Fog in Mondstadt
The warm glow inside a tavern seemed to last forever. Mugs sloshed with drinks, only clacking against the tables when emptied, but they were soon filled again with glittering liquid. The air thumped with the heartbeat of deep-chested laughter and bard song, patron feet stomping in time, or at least, trying to. Their timing got worse as the drinks continue, but the laughter remained. It was easy for Jack to be swept up in the drunken atmosphere, especially being drunk himself.
When the adventurers swapped their harrowing adventures, and bards sung their tales, Jack dreamily imagined his own name on their lips. He liked the sound of "Jack the Mitachurl-Slayer" or "Jack the Wind-Chasing Treasure Hunter" and the thought settled in his stomach like a cozy mug of warm ale.
But he was nowhere close to that. The only achievements to his name were dozens of slimes he'd slain from cleaning out the sewers every week, and the occasional common chest containing a few weak artifacts and rusted weapons. How was Jack supposed to bolster his reputation when he was stuck with so few opportunities? Adventures don't wait for adventure to find them, Jack thought, imitating Guild Master Cyrus in his head. Adventurers find adventure!
When Jack stood, his knees wobbled and his head spun like a Wind Wheel Aster. He gripped the table to steady himself. Oof, maybe not tonight. I'll just head home.
He caught a cart ride with a few others who were bound for Springvale. They sung together, and their song became a muddled soup of sounds as their fuzzy minds only remembered half the lyrics. Upon reaching the hunter village, his drinking buddies offered for Jack to spend the night, since his home was closer to the outskirts of Dawn Winery, and the sun had long since set. But Jack decided to walk. He had done so dozens of times before, and no member of the Adventurer's Guild was afraid of walking in the dark. He wished his friends goodnight and whistled a tune to himself, frogs croaking along in the background.
His tune swayed unsteadily and hiccupped. Jack hadn't realized how uneven the dirt road was, and the toe of his boot kept catching on sunken hoofmarks and rocks that clung to the earth like ticks.
Jack caught himself on a lamppost. He put his forehead against the weathered wood and it almost felt like a pillow. The lantern draped a firefly-colored blanket on his shoulders. Maybe I should turn back to Springvale and stay the night, he considered. Like the crash of a blacksmith's hammer against an anvil, Cyrus' thunderously joyful voice cracked his thoughts, Onward, adventurers! The only wasted adventures are the ones you don't see through!
It's not a long walk, Jack decided and pulled himself from the post. The cool blue of the moon dimly lit the path, so Jack also passed up using the lantern in his backpack. He didn't want to waste the matches and he knew the path well enough.
There was a shudder of leaves and a squirrel darted across the road, running into the side of his boot. Jack made a noise of surprise but he found himself more amused than anything as the creature scurried off. Mondstadt was so peaceful and bits of life teemed in every crevice. It was a constant state of music, with every blade of grass and bubbling brook an instrument played by the wind. Jack felt a nostalgic stir in his chest.
The canteen tied to his backpack rapped against his hip. The knot was loosening, so he retightened it, which took him several more minutes than it should have with his lethargic fingers. His backpack was really heavy. But Jack imagined the weight was a lot like a treasure chest, full of promise. The bard songs and adventurer tales scraped against his chest like a matchstick. Jack would never say Mondstadt was a bad place, but he knew what to expect from it. The most adventure he ever got in his hometown was cleaning slimes out of sewers, no different than emptying a rain gutter. He hungered for the beyond. Elsewhere, onward and to the stars.
The wind pressed against his face, causing Jack to shiver. He had walked without thinking and did not see the landmarks he was expecting. Jack furrowed his brow and peered at the oily rocks and increasingly tall walls of stone. Then the realization hit the bottom of his stomach.
I passed the fork. I went right instead of left.
