Poor Yutolio had always fancied himself as someone with the necessary skills to succeed at life. He tried first to spark a great business as a merchant, but quit when a starved man refused to buy his food. For a while he thought that his field was to be the studies of alchemy, but resigned after trying to invent powdered water.
So intense and absurd were his life’s failures, that the gods themselves had made a drinking game of him. Hours upon hours of divine entertainment were had trying to guess just how the man would manage to make the worst of his life. In between godly drinks and games of divine betting, it was only natural that, one day, a single god would be chosen among many as the loser who would look upon this singular mortal for the entirety of his life.
“We don’t make them this terrible nowadays,” the god thought “there must be at least one thing he’s good at”. Risking one final bet, his divine hand dared to place a simple sword upon the man’s feet.
A single day later, Yutolio’s bloodied boots unsteadily threaded away from the town of his birth. There were no witnesses to speak to the royal court, or any bards to spin the tale, but the rumors of a fool that accidentally destroyed an entire town overnight still spark up to this very day.