"I know you're hiding someone in there! Old Mary told me!" "Old Mary is a withered lunatic, with nothing better to do but make up tall tales." "Aye, but her husband doesn't do that, and he told me the same thing. Who was that on your boat? Did you hire someone from the Guild?" "If you must know, that was my nephew." "Nephew? You ain't got no nephew!" "Course I do." While I waited, out of sight: by the door of the shack, an argument raged. "Now Gregory, you can't honestly believe I'm going to buy that-" Someone grumbled. "It doesn't matter to me what you buy, unless it's fish." Gregory grumbled right back. "And this isn't the market." "Damn right this isn't the market. If it were, there'd be another ten people swarming you, all asking the same thing. You haven't come back to town in days!" "That's because my nephew is visiting." Gregory repeated. "How hard is that to understand." "Then, where's he now?" From the doorway, Gregory looked back in my direction. I shook my head. "Sleeping." He deadpanned. "You can't be serious." "Long day, you know? Out on the boat." "You know, well as I know, that the Baron don't take kindly to surprises around these parts. We don't get many strangers." "Last I checked, the Baron doesn't take kindly to much of anything." "He keeps these lands safe, Gregory." "No, he pays the Guildmaster to keep these lands safe." Gregory replied. "Now, if you're quite done, I've better things to do with my time than argue over nothing." "It ain't nothing! People were worried a monster had gotten you. Until they heard you were out on your boat we were wondering if you up and died on us." "That'll be the day." "It's nothing to scoff at. I've heard there have been problems just a few towns over. And just coming up here, I could have sworn something was watching me from that damn grass." The voice paused, before rebounding back. "Besides, people don't just show up around these parts! And the one's that do, they're almost always trouble!" "There's no trouble. Wish Old Mary well for me, now." "We're not finished-" "Wish her well!" With that, Gregory slammed the door. It seemed that nosey neighbors were always a problem. It didn't matter what world I lived in. .... Despite the shouting, Gregory seemed far from concerned. Which, perhaps, was a good thing, because I was quite the opposite. Sitting with [Hide Presence] active, I waited until the sound of footsteps outside were long gone, before I even felt safe to breathe. "Must be tough, Hero." Gregory laughed. "No one gives half a damn about a fisherman." He was kind enough to leave it at that. I'd come to believe, around this time, that perhaps... perhaps, Gregory wasn't completely ignorant to the fact that I was worth something. Or, I suspected that, at least in a small sense, he might have had some inkling to the fact that I held value. To someone, somewhere. My title wasn't the kind that just showed up, and my presence wasn't something that came about with ordinary means. But, I'd also come to believe that Gregory had no intentions of turning me in. Maybe, that was understandable. He was an old man. From the stories he liked to tell, I'd learned he was a widower, and one with no real extended family to speak of. While he was content to be living a life at the whims of nature, as far away from the hustle and bustle of true civilization as might seem reasonably possible, it was clear to me that he hadn't always been this way. If only by the way he valued having someone else around, I didn't find it hard to imagine that his life had once been very different. In essence: from what I knew of the man, Gregory didn't strike me as someone who could be bought by a bag of coins. I truly believed that. But other people were a gamble. It was only a matter of time until my presence became known. Not just as Gregory's so-called "nephew" but as a person wearing the "Summoned Hero" title. Which would lead to questions, which would lead to answers, which would lead to all sorts of trouble. If the conversation at the door was any indication, I knew none of it would be good for me. Even if the locals turned out to be just as friendly as Gregory, I assumed that word of my Hero title would eventually get out. Small town in the middle of nowhere or not, people talked, and from there, it would only be a matter of time until what they said drew unwanted attention. Sooner or later, trouble would find me. And as I was, I was hardly ready for it. But, as I said: Gregory really didn't seem to be concerned. "No one much cares about what happens here." He shrugged. "That's half the reason I never left. Everyone's bark, but no bite. Plus, there's nothing of value this close to the forest, unless you want to try and risk your neck harvesting poison. Only the Guild ever seems to bother with that, though." From conversation, I was reassured by Gregory that the locals were, as a result, mostly harmless- if a bit nosey. It seemed that there were only a few families left in the "town." If calling it a town was even proper, now that almost all the younger folk had left it. The population was in steep decline, and of the few people that remained, it was expected that most would eventually go to one of the larger population centers, farther along the coast, or head inland to one of the river-trading ports. For lack of a better way to say it: the only people left were the old and stubborn. "Like myself." Gregory stated, rather proudly acknowledging the truth of it all. "Here, this used to be a larger fishing town, nowadays I'm just about the only one left who bothers. Besides the occasional trader in the off season, almost no one comes here unless there's a monster to be killed. Just not a lot of young blood left, and no real pull for any to come and settle." I understood well enough. Though Gregory had certainly downplayed how bad it probably was, the region seemed to be in a rather dramatic decline. Between the troublesome terrain and the real dangers that might be lurking, there wasn't much motivation to visit. And as for interest in what happened here, there were more important things for outsiders to worry about. Besides, there wasn't even much of a reason to stay unless you'd lived in the area all your life. The only exception to that, was if they need to hire an outsider to deal with a threat. What defined a "threat" though? "Every so often, there's something." Gregory admitted. "Baron collects from the town, once a year. In exchange, they're bound to deal with problems." "Problems like..." "Not visitors." Gregory clarified. "They'd be right daft to run all the way to the Baron and risk their neck on the road, just to warn him I've got a nephew visiting. No, he and his lot deal with the monsters. Or, they hire someone to deal with the monsters." "Those come around often?" "Hardly never." He reassured me. "If someone goes missing, maybe. The Guildmaster is a spooky sort, but her people move quick." I decided to believe him. .... It was well enough, I supposed, that the shack Gregory lived in was a fair distance from town. The path was a long one through the tall grass, and it was uphill, which made it difficult for most to bother with. Especially, considering most of the nosier folks, according to Gregory, were the oldest. So, coming all the way to bother him, was physically impossible for the worst of them. Which was a fact that I think he greatly enjoyed. He did know everyone, though, as I suppose it always is with small towns. Gregory was actually quite popular, from what he would tell me. Though he tended to be mostly self-sufficient, he did trade fish for alcohol, or salt, or spices. If he caught something truly valuable, he'd even bring back some coins, although he was hardly regiment about it. His pattern for going to town and trade seemed to be based more on a whim, than a need. But, regardless of whether Gregory was a man who almost completely neglected the value of monetary wealth: he loved what he did. And he was an expert at it. Once he was off shore, the years seemed to fall away from him, and I could almost forget he was, at best guess, close to three times my own age. On a boat, the man could move like he was in his twenties, balancing without any concern as the waves passed him by. So it was, that next morning, we returned to the ocean. It was a succesful trip. Extremely, so. "You're a good luck charm, my boy!" Gregory shouted, as he heaved yet another full trap. "Gods, look at the size of this one!" He pointed out a particularly unhappy looking resident of the sea. The creature struggled in vain, as Gregory held it to the sky.