Technically, the path he was on still led to his house. However, the left path would have sent him among the wood of massive trees that surrounded Dawn Winery, were cozy cottages were tucked away while the smell of sweet grapes brushed the air. The right path—the one he was on—was a slightly longer route, leading him straight through a canyon, where the jagged rocks at the top gave it the impression of a fanged mouth slightly open. No, no it isn't, Jack told himself. He looked up the at canyon's opening above his head, trying to think of a better comparison. It's more like…a beartrap? Claws? The thoughts bobbed in his skull as apples in water. Jack shook his head. Who am I kidding? It's hardly perilous. Transport carts make their way through all the time. The only things you might run into here are some slimes, maybe a couple of a Hilichurls. He scoffed and pulled his sword from his belt, the scabbard still on. It was an old Traveler's Handy Sword, which had some small scissors and coil rattling inside its hollow hilt. I hope it'd be Hilichurls. Stanley fought hundreds of Hilichurls, dozens at a time, but I've never even faced one on my own!
He imagined swinging his sword in a sharp swipe and then lunging with piercing strikes. Jack thought he did these moves as well, but the reality was that his sword wobbled in the air, swaying his body with it. His feet couldn't keep up, and he crumpled like a cut stalk of wheat. Jack crashed into the ground, knees first, and wacked himself with his scabbard on the way down. His reaction was kind of an afterthought and he uttered, "Ow."
Jack then realized he had fallen next to a fruit stand, and he jolted in horror at the thought that someone witnessed his fall. Though fruit stood at attention on the shelves, the stall itself was not occupied. A sign that Jack couldn't read said "Out for drinks". He grabbed the edge of the stall to pull himself up, his knees dully roared in outcry and almost fell back down like a newborn deer. He managed to heave himself back onto his feet, still gripping his sheathed sword.
It appeared he reached the small market that was situated in his canyon. But since it was the middle of the night, all of the stalls were empty. A few strides felt like a few miles. Pain angrily buzzed in Jack's knees, and his eyes were having trouble focusing. He stumbled again and the weight of tiredness dropped onto his shoulders.
Jack leaned against a stall to keep from stumbling again. He meant to only stop for a second, but the stall looked so very much like a tent that the Adventurer's Guild taught him to make. He decided to step into it and lay down, realizing it felt like laying in a tent too. He told himself he'd rest for a minute, but he couldn't finish the thought as he fell asleep.
An airy trill of an owl tapped against his chest. Jack woke with a start and pitch-black darkness slammed into his eyes. The moon was gone. He rapidly opened and shut his eyes but nothing changed, like he was blind. Jack shuddered a gasp. He sat up and fumbled around. He could still feel his backpack and his fingers wormed into the pockets. Jack felt the corner of a tiny box prick his skin and he closed his fingers around it with a wave of relief.
Jack clutched the box of matches with an iron grip. He drew one, trying desperately to keep his hands steady. He scraped the match against the side of the box with a coarse hiss, and a small, orange flame appeared with a soft flick. Jack grunted in reassurance, but the fire looked wrong, like something was wrong with his eyes. Jack scraped up his lantern and lit the oil inside. The glassy box illuminated, and the beam it cast didn't travel far, pressed up against a thick fog.
Fog. The word alone clamped a chill over his stomach that barely anyone from Mondstadt would understand. His homeland was a place where the wind ran free as stallions and danced to ceaseless bard songs. The winds were the promises of their archon, that he was still alongside them even if he was not seen. The only way there could be fog was if there was no wind.
This meant the world around Jack was silent. The simple sound of him scraping up his backpack was now an earthquake of noise that roared his presence to things he couldn't see. Calm down. You're an adventurer, not a civilian. That means you're equipped for this. Jack wrapped his fingers over his sword hilt, finally unsheathing it with a thin hiss. He vainly waved his sword in front of him, trying to clear a path. The fog simply swirled and settled back into place as cold fingers on his shoulders and ghostly cobwebs against his skin.
