The faded sign hanging above the tavern proclaimed it to be the Blood on the Vine. That was not its original name, though. Long ago, it was called "Blood of the Vine," but someone carved over the "f" and replaced it with an "n". The identity of the one responsible has remained a mystery to this day, along with their motives.
Joon-gi always assumed that it was meant as a joke, though he could find little humor in it. He certainly wasn't alone in sharing such sentiments.
Once, long ago, this tavern would have been the lifeblood of the village, beckoning weary travelers to rest and wash away the road dust from their parched throats. Now it was a shadow of its former glory, its furnishings dull and faded, much like the occupants who sat huddled by the meager fire, drowning their sorrows in cheap beer.
Aside from the regulars, travelers would stop by from time to time. Visitors from the outside.
These were the people that Joon-gi was most interested in observing. He kept himself tucked away in a dark corner with his back pressed to the wall, head bowed. Unmoving. His black attire allowed him to melt into the shadows quite easily, as though he were a shadow himself, cut from the same cloth.
He listened. And he waited. A black spider perched in its web, waiting patiently for potential prey to flit by.
Eventually, the sound of idle conversation was peppered with enticing phrases: "I'm lost. Can you help me?" and "I don't know where I am, can you tell me the name of this place?"
Joon-gi lifted his face, black eyes glittering with keen interest from beneath the shadow of his hood. He quickly scanned the premises, honing in on those voices with unfamiliar accents; those clothes with unusual patterns. The sort of travelers from lands far beyond Barovia's borders.
He pushed himself from the wall, a black shadow tearing itself free from its brethren, and made his unhurried way toward the newcomer. He had to remind himself to step purposefully on the creaking floorboards; people tended to be unsettled when someone approached without the sound of footsteps to accompany them.
Force of habit, for one in his line of work.
"You're not from around here, I take it?"
His voice was soft and smooth as silk, though slightly muffled. He wore a black half-mask to hide the lower half of his face, and a hood pulled down to cover his hair. What little flesh remained uncovered was pale and ashen; perhaps sickly, in certain lighting.
Joon-gi insinuated himself in a nearby seat, his posture relaxed as he scrutinized the newcomer. "You look like you could use it drink." He smiled behind his mask, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Don't worry, it's on me."
1.
Joon-gi always assumed that it was meant as a joke, though he could find little humor in it. He certainly wasn't alone in sharing such sentiments.
Once, long ago, this tavern would have been the lifeblood of the village, beckoning weary travelers to rest and wash away the road dust from their parched throats. Now it was a shadow of its former glory, its furnishings dull and faded, much like the occupants who sat huddled by the meager fire, drowning their sorrows in cheap beer.
Aside from the regulars, travelers would stop by from time to time. Visitors from the outside.
These were the people that Joon-gi was most interested in observing. He kept himself tucked away in a dark corner with his back pressed to the wall, head bowed. Unmoving. His black attire allowed him to melt into the shadows quite easily, as though he were a shadow himself, cut from the same cloth.
He listened. And he waited. A black spider perched in its web, waiting patiently for potential prey to flit by.
Eventually, the sound of idle conversation was peppered with enticing phrases: "I'm lost. Can you help me?" and "I don't know where I am, can you tell me the name of this place?"
Joon-gi lifted his face, black eyes glittering with keen interest from beneath the shadow of his hood. He quickly scanned the premises, honing in on those voices with unfamiliar accents; those clothes with unusual patterns. The sort of travelers from lands far beyond Barovia's borders.
He pushed himself from the wall, a black shadow tearing itself free from its brethren, and made his unhurried way toward the newcomer. He had to remind himself to step purposefully on the creaking floorboards; people tended to be unsettled when someone approached without the sound of footsteps to accompany them.
Force of habit, for one in his line of work.
"You're not from around here, I take it?"
His voice was soft and smooth as silk, though slightly muffled. He wore a black half-mask to hide the lower half of his face, and a hood pulled down to cover his hair. What little flesh remained uncovered was pale and ashen; perhaps sickly, in certain lighting.
Joon-gi insinuated himself in a nearby seat, his posture relaxed as he scrutinized the newcomer. "You look like you could use it drink." He smiled behind his mask, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Don't worry, it's on me."