy. It's an incredible opportunity, and his luck couldn't of been better to happen to walk into the bar with a figure like Diluc in it.]

But what I find the most interesting out of this entire exchange so far is why you were so willing to be this open with me about who you really are. You'd frighten just about anyone else, and yet you still told me knowing who I was.

Something else on your mind?

[Tartaglia has a list of things he thinks it might be, but better to get it from the horse's mouth first before he starts speculating.]

[It’s a question he would like to know the answer to himself. Something about this one called to him. There is something familiar here. Like when he first crossed over and couldn’t remember himself but the sound of Kaeya’s voice was so familiar.

He looks at him again and it is like looking into eyes he has seen before. A flash of light in the endless dark. He focuses forward again.] I confess I don’t know.

But I will when we cross blades.

[They pass through the city gates and the moon is briefly blocked by a vast winged shape. A dragon but unlike the feathered beauty that is Dvalin, this one looks like he is part of the night side. Silver and black scales like the glittering moonless sky.

The dragon wings towards the headquarters of the knights. Doubtless Kaeya will wake up at dusk tomorrow to ask about his present business.

He leads Childe over the bridge. The hill up ahead and the path on the other side would do. It would shield them from prying eyes and let them battle as they pleased.] This should be far enough.

[His smirk is undeniably smug; of course, crossing blades with him will tell him all he needs to know. He'll show him what he's made of, and that's stronger stuff, promising silently to give Diluc the fight of his life.

Tartaglia too, notices the shadow that passes over the moon, proof to the Harbinger that the dragon really does exist. It's not a trick of the light, and he gazes upward in wonder. So, turns out Diluc's words all held truth to them, not that he would doubt him now. The man in front of him had no reflection. That was proof enough.

When they reach their battleground, he surveys the area. Good ground that would make for a great fight, far enough from the city where they could go all out and not have to rouse any suspicion from the Knights. It wouldn't be good for him, as a Snezhnayan diplomat, to be caught fighting in the streets of Mondstadt. So this works for him. He's sure it will help keep Diluc's legend just that- a legend, one that he could tell patrons that would spread the story among the city and beyond.]

Seems as good of a spot as any. Now. Let's ready our blades, I've been itching for this chance ever since we left the bar. You'll find I'm no pushover...and you better leave it all on the battlefield.

[Tartaglia's eyes glitter dangerously. He's dead serious, even through the wicked grin he wears on his face.]

I won't forgive you if you don't. So let's see how you hold up against the might of the new Eleventh Harbinger!

[Without warning, his blades flash into his hands, the design of an ancient world from long ago brought back into modern times.]

Edited 2022-11-01 04:25 (UTC)

[Diluc draws his claymore. The red and black blade is scarred from many battles. Wolf’s gravestone, a blade of ancient times.

As he balances it on his shoulder. And drops all wards. The fine point to his ears returns. His fangs glint in the moonlight. His eyes burn and widen as he takes in the shape of blades he hasn’t seen in a long time.]

I will never insult you by giving you a poor battle. [Of all things, he smiles. He takes a step then he charges forward, hurling the blade and sending it spinning at Childe.

It’s a distraction. He intends to get in close and hit him with his monstrous strength.]

[Absolutely thrilling.

Tartaglia answers with a counter of his own, the nimble Harbinger dodging the blade and seeing the distraction that Diluc has set up. It wouldn't be surprising to learn if a vampire has superhuman strength, but he has power granted to him by the Tsaritsa as well- so he'll show this legend exactly what he's made out of.]

Hahaha! I can do that too, you know!

[He underhand pitches one of his own blades towards Diluc, the blade spinning through the air as he charges forward, a look of deadly joy on his face as he does so.

He doesn't know exactly how Diluc will try to use his own strength against him, but he's ready to block it with his blades, ready to reform his sword that he just threw. A good way to really see what he's up against.]

[It feels like he’s walking back into a time long ago. Diluc dodges the spinning blade but it slows his charge by a hair. He adjusts his plans accordingly. His flames spill out of him to a shape a copy of his claymore in flame.

He brings it up as he gets close while sending other flames into the ground. The wolf’s gravestone is set bursting up out of the ground and into the air. As he brings his flame sword around in a swift slice.

It has been years since set up a battlefield like a game board. Not since the last time he sparred with Kaeya that he fully let all his knowledge and tactics be at work.]

