"You're finally awake." The voice said, as a heavy hand slapped my back. "Thought you were a goner, for a second there."

For the second time since my eyes opened, I vomited out brackish water- coughing desperately.

I couldn't inhale, and panic was rising. My chest felt like it was on fire, and filled with lead.

"Breathe, son." The heavy hand on my back settled with a heavy blow, barreling me over for a third heave. "Get it out. You're alright. Put the ocean back where it belongs."

"Where-" The coughing was relentless.

"You're safe. On my boat."

“Boat?” I leaned over the side, as a motion swayed. Slowly, my vision cleared. “Is this a canoe?” I coughed. "Why am I on a canoe?"

“What’s a canoe?”

I blinked away spots in my vision, as the scene filled in.

It was a very small boat, surrounded by ocean, and occupied by a very large, muscular-looking… grandpa.

The old man by the sea.

I suppose, there's a first time for everything. Far as first impressions went, the man had already somehow fallen into that category.

With so many wrinkles on his face, I doubted I could count them, he peered over a gray beard of unorganized temperment, bald scalp almost gleaming in the afternoon sun. Despite his apparent age, he still towered over me.

“Never seen a Hero around these parts before.” The man stated, as I finally stopped coughing out sea water. “Never seen anyone jump off a cliff like that, neither… Is that just something Heroes do?"

"What?"

"Jump off cliffs, I mean?”

"I don't know." I answered, still blinking out spots in my vision. "Where am I?"

"Forest of Madness is down the coast a little ways." He replied, as he handed me a metal tin. "We're south of that, now."

"The forest." I nodded, remembering, somewhat.

Unscrewing the tin, I drank heavily from it, and was pleasantly surprised to find the contents were fresh water, and not alcohol.

"I don’t normally go up that way, on account of the obvious, but I suppose it was a lucky thing that I did." Leaning back, two oars fell into place, and the boat began to move. "Couldn't believe the fall didn't kill you. Until I saw your title, of course. No normal person could have survived that."

"Oh." The realization dawned on me a bit late, but my blood still ran cold.

Of course, he knew I was a hero. Why wouldn't he?

[Identify] ran, as if prompted.

Title: Fisherman

Class: Sailor

???

A sailor.

I'd never seen that class before. Adding to that, he didn't seem to have any weapons on him, but I immediately thought back to the warning I first recieved when I arrived at the Mercenary Camp. That the Empire had bounties on runaway heroes.

Did I count?

Though I hadn't run intentionally, it wouldn't make a bit of difference to someone who wanted to turn me in.

This was potentially dangerous.

"Craziest damn thing I've ever seen." Apparently oblivious to my concern, though, the fisherman took the tin back with a nod. “Name's Gregory." He said, offering a hand.

“John.” I answered, cautiously.

“Pleasure to meet you, John.”

His handshake all but crippled mine. Enough to make me wonder if I was ever going to have the strength to put up with new "friends." Or, if maybe I was destined to have all of my metacarpals ground into dust.

I turned about the boat again, this time, with a little more of my wits about me.

Endless ocean on one side, cliffs on the other. We were on the coast of... somewhere. I didn't remember any mention of an ocean when I was with the Golden Wings.

"Apologies for asking, but where are we now, Gregory?" I didn't see anything familiar. Not even as I looked up at the stone.

Did he say I had jumped from that?

Judging roughly, the cliff must have gone at least fifty… sixty feet?

I’d really jumped off of that?

Gregory must have noticed my expression, because he threw his head back in laughter.

“Ha, you don’t even know? Lord's mercy, you must have landed head-first.” The fisherman let out a bellow, as he heaved backward, to pull the oars through their stride. The boat picked up speed, as he continued to chuckle. “Ran through the bloody Forest of Madness, jumped off a cliff, and you don’t even know where you are?”

I shook my head, prompting him to only laugh harder.

“Gods! The stories always say that Heroes are cut from a different cloth!” His barks of laughter came with speed, as the boat cruised along. "You're all crazy!"

Crazy was one word for it, I supposed. Though I was still a bit out of it, I realized we were really moving quite quickly, all of a sudden.

Those oars...

If he was able to move them like this while they were in the water, what's to say he couldn't pluck one out of the swell and swing it in the air. If the handshake hadn't already been enough to prove he was dangerous, I was now reassured of that fact.

I felt at my belt, touching the grip of my steel dagger.

It hadn't been taken.

I waited for a moment, considering.

That was a risk, wasn't it? If he knew about the bounty, that would have been a silly thing to leave me. In fact, on that subject: why hadn't he just let me drown, and fished my body out of the sea? I distinctly remembered being told "dead or alive" back at the camp.

Hardly seemed fitting to the scene of this old fisherman, rowing away, and chuckling all the while.

