| An ancient prophecy foretold of a child born in the city of Claremont 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. One fateful day, you were strolling through the quiet village of Flytrap when you met the town town crier. That worthy begged you to try and rescue the barman's serpent-tongued homie, who had been kidnapped by desperados. Having little to do except save the world from an evil sorcerer or whatever, you took the quest. There was no drama in the LBC until you dropped your magic wand in a cookie jar and couldn't get it back out. Wouldn't you know it, that was when the jocks showed up. But, unwilling to let that keep you from glory, you gritted your teeth and wielded your pike, and cut your way through the hordes of indigent native tribesmen that stood between you and your goal. At last you found the lair of Evil Lord Frazool, who quite unexpectedly turned out to be your long-lost nephew, but you killed the assjacket anyway. And thus was the land freed from tyranny, and you earned yourself a fat reward!
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