| When you were growing up in the little town of Cheddarwurst, you always wanted to be a mighty Astronaut. You ended up being a Fighter instead, because you didn't have the right prime requisites. As luck would have it, you found yourself wandering through the sleepy village of Frog just as the village people (you know, the construction worker, the cop, the Indian) were beset by the evil Giant Maulslow, who had poisoned the town's Siamese fighting fish population. Against your better judgment (and with the hope of fat loot to come), you agreed to try and bring the villain to justice. You were rocking the house but you soon were confounded by a fiendish guess-which-of-these-bottles-is-poison puzzle, and by the time you figured out to solve it, you were depressed as an underfed gerbil. 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 Quirm or Quirm. So you pressed onward until you discovered the lair of the Blood Necromancer Strikeancient, 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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