| It was hard growing up as a tavernkeep's son in the tiny hamlet of Sto Lat, in the land of Bacon. The other children mocked you because of your glasses and asthma, but you would have the last laugh when you grew up to be a mighty Wizard! (Which you did.) In the fiefdom of Fandanzia, in the unpleasant-smelling backwater of Cold Crick, you found an inn with cheap mead and spent the night carousing. There, you heard a tale of the forgotten treasure of the Silver Plains, lost for ages during the time of the great upheaval. You decided to seek the treasure yourself, heedless of the literal mountain of skeletons of those who had tried before you. Everything was hunky-dory but you soon were confounded by a fiendish escort-the-fragile-toddler puzzle, and by the time you figured out to solve it, you were infuriated as an underfed dog. 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 barber in some crummy backwater like Dumpington or Phlegm. So you pressed onward until you discovered the lair of the Black Witchlord Krampus, 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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