"Been fishing in these parts, all my life. You've got to be the strangest thing I've ever pulled aboard." Gregory was apparently far from concerned with whatever I was stewing over in my mind. "Best to get you right and sorted out, once we're back on shore. Something to eat, at least."

Did he not know?

I wasn't sure what to say, but found that it didn't matter if I said anything or not. Soon enough he'd taken my silence and filled with with a heap of laughter that just wouldn't quit. The boat flew across the waves, as we picked up even more speed. The ocean sprayed up, like a mist, as the water grew more shallow, and I realized I could see. Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty paces down: fish swam in flurries, dodging the shadow of the craft as we passed.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"So... where are we, again?" I finally asked a second time. "Is this the Empire?"

“The Empire?" Gregory shook his head, setting the oars down to run a hand over his perfectly bald scalp. "No wonder you're looking at the boat like she might come to life and bite you. Gods, no: Those awful bastards are to the North." He gestured wide, as the cliffs broke, to a small cove beside us. "John, my boy: Welcome to the Free Lands!”

…..

"Home." Gregory gestured about the shack, setting down two bowls on a small wooden table. There weren’t chairs, so I debated for a quick moment, but I simply took a seat on the floor.

“Nice place.”

“Ha! Too polite. Folks around here could learn a thing or two from it.” The old fisherman pulled out a spoon, dishing contents from a metal pot above what had likely been a cook fire. "My shack here isn't much. You have my apologies. Don’t often have company, these days"

“It’s all much appreciated. Honestly, wasn’t sure I was going to make it there.” I replied, although my voice was turning out to be more of a hoarse whisper than an actual reply.

Gregory, on cue, handed me a bowl of... soup.

At least, I thought it was soup. It smelled like fish, and seaweed.

And mushrooms?

I opted not to [Identify] it. Partly to try to find an answer on my own, partly so if I didn't like the answer, I could finish drinking it. I hadn't realized how hungry I was.

"I'm sure a Hero like yourself is used to the finer things in life. No need to beat around the bush about it." He dropped down across from me, with a bowl of his own. "All the stories about you Hero folk, I have to imagine that slaying dragons and demons pays better than fishing.

"You'd be surprised." I answered, experimentally trying the soup. It wasn't that bad, I found. Odd, compared to what I was used to, but no worse than what the camp cooks were handing out. "What of the monster?" I asked.

"I'm sorry?" The old fisherman raised his eyebrows. "In the water?"

"No, on the cliff." I insisted. "I was being chased by something."

"Hrm..." The man stopped in thought.

"Did you see a snake?"

"Weren't nobody else, that I saw." He shook his head. "Just you. Tried to yell out but, then you went and jumped."

Just me.

But that didn't make any sense at all. I clearly remembered now, or... I thought I remembered. Something was chasing me: something monstrously large.

"Ah.” Gregory nodded to himself. “So, that’s what it was, then.”

“What was?”

"Forest of Madness, they call it." He continued. "Before my time, but Kings and Mages have tried to cut the place down, and failed. People have tried to wall it in, and met similar results. Old history in that place."

"You said madness."

"Aye. Twenty summers back, winds were strong. Just a few villages over, they were the closest to it, then. Before you’d know it, the whole village started getting sick. Fevers, vomitting, hallucinations." Setting his mug down the fisherman continued. "So, the Baron of this region, being the man he was, had a Mage dispatched from the local garrison. Someone who knew the arts of healing and medicine. They had a skill, which let them see certain things."

"Identify?"

"Similar to that, I reckon." The man nodded. "Mage found that if people were brought away from the Forest, up to higher ground, the problems left them. Blamed it on the plants which inhabit that horrible place. Spores and pollen and such. The like of that sort." Frowning, the man scratched at his chin. "More people around, back then. Before the storms took out the docks, so some of them were the learned sort. My pa' told me the Mage was lying, said it was really something worse, but no one around these parts nowadays is much for finding out. They just know that anyone unfortunate enough to go into the Forest itself, is bound to go mad, eventually."

"I see." Carefully I pulled up my status.

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: 22

Strength: 19

Dexterity: 21

Intelligence: 45

Wisdom: 52

Health: 34/50

Stamina: 16/20

Mana: 100/100

The mysterious status ailment was gone.

The Blessing, though... it seemed that event hadn't been entirely my imagination. At least, not all of it.

"Have you ever heard of any ruins, in the Forest?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Old buildings, or structures, or anything like that?"

"Ruins?" From over his soup, Gregory arched a fiercely gray eyebrow.

"Temples made of stone, or towers capped with gold... or strange statues?"

"Can’t say I have.” He answered. "Gold, eh?"

"Nothing?"

