| An ancient prophecy foretold of a child born in the city of Prefectford with a necktie-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 Crunkleton, in the unpleasant-smelling backwater of Whacking, you found an inn with cheap firewater and spent the night carousing. There, you heard a tale of the forgotten treasure of the Amber Plains, 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 were doing a neat job until you had to actually go in the dungeon. That was when you fell in a iron maiden, got attacked by gypsies, and got your arm bitten off by a githyanki. But, you put on your brave face, and made your way through the caverns and caves to where the Dark Warlock Englebert held court over his horde of golden-haired gunslingers, and with uncountable swings of your mace (and a few well-placed attacks of opportunity), you finally slew the horrible bimbo and rode back to town to claim your glory (and reward).
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