Chapter 25 | Blood on the Vine


Hoben had many special talents, and one of his more useful abilities was spotting a tavern sign from a mile away.
This particular tavern was easy to find. Surrounded by buildings with boarded doors and barred windows, the tavern seemed to be the only place they had found that likely didn’t contain something sinister within. That alone made it a beacon of hope in this otherwise desolate town.
Hoben pointed to it, and they proceeded forward. Together, he and Ruh Ruh chanted, “Tavern! Tavern!” and even the paladin cracked a smile.
Clerics could have their churches, and monks their monasteries; Hoben was a devotee of wine and women, and the tavern was his kind of holy place.
The sign hung askew on its hinges, and read Blood of the Vine Tavern. Hoben squinted his eyes, and noticed that the sign had once read Blood on the Vine, an f haphazardly scratched over the n.
He entered the tavern first, and to his pleasant surprise, the tavern seemed altogether ordinary. Hoben suspected the tavern had seen better days; at its full glory, it was likely a very lovely and inviting place. A fire blazed in a hearth against the far wall, and it warmed Hoben’s cold limbs and nose. He smiled. A tavern was a tavern anywhere.
A small, pudgy barkeep polished glasses behind the counter, and looked up as they entered. Three woman in colorful garments laughed and imbibed from goblets of wine. Near them was a young, handsome man with blond hair, and Hoben could tell instantly that he wasn’t like other Barovians.
Hoben stumbled as Akra pushed past him toward the blond man. “Are you the guy?” she asked, accusingly.
The man took the strange question in stride, and seem unphased by the looming figure of the dragonborn.
“Hello, travelers! It’s not often we get visitors in Barovia.” He turned to the barkeep. “Arik, I’d like to buy a round of wine for our visitors.”
“Don’t drink the wine!” Amira hissed, but Hoben paid her no mind. Arik poured them each a goblet, and the man handed one to each, and introduced himself as Ismark.
Hoben took a sip of the wine, and looked at Amira expectantly when nothing happened. She appeared to relax, and offered her goblet to her raven, who dipped his beak into the cup and made a little chirp in response. Ruh Ruh and Akra clinked their goblets together, and downed them each in one swig. Phaedrus took a tentative taste, considered it, then went for another. Liam set his cup back down on the counter, untouched.
“Do you know anything about Rose and Thorn Durst?” Akra asked, setting her empty goblet down without care. The barkeep caught it before it toppled off the counter.
Ismark made a sad face. “It’s well known around here that the Dursts were leaders of a cult.”
As his friends shared their experiences with Ismark, Hoben made eye contact with a woman in a vivid cobalt tunic. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulder, a patterned scarf tied around her forehead. The colors of her clothes and jewelry seemed bright and brilliant in the dour city.
“Back by popular demand, baby,” he said, winking, and the woman laughed and winked in response.
“We rid the Durst house of its darkness, and survived,” said Liam. Hoben turned back to the conversation.
“And what of the Durst children?” Ismark asked.
“We laid the children to rest and they are… resting,” said Phaedrus. He looked into his goblet. “This wine is good.”
“Perhaps you could help me with a pressing matter,” Ismark said. He glanced over his shoulder at the laughing women. “Would you mind meeting me outside?”
Hoben was reluctant to leave the warm hearth and the giggling women. As they stepped outside, Hoben asked, “Who are those women?”
A dark look crossed Ismark’s face. “They are Vistanis. Fortune tellers, wandering performers who travel throughout Barovia. I’d stay away from them if I were you.” He said the last part with a sneer, and Hoben suspected Ismark did not care for Vistanis.
Amira asked Ismark what his last name was. “Kolyanovich. My father was the Burgomaster of this town.”
She pulled a crumpled letter from her satchel. “We found this on a ravaged body near the gate, several days ago. The body appeared to belong to a messenger.”
Ismark gingerly took the letter, scanned it, and handed it back.
“Are there authorities in Barovia?” asked Liam. Hoben doubted that any authorities would be effective against the darkness that plagued the whole region. Ismark confirmed his suspicions.
“What can you tell us about Strahd?” Amira asked. If Ismark noticed the raven — and it was hard not to, the bird was massive and jet-black — he didn’t inquire about it.
Ismark recounted what they had confirmed about Strahd von Zarovich: he was a vampire, and he was very powerful, and Ismark referred to him as the “stench within” Barovia.
“I think we already found the stench within,” Ruh Ruh said, wrinkling his nose and recounting the house with the horrible, rotting smell. A moment later, he lifted his arm and gave a hearty sniff in his armpit, and made another repulsed face. Hoben wondered what Ismark thought of the lot of them.
“I have been preparing to face Strahd for some time now,” said Ismark.
“Perhaps we could work together,” said Liam. “What did you need from us?”
Ismark told them about his sister, Ireena’s, ailment, and Hoben recalled her described as the “fair woman” from the letter. Curiosity piqued, he followed his party as Ismark led them through Barovia toward the Burgomaster’s mansion.
Hoben cast a forlorn glance behind them as they left the tavern, lamenting Liam’s full, untouched goblet on the counter, and hoped that the Burgomaster’s mansion contained a wine cellar.