"No, never." The old man's expression darkened. "But from the coast, heading north on open water, and with a good wind: the Forest is several days in length. I wouldn't be surprised if it were hiding some secrets, somewhere in the midst of it.”

"Several days by boat?” I thought about that. Something around a hundred miles thick, then? And filled with poison… I’d been lucky I ran in the direction I had.

Very lucky.

“Aye, better than any other border known to man. Whatever shit goes on up north, it’s got to swim to reach us here. So the land stays Free, or so they like to say. Still..." He shook his head. "Best not to speak of things like gold or ruins to folk around these parts. I'm more than content with my life by the sea, but every few years, some youngin' from the local towns goes and gets it in their head that having a [Herbalist] class, or something close, makes them immune to whatever Madness lurks in that place. They go trying to explore too far, looking for adventure, only to never come back. No need to add any fuel to that fire."

"Ah."

"But, enough of that." The man took the empty bowl back from my hands, setting it down beside the small cauldron. Carefully, almost reverently, he pulled out a glass bottle with a cork. "Got any stories, Hero? "

"Me?"

"Aye. The Hero in ruined armor, who jumps from steep cliffs and has not a single Class." Gregory chuckled. "Can't say I've ever heard of such a thing. Certainly, not around here."

"Have you heard of the Golden Wing Company, by chance?"

"Ah... no." Clearly pondering my question, the fisherman shrugged. "Can't say I have." He admitted. "Was there some sort of battle?"

"Well..." I trailed off. I wasn't even sure how to approach this. The man seemed safe enough. At least, he didn't look to be in a hurry to turn me in for a bounty, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to tell him. If much of anything.

Gregory the fisherman took silence as opportunity, though.

"I almost joined up in a battle once. Younger' then, but Baron was calling all sorts of folks to deal with bandits. Course, then the Adventurer's Guild dealt with it instead." Gregory mused. "They've got [Hunter] Class aplenty to deal with trouble. Personally, talk around here is that the Baron paid them to do it, once he realized there might be some real danger."

"The Baron is in charge, then?"

"Oh, more or less. He's one of a couple of [Lord]s, really. Mostly, it's just families banded together a few centuries back, up along the forest's edge. Frontier like this is nothing like the city-states down farther south." Gregory took a swig of the bottle, before passing it to me. "Good stuff."

I took a waft, before risking a sip of my own.

I winced. Whatever the liquid was, it was strong was enough to singe my nose hairs.

"So, they offer protection for tribute? That sort of thing?" I asked, getting a nod from Gregory, who appeared to already be turning red in the face from his first sip. Setting the bottle down (after faking a sip of my own) I connected the dots from there as our conversation continued.

The form of governing sound more like some medieval-era style arrangement. People in a localized area just fell in under whoever was wealthier or stronger, and paid their taxes or just collection money. Not part of some greater system. It seemed almost entirely opposite from my impression of the Empire, which I'd been assuming was as massive a bureaucracy as it was... well, an Empire.

Compared to the well-oiled machine of war, the local area seemed up and removed from almost any oversight at all.

"Anyone ever give you trouble here?"

"Pirates, sometimes. Terribly hard to find a port, though, and not much of value around, so most don't bother. Every so often, I heard the Empire sends a bit of their Navy past the coast, all the way down to where the Kingdom's border is: but they almost never attack." Gregory took the bottle back for another drink. Several, drinks. "Used to, but never recently. I think they just like to remind people. Keep them on their toes."

"Really, you're not worried?"

"Well, of course I've heard of them attacking other places. They've been conquering every city unfortunate enough to share a border with them for centuries now." He cracked a smile. "But they're up North." He gestured. "Nice and far away from all the real dangerous stuff." He pointed in the other, relative, direction, which I suspected might not have actually been south. "And down there, well... I think they'd rather the Kingdom deal with that mess."

"The Kingdom." I held back on the obvious questions. I'd already pried for enough information already. "Well, I appreciate all the help. I'll try to be out of your hair by tomorrow-"

"Nonsense!" Gregory shouted, suddenly. "I don't have any hair left, cept for this beard! Besides, an old man like me has no reason to be throwing a set of helping hands out on their ear."

"No, you really don't have to." I raised my hands, trying to calm the man, but I'd found he was already gone from view.

"Nonsense!" I heard, as the bottle seemed to float, in the absence of its owner. Sitting back up, appearing once more at the table, the old fisherman seemed to have reached a new shade of red-faced. Ruby-faced drunk, perhaps. "You can stay as long as you need." He hiccuped. "Long as you need."

Leaning back, almost mid-sentence, the old fisherman somehow managed to set the cork back into the bottle, before disappearing from view. Seconds later, I heard loud snores.