An Adventurer, a Mercenary, and a Town Guard walk into a tavern. As they take a seat, the Bartender sees them, and rushes over in a panic. "Gods Mercy, it's a blessing you're here!" He says. "I've got a monster in the kitchen, and you folk look like the right sort to deal with it."
Standing up, proudly, the Adventurer declares: "Never fear, I'll have the beast's head!" And, they rush into the kitchen with their sword drawn.
Not to be outdone, though, the Mercenary stands up, grabs their mace and shouts to the Bartender. "I'll have the beast's head- for half the cost!" And chases after them.
The Town Guard says to the Bartender. "I'll have an Ale."
....
Next morning, I woke up early.
I would say that it was in the spirit of Gregory's memory. That I was striving to emulate the man's work ethic, not to wallow in my uncertainty, but in truth, I was just very hungry.
I hadn't eaten since the morning before my fight with the Fernwolf. As a result, the pangs in my belly were a strong motivation rise and search for whatever food I could.
There wasn't much, of course.
Gregory's shack had always been spartan by nature, but when it came to food, it was worse. My indoor scavenging returned with almost empty hands.
Dried seaweed, what might have qualified for a piece of salted fish-jerky, and an empty iron caldron, were all that greeted me in the room itself. Beneath the boards which made up the floor, I found a few pots of water collected from the nearby stream, and clay pot filled with grain.
The grain had been tempting, but I was soon convinced otherwise.
[Identify]
> Foul Stone Grain
>
> Valued for its price, but not its flavor, Stone Grain is a staple part of many dishes. Capable of being grown almost anywhere, it is frowned upon by royalty and nobles alike for being a "peasant's" ingredient. This particular example, though, should be frowned upon by all, as moisture has brought rot. No longer edible.
Seaweed and fish-jerky it was, then. The breakfast of Heroes.
Hanging from one of the walls, I found a few specimens of dried vegetable that mildly resembled a cross between a carrot, and a potato.
[Identify]
> Dried Tubers
>
> Simple roots, grown from the Tuber plant. They have a somewhat bitter flavor, but can be grown in many climates. Though they have been said to poorly pair with most dishes, some cultures have called them a delicacy. The fatter specimens can be ground up and used as a lesser form of flour.
I left those where they were. Tempting as the option they presented was, I knew that if I couldn't get more to eat, it was probably best to keep those as a fallback.
Without further time wasted, I stepped outside, and the morning sun greeted me. Past the cliff, the ocean stretched out, green waters mixing into darker shades farther distant. The warm breeze caught around my neck, picking up to send the branches of trees and the stalks of tall grass swaying.
It was time, I thought to myself. Prolonging the necessary had gone on long enough, already. So, despite the fact that I hardly felt up to the task, I took a long, perilous, walk down the cliffside stairs for a massively overdue bath in the shallows by the rocky shore.
When I finished scrubbing my clothes and armor, I set their parts on the few larger stones I could find by the cliff to dry. After which, naked as the day I was born: I considered my options.
The situation could be better.
The situation could also be much worse.
Although the vague dream of traveling and seeing this new world, might not be terrible life goals to aspire to, I knew that leaving preemptively would be. Very terrible, in fact.
Inland, all I had to gone on, was based on Gregory's loose descriptions. By ocean, of course, he'd been far more descriptive, but even knowing in a general outline of what lay down the local coast, I wasn't very confident that I'd be safe to attempt such a journey by boat. Our rush back to shore, with Gregory rowing as fast as humanly possible, was still fresh in my mind.
The ocean was dangerous to those who didn't know it well enough. And probably even to those who did.
In summary: athough I didn't want to stay forever, I wasn't convinced I would make it far if I didn't plan carefully. Even more carefully, now that I didn't have Gregory to help me. My questions of where I was, or how I would earn a living, were worrisome. But those, even lumped together, didn't surpass my concern for what people might think if they saw my title. If the first person who caught a good look of me was going to round up a posse to try to collect on the Empire's desertion bounty, I might never be safe.
But, I decided all that could wait.
Sure, I needed to keep all of these things in mind, but I also had to prioritize.
One thing at a time.
Life being what it was, I had questions on top of questions since, but I knew I couldn't answer any of them if I starved to death.
So, with that in mind, I went back up the cliff, to find the boat.
....
