| You grew up on the cold streets of the great Gold City, where contrary to popular belief, the streets are mainly paved with horse dung. Well, at least in your neighborhood. Small wonder you grew up to be a professional Thief. Having heard many rumors about how X'tn'ch'roth was being systematically sacked by a band of marauding indigent native tribesmen (who had already looted and burned the villages of Cheddarwurst, Pig-in-a-Poke, and Pitlick), and the ludicrous reward being offered for the lower back of their leader, you decided it was finally time to put your mettle to the test. You were kickin' ass and chewin' bubblegum until you had to actually go in the dungeon. That was when you fell in a lava pool, got attacked by orcs, and got your calf bitten off by a flesh golem. However, you knew you'd never be a mighty adventurer if you let a little setback like that stop you, and damned if you were going to end up a serf in some crummy backwater like Pittsburgh or Pitlick. So you pressed onward until you discovered the lair of the Fire Warlock Diabolicus, and after a long and dramatic battle you successfully put an end to his evil ways. And then you looted the hell out of his hideout.
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