| You grew up the son of a town crier, but decided such a profession was lacking in excitement. After much hard training, (if you never lift weights again, it'll be too soon) you finally became a mighty Fighter. As luck would have it, you found yourself wandering through the sleepy village of Cold Crick just as the village people (you know, the construction worker, the cop, the Indian) were beset by the evil Giant Englebert, who had poisoned the town's weasel population. Against your better judgment (and with the hope of fat loot to come), you agreed to try and bring the villain to justice. You weren't having any problems until you had to fend off half a dozen gypsies with your shoulder trapped in a swinging razor-sharp pendulum. Fortunately, most of them ran away when the cockatrice showed up, and you played dead until it left. That's not very heroic, but hey, it worked. Fortunately, "giving up" isn't in your dictionary (probably because it's two words), so you persevered. You fought your way through countless gnolls and gypsies -- even a lich! But eventually you found the lair of the sinister Dragon King Wargiant, and were able to defeat him by knocking him into a meat grinder with a lucky critical hit. Bruised but successful, you made it back to the nearby city of Limberford and claimed your reward.
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