[The centuries of practice Diluc is displaying of wielding a Vision impresses him, watching the other man set his battle strategy right before his eyes. There's a few things he believes he can infer here of what Diluc is doing, grinning wickedly as he comes up with his own strategy to deal with it. Trying to make the battlefield work to his advantage. Sounds fun.

Tartaglia's blades form in his hands once more, slamming them together into his double-bladed polearm that catches the pyro-shaped claymore with the hook of it that threatens to slice him in two, steam from both elements shooting off each other violently. And there's the matter of the real claymore that's been shot into the air to deal with- he wonders how Diluc will utilize it when it eventually falls, but he'll be ready for when that time comes soon.]

Not bad. It's been a while since I've fought someone of this caliber. Now let's take it up a notch.

[His polearm breaks apart once more to assault Diluc with a series of quick strikes, Tartaglia's laughter ringing out in the night air.]

[He is driven back but he weathers the hits with his flame claymore. Each strike wears it down as the water eats the blade. He takes a step back then another. The wolf gravestone is in the air. He has to pull a risk here.

He leans into the fast strike and sacrifices the flame blade to pull up a leg and hammer a kick into Childe’s stomach. It will feel like being hit by a wall of it connects. And if it works he grabs his sword out of the air and brings it around.

He bares his teeth in a feral snarl, flames dancing in his eyes. If the kick doesn’t work he dodges to the side, grabs the blade and uses it to try and shoulder check Childe.]

[The kick connects, a wall of force that slams into his stomach that sends him flying backward. It hurts, it knocks the wind out of him, but at the same time he's satisfied with it, if not glad for it. Further proof that his opponent is worthy of his time and effort, and it only fuels him more to see what kind of strength lies below the surface.

By the time he's recovered, Diluc has his weapon in his hand, leveled at him and ready to fight.]

Did I awaken something there, Master Diluc?

[He sees how the flames in his eyes dance and threaten to burn him alive, excitement building in the pit of his stomach, his own hydro blades at the ready.]

You look like you're ready to tear me apart limb from limb. So? What do you think so far? Have I proven myself as worthy of my predecessor's seat?

[The answer is a strike. Diluc abruptly closes the distance and moves to shoulder check him. His eyes are an inferno. He opens his mouth, fangs glinting and his voice is rough. In a way, sometimes he is more draconic than Kaeya.] I won’t break you, worthy successor of the 11th seat.

Because you can handle my rage. [His body turns to shadow and flame. He reappears in a storm of fire five feet away. He lifts his hand to pop his neck and drops all internal chains. The man that stands with flames circling him is taller, lean and fit, with tapered ears and fangs. He holds the claymore with one hand. The flames wrap around the blade and the black blade glows with heat.

Then he charges. This is his full speed and power, a fire storm that once was human but crossed into the supernatural. He is the flame in the darkness that longs for the Dawn.

A Dawn he can no longer have.]

[He takes the shoulder check, the strength behind it shoving him backwards quite a bit, but his wicked grin doesn't cease. However, he hadn't expected what happens next, understanding now why Diluc has forced some distance between the two of them.

Diluc transforms right before his very eyes, and he can feel the terror stir in the pit of his stomach. So this is the true strength of a mythical creature turned reality. Though a part of him tell him to run, most of him feels a euphoria and excitement at the idea of fighting such a creature. There's no way that he can take Diluc on now, not as he is currently.

When the vampire rushes him, as the fire threatens to burn away his flesh by proximity alone, he uses his full power to survive it. The blade that reflects the starry night sky comes up to block the dark claymore that comes for him, a clang that rings out and echos throughout the landscape around them.

Dark energy surges forward, and a clawed hand holding onto the hilt of Tartaglia's sword emerges, his voice low and guttural as opposed to the high baritone he usually has.]

H͔̺̺e̘̙͕h̫͉̦.͍̝ F̦͎̼o̡̝̙r̺̞c͉̘i̺͉̘n͍͇g̞͖ m͎͉͕e͓̘̪ t͓̙o͍͉̘ g̟͉o͖̦͙ t͙͉̦h̟̝̘i̢̻̟ș̙ f͚͓̪a̺͓͖r͕͓͕.̘͚͖.̡͇̼.̡̞͎I͓̞̠'͓̫̪m͚͍͙ i̢̼̙m̙͚p̢̦͉r͎͖͍e̪̞͍s̡̟͖s͔̝̞e̝̘͙d͖͚͜.̝̼͚

[Parrying upward, his blades quickly form into his polearm once more, thrusting it forward to strike.]

