>Be the gangly-armed son of the blacksmith
>Fall in love with the beautiful blond girl next door, we get engaged
>Oracle of the Azure Orb comes to town, tells her she's the Chosen One, destined to wield the Blade of Eternal Endings and fight the Thousandfaced Demonking to bring peace to the land for ten generations
>Offer to come with her, I'm pretty good with a hammer, but he tells me to stay and forge the Ultimate Armor
>Spend the next months forging the shit out of the best armor I can, finally succeed in making the best armor mortal man has ever known
>Sometimes we hear about her adventures from passing merchants, they sound very exciting
>Finally we hear she finished without my help
>Go to the capital to see her at the parade
>The king announces that she'll be his successor and that they'll celebrate the Demonking's defeat with her marriage to her bumbling wizard sidekick, he's so wacky
>She surveys the crowd, our eyes lock for a second, she doesn't even recognize me
>Go back to town, fall into a depression, marry the slightly overweight baker's daughter
>Die of pneumonia at 42
Peasant General. How are you, my fellow peasants?
Peasant General
How am I? I'm the last survivor of "adventurers" "saving" my town from an undead horde that I'm pretty sure they accidentally unleashed in the first place.
>finally succeed in making the best armor mortal man has ever known
Well, it ain't like selling that would make you richer than most nobles.
I'm doing pretty good, thanks. I'm gonna be marrying Nelly, John Cartwright's daughter, and my friends chipped in to get me a whole new tunic for the ceremony so I can look nice and clean. I just hope Lord Asterbul isn't around. Last four weddings he took right of first night.
>Jack brags all day about how his son is a budding hero
>Wife delivers stillborn a third time before dying
>Jack says I'll never have a hero son
>Get mad
>Still the same joke day in and day out
>Every time we lock eyes from our stalls it's another story about his son
>Steal local crops one night
>Plant them in Jack's home
>Jack's sociopathic son makes it back into town under allure if a potential personal quest
>Eventually is lead to his father who dies during the confrontation
>My name is updated to Spinner of Lies Rice Merchant
>Stall now struggling
>Constantly looking over shoulder to see if Jack's son found out
Still worth it
Could at least make a new pasta, user.
Wait a second, you're a dumbass. Why didn't you wear that armour yourself and craft your own legend, you idiot? If you can't do that, at least pledge fealty to a knight or lord who could and follow him/her around and become famous anyway?
Look at this dude who has never been a blacksmith.
Listen here bakerman, or stable boy. occasionally we forge godly armor and weapons. You know who buys them? No one.
Richer than most nobles? Yes, that's why they can't afford the armor. Or want to. If they even hear of the armor.
Had a friend who was forged a horse shoe set worth of the God of Horses himself. It's hanging over his fireplace. One day I accidentaly forged an Axe that could Slay the Everdemon. It's pretty neat but, nobody wants to slay the Everdemon and nobody can pay for the fucking axe. I use it to break firewood.
Such is life, man.
>Be pasta seller
>See rise in pocketing of cooked pasta
>Sew jar into right and left pocket to sell as gimmick item
>Become richest man in RPG
>Still live as peasant because the royalty could never buy the loyalty of the players like I do with my now free spaghetti pocket pants
>Heroes keep muttering Easter egg under their breath when they deal with me
>At least I am always safe it seems
You were a cuck. The armor was clearly your que to take up adventuring yourself so you could catch up to her as a knight in mysterious armour to save her from a perilous situation as opposed to forcing the wizard to improvise, but you just sat pretty like the worthless peasant you are.
Where do you think knights come from? Every noble's first father was one a peasant like you, gifted by the gods an opportunity to rise to greatness. Perhaps whomever allowed you to forge that armor was mistaken.