Rock Lobster

A creature of the shallows, that migrates to nest. Has very powerful pincers, but is slow and weak once removed from the ocean. Particularly desired, this is a staple ingredient of many dishes once cooked.

A real life Rock Lobster. I found that funnier than I expected, and that only improved my spirits as we managed to drag up a second one. Our success, though, had Gregory feeling bold. As we finished checking the traps, boat loaded with all manner of catch, he opted to guide the craft a little farther out. Past the easy to spot shallows, into the darker, deeper, waters. Watching the surface with a keen eye, he raised a weighted net, in wait for something... something: then! "Here goes!" He shouted, reeling it back in almost as quickly as he'd thrown it. Flopping in desperation, a strange looking creature fought in vain, as Gregory pulled it over the edge of the boat.

Shelled Skimmer

With heavy defense, its shell is worth a great deal to both smiths, artisans, and alchemists. Known for coming to the surface of deeper waters on sunny days, these creatures are ignorant to most dangers in the ocean, as their shell often protects them from harm. Though the meat within is hardly prized, this is edible.

Gregory gave a great hoot, as the whole boat shook. The shelled skimmer reminded me of a Nautilus, with a spiral shell and squidlike body, appearing from the open portion. "Now, you try!" Handing me the next, Gregory let out another hoot of laughter. "Where there's one of these, there's more!" He pointed, guiding my line of sight to another, now-familiar, shape in the water. Much to my surprise, I landed the net. "There you go! Reel it in!" Gregory laughed. "Easy does it!" Arm over arm, I fought for balance, as I pulled the net back, Shelled Skimmer hopeless to escape. I'd managed to get it about halfway into the boat, before Gregory stopped me short. With a hand raised, he turned suddenly, staring out over the waves. "Let it go." He said suddenly, picking up the oars. "The whole net?" I asked, surprised. "Didn't you have to make this by hand? I've almost got it." "Doesn't matter." He'd already grabbed the oars. "Let it go, quickly now." I did as he asked, watching with dismay as my catch drifted back into the ocean, net and all. It was a painful sight, knowing there was no quick way to replace all the hard work that had gone into making it. Then, both the net and the catch disappeared. Not in a nice, fading, escape to the depths, sort of way. While the water here might have been a bit trickier to see through, I could see that clear as day: one second the net was there, the next it was gone. "Don't look at it." Gregory began to row harder. It was too late, though. I was already looking at it, whatever "it" was. Dark scales... curling, circling, beneath the waves. With a body wider than I was tall, it lurked beneath us, moving like a current of its own. "What is that?" I asked quietly, as Gregory continued to increase the boat's pace. His arms seemed to swell up as wirey muscles and tendons shifted the oars. "Nothing!" "That didn't look like nothing!" "Best not to think about it!" He replied, cheerfully, rowing as quickly as he could. I thought about it. Though we made it back to shore, in the days that followed, I noticed that Gregory never took the boat quite so far out.