| An ancient prophecy foretold of a child born in the city of Llewllamarall with a bedpan-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. In the fiefdom of Waxtoff, in the unpleasant-smelling backwater of Phlegm, you found an inn with cheap stout and spent the night carousing. There, you heard a tale of the forgotten treasure of the Ruby Forests, lost for ages during the time of the great fire. You decided to seek the treasure yourself, heedless of the literal mountain of skeletons of those who had tried before you. It wasn't a thing but then you wandered into a room totally full of gangsters, plus a beholder, which is weird because you would have figured they'd have killed each other. They made a pretty good attempt at killing you, though. Bruised but unbroken, you readied your spoon and marched forth into the darkness, where you were immediately captured by the Fire Witchlord Grinderunder's army of bright-eyed orcs. They hauled you before their master, but got bored and wandered off during his long gloating speech. Seeing your chance, you pushed the evil butthole into his own cheese-grater, and escaped to claim your reward from the grateful people of Burglechester.
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