Jack carefully gathered his things and stood, practically clinging to the light. He stared at the wall of fog, having trouble gauging his surroundings. Even the fruit stand next to him was mostly swallowed up, half of it fading into a hazy unreality. None of the other fruit stands seemed to exist either until he was within arm's reach of them. Even the smell of old fruit and faint buzz of flies seemed muted. He tried not to stare at the fog, it would only disorient him. Closing his eyes, he pictured a map in his head, pinpointing the fruit stands in relation to his house. Jack just needed to follow the ridge up the hill and bear left. He had walked this path hundreds of times.
Reopening his eyes, the fog pressed against him, staring unrelentingly. He could see nothing of the path he knew, just the outline of his hands holding the lantern, whose beam of light stopped short of a few feet, ending in a muddled haze. It would be fruitless to wait, even worse to go back. It's just a walk home, he assured himself.
Jack stepped forward. His heartbeat slammed against his throat. He couldn't even see his feet. Jack could hear and feel the soles of his boots scraping against the dirt path and loose rock, but his sight was given nothing. The lantern's beams knocked against a narrow cage of vapor. He assured himself he knew this path, that he had walked it a thousand times, that it didn't suddenly change. But it could have. Jack couldn't convince himself to walk in the middle of the path. Despite having his compass, he still felt like he could walk in the wrong direction without any warning. He needed something tangible, so he clung to the ridge wall, following it up the path. Just follow it, he told himself.
After several long minutes, all Jack heard was the rustling of his own footsteps, the creak of the lantern and his own breathing, which had been closest there was to the absent wind. He felt a moment of relief. I should be back home in no time, Jack thought.
A crunching squelch struck the ground several feet away. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. The noise thudded again a foot from the original spot, then again, until he recognized the noise. Jack breathed quietly, It's a slime.
Jack kept shuffling along the rock wall, his sword still in hand and lantern in the other. He couldn't see the slime. None of the fog appeared disturbed, so the squelching seemed to come from nowhere, like he imagined it. But the noise grew duller, more distant as he walked away. There's no point trying to fight a slime in this fog. Jack's mouth twisted in a frown as he imagined trying to describe this walk as an adventure, how uninteresting it sounded. I'm not running away. I know slime wouldn't be a challenge. A single slime isn't a threat. Still, he had a pit in his stomach.
His boot sunk deep in mud, as a pond appeared underfoot. The lantern light harshly bounced off the water, like light reflecting off a nocturnal eye. Jack knew the canyon walls narrowed again past the pond, but he couldn't see it through the fog. He had to step back into the road instead of on the side to avoid wading through the pond. Jack was reluctant, as the rock wall he once held now faded away with each step. Jack hoped to cross the path to reach the other wall.
He made a step but the ground wasn't where it should have been. Jack lurched as his foot slammed into a hole and his whole body fell. His lantern jerked and Jack didn't care about hitting the ground, instead fumbling to protect the lantern. The light jittered as the shadows of his hands flickered against the fog.
Jack tightly held the lantern, the clattered stopped and he was left panting. He carefully sat up and put his thankfully-intact light towards the hole. It looked like a mouth that opened in the road because of the shadows. A glint of metal winked from inside. Jack leaned closer and reached for the half-buried object. It was a red key. Who would bury this? Jack wondered. He decided to put the key in his pocket, as he hopeful that it was a key to a treasure, but then he wondered if Treasure Hoarders had been the ones burying it. Then again, the hole didn't appear to be dug by a shovel. As Jack had his hand on the hole's edge, the scrape marks mirrored his fingers, and he realized someone dug this by hand.
There was a quizzical grunt behind him, followed by a scratchy growl and the rapid thumping of barefoot steps.
A dark shape in the fog behind him shifted into a Hilichurl with an upraised arm. Jack fumbled to pick up his sword and a wooden club cracked against his skull, with light and pain flashing in his head. Jack fell with the lantern, which cracked glassily and the light died in an instant. The jaw of darkness snapped shut. The Hilichurl grunted in confusion above Jack. Its foot knocked against his side and the creature fell, slamming on top of Jack.
