A Knot in the Loom, Chapter 1
There will be an old man sitting in a rocking chair,
fishing over the side of the northern Pulley Car bridge
between the Nexus and Nighthammer districts.
Arrive with the daybreak car, no sooner, no later.
Do not speak to the man until he lights his pipe.
You have until the next Pulley Car passes.
Do not be late.
Come alone.
Suggested Music: Spirited Away OST - Kaonashi
Realm Year 768, The 11th of Descending Wood
Voresyl stepped off the moving Pulley Car as it first entered the bridge from The Nexus District to The Nighthammer district. It was crowded this early in the morning with the night’s workers making their way home or to the bars to spend the silver they’d just earned. On the car’s return it would be bringing in the fresh workforce to The Nexus District for another busy day in the never ending bustle of The City of Nexus.
Vorseyl stepped off the tracks that the car ran on, a casual glance to the pulleys up above that pulled the cars along their designated tracks. As he stepped onto the catwalk beside the rail way he headed west to the high point of the bridge. As he approached he saw exactly what he was expecting to see. A small, crouched over old man was rocking gently in an old oak rocking chair with a bamboo fishing pole hung off the edge lazily. Surprisingly he was the only fishermen with that idea this morning, it was common to see fishermen flock to the shores of the rivers and coastline of Nexus before the sun rose. Today it was only this man.
As he grew closer he noticed that the man was tightly wrapped in a several layers of old blankets, even still the man clutched the blankets to his bones in an attempt to ward of a chill that was unfelt by Voresyl. Perhaps it was the old man, or the lingering cool breeze from the night, or perhaps it was the icy cold chill of death closing in on the man.
Voresyl stopped just out of arms reach of the man, looking down at him with a piercing and suspicious gaze. After all this must have been the man Arkanian had sent him to meet, or more probably it was actually Arkanian himself. A long, thin wood pipe hung loosely from the corner of the mans mouth, but Voresyl keenly noticed that no smoke rose from it.
“Nice day for fishing…. Wouldn’t ya say?” The old man spoke first, croaking the words out in a deep, course voice. His voice made it all too obvious that the man had smoked for most of his considerable life span.
Voresyl stood silently appraising the man, who he expected was really the agent of death who he needed so badly to speak with. Though with Arkanian, it was rather difficult to tell for sure. Either way, Vorsyl was on edge and had no intention of messing this up. He had sensed the danger of this meeting just after leaving his own hotel room. There was no doubt he was in a potentially perilous situation. Vorsyl gave no answer.
The old man finally looked up, his dull gray eyes briefly caught contact with the sidereal and Voresyl could notice a sudden twinkle of sharp life in the back of the mans eye. He broke contact as he looked down briefly, he reached inside the bundled blankets and pulled a wad of tobacco out, stuffing it nimbly into the pipe. He struck the match he quickly produced along the edge of the bridge rail, lowering the sudden flame into the recently inserted tobacco. With a few deep breaths the pipe burst to life with smoke, both from the end of the pipe as well as from his slightly parted lips.
“Well done old friend.”