They wanted to be a Great Hero, wearing gleaming armor and recognized through the land.
They became a Great Hero, without fanfare or armor, the night they were willing to dislodge boulders which cascaded and jammed tight as the strongest brickwork ever known into the ravine, stopping a massive flood from destroying the city. Even though it cost them their primary hand. -- Anon Guest
Heroism only looks like a gleaming costume, a white charger, or a blazing sword. That's how heroes end up. How they begin is an entirely different matter. Familiar, in many ways. Different, every time.
An orphan who gains a powerful mentor who knows more than they should. A downtrodden person with a special gift. The neglected child with the Faerie Goodmother. The outcast lord destined to save the realm from darkness. The true heir to the throne and crown, heralding an era of peace and light.
It doesn't always happen that way, but it happens like that a lot.
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