Jack cried and tried shoving creature off as it thrashed with foul-smelling growls and shouts. They couldn't see anything. This body writhed on top of him while wayward limbs struck his head. Jack felt his sword hilt in his hand, which he tightened until it hurt. Jack swung his arm blindly. His blade bit empty air and his knuckles knocked against the hard, bone-like surface of the mask. Jack choked, with the Hilichurl's elbow against his throat. Jack flailed, his free hand tangling in a tangled, bush of hair and he yanked while he swung with his sword. The Hilichurl spat angrily and its fingers chaotically clawed into him. The blade's flat side whapped the Hilichurl and Jack tried to pull back the sword but it wouldn't come back, caught somehow. Jack sputtered when the Hilichurl's hand slapped onto his face and it dug its nails in. Jack yanked the sword free, cutting something. The Hilichurl howled and shoved Jack away. Hands and feet clattered against rocks and dirt, while a mess of limbs tumbled away with unintelligible wails, into the throat of darkness.
Jack laid very still on the ground. He stared at a world of black. He silently trembled with short breaths. He stayed there, hand numb from gripping the sword. He didn't move. He wouldn't move. He couldn't.
A tiny rock clattered several feet away and Jack gasped. He choked his voice and held his breath, ears burning. He couldn't hear anything, not even the wind. The sound was the throbbing against his skull, which also sounded like bare footsteps.
Jack stayed still. He couldn't envision the canyon anymore. It was a world of black. Jack could only feel his backpack and the ground against his body, his only thread to the tangible. Everything else was a nebulous darkness, where that Hilichurl and dozens of others surrounded his mind. He thought he felt their eyes.
Hilichurls can't see in the dark, Jack thought. He allowed himself short little breaths. I could just lay here until daylight. I don't have to move. He allowed himself to lean against the ground like a bed, though he was far from sleepy. I'll just wait. I'm safe. Nothing can see me.
There are other monsters other than Hilichurls, countless adventurers' stories dripped like a cold oil down his spinal cord. Monsters that can see in the dark.
The black world stared at him with a thousand eyes. Jack jolted upright, holding his sword in both hands. He froze, listening for something running at him. Abyss Mages move silently because they float. Jack jerked at something crawling his neck, and he slapped a bead of sweat against his skin. But their glowing shields give them away! They can't see in the dark! Jack snapped still, waiting, eyes swimming uselessly in the blackness.
He saw and heard nothing. He irrationally wondered if he went blind and deaf. But he knew he wasn't deaf at least when he ventured to move onto his knees and heard the crinkle of his clothes. He carefully slid his hand across the ground, looking for his lantern. His fingertips only tapped against rocks and bits of glass. With much hesitation, he dug his matchbox out of his bag. He somehow managed to strike a match while still keeping the sword mostly in his grip. The blink of orange made him jump and he almost dropped it. The flame trembled violently in his hand.
Fingers of fog huddled over the match, trying to steal it from Jack's eyes. He was as close to the ground as possible, awkwardly holding the match and sword at the same time as he crawled along. He was too scared to stare at the dark past the cobwebs of vapor, so he strained his ears to listen as he combed for his lantern. It was right beside him. The glass case was fractured, but the lantern still worked. However, upon lighting it, the lantern no longer provided a solid beam. Its light splintered at odd angles, like staring out a crushed cage.
Jack's breathing and the rattle of his pack were thunderous noises. Why did I pack so much baggage? He resisted the urge to heave off his bag as he stiffly walked until he reached a rock wall and started following it. He kept seeing figures slinking in the way the broken light tangled in the fog. He abruptly stopped walking and hissed in panic. Oh God, have I been walking away from my house? Jack fumbled out his compass and realized he was going in the right direction. He forced himself to keep moving.
He hated this fog. The weight of it pressed down like a low ceiling of an underground cave, miles below from where anyone could hear. The vapor clogged his lungs like spiders' webs. He hated looking at the ground at his feet. He was only fed a couple of feet of visibility. Every step was a step closer to a gaping fissure. That horrible memory of his last adventure team was at the forefront. The treasure chest was right in front of him and he didn't even get to lay a hand on it, before the world trembled and the ground split open like an endless mouth, pulling the chest far away while Jack was left stranded next to Bennett. He thought leaving the team could protect him from that happening again. But now he was surrounded by a bottomless pit waiting to happen.