[The smell of ozone and water mixing with the abyss. It is a scent he thought he would never breathe in again. It’s all too easy to press down against that hand. To fall into the familiar.

Here he can rage forever. He breaks away as the party occurs. And lashes out with a slash of fire. The pole arm is met with his sword.

A low rumbling growl rolls through the air. Despite that his voice is a more resonant version of his usual tone.] There was only one man who smelled like this.

Fought like this.

[It is like coming home. He twists and the fire obeys him. A wave of heat washes out of him like a desert wind. And the pressure of the heat builds as he rains blows. Tartaglia.

He knows humans can return in new lifetimes. But he can’t dare…hope for that. But this is the closest he has to the man he knew all those years ago. And it is too easy to fall into old rhythms.]

[There's a distinct change that he senses from Diluc as his blow is blocked by the vampire's greatsword, something he can't quite place his finger on. Has he relaxed, let go of all his tension? The flow of his attacks, as he parries and counters, blocks and dodges, it's like a steady rhythm of something familiar. The warrior doesn't even have time to contemplate the words, his focus on the fight.

One slash threatens to sever his arm from his body, a sidestep just barely keeping Diluc from claiming it. Another slash comes for his neck, a block that takes all his strength to keep his head attached. The heat seeps through his armor, draining his stamina even faster than the transformation would do by itself, and Tartaglia realizes he has to end this faster than he thought. Abyssal energy coalesces and coats his blades, each clash of their blades pushing the heat backward with his own power.

It's not until he's given himself some room does he address Diluc's statements, his breathing beginning to labor under the duress of the Foul Legacy Transformation.]

A͕͍͖n̢̘d̘̝͜?̝͎̟ W͉̺̻h̞̝͜a̘̟͇t̟̠̻ e͎͕͜x͉͚̪a̫͜c̘̺̞t̡͚̺l̻͔͓y͙̝͔ a̘͔̪r͔̦̝e͓̺͔ y̪͚o͚̫͓u̼̞͜ t͔͚͙r̠͔̠y̫̝i̢̘͖n̠̻̦g̫͔͖ t͔͔͚o̞̺͖ s̢͍̙a͎̼̦y̢͉͙?̻̻̻

[He doesn't consider the possibility of who he is, of why he's always possessed this great strength. But Diluc talks like he knows, and it's got him interested.]

I don't know. [He doesn't dare hope. The taste of the abyss. The way it bites. It's all like he's walking back in time. The hunger builds in him. That familiar need to taste blood. He hasn't fed in months.

It's a bad habit to get into. He always puts off his hunger until either Kaeya forces the issue or he feels weakness trying to get him.]

Some humans' wills are so powerful they refuse to be contained to a single lifetime. I would have been one had I not crossed into being night borne.

[He shifts his blade, breathing in, and it's a bad idea. The hunger howls as he brings his blade around to force Tartaglia to defend himself once more.] It is quite interesting that you just as he can use that transformation.

[The words soak into him as he blocks Diluc's blade again, the strength behind the swing making his arms shake with the effort. Sparks fly from the force, the Harbinger gritting his teeth as he holds both blades in place.

He hadn't known. For all this time, he'd always felt the pull of something darker beneath his feet wherever he walked, and could utilize it to transform into the beast that he is now. But to hear that, the realization that this power had been inherited shakes him.]

Ț̢̼h̼͎͕a̪͙̞t̻̙͇ c̺͙̠a̢͇͚n̝̟'͕͍̪t͔͜͜ b͉̙e͔̫.̺̺͍

[He says it, but he doesn't believe his own words, and he sounds unconvinced of himself. He's crossing blades with a vampire, there's absolutely no reason why reincarnation should be off the table.]

N̢̝̙g̠̦̠h͙͇-̢͖̪!͚̙͜

[He shoves Diluc off of him, dual blades arcing in for the chance at tasting blood.]

[He lets the blades graze his side as he takes the chance to move closer to Tartaglia. If he can get in touching distance he can end this. Both of them are nearing the end of their endurance.

The heat builds in his body as he says,] The mask. The movement. Even the tidal blades…stronger than before. I suppose it has to do with having a lifetime with it?

[He leaves it a question. All it will take is one touch. One touch. He will take damage from this but once this battle is over. He will feed.

His blood runs from the gashes Childe got in his side.]

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