I have traveled the world, and I have found mankind to be a strange in their beliefs. For example, it is taught by many religions and many cultures, that from the wreckage of the Great Calamity, mankind found themselves superior. Gifted, blessed: although the terms vary, the concept is always the same. That shared belief that theirs is a race chosen by the Gods. That mankind is above all others, in this world. Personally, I find this to be a rather bold claim for a species that drowns so easily. -Mongo, Lord of the Fishmen.

........

Name: John

Title: Summoned Hero*

Class: None

General Skills:

Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive

Identify Lvl 5 - Active

Special Skills:

Hide Presence Lvl 2 - Active

Void Walker Lvl 1 - Passive

Blessing of Forgotten Gods Lvl 5 - Passive

Status:

Vitality: 17

Endurance: 24

Strength: 22

Dexterity: 21

Intelligence: 45

Wisdom: 52

Health: 50/50

Stamina: 20/20

Mana: 100/100

Two days passed, before I felt ready to go back out on the boat.

Though my arms, shoulders, legs... basically my entire body, protested against that very thought: eventually, my stomach demanded I return to the sea. Even then, I still procrastinated. Over a couple of days, I'd been productive. I'd practiced with my new walking staff, enough to feel reasonably confident with the weapon, and I had earned a small gain in my Attributes. I'd also managed to improve at spotting useful foodstuffs, while foraging. Though this didn't seem to be a real skill or ability. But all that said, I wasn't eating much of what I found. Even as I improved, I recognized that the edible mushrooms just weren't all that numerous. More so, I decided that they would best serve my purposes as travelling rations, anyways. The "fish-jerky" I'd eaten had me wondering if I could replicate similar results with a food choice that was... well: less disgusting. So, I opted for the mushrooms, instead. I'd found a decent method, too. First, I would cut them into pieces. Then, I would dry them, carefully, over the cook fire. While this wasn't perfect, I felt that I might be able to keep them for a few months. Maybe longer if I charred them a little too much. Without a doubt, Tubers would be better, but... Those stupid things. I'd eaten one of them, the day before. It was half out of hunger, half out of curiosity. I found they were like sweet potatos in flavor, but with a hint of... lemon... maybe. Bitter, but not too bitter. Somehow, that was a good combination, and I felt they were much better tasting than anything else I'd been able to find. But, despite my preference for them, I still hadn't found a Tuber out in the wild. Not a single one. I was quite annoyed by this. Were they grown in the town? Imported? Was there some trick to them? Clearly, [Identify] seemed to indicate they were out there, somewhere, but no amount of searching had turned up results. So, the ocean called. I had to eat, and fish were the only thing I seemed to be able to reliably gather. That morning, I got up early to inspect the horizon. Then, relatively satisfied that it looked clear enough for a journey, and without giving myself a chance to procrastinate, I once again began the brutal march of carrying the boat down. At this point, I could objectively recognize that a majority of my thoughts seemed to be orbiting around food. All around my head, they might as well have been in constant orbit: Fish for meals. Mushrooms for travel-rations, and dried seaweed for... both? I wasn't a huge fan of Seaweed either, but it was better than starving... Speaking of starving, that's probably what was happening to me. If you've ever gone without real, quality, food, for a stretch of time, you'll know how pervasive the mindset can be. Boat on my shoulders, making my way down the cliff, I had no choice but to look down at myself. In doing so, I could easily see: Whatever might have been left of my soft, modern-day, fat reserves, were really starting to dwindle. Living without the benefit of high-caloric meals that were readily available, was showing. ... and in a somewhat positive way, I had to admit. I'd never been this in shape. Never, in all my life. Maybe- maybe, I had come close, back when I was in still in school. But come time for University, then working an office life for a few years? That had done a number on me, to be sure. Or, put a number on me. Which was probably good, considering how quickly those were coming off. Having a buffer couldn't hurt. These thoughts in mind, step by painful step, I made my way to the shoreline, and set the heavy craft down on the rocks for a moment. I needed to catch my breath. Looking back up at the cliff, just the thought of trying to go back up made me cringe. This was too much. How did Gregory manage to do this every single day? Forget Strength, the man must have had willpower to match it, because this was awful. No two ways about it: putting in this work was a means to an end. Taking the boat out was just to get something to eat, and as soon as I did, I would head back here. That way, hopefully, I'd still have the strength to carry the boat up to the shack. Setting myself to the task at hand, I was almost waist deep into the lukewarm water of the cove, before I heard something strange. Enough so, that it made me pause. Was that a voice? Boat rocking beside me, waves splashing against stone... this could lead to some strange acoustics. But still, I could have sworn. If only for a reason to stop and rest for a moment, I waited to listen further. Nothing. Perhaps, I had heard wrong? I wasn't sure. I did, though, take to looking back up the cliff, as I set out. Oars in hand, I paddled quietly, looking for a sign of someone else's presence: but there was nothing to see. Soon, though, I ran out of patience. Concern might have nagged at me, but hunger nagged more. Setting out from the cove, I rowed out to find, what I hoped, would be a fulfilling breakfast. Or, at least lunch. .... When I returned, it didn't take long for me to recognize that I had heard something. More specifically, I had heard someone. By the time I made my way back to the small shack, a freshly caught Sandfish in hand, the evidence that someone else had come visiting was impossible to miss. The door had been left unlatched. The little rope and peg, intended to keep the wind from blowing it open, were left dangling. What's more, is there were several sets of footprints. All around the home, marked with distinctive patterns that didn't much match the sandals I'd borrowed from Gregory, or the boots I'd left inside. Retreating back to the cliff stairs, I had a few nerve-wracking moments, as I stopped and listened. Worst case, I would run back down, jump into the boat, and paddle away. Utter foolishness. All I had on me was my dagger. I'd left my armor back in the shack, so it didn't weight me down if the boat overturned. And what about the fire starter, or the food? Was I just going to live on the boat and chew raw fish for my meals? What was I, some sort of otter? No. I could leave as a very last resort. If I felt there was no other way, but not until then. So, I waited. Aside from the light tapping of the wooden piece, dangling beside the door, there wasn't any noise. Soon enough, I realized that whoever had been here, had already left. Or, it seemed as though they had left. Approaching the shack with caution, I managed to count the footprints of at least three. Maybe, four, different people. From the town? Based on the direction they seemed to have come from, that had to be, I decided. The path didn't split off anywhere that I remembered, and the footprints lead right back to it. They must have found the monster, I realized. I'd just left it there, in all of it's horrible, bloody, glory. The only thing I'd done to it before leaving, was pry free Gregory's knife. A giant, dead, wolf, probably hadn't gone unnoticed. So, if they had found the monster, then it would have made sense that no one was willing to come and check on Gregory alone. They had come as a group, for safety. In that type of context, the sudden invasion of people seemed a little less threatening. Their mentality had probably been defensive. Following the footprints, I tracked their previous movements as best I could. Stopping at times to crouch over the ground and debate if what I saw was really a footprint or not, I eventually worked out a general idea of their path. At least, I saw that they circled the home, then followed along the cliff. Then, they moved in, and stopped at... Gregory's grave. Ah. I hadn't hidden that. In fact, I hadn't even thought to try and hide it. I'd just tried to bury him somewhere nice. I wasn't sure if that had been a mistake. Whether it was, or wasn't, the grave clearly seemed to have held the supposed-townsfolk's attention for some time. They walked around the area quite a bit. To the point where there were footprints atop footprints, branching out as their trails cut back around the yard, and returned to the shack, before going all the way back down towards the trail. I didn't follow further. This should have been expected, I supposed. Gregory hadn't shown up at town for a few days, and last time he'd skipped visiting for that long, I remembered someone had shown up at his door. The town people were nosey, but they'd been worried about him. And now, they knew. Lunch, was spent in contemplation. As was the training with my walking-staff, in the yard, and then dinner, after that. I found myself in a deep thought, trying to organize how things were potentially going to play out. Obviously, they knew someone was still living here The townsfolk had been inside the shack, and though they hadn't taken anything (which was quite polite of them, I felt) the evidence of the residence being recently occupied wasn't exactly hidden. They also knew that Gregory was dead. Well... I supposed, they knew that someone was dead. They hadn't gone so far as to dig up the grave. Still, in light of the previous unexpected visit, where Gregory had falsely deemed me his "nephew," it wasn't hard to see someone putting that fact together with a dead monster near town. That giant wolf thing, I'd left to rot, all covered in stab-wounds... I knew that I probably should have gone back to try and deal with that, but wolves on Earth were pack hunters, and I didn't want to risk getting killed for something so stupid. No, I'd done the best I could, with what I had. This was inevitable, I decided. Now, all that was left, was for the situation to play itself out. Keep my bags packed, and be ready to run. How would the town react? All they knew about me was that I probably wasn't Gregory's real nephew, and I had a habit of stabbing dangerous things to death. While, in this world, I wasn't certain what kind of impression that would leave, on Earth, I think standard practice would be to call the cops and have them sort it out. Which, made me stop. I'd heard the "Baron" mentioned. There was some sort of governing in place, and there was a Guild they hired... were there cops, here? Fantasy-world cops? I suppose I should have expected it, but the knock on the door answered my question.