| You grew up the son of a barber, but decided such a profession was lacking in excitement. After much hard training, (if you never shell peanuts again, it'll be too soon) you finally became a mighty Fighter. One fateful day, you were strolling through the quiet village of Morpork when you met the town "seamstress". That worthy begged you to try and rescue the barman's tattooed son, who had been kidnapped by jerks. Having little to do except save the world from an evil sorcerer or whatever, you took the quest. You had a good handle on it 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 guinea pig. But, you put on your brave face, and made your way through the caverns and caves to where the Blood Necromancer Crushwinder held court over his horde of nubile gunslingers, and with uncountable swings of your halberd (and a few well-placed attacks of opportunity), you finally slew the horrible douchenugget and rode back to town to claim your glory (and reward).
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