I wasn't the type of person who had grown up hunting. The thought of me foraging for food in the wilderness was, honestly, laughable. I was a creature of more urban environment. Office work, pavement, vehicles... things like that. Aside from what Gregory had taught me, I just knew that what [Identify] said was safe to eat, was safe to eat. This was hardly a survival strategy. So, saying my armor and clothes dried out, and I scavenged what I could from Gregory's shack: at best, I would make it a few days until I started to starve.
So, clearly, I had no choice but to do this.
I did.
I had to do this, and I could do this...
These are two very different concepts.
Stronger? Oh, I was certainly stronger when compared to my arrival in this world. There was no denying that, and no arguing the fact that I could have run circles around earth-me.
But the boat was heavy.
The stairs were long.
The wind was... well, the wind wasn't all that strong, thankfully, but the very visible drop to certain death made it feel as though every small gust was enough to bring about my sudden demise.
By the time I'd made my first step down, with the boat on my back, I was already having second thoughts.
Gregory had made it seem so simple, but one look over the edge of the stairs had me looking anywhere else. In desperation, legs shaking, I soon took to a movement similar to waddling. A method where I took one step at a time with both feet, at a snail's pace. Eventually, through tedious methods, and several new scuffs along the edges of the wood, I made it to the bottom.
Retrieving the drier portions of my clothing, my launching of the boat into the ocean, was a little more successful. Though I almost tipped it twice, trying to jump in, it was only a few moments until I was drifting towards the cove's exit. With the sea breeze at my back, and two oars in my hands, I made way towards the first of the wicker traps.
And soon learned, I was no Sailor.
My hands had blisters. My back felt burned. Alone, between the action of rowing and my attempts to draw up the traps, I found the boat was constantly drifting, and required a significant amount of effort to keep centered. In combination, it was only three or four traps in, that I was getting tired.
I knew from my time at the Golden Wing camp, that I could adapt to almost anything, given time. But, drifting out on the ocean, as waves are rocking your craft uncomfortably close towards sharp looking rocks and steep cliffs, and I found time was not something I had much of. Many of the traps were closer to this dangerous terrain than I'd remembered, and without Gregory making it look effortless, I found I had to turn back early.
Perhaps, it was a good thing I did.
[Identify]
> Sandfish
>
> This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
>
> Commonly found bottom-feeder, known to inhabit shallow ocean waters. As these grow larger, they can be known to travel great distances, sometimes even into river systems. Though they do not spawn in fresh water, the larger specimens have been known to tolerate brackish environments. Edible.
As I checked the last trap, grateful to find I finally had something to eat, the weather was taking a turn for the worse. Rowing as best I could, the winds had begun to pick up, and across the once vibrant horizon, dark clouds approached. Soon, just in sight of the cove, there was rumbles of distant thunder, and then the slightest drops of rain. Painfully aware of my inadequacy, I had barely stumbled back up to shore, before the light of day was replaced with the awful twilight of a coming storm.
I hadn't expected to need to rush things, but already, I was starting to fumble with what was most urgent. Pulling on my still wet armor and clothing, I fixed my dagger to my belt, and ran up the steps back to Gregory's shack. Wicker trap of Sandfish deposited at the home, I then ran back down, panting as I dragged the boat as far inland as I could manage.
The wind was picking up. Even in the shelter of the cover, waves were rising, much farther than I ever remembered. Waters, lapping up, almost to the edge of the cliff itself.
I cursed.
I'd brought the boat down, just barely. Now, I had to somehow get the blasting thing back up. If I didn't the waves would carry it away, or worse. Then, what would I do? If my lifeline drifted off to sea, I'd have to swim out to the traps if I wanted to eat, and I didn't much like the thought of that.
Squatting to lift onto my shoulders, I grit my teeth with effort, as I began the brutal march.
....
Exhaustion.
Weakness.
Halfway up the stairs, I felt the desperate need to throw the weight off my shoulders, and fall to my knees: but I resisted. The rain was coming down, and the winds were turning violent. With each sudden torrent catching the wooden craft on my shoulders like an unwanted sail, I was almost pulled over the edge.
How did he do this? I wondered. How did Gregory live this way?
Another step came and went, as my legs fought against buckling.
Was this what life had to be, in this world? Either you became impossibly strong, or you died?
> [Strength +1]
I had my answer.
Steeling my resolve, I took the final half of the stairs on with several, lackluster, shouts of rage. My body was screaming with every, painful, step. Yet, I managed to move upwards each time. Finally, breaking free of the cliffside, to stumble towards the shack.
Boat set, then tied, then tied again for good measure, I rushed inside as the sight of lightning broke across the sky.
One day at a time, I told myself.
One day at a time.