| You always knew that the village of Whacking wasn't big enough for you -- after all, it was just the one hut, and it was a small one. So, when you came of age, you decided to make a name for yourself as a Fighter. (You parents never gave you a name. You were hoping for "Raph".) At the tiny tavern on the outskirts of the Village of Pig-in-a-Poke, you were trapped in a conversation with a man who had clearly had more than his fill of sarsaparilla. He told you about the great plague of dogs that had beset the entire region of Prefectford, and of the rumor that the evil Giant Diablolo was the source of the unpleasantness. You resolved to find the villain and dispatch him, mostly to get the drunk guy to shut up. You were doing really well but you soon were confounded by a fiendish depants-the-wizard puzzle, and by the time you figured out to solve it, you were incensed as an underfed guinea pig. But, you put on your brave face, and made your way through the caverns and caves to where the Evil Barbarian Hasslehoff held court over his horde of simple goblins, and with uncountable swings of your club (and a few well-placed attacks of opportunity), you finally slew the horrible buttmunch and rode back to town to claim your glory (and reward).
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