Once there was a miserable little village that had been beset upon by a mighty Carnun Champion for years and years.  The monstrous minion of evil demanded tributes and entertainment from the villagers, who had no choice but to deliver, on pain of being hideously dismembered in front of the rest of the town as an example.

  After many years of this plight, the day came once more that the Carnun Champion would come into town and demand his tribute from the village.  As per their training, the townsfolk gathered in town square and sullenly waited for their "master" to arrive.

  The Champion came into view of the townsfolk, marching slowly.  As it approached, its left arm dropped limply to its side.  The Champion began breathing heavily.  Its right arm clutched at its breastplate.  Before the eyes of the villagers, the Champion fell face first to the ground, dead.

  A mighty cheer went up from the crowd, who rushed forward to thank the savior who had slain their tormentor.  As they approached the fallen Champion, they spied a peasant with his scythe some distance behind where the Champion had fallen.  They had found their hero.

  The stranger was welcomed by the village with jubilation.  They raised him up on their shoulders and ferried him into town, showering him with fine food and lavish attention.  The traveling peasant, naturally, was quite bewildered.

  Come the dawn the peasant simply wandered into the fields and began tending crops.  The townsfolk saw this and were wholly impressed by their hero's selflessness.  Not only had he slain their tormentor of many years, but now was helping smite the pests and vermin that plagued their fields!

  The town was quite happy in its new life, with their hero watching over them.  So it was when yet another Carnun Champion came to town to take over the territory abandoned by its kin, the townsfolk rushed into the fields to ferry their champion into the fray.

  The poor bewildered peasant was placed in front of a scowling Carnun Champion.  The champion raised its hands to land a decisive blow and reduce this 'hero' into tiny bits.  The peasant, seeing his imminent doom, did what came naturally to him - He curled up into a little ball and started to cry.

  The Champion swung down at the peasant, failing to notice that in that position, the shovel the peasant had been using in the fields was pointed straight up.  The Champion could not know that this was a dilligent peasant, who kept his tools finely honed and expertly maintained.

  The sharpened edge of the shovel had made short work of the heavy clay soil of the fields, and even shorter work of the Carnun Champion's wrists.  Screaming in agony and spewing his life blood several feet in front of him, the Carnun Champion fell before the might of the hero of the town.

  The townsfolk rejoiced once more in their hero's exploits, and the peasant himself learned a valuable lesson:

  Heroes are oft forged by mere circumstance.