There was a rocky clatter near him. Jack gasped and rapidly turned. His boot stopped too soon against a rock and he crashed against the ground. His lantern clanged and the light threatened to go out, but didn't. The hazy strip of a squirrel tail left his vision, and a dark slender shape hopped away into the fog. Jack trembled, his body refused to move otherwise. The fog walls closed in and breaths were crushed in his chest. The loud noises were nothing. He hated the silence that followed, because that meant there was no wind.
No adventurer should ever die in a place where there wind doesn't blow, or the wind can't carry your spirit to Mondstadt, Jack remembered Stanley's words as he told of his adventure in Mare Jivari. But I'm in Mondstadt! I'm safe! He stared at the fog. It coiled on his shoulders, seeping in his ears, as if swallow his soul into an abyss. Jack flinched away with a choked croak and he pressed his back against the wall.
The fog blurred as tears gnawed his eyes. Adventurers shouldn't cry so easily. Jack wanted to snap his sword. He wasn't an adventurer. He was a dumb, drunk kid alone in the dark with a sword he barely knew how to use. It didn't matter what he accomplished. His name would be forgotten. A drop in the lake of renowned adventurers. Why should I risk my life for this? I can't even make it home. I'm doomed to be nothing. Why bother? Why try? Why? I can't. I can't!
"I'm not an adventurer!" Jack shouted.
His voice scared himself, but he couldn't steady his tearful breaths. He almost didn't care what monsters he attracted. He was so tired, but he was so scared. His hands ached as he gripped the sword.
"Is someone there?"
Jack's head jerked to the side.
A small, distant voice yelled, "Help! Help! If you can hear me, I'm over here!"
It was a man, who sounded panicked and parched. He didn't stop yelling for help and his voice stayed where it was.
Jack scrapped up his blade and lantern. He followed the voice carefully. It seemed when Jack's light was more visible through the fog, the yelling became more urgent, "Here! I'm here! In the ditch!"
He finally reached a ditch between the road and the canyon wall. A portly man with a mustache and beard was laying in the ditch, and Jack realized this was Wyatt, a fellow drinker from the taverns. The lantern light pooled in Wyatt's gaze, which melted into relief, "An adventurer? Thank Barbatos."
"What happened?"
"My ankle's twisted. I can't climb out."
Indeed, Wyatt's ankle didn't look good, and he was decorated in bruises. Jack set everything down, helping Wyatt out of the ditch. He gave Wyatt his canteen of water to drink while he bandaged him up as best as he could. All the while, Wyatt explained his situation.
"I admit, I drank way too much. I tried to get home before it got dark, but I ran into this Hilichurl. It beat me silly and I tried gettin' away in this fog. But then I fell in this ditch and twisted my ankle. I wasn't sure anyone was gonna find me," Wyatt exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, seeming to realize how close of a call he had as he recounted his story aloud.
"Just one? I-I ran into a Hilichurl earlier."
Wyatt looked expectantly to him, "Did you kill it?"
Jack opened his mouth, and his impulse was to say he slayed it valiantly. No one would know otherwise. But the lie shriveled in his throat. Adventurers are supposed to be honest. His words petered out quietly, "No, I—I only cut it and sent it packing."
Wyatt's body sagged in disappointment and he grunted in frustration, "Blast it. That means it's probably long gone. Or maybe it dropped my key somewhere in this stupid fog. Augh, I'll have to come back and look—"
"Key?" Jack's hand fumbled in his pocket, drawing out the red key. "This one?"
Wyatt's face changed in an instant. He clapped his hands over the key, "Yes! Oh, you're a godsend! Thank you so much!"
Despite the fog, things seemed much easier to see, like the dark was draining away.
After Wyatt securely pocketed his key, Jack helped him onto his feet. There weren't any branches or sticks to try fashioning a crunch, so Jack had Wyatt lean on him for support. Wyatt held the lantern and Jack held his sword, using his other arm to hold up Wyatt. Jack was fairly certain that his house wasn't that far away, just up the hill, and Wyatt could rest there before they tried getting him to his own home.
They didn't get very far until they heard a mechanical fluttering steadily approaching behind them. Jack tightened his grip on his sword as they watching a large, horizontal shape hovering closer. It was an emptied transport cart, with a winged slime-shaped hot air balloon attached at the top, and a man sitting on the edge of the platform. These were very common to see going to and from Dawn Winery, making deliveries to Mondstadt.
"Hey there!" Wyatt called.
The driver yelped and almost fell off the transport. His gaze fixed on Jack and Wyatt, eyes wide. When he noticed Jack's outfit, he pulled a lever to stop the cart and sighed, "O-oh, gosh. I thought you were Treasure Hoarders or Hilichurls. This fog makes it so hard to see."
"Don't we know it," Wyatt replied.
"Are you headed to Dawn Winery?" Jack asked. "We're headed in that direction, and maybe we could hitch a ride?"
The driver noticed Wyatt's ankle and answered, "Of course. I don't think anyone would get mad at me for it, especially since there aren't any goods loaded anyways."
He introduced himself as Magar and he helped Wyatt up onto the platform, where they all sat. Wyatt and Jack were both a little disappointed that the transport balloon didn't have any of the famous Dawn Winery wines on it, but they supposed that they wouldn't have been allowed to drink it anyways.
"I didn't know deliveries ran so late," Jack commented.
Magar looked startled, "Late? No, I'm not. Am I? No." He shook his head and said with as much certainty as he could muster, "No, not this time. It's the morning shift. I left just before sunrise and now I'm heading back."
Jack looked up at the sky in surprise. It was still foggy, but it looked brighter, like a cloud. It was also thinning, so Jack could see farther than before. It was hard to tell while sitting on a noisy, moving transport balloon, Jack thought he felt the wind blowing alongside them.
"And, uh, what brings you out here?" Magar asked. His suddenly nervous expression seemed to be him realizing that he should have asked that question before he let strangers hitch a ride.
"We were walking home from the tavern," Jack answered. "Well, separately, but—"
Jack felt Wyatt's hand smack his back as he exclaimed, "And Jack here saved me!" Wyatt laughed in joy, "Thank Barbatos for adventurers!"
A bud of unexpected warmth opened in Jack's core. It reminded him of opening his first treasure chest. The feeling only deepened as Magar nodded and agreed, "Deliveries would be much harder if not for adventurers clearing the roads. I mean, knowing me, I might end up running into monsters or bandits anyways, but not as often. It helps a lot."
The rattling of the transport balloon and the puffs of Anemo from the balloon made a rhythmic beat as the fog steadily cleared the more they climbed the hill. The golden morning steadily fed in around them.
Wyatt then said to Jack, "Thanks again for helping me. I'm honestly not sure how to repay you. I'd give you mora, but my wife might think I'm buying gifts for another woman…so I could treat you to a round of drinks instead!"
Jack was unable to help his instinctive smile with the tempting offer, but he paused. Didn't we both get lost in the fog because we drank too much? Jack scratched his temple and answered, "Uh, actually…what about a meal at Good Hunter instead?"
Wyatt blinked before he shrugged and answered, "Sure! That'd be cheaper."
After they discussed the details, Jack settled in his seat, drinking in the fresh air that the wind carried over.
CatCrescent: I meant this as a Halloween piece, and it was 30 minutes until midnight when I finished it, so I think it still counts. This also kinda turned into somewhat of a character study for Jack, who has a lot of interesting details in his backstory, like being a former member of Benny's Adventure Team and the fact he is one of the Legendary Drunkards of Mondstadt possibly because he was led to believe that being a heavy drinker is a requirement for being a proper adventurer. This may not be a particularly spooky piece, but I hope that you all enjoy and that you had a good, fun weekend. Thank you for reading.