Great Forest of Caliban III

After traveling for an unknown length of time, the trees around them gradually grew sparse.

The gentle sound of running water came from ahead, breaking the silence of the forest.

A broad river stretched across their path, blocking the way forward.

The river water was a deep ink-green, its surface calm and its current slow.

But on closer inspection, ominous undercurrents could be seen lurking beneath the water, occasionally stirring unnatural whirlpools on the surface.

The river was over a hundred meters wide, and the outline of equally dense forest stood on the far bank.

Their attention was immediately drawn to the sight on the river.

A dozen or so meters from the bank, an extremely dilapidated little wooden boat floated on the water.

The boat looked ancient, its planks dark in color and covered with cracks and traces of decay.

Some sections had grown thin and blackened, as if they would shatter at the slightest touch.

The little boat looked as though it could fall apart at any moment, yet it miraculously remained afloat.

Its hull was narrow, able to hold only one or two people.

A hunched old man sat aboard it.

He wore a faded, damaged purple robe, upon which intricate golden embroidered patterns could vaguely still be seen.

But the embroidery had been covered by grime, making its former splendor impossible to discern.

The old man wore an equally worn golden crown, symbolizing his once-noble status as a king.

Now the crown sat crookedly on his head, making him look utterly forlorn.

He had his back to the riverbank and faced downstream, holding a crude fishing rod in his hands.

The rod looked like a branch casually snapped from a tree, its line hanging down into the ink-green river.

He did not move at all, as