| When you were growing up in the little town of Dogspittle, you always wanted to be a mighty Barbarian. You ended up being a Fighter instead, because you didn't have the right prime requisites. At the tiny tavern on the outskirts of the Village of Cowpat, you were trapped in a conversation with a man who had clearly had more than his fill of jell-o shots. He told you about the great plague of tigers that had beset the entire region of Brazzleton, and of the rumor that the evil Giant Arc'klor was the source of the unpleasantness. You resolved to find the villain and dispatch him, mostly to get the drunk guy to shut up. It wasn't a thing until you had to fend off half a dozen goblins with your arm trapped in a lava pool. Fortunately, most of them ran away when the horse showed up, and you played dead until it left. That's not very heroic, but hey, it worked. 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 seamstress in some crummy backwater like Sto Lat or Buttole. So you pressed onward until you discovered the lair of the Frost Wizard Crushhammer, 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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