| Life was hard as a young man growing up in the city of Waxton, and it became even harder when you had your heart stolen by a drunken, comely town crier. You became a Thief, in order to steal it back (with interest). In the fiefdom of Goldthwaitia, in the unpleasant-smelling backwater of Piehole, you found an inn with cheap sack and spent the night carousing. There, you heard a tale of the forgotten treasure of the Sapphire Forests, lost for ages during the time of the great calamity. You decided to seek the treasure yourself, heedless of the literal mountain of skeletons of those who had tried before you. You had a good handle on it until you had to actually go in the dungeon. That was when you fell in a spiked pit, got attacked by goblins, and got your lower back bitten off by a shoggoth. Bruised but unbroken, you readied your knife and marched forth into the darkness, where you were immediately captured by the Horror Witchlord Krampus's army of half-witted accountants. They hauled you before their master, but got bored and wandered off during his long gloating speech. Seeing your chance, you pushed the evil has-been into his own iron maiden, and escaped to claim your reward from the grateful people of Crunkleford.
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