I didn't do much, those first few days.

Maybe it was just the concept of getting a break that kept me down. My health had recovered, so far as the status menu seemed to indicate, and my stamina was no different. But, even though I was back on my feet soon enough, I wasn't feeling 100% recovered.

My lungs still hurt, and my head still spun with vertigo, from time to time.

If that was the result of almost drowning, or the potential poisoning I'd been subjected to while in the Forest, I wasn't entirely sure. Still, the thought of trying to resume my training routine and increasing my attributes, seemed almost impossible. And, it reaffirmed my belief that the numbers the menu showed were more of an insulative concept, than a true measurement.

So, instead of training, I helped Gregory with odds and ends.

He showed me how to whittle some lures he liked to use, and how to make twine rope, for nets. In addition to this, he showed me around his shack, and the property that surrounded it. Just short of a quarter acre of so, of cleared back trees and tall grass.

Mostly tall grass.

Tall, as in, very tall. Twice my height, if not more. The region beyond the cleared yard was all but covered in it.

"Forest of Madness stops a ways up, that direction." Gregory had told me, pointing North. "But, that don't mean some of it doesn't try and grow in, from time to time. Still, grass keeps it from taking, for the most part. Lot of the region has it, these days."

I could see why.

All in all, the small plot of land, the shack: it wasn't much, but I could sense Gregory held a great deal of pride for the land.

But that was nothing, compared to the pride he had for his boat.

"Pa' and I made her, back when I was little more than ten summers old. Cut and grafted every board ourselves. This was back when the docks were still up, and there were boats a plenty." He told me. "Oh, we used to rig her with a small sail, take her out deeper, catch Relfish as long as your arms can stretch wide!"

It seemed, unlike me, Gregory had a story to tell for just about anything, and everything. And it soon became clear that he didn't have a clue what my title actually meant. Or, if he did, he was by far the best liar I'd ever met. Whatever it was, his positive demeanor had an effect on me, and it was only a few days before I felt as though I'd known the old man for years. It wasn't that I had dropped my guard, exactly, but I felt bold enough to tell him a few more details. Often, twisting old stories or movies from earth, to fit a more fantasy and Heroic backdrop.

"So that Wizard, that Mage... he held back that great beast, while the Heroes ran?"

"That he did."

"And he did it alone?"

"He had to, for the mission was just that important. If the Demon Lord got ahold of that magic ring, who could even say what might happen."

"Fly you fools..." Gregory repeated, solemnly, before raising a cup. "Gods, what a life you Heroes must live! Closest thing we have around here are Adventurers, and their sort is the type you probably wouldn't want to meet if you had any say in it."

It was to the point, that I almost felt bad.

If I was being too trusting with Gregory, perhaps that was my own fault, but this was a man who had taken me in without a second thought of danger. And, everything I told him... well, it might as well have been taken as gospel.

Plus, coming from a world filled with endless media to be consumed, I had more than a few even-halfway remembered stories to draw from.

If I thought about it long enough, I doubted I'd run out tall-tales anytime soon.

On the third day, though, Gregory finally decided I was ready to help with something more important.

"Lend me a hand." He said, plucking a wicker basket from a hanger on the wall. "Today's the day!"

It was, truly. Outside, the sky was bright. Without a cloud in sight, the cliff overlooking the bay, below, was filled with warm wind, and the scent of the ocean.

With a spring in his step, Gregory lead me to the boat, stored beside the small home, and with a heave, hoisted it onto his back. The sight was almost comical. I'd forgotten how strong he was.

"I think with some luck on our side, we'll eat well tonight!" He laughed, as he headed for the cliff. "Come along!"

Thus, I began my life as a Heroic... fisherman.

....

As I'd suspected, the baskets Gregory had scattered about his shack were a special kind of trap. Angled, in an odd way, so that fish might swim in, but not quite understand how to swim back out, I felt that these were a rather clever design. Tied and marked with floating bits of hollow wood, to be located again later, Gregory seemed to place them wherever he felt like it, and the early start to the trip was mostly spent pulling these up and into the boat, before returning the empty ones.

It was a different kind of fishing from what I'd expected, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Wicker-weaved from grass, the baskets reminded me of a cornucopia, that lead into a more traditional barrel-like shape. As such, they weren't all that heavy, but they were bulky, so while Gregory carried the boat, I carried several of these, doing my best to keep up.

Our walk down to the sea, had been the first thing that was truly out of the ordinary. What I could only imagine was an OSHA nightmare, Gregory's home was atop a relatively steep cliff, with a long, set of stairs, built along the side.

There was no rope.

There was no railing.

There were a lot of sharp looking rocks at the bottom.

Alone, though, Gregory was able to easily carry the boat down the steps without a single care in the world. In fact, should the stairs have allowed for it, I'd have guessed he could have easily carried a boat twice that size. With a complete absence of concern, the old fisherman continued to regale me with tales and stories, in such way, that I suspect he wasn't even looking where he was going.

For someone unfamiliar, though, the stairs took effort. Twice, I almost tumbled. Uneven, roughly cut or weathered away entirely in some locations, it was often slick with the spray of ocean water. And what greeted us at the bottom of the cliff was hardly much better.

There wasn't a great beachfront by which we could launch from. In fact, the only way to do so, was to continue carrying the boat out into the surf, almost to the waist-deep, before we could safely take off. Though I'd never considered the logistics of boat-launching, what Gregory had told me about the docks, was making a lot more sense.

Once out on the water, though, all that trouble was soon forgotten.

Gregory was all to happy to show me the sights, along the coast. Checking traps as we went, setting new ones: there was a surprising amount to see. The emerald water grew more difficult to discern at depth, but the shallows might as well have been glass. A trait which had me rather distracted, as I randomly, and rapidly, identified all manner of sea-life.

From [Rolokelp] to [Screecher Crabs] (which had a habit of high-pitched hissing if you took them out of the water) there was much to see. I was so distracted, in fact, that I almost missed the sight of town.

Overhead, as Gregory turned the boat back from our last checked trap: propped up atop the cliffs was a settlement.

With several structures looming above the waves crashing below, made of stone and wood: it wasn't anything spectacular, but it was surprising to see in the contrast of the never-ending expanse of nature around us. Truth be told, I only managed to catch a fleeting glimpse, as Gregory pointed it out.

Unfortunately, the town wasn't nearly as inattentive.