1 Introduction

July 27, 1601

Eos walked down the end of a narrow alleyway and, finally, she found it: the antique shop. It was a small, quaint looking thing from the front. Its door blended in with the faded brick walls and dark shadows cast by the buildings she just spent so long trying to weave through to get here. It was quite the trek, but no matter. What mattered was if she was going to get what she wanted. Eos had been previously told that the owner, Weyln, was the man to go to if you needed any information in Harmstead. Anyone could make that claim in this bustling port city, but this Weyln seemed different.

She pushed the shop door open causing a small golden bell to ring. Immediately, she saw a man bob his head around one of the many shelves lining the store. His sharp, blue eyes quickly fall in line of sight with hers. Eos walks past the shelves stacked with random assortment of items - various colors and shapes abound - to the counter.

"Aye, a customer. Is there anything I could help you with?" the man asks, his voice heavy from the smoking pipe in his hand.

“I heard that you're the guy to go for information. Weyln, right?” Eos replied, pointedly.

“Straight to the point, eh? Interestin’. Yer, depends.” The man takes a long inhale from his pipe. He exhales. The smoke making the amber lights above glow hazy, “What kind of information?”

“I’m looking for a man who goes by the name of Ronan. Name your price – I don’t think it’ll be a problem for me.”

Weyln freezes at the sound of the name. The sudden silence seemed to send a jolt through the air. Eos leans forward on the counter in anticipation waiting to hear what he’ll say next – finally, some leeway! But then Weyln simply shrugs.

“That's a name I haven't heard in awhile. And I’m not so keen if it's a name worth hearing again neither after this.”

Eos’ brow furrowed.

“What do you mean? Does he live around here or has he gone somewhere else?” She asks.

“Again, depends…” Weyln grumbles, gnawing at the end of his pipe, “Who be askin’? Not really somethin’ to get antsy over, I’d say.”

Eos hesitated, taken aback by Weyln’s quiet agitation. But she pressed, “Just an acquaintance who’s curious. Maybe even call them a friend, if you will.”

“Aye, that so? A ‘friend,’ huh…?” Weyln mocked a grin, “Cute little word ‘round these parts and this business, ain’t it? Don’t get much use from sayin’ it nowadays.”

Weyln’s eyes drew upward. It was as if he was wordlessly consulting those flickering amber lights now veiled in tobacco smoke. Eos couldn’t help but think she saw a hint of…melancholy? in his rugged expression.

“Guess not,” Eos said, under her breath, “But I’m not interested in getting anything out of it. I just…want to know. As a friend would.”

Finally, after some moments of heavy silence, Weyln spat, “Bah, to the abyss with it. To answer yer question: No, he’s gone. Long gone.”