| An ancient prophecy foretold of a child born in the city of Stoatsford with a face-shaped birthmark, who would grow up to be the greatest Wizard ever known. You have a birthmark like that, but at first you were only a sort of okay Wizard. Everyone has to start somewhere, I guess. At the tiny tavern on the outskirts of the Village of Cold Crick, you were trapped in a conversation with a man who had clearly had more than his fill of ale. He told you about the great plague of tigers that had beset the entire region of X'tn'ch'roth, and of the rumor that the evil Lord Devilforbidden was the source of the unpleasantness. You resolved to find the villain and dispatch him, mostly to get the drunk guy to shut up. It wasn't a thing up until the part where you found yourself trapped between a antlion pit and a iron maiden, with a horse bearing down upon you. That strawberry was pretty delicious, but it's didn't really make up for the damage to your eye. But, you put on your brave face, and made your way through the caverns and caves to where the Skull Overlord Morgar held court over his horde of simple hobgoblins, and with uncountable swings of your scythe (and a few well-placed attacks of opportunity), you finally slew the horrible douchebag and rode back to town to claim your glory (and reward).
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