Otherworlder

You don't belong here. You don't know how to live here. You are most likely still alive because someone took pity on you and taught you the ropes. And with your awkwardness fitting in, you probably aren't going to be the most appealing prospect for an adventuring party. So maybe this friend of yours did you a favor and punched up your resume. And maybe those stories they spread of your accomplishments were embellished. A little. Perhaps the time you heard a noise, freaked out, and accidentally killed a rat became a stirring tale of how you prevented an outbreak of plague. Maybe this leads people to believe your abilities are greater than even you know. And if someone congratulates you on outmaneuvering a roving Orc warband that you've never heard of, you know who to blame, don't you? Well, they were just trying to help, after all...

"I heard they slew a dragon with one arm off and half their guts out, with nothin' but a kitchen knife." "Well I heard they stared down a basilisk and the basilisk turned to stone." This ain't you. You know it. I know it. But these guys don't know it. Every time you manage to avoid dying in the ditches and potholes that accumulate on the path to your destiny (whether that be to find your way home or explore this brave 'new' world), someone goes off with the story and gossips to the neighbor, and every time it's told, the story changes and exaggerates bit by bit until it comes back to you. Your name strikes awe and terror into the hearts of the average citizen, but when you introduce yourself, they either don't make the connection, or they think your mother must have had relations with a fabled hero and you're their illegitimate lovechild. When you are recognized, you see shuttered disappointment, confusion, and in rare cases